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dustofthedailylife · 1 year

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How to Steal the Duke's Heart 101

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Pairing: Wriothesley x (gn!) Reader

Summary: The moment your verdict was decided as guilty you were brought to the Fortress of Meropide - despite being innocent. Little did you know that the trip to prison would make you meet the love of your life.

Tags: Fluff, kissing, you're in prison (but innocent), some violence (not graphic), swearing

A/N: Due to me being utterly normal about Wriothesley I had the idea for this fic - who am I kidding I would commit a crime for this man.

“According to the judgment of the Oratrice Mechanique d’Analyse Cardinale, the defendant is declared… guilty.”

The voice of Chief Justice Neuvillette was ringing in your ears as he read out the verdict. Your verdict.

You couldn’t believe it. You knew you hadn’t done what you had been accused of, that the eyewitnesses had lied the moment they had opened their mouths, that the evidence had been tampered with, that you had been framed for the crime – but you were innocent. And no one was ever going to believe you.

After all, the device that had handed you the fateful false verdict was treated as infallible in Fontaine. You now at least had proof that its reputation was nothing but hollow words. But what use was the knowledge other than just a bittersweet confirmation for no one but yourself?

And before you knew it, guards were escorting you out the back of the Opera Epiclese in handcuffs. Roughly dragging you along with them into a big elevator. Down – deeper and deeper into the depths of the ocean.

You had heard stories of the Fortress of Meropide before – the secluded place where all criminals and outcasts of Fontaine resided. The place no one had ever come back from to tell the tale. At least not in one piece.

You weren’t sure how you felt on the way down the elevator but you would describe it as something akin to hollowness.

The glances the guards threw your way out of the corner of their eyes literally screamed disgust. You were nothing more than a dirty criminal to them after all – someone who was to be shunned and banished from society for all eternity. And if you really had done what you were convicted for, you wouldn’t even blame them for their disdain.

When the elevator arrived at the bottom the doors opened with a mechanical hiss. The scent of machine oil, iron, and damp moldy cellars immediately pricked at your nose and it was the exact opposite of what you’d call homely.

The guards turned you in at the reception, where a rather unpleasant woman took your mugshots before handing you over to yet another rather unfriendly man who led you even further down into the Fortress.

With every new step you took, you tried to come to terms with the fact that the sight of damp, stone, and ironclad walls as well as the lingering industrial smell was going to be your life from now on.

And the dawning realization of that was painfully pulling a tight rope around your throat. You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry and most of all, you wanted to run away and pretend like all of this was a bad dream. But you couldn't.

Instead, you were trodding behind the man who was escorting you and silently began to cry as big beads of tears soon began rolling down your cheeks.

"Crying won't help you anymore, sweetheart." The man remarked almost mockingly as soon as he looked back over his shoulder at your defeated frame. "Should've thought about that before you did some shit."

No. You’re wrong. I'm innocent.

At least that was what you wanted to spit back at him. But it was as if any fierceness or strength to stand up for yourself had left you the moment you set foot into this prison. You simply had no strength left to fight.

You soon arrived in a gigantic circular room. The contraption in the middle almost looked like a giant engine, elevators were going up one level on one side and even further down on the other side of the room. The ceiling was so high up that you almost couldn't make it out at all. The light was dim and the only real light sources were yellow lanterns whose light was bouncing off of the copper-colored iron pipes, crates, and frames that lined the entire room. Gloomy would probably be the best way to describe it.

The pungent smell of oil and damp cellar was hanging in the air here as well and probably even more prominent than it had been before. Only now it was also mixed with what you thought was old sweat and… tea? The smell of the latter seemed oddly out of place and you couldn't make out where exactly it was coming from. All you knew was that it was probably the only pleasant smell you had encountered down here.

Taking the elevator up one level again the man you had been following this entire time led you into a side hallway that looked more like a vent pipe. The dimly lit room that was lying behind it was only furnished with a bunk bed and a barely functioning lantern. He unlocked your handcuffs before roughly shoving you into the room with a smug grin on his face.

"Make yourself at home." He chuckled mockingly before turning around on his heel and leaving while whistling a tune to himself that eerily echoed off the stone walls.

You lay down on the bed, exhaling in defeat. Your throat still felt like someone had painfully tied it shut and tears were dangerously pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Now what?

You had no idea what to do here aside from sitting your time off. Where do you get food? Were you supposed to work and if yes, where do you have to and when?

You closed your eyes as a single tear escaped from the corner of your eyes, rolling down your cheek, dampening the pillow you lay on.

All you heard around you were wet droplets falling from the ceiling onto the wet stone floor, distant voices from down below, and your own breathing. The only thing that drowned these sounds out were the thoughts in your head.

Now that you had a quiet moment to yourself after everything that had gone down today, the realization about your situation was beginning to seep in for good. This bed, these walls, the oily smell… this was going to be the rest of your life now.

And that’s when you broke down and started crying once again.

Eventually, you must’ve fallen asleep because the next thing you knew was waking up to the smell of food wafting through the air vent in front of your room.

You got up from the bed, took the elevator down, and followed the smell. Soon you found yourself standing in front of a Cafeteria, where fellow inmates were queuing for lunch. Or was it dinner? You’ve barely even been here a day, but the distinct lack of daylight already made you lose track of time.

You sighed and walked over, queuing for some food as well. You didn’t have any appetite but you knew you had to eat something and your grumbling stomach was screaming for food, appetite be damned. Much to your dismay, the food needed to be paid for, well, at least the stuff that looked digestible.

You ordered the only free option and sat down with the bowl of grayish, funky-looking liquid whose consistency was more akin to that of wallpaper paste. It didn’t look appetizing, but at least it was free and would prevent you from starving.

Just as you were about to lift the first spoon of gooey pap in your mouth, someone sat down at your table, making you halt your movement for a brief second.

He placed his tray on the table with a loud bang before plopping down on the bench right in front of you. His food looked tremendously more high quality than yours. Your mouth began watering from just looking at it. Freshly made roast potatoes with rosemary, fluffy pieces of baguette with salted butter, a big juicy piece of meat – grilled to perfection, and a glass of mousse au chocolat.

He leaned forward, supporting himself on the table with his elbows, folded his hands and intensely looked at you with his piercing blue eyes. It seemed like he wasn’t in a hurry to start eating any time soon.

You pretended to ignore him and began eating. The soup, which could vaguely be identified as lentil soup, left a slimy feeling on your tongue and tasted completely bland. Every fiber of your body told you to spit it back out again but with enough willpower, you actually managed to swallow it. Not without pulling a grimace first though.

“You’re new here.” The stranger in front of you observed with curiosity.

You looked up at him, nodding slowly shoveling another spoonful of goo in your mouth before going back to ignoring him. You weren’t really interested in trying to make connections here. All you wanted was to get out of here again – even though you knew deep down that the likelihood of that was nearing zero.

“Adapting well?” He inquired, still not in a hurry to touch his food.

You suspiciously looked up at him. There was just something about this guy that was off. He didn’t quite fit in here at all. He was admittedly very handsome. He looked well groomed and his attire was way too pompous to be an inmate - or maybe he was some rich guy who got some sort of special treatment down here. Every other inmate was avoiding your table and people looked at him with an almost reverent look in their eyes. If it wasn’t for the scars that seemed to cover the majority of his body already, this just further confirmed your gut feeling to avoid this guy at all costs in the future.

“I’ll take that as a no.” He chuckled, eyeing you further with a smirk plastered on his lips.

“What do you want?” You asked, now slightly annoyed.

“Just trying to strike up some friendly conversation. You know, seeing how lost you were while ordering food, not knowing about tickets, and just dashing around like a scared blubberbeast, led me to believe that no one gave you a rundown of how this place works. So, allow me?” He remarked with that same smirk.

When you wordlessly motioned for him to continue, he began explaining the workings and rules down here in detail. Unspoken rules, general rules, what and who to avoid, how jobs worked, work times, payment and money, general daily schedule, and a lot more. There was simply so much you were beginning to feel lightheaded as soon as he had finished speaking and you could feel the lump in your throat grow in size with every minute that passed. You would never be able to live here.

“That should about cover the basics.” He finished explaining as you swallowed thickly.

You opened your mouth in order to speak but he swiftly lifted his finger to shut you up.

“No need to say anything. I know it’s not easy to adapt to a new environment. Especially not one you feel trapped in. But that feeling will fade eventually. Trust me.” He threw you a genuine smile before lifting himself up from the bench and pushing his tray with the food in your direction, pointing at it with an offering gesture.

“Welcome to the Fortress of Meropide.” He said, before striding away.

“Wait-” You jumped up from the table causing him to halt in his tracks and turn around once more. “What’s your name?”

“Wriothesley.”

After this strange encounter with the mysterious and admittedly attractive man, you didn’t see him around for a long while. This came as a surprise because you’d assume someone with his looks and attire would stick out like a sore thumb wherever he went. But it was as if the ground itself had swallowed him.

You wanted to see him again, mostly because you thought you could learn from him for your life down here. And despite your gut telling you that he was a walking red flag you had developed a strange curiosity for him.

You had begun working at the ship dockyard where a big window was offering a view into the ocean. You could somewhat make out the sky and time of day from there and it was the only thing that kept you from going completely insane in here. All you had done was sleep, work, eat, and repeat since you came here. Some people had tried speaking to you and some asked what you were here for, but you didn’t have any interest in conversing with them – especially not after you had tried telling someone that you were innocent and they had just laughed at you. Needless to say, you had no desire to connect with people – although he was the only exception seeing as you were craving to talk to him again, as much as you tried to deny it.

Today you were working at the docks again and found yourself longingly staring out of the large window. Your mind drifted off and you wondered how it would feel to simply swim back up to the surface where your lost freedom lay.

“Beautiful view, isn’t it?” A familiar voice reached your ears from behind.

“Wriothesley!”

The man in question walked up to you and came to a halt right next to you. He looked out through the window himself before looking at you from the corner of his eyes with a slight smirk.

“Still longing for the surface?” He inquired, crossing his arms over his chest. “It never fully goes away but once you get used to the Fortress you’ll find yourself unable to want to leave.”

“Is that so?” You ushered quietly, scoffing. You were simply unable to believe him, not when your freedom had been taken unjustifiably.

“Thank you for the food the other day, by the way. I didn’t have a chance to thank you yet.” You attempted to divert the topic.

“Don’t mention it.” He waved dit off with an unwavering smile. “It is almost time for lunch, have you eaten yet? We could head to the Cafeteria together. My treat.”

“Oh, you absolutely don’t have to, I have enough credits for food now that–”

“Please. I insist.”

And so you found yourself sitting at the table with Wriothesley again, with the most exquisite meal that tickets could buy down here.

You were surprised he was able to fork over nearly four thousand credits to buy the meals as if they were nothing. And especially since he treated you to such a meal as well, while everyone else down here held onto their credits as if their life depended on it. And of course, you also didn’t miss the stares of the others again when you sat down with your fancy meal.

You carefully eyed the food and then Wriothesley as if you didn’t deserve to be treated to something like this. He looked back at you with a genuine smile as he continued nibbling on his baguette.

“Anything wrong?” He asked with curiosity.

“No. It’s just… why–?”

“Why am I treating you to something?” He raised an eyebrow in amusement as if he had read your thoughts. You nodded slowly in reply.

“You’re interesting. That’s all there is to it.” He admitted with a smirk.

“I’m interesting? Me?” You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “You say that when you’re the one I could say that about. You don’t look like you fit in here at all, you have a truckload of credits to spend, and everyone here looks at you like you own the place.”

You paused for a second, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’ve been here for a long time already, haven’t you?”

“You… could say that, yeah.” He replied with a chuckle, dipping his baguette into the rich sauce on his plate.

“Why are you here?” You continued prying.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” He replied with a smug grin before he continued eating.

You couldn’t quite decide if he was a red flag you should run as far away from as possible or if you wanted to get to know him closer. But either way, your first priority for now was not letting the food go to waste so you began eating the heavenly-tasting meal.

A silence settled between you two that was surprisingly pleasant as you both quietly ate with the occasional glace thrown at each other.

Once you were both done he took your tray with him to put it into the tray cart before turning back around with a smile.

“Same time tomorrow?” He asked.

“U-uh… yeah, sure. I don’t see why not.” You stammered a bit taken aback, still confused as to why he wanted to hang out with you so much. You were a nobody with nothing to your name – not even a criminal record technically.

“Great. See you tomorrow then.”

And with that, a habit would slowly form. You would meet up for lunch each day and not long after, also for dinner. He often picked you up at the docks and bought a meal for you and only sometimes you were able to deter him from doing so and insisted that you bought your own since you were genuinely beginning to feel bad even if he seemed well off.

You sometimes sat down for a long time talking even after you both had finished eating. You chatted just about anything and as it would turn out you two seemed to share similar interests. You found out he really loved tea and had extensive knowledge in that regard. And it just so happened that you too were a fellow tea aficionado. Not only that though, you two shared a similar taste in music, books, food, and more. After a couple of weeks had gone by it felt like you had already been friends for the longest time. And much to your surprise, not once had he attempted to ask you why you were here or pried into your private life.

On another such day, you were just heading out of the dormitories towards the Cafeteria to meet up with him. But before you could arrive there someone forcefully yanked you behind some iron crates. You crashed against them with the back of your head with a loud bang, momentarily losing consciousness as pain shot through your system.

"What kinda big shot are ya, huh? What're ya sitting for?" A man yelled at you aggressively.

As soon as you got a grasp of your surroundings again, even though now extremely dizzy, you saw a big bulky guy with a missing front tooth who was pinning you against the boxes by your throat with an iron grip. He was accompanied by two other, less muscular guys who were staring at you in the same aggressive manner. His lackeys, you assumed.

"I have- I have no idea… what you're talking about." You struggled the words out due to the applied pressure on your vocal cords.

"What're ya here for, asshole?!" The man yelled at you even louder now, a few beads of spit flying right into your face through his tooth gap.

"I… I didn't do anything. I–" You gasped breathlessly as you clutched your hands around the hand around your throat, trying to alleviate some of the pressure being applied to it.

"Bullshit! You don't land here for twiddlin’ ya thumbs counterclockwise. And if the Duke's got the eye on ya already, ya've to be some VIP or some shit!" The toothless man spit on the ground between your feet.

“Duke?” You asked confusedly.

“Tch, don’t fuck with me here, shut ya trap. Now, tell me. What’ve ya done? Be honest or I might’ve’ta polish your visage a lil’.” He viciously cackled in unison with his two lackeys who were cheering on him.

“I didn’t. Do. Anything.” You bit back through clenched teeth, putting a strong emphasis on each word. And before you were able to react, a stinging pain shot through your system as a fist connected with your face, sending your head flying back against the crate once again.

You immediately began to see stars and could feel your consciousness quickly fade away. The ringing in your ears and the accompanying dizziness from the impact was overbearing everything and all you could make out before you passed out was a flash of white light and pleas for mercy. Then everything faded to black.

The next thing you knew was waking up with a bandage around your head and an intense migraine. You felt like a horde of boars had trampled over you. The omnipresent pain got worse when you instinctively tried to sit up on the bed you found yourself on.

You hissed in pain and immediately felt a pair of big hands push you back into the fluffy bedding.

“Stay.”

You recognized this voice. You had heard it so often in the past couple of weeks that, despite your delirious state, you had no issue placing it.

“Wriothesley.” You uttered weakly with your eyes still closed.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m here.”

He took hold of your hand with a reassuring squeeze and the feeling of his warmth on your skin made you feel tingly all over and the all-present pain immediately felt like it was being alleviated ever so slightly. Out of all people you were glad it was him by your side.

“What? Where?” You rasped, attempting to slowly open your eyes.

“We’re in a separate room at the Fortress Infirmary. Someone roughed you up real good and you fell unconscious. I arrived just in time to prevent worse. You’ll probably have a nasty bruise on your face for a while and you’ve got quite the concussion as well as a cracked rib. But nothing some bed rest and a good cup of tea wouldn’t be able to fix, hm?” He tried to reassure, brushing a strand of hair out of your forehead.

"Your Grace, here is the medicine you asked for." A guard suddenly came rushing into the infirmary with a small satchel that he handed to Wriothesley before quickly leaving again after a courteous bow towards the man by your side.

You furrowed your brows in confusion at the display of submissiveness of the guard towards a fellow prisoner when you've been treated with nothing but disdain and… wait a minute.

Your Grace. The looks he got from the others during lunch and dinner time. The Duke. It's him?!

The memories suddenly came rushing back to you – how you had been slammed into the metal crates, how the toothless man had mentioned the Duke while threatening you and how his fist had then ultimately painfully kissed your face.

You didn't have all the puzzle pieces to connect everything into a clear image yet but it was enough to feel that there was an epiphany just mere millimeters out of your range.

You startled and sat up on the bed with wide-blown eyes once more as pain shot through you again from the abrupt movement. Pain so bad you thought you would have to throw up for a second.

"I-I… your Grace? The Duke? It's you! He meant you and– who? W-what?! I-I– he threatened me and I-I'm innocent. I don't belong here I–I'm innocent–" You incoherently stammered nonsense because your mouth couldn't match up with the speed at which your thoughts were racing.

Just who was he?

But before you got to properly ask that question a pair of soft lips gently connected with yours, rendering you speechless and cutting off the words that were spilling from your mouth relentlessly like water from a leaky faucet. He squeezed your hand a little tighter while the other gently found comfort on your cheek. Cradling it so carefully as if you're the finest piece of porcelain in the world and could break any minute.

The gentleness of his touch, the warmness of his lips, and the smell of Earl Grey on his breath made your body explode into a sea of fireworks. It wasn't until this moment that you realized you had developed feelings for Wriothesley that went beyond the casual acquaintance you met up with after work for food in the prison cafeteria. It was just that you had been too occupied and lost in your own thoughts about your predicament to realize it.

Your curiosity and cravings to see him more and more often weren’t just born from a place of loneliness. Your heart had craved for him all this time.

Your hands found comfort in his hair as you leaned into the kiss more, prying a low chuckle out of him and you felt him smirk against your lips.

"I know you are." He whispered against your lips when he separated from you again.

"What?" You asked in confusion, already forgetting what he was replying to.

"That you're innocent."

"N-no I don't mean just in this case… I didn't commit any crimes I was sent here despite being innocent I-"

You didn't even realize you had started crying until he gently wiped a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"I know." He reiterated firmly.

You looked up in his face and his eyes were filled with nothing but sincerity. He must be the first person you ever encountered who didn't see the sentence of the Oratrice Mechanique d’Analyse Cardinale as infallible and unquestionable.

"How?" You quietly breathed out in disbelief.

"I knew it on the first day I saw you. My beliefs were just further confirmed when I talked to you for the first time. I've been working behind the scenes to get you out of here again ever since." He admitted, wiping another stray tear from your cheek.

That's why he was gone for days after your first meeting and suddenly arrived again behind you at the docks.

"You went above ground?" You rasped, making the question of who he actually is even bigger.

He nodded, taking your hands in his and placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

Is that why he also said you would find out who he is soon enough that one day? But you still didn't know… who actually is he?

"How are you allowed to go out? Who are you?"

"You still didn't figure it out?" He smirked. "I'm Wriothesley. Warden of the Fortress of Meropide."

And at that moment everything fell like scales from your eyes.

His attire, the looks of other prisoners, the abundance of tickets to spend, randomly disappearing for days, the Duke… the Cryo Vision dangling from his shoulder despite not being allowed to carry any in here.

He was the one who saved you earlier.

He must've noticed your glance because he squeezed your hands a little tighter and reassured you: "They won't ever bother you again. I took care of it."

You didn't dare ask what he meant by that and simply nodded in acceptance.

"I can also tell you that things are going well. I pulled some strings and you might be out of here by the end of the week again with no criminal record to your name."

But what if you actually didn't want to leave anymore? At least not without him.

"Will I be able to see you again?"

A question that spilled out of your mouth before you could properly think about it. But the deafening silence that followed told you everything you needed to know. He rarely left the underground and was occupied down here most of the time so the possibility of you and him seeing each other again was low.

"Certainly." He replied after a while avoiding looking into your eyes.

A white lie. He wanted you to return to your old life again, out of the confines of this prison you had unjustifiably been thrown in. He didn't want to keep you here only for the selfish desires of his heart that he had unplannedly given to you along the way. Maybe he would find a way to be with you once you returned, maybe he didn't – But that didn't mean he couldn't indulge in what you had for the remaining time you were here with him.

And that's when he pulled you closer once more, one hand resting on your waist, gently massaging your skin through the fabric of your shirt while reuniting your lips as if it was the last thing he would ever get to taste.

And maybe, if it was what it took to see him again, you wouldn't mind actually committing a crime.

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about Genshin or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

#genshin impact #astronetwrk #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x y/n #genshin fluff #genshin wriothesley #genshin x y/n #genshin impact fanfic #genshin drabbles #genshin scenarios #genshin brainrot #genshin headcanons #🍁 dust writes #🍁彡 gi

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tswwwit · 11 days

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Cipher's Personal Portable Portal

'How they meet' won the poll!

So just to make things fully contextualized, as far as they're gonna be - here's the full first chunk of this stupidly long fic I'm writing.

I hope you enjoy!

Standing in the wreckage of the burnt-out building, Dipper wishes he didn’t know who did it.

Anyone else would have left some trace sign. A scrape of blood, a hint of burnt hair. A friggin’ decent eyewitness report, even.

But here, like last time, and the time before that, and the time before that - there's absolutely zero traces. No video footage, nobody around at the time of the crime. Not even footprints.

Dipper kicks one of the remaining supports, sending a puff of charcoal up from the impact.

If he knew the bastard’s name, he’d curse it all to hell.

With a sigh of exhaustion, Dipper sits on a chunk of scorched foundation. He pulls his shoe off to tip the ashes out of it; there’s enough that the resulting cloud leaves him coughing.

Around him, the scoured west wing of the museum is silent, still, and empty. A grey-black skeleton of its former self, filled with dust and charcoal.

This arson is yet another one in a very, very long line of crimes. They’re not just ‘unrelated incidents’, or ‘bizarre coincidences’. Dipper’s not ‘being paranoid’ or ‘coming up with some pretty weird conspiracy theories’.

There’s only one person who could manage this. The same guy who turned a bank upside down - literally - and the same one who impaled a mob boss on an oversized silly straw and gave tails to half of a household last week.

It’s all connected.

Each crime is marked with the same style, mostly by how remarkably weird they are. Along with a thread of magic, distinct in its composition. One so distinctive that it's almost a flavor. Though admittedly, without certain magical analysis, it’s pretty hard to detect.

And if other freelance magicians would take the time and look at Dipper’s notes, maybe one of them would help find this asshole.

Dipper stalks through the burned building, fists balled in his pockets. He stumbles over a fallen support column, and nearly trips before he makes a hopping retreat back.

Though the culprit has been at his game - whatever ‘game’ that is - for a good half a year now, this is the most destructive ‘incident’ so far. Nobody was hurt, since it happened in the middle of the night. The one relief from a terrible crime, that only objects were obliterated in the process -

But the ashes speak for themselves.

Here, there’s nothing left.

He breathes in slowly. Then regrets the attempt at calming himself as he coughs again.

Whatever the culprit’s initial motive was, it hasn’t lasted. He’s grown not only in ambition, but also in his abilities. Things are escalating at a rate Dipper doesn’t like to think about.

Someone has to get to the bottom of this. Before it’s too late. Dipper’s got his number, metaphorically speaking, so. Well, might as well be him.

And when he proves that all of this chaos was created by the same person -

Well. A little boost to his meager reputation couldn’t hurt. Maybe a few medals and accolades. There isn’t a trophy for best monster hunter, but he can imagine standing on a podium and -

Dipper waves that thought off, swearing under his breath. Stupid. He has better things to focus on.

He’s the only freelancer on the case. Definitely the only one taking this seriously, the only one who thinks it’s the same person to begin with - and even he’s starting to have some doubts about ever finding the bastard.

Six months of tracking this guy down, and what does he have to show for it? A ramshackle compilation of incidents, a vague feeling of magic, and a description that could fit any bottle-blond actor with bad fashion sense. Scraps. He might as well pin them up and connect them with red string for all the good it does him.

Another kick sends Dipper hopping back, clutching his foot with a swear. He winces at the hole in the tip, he nearly punctured his foot on a nail.

Just his luck. Wrong place, wrong time, always just barely avoiding disaster. Dipper shows up whenever there’s an event, he’s got the means to follow the guy - but he’s always just a little too late.

Even worse, lately the guy’s been picking places… not at random, exactly. More like he causes trouble wherever it’d be the most annoying to follow.

The culprit must know someone is on his trail. But he’s not making it impossible to keep up, or even majorly difficult for a determined pursuer. Just really, really irritating, like making moves at three in the morning, or pausing just long enough for someone to catch up, then heading right back where he came from. At one point Dipper had to trudge through a literal swamp, only to find that bastard had sauntered in by baking himself a neat little trail right through the damn thing. There wasn’t even footprints to follow.

It’s a repeated point in Dipper’s notes. Whoever this is, they’re a total, absolute dick.

With a sigh, Dipper runs his fingers through the ash on the museum’s floor. Not a single thing is left beyond the shattered glass of some display cases, and the charred remains of the building. Even the enchanted metal tools have been melted into slag.

The day before yesterday, he could tell something was up. Building energy, something that felt like it was made by the culprit. Something with the twinge of a powerful curse, coiled and being wound up like a spring.

Dipper spent that evening convincing - okay, maybe also bribing, thank you Stan for the idea - the museum to let him borrow materials. The day after that, he spent all night, morning, and most of the afternoon running around slapping up anti-curse emblems. The entire south of the city warded, in a fine careful net of spellcraft. The work was exhausting. Both in running around, and in the amount of magic he’d needed to use.

But it was worth it. That evening, in the quiet and very uncursed city, all the emblems activated. Dipper would have sworn he sensed someone in the distance, cursing his own name. That night he went to bed with a smug sense of satisfaction, floating on a cloud of triumph.

Which is probably why the bastard burned down the museum next.

With another sigh, Dipper tucks his notebook back into his knapsack. He’s gleaned all he’s going to for today; in the fading evening light, searching more is pointless.

So much for all the magical artifacts. Most of those had come in really useful in messing with the guy.

…How the hell did the culprit know where they came from, though? He’d need a near encyclopedic knowledge of artifacts to know which ones Dipper used, then track them back to their origin.

Or maybe he just searched on the internet. It’s hard to tell.

Dipper just wishes there were more clues. But just like every other incident, the guy up and freakin’ vanished.

No human can disappear like that without some very irresponsible use of power. That hope is one Dipper’s hanging his hat on. After six months? He has to be reaching his limits. He’ll burn himself out before he can manage too many more incidents. Maybe Dipper will find him by stumbling on his withered, dissolving corpse.

Whoever this is is pretty strong, but no power is infinite. He can’t hide forever.

It can’t be too much longer. Won’t be. Dipper has a plan, he’s gotten really close, and - He’s good at his job, damn it. He knows he is.

Taking a deep, slow breath, Dipper lets it out. Patience is the name of the game here. He’s just gotta keep moving.

One day, he’s going to catch up with that bastard. He’ll see the guy in the flesh. Then he’ll grab that stupid dick before he can escape, again, and wipe that presumably smug look off his probably ugly face.

Turning around one last time, Dipper surveys the destruction, stuffs his hands in his pockets - and pauses.

A speck of light glints in the pile of ash. The last bit of evening sun, shining off a metallic surface.

Alert with surprise, Dipper scrambles over to the pile. Kneeling down, he brushes the dust carefully aside, careful not to disturb anything fragile that might shatter if handled wrong.

One thing did survive. Thank fuck, it’s not an absolute total loss. Just, uh… Ninety-nine percent of it.

He scuffles through the still-warm ashes, cupping his palms underneath the lump and lifting it from its bed. The motion sends white puff rising up as ash slips away from the artifact.

A small black, squarish thing rests on the pile, a bit larger than both his palms put together. The material is faintly warm from residual heat, insulated by the ash it laid in - and there’s not a mark on it. Not even a scratch.

Dipper turns the artifact over in his hands with a frown. The shining black surface reveals no obvious buttons or secrets. Just a kind of phone-ish shape, though more square and squat. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say a guest dropped it on the rush to escape.

The fact that it’s still intact though. Nearly glowing with magic, a tremulous feeling under his palms - this is not dropped by some clumsy tourist. Not even Ford could put this together.

Wiping at the object with his sleeve, Dipper manages to clean off most of the smooth surface. On one of the sides, dust clings to the thinnest of engravings. The very faint outline of an equilateral triangle. No runes or other magical scribing, just… a shape.

Dipper thinks back but - no, he doesn’t remember seeing this in the collection. A quick check online reveals…

Basically nothing. There are - were - a bunch of stone and metal slabs in the archives, all described so poorly as to be useless. Some are even bunched up in groups. ‘Magical slab 1-24’ and ‘Metal artifact 1-78’, no description involved.

Not surprising. Probably dug up in some mass excavation site, transported here, then never really looked at again. The bulk nature of the shipment means it was overlooked, its magical properties never discovered.

After today, he’s just glad that even one item escaped this onslaught.

The other artifacts must not have had much to them. But some magical property in this artifact’s making must have saved it from the blaze. Fireproofing, perhaps? Against weird fire? That’s unusual. Maybe even unique.

As the only survivor, it really needs investigating.

Dipper glances over his shoulder, then around. With everyone evacuated, it’s quiet in the rubble. Nobody here would notice if, say… a clue wandered off.

The artifact slips easily into his pocket. The shape conveniently looks just like a phone, even if the shape’s a bit off. Not something that would attract any attention.

Whistling nonchalantly, ducking out of the way of local law enforcement and any onlookers - Dipper makes his escape.

Another day of pursuit. Another scene of disaster, the culprit there and gone in the blink of an eye.

He’ll be up to something new, next. Never the same thing twice, never in the same place.

Dipper will follow in his evil tracks, of course. But for tonight - his fate is another crappy hotel room.

He ditches his backpack by the door, slumping against the wall and its chipped paint. He could start going through his notes, and the pictures of the arson. Put in more work, find further connections -

But it’s been a long day, and he’s tired. He might be magical, but he’s only got so much to work with. A reasonable night’s sleep, if he can manage, will make the task loom less horribly over his tired brain.

With a sigh, he drops back on the mattress. There’s some bounce to it, springs squeaking like they’re full of mice. Hell, maybe they are. The type of room he can afford isn’t exactly decadent.

That, though, should be temporary. Dipper’s career is only just starting; freelancers in the ‘solving magical problems’ scene don’t get great rates. Especially as a beginner. Definitely without a partner; it makes him look super young. Like he’s just starting out, fresh-faced and not having any inroads.

Because this field is really stupid, and doesn’t pay attention to results. Dipper’s been fine on his own for years, and he’s done really cool things without that ‘networking’ crap.

All by himself. Totally cool with that, because Dipper’s a cool guy, sometimes. If Mabel hypes him up enough on one of their phone calls, he almost believes it too.

Though it would be nice to have some backup, it’s hard to find someone who really gets the job. Or does it in the way that Dipper goes about it. The number of people who are willing to take long treks in hyper-magical territory to search for an obscure clue, or set up really complicated traps for dangerous monsters, or talk over high-level magical theory while sitting in the rain all night just to get one body-snatcher are…

Well, besides Ford, who recently retired, there aren’t any. Only Dipper himself.

One day, things are going to change for him. All his effort will pay off. If he keeps solving mysteries, and fighting monsters, he’ll forge a reputation as someone who always gets the job done. No matter how hard it is, he can handle it. The work is picking up, too. The last six months have shown the biggest series of magical incidents in decades.

And he’s gonna be the one to get to the bottom of it.

Dipper Pines, the guy who proved it’s all connected. He’ll have it laid out in facts and math, all the evidence. They’re all gonna see that he was totally right.

Once he finally gets this guy, everything’s going to start looking up.

The sheets rustle as Dipper settles back, holding the artifact up over himself. He stares into the black surface, and a slightly distorted reflection narrows its eyes back at him.

A good mystery always intrigues him. This one should take his mind off the other, irritating one for a while.

The only remaining object from the fire is clean and smooth. A mysterious creation, of unknown purpose. Clearly riddled with magic, too; Dipper feels it running just under the surface like a rapid current. It gives the artifact a weight that has nothing to do with mass.

Power.

Did the criminal see this artifact, still intact after all the other magical objects were gone? Did he try to destroy it too, and fail? Or simply not notice he’d missed one out of thousands?

Whatever it is, it’s got a lot more going on than meets the eye.

Dipper casts a quick identifier, which comes back with nothing. He’s not surprised. That’s the first thing anyone would try. If it was that simple, he’d already have the full description off the site.

With a shrug, he traces another set of runes, his own version, adding a little more oomph behind it -

And the magic leaps back instantly, with the bizarre sensation of a bouncy ball hitting concrete.

“Huh,” Dipper says, thoughtfully. He sits up, hunching over the slab in his hands. “Now that’s new.”

A more subtle approach, then. Tracing the lines of energy with the barest brush of magic upon magic reveals something deeply complex. Thin layers twist together deep under the surface, building an entire circulatory system. Dipper has to put it down for a moment, suddenly worried that it is organic.

When a cautious prod doesn’t get a response, he relaxes. Not fleshy, just complicated. Which also proves he was right earlier - the artifact’s just as powerful as he’d thought. The spellcraft is unlike anything he’s ever seen.

Dipper rubs his hands together, starting to smile.

Even if he doesn’t find the guy he’s after, figuring this out could be a heck of a win.

Several attempts later, he’s beginning to get why this bastard brick got tossed in with all the other junk.

Nothing here is working. It simply deflects. Standard spells poing off of it like rubber, while giving his magical senses an odd, back-of-the brain afterimage of a circle with a slash through it; a firm ‘nah’.

Dipper nearly chucks the thing across the room in frustration, before shutting his eyes and taking several, calming breaths.

Okay, weird thing, weird enchantment. The ordinary stuff won’t work. The magical logic is… twisted in a way that leaves it incompatible with most everything. He’ll have to find a different approach.

“What are you?” Dipper says, low and frustrated. He gives the artifact a shake, as if he can knock the secrets out like a rock from a shoe. “What secrets are you hiding in there?”

No response, not that he expected one. With a wry smile, he taps the sleek surface with a finger, twice. “C’mon, man. Talk to me.”

Huge yellow letters flash onto the black surface.

HEY

Dipper throws the artifact, a bit awkwardly since he’s lying on his back. It sails in the air in a high thin arc, landing with a thump between his legs. He scoots rapidly backward, sheets pulling up behind him.

The artifact lies where it landed, an unmoving brick. There’s magic in the air now, but no sense of any spell building, ready to unleash power to blow his face off. The latent spellcraft of the artifact has just been activated.

More text displays on the surface, bare except for the glowing letters.

To the jerk that’s swiped my private stuff: You got some nerve! I expect this back by interdimensional mail in a week, or trust me - there will be consequences.

Dipper waits a full minute before he lets go of the headboard. Tentatively, he kneels near the…

Is this a phone?

Clearly it’s a communication device of some sort, with the freaking text messages. A phone is the obvious equivalent, only - he thought it looked far older than that, something way before mobile phones. Possible ancient. Is that a coincidence, maybe, or is it secretly modern?

Dipper taps the ‘screen’, just below the glowing words. To his surprise, there’s actually a keyboard, what the hell. This thing keeps getting weirder.

Since it hasn’t already thrown a horrible curse at him, or burst into flames - it’s reasonably safe to assume that it’s simply ‘on’. Not ‘explosive’.

With hands that are definitely not shaking, he picks it up, and types,

Who is this?

His own text pops up in blue. A strange contrast to the yellow, but he’s guessing it’s for convenience - there’s no bubbles to tell who’s said what otherwise.

A few seconds of nervous waiting later, there’s a response.

Oh hey, you answered! Well, human - You’re talking to the one and only Bill Cipher, Dream Demon, all-powerful master of the Mindscape! I’d say it’s nice to meet ya but you’re not supposed to have a direct line to me!

Dipper raises an eyebrow.

Now that’s one hell of an introduction. It might even have been interesting, if it didn’t smell of complete bullshit.

Complicated spellwork, sure. Incomprehensible architecture? Maybe. Dipper can admit it; he’s never seen anything with a web of spells on it this complex, in such small of a package.

But the idea that Dipper just stumbled onto a demonic artifact of all things. One that wasn’t instantly detected, recorded, then ritually destroyed is…

Someone’s fucking with him.

Dipper rolls his eyes as he types back,

Really? Demon? You can’t expect me to believe that.

What, you calling me a liar? ‘Cause I am, but not about this! I got better things to mislead mortals about. This is my property, not something for your grubby mortal mitts.

Dipper snorts. Guess this person’s sticking with the bit. Obviously whoever created this would want it back - but too bad. Whether they’re delusional, stupid, or just a flat-out liar, they’re really good at enchanting. It’d be a waste not to study their work.

He lies back on the bed as he replies.

Sure, have fun roleplaying, or whatever, it doesn’t make a difference. Finders keepers, losers weepers.

ARE YOU CALLING ME A LOSER. MORTAL.

Hmm, I’m detecting a certain amount of ‘crying about it’, so. Yeah. Suck it, loser.

Smirking, Dipper settles back - then his half-smile drops, as he holds the ‘phone’ a little further away from himself.

Though the blue fire building up in the screen looks like a bad sticker effect, the artifact’s also getting a alarmingly warm. It vibrates in his hands - then suddenly stops, cooling down.

Ha! Alright, alright, I admit - you got some balls.

Maybe you’ll change your tune once you REALLY know what you’re dealing with! Might wanna check the connection, if you’re even capable of it! Mortal magic doesn’t reach across dimensions!

With a grimace, Dipper taps his fingers on the phone. It’s slightly cooler now, but still worryingly reactive to… whatever happened on the other end.

Damn. Whoever this is, they’re not only really really good at enchanting, they’re also pretty confident that tracking them down won’t spoil their game. The confidence exuding from this ‘Bill’s’ words feels genuine.

Honestly, though, the suggestion is a good one. Dipper should have tried to trace the call the second he knew someone else was on the line.

Maybe ‘Bill’ thinks he won’t manage to find him. Joke’s on him, though; Dipper’s amazing at finding stuff. He’s the best tracker of magical anything in years. Maybe decades. With a solid, stable connection right in front of him? Hell, he could do this one in his sleep.

Time to call the bluff.

He casts the tracing spell, though it takes longer than usual. A few gestures and muttered ritual aren’t gonna cut it; he has to improvise around the strange construction of the enchantment. Even trailing along the magic seems harder than usual, like it resists mixing with his own, and it takes him a few attempts to match the signal.

Once he finds the right way to tune it… the lead snaps along the already-existing connection, and zips away to find its source.

The line extends out from the shabby hotel room, a plucked string in Dipper’s senses. It twists around the phone, rising slowly. Invisibly passing through the walls and the -

Ceiling? Dipper looks up on instinct, even though nothing is visible.

From there it swirls around in the air like a silly straw on steroids, and then - out, very far, in a way that isn’t up or down or left or right, just

Away.

Dipper has to cut off the tracing spell before vertigo has him reeling. The swirling sense of standing on top of a skyscraper is followed by a flip in his stomach. That he’s using a device he barely understands that reaches out into something even more incomprehensible.

He drops the phone-artifact, trying to clear his head by shaking it rapidly.

That’s not nearby. Not on this planet. Possibly, genuinely, not even in this dimension.

Shit. Bill wasn’t bluffing.

Dipper wipes sweating palms on the sheets. To pick up the phone again takes an effort, willing himself to grasp it in unsteady hands.

A demon.

All the monsters he’s fought, curses he’s broken, years of work tucked into his belt, and he’s never seen one of those.

Demons are dangerous, evil, and very, very powerful. Consorting with them is by all accounts a terrible idea. He should never have picked this up. He should hang up, and throw the damn artifact out the window, hoping that nobody else makes as dumb a mistake as he just did.

On the screen, there’s a long long scroll of yellow letters, filling the entire surface. ‘HA HA HA HA’ over and over and over again.

Before he can think better of it, Dipper starts a response. He’s halfway through a sentence - what the fuck, that’s not funny- before he pauses.

Terrible evil monster. Stupid powerful. Probably Bill sensed the tracing of the connection, like he did with Dipper’s other testing. Bill wanted the result startle him. Because he thinks it’s funny.

Dipper grits his teeth, and glares at the screen.

Actually, screw this guy. Dipper’s keeping the stupid phone. If for no other reason than spite. This ‘Bill’ guy seems pretty full of himself, like he’s totally above some human. He’s in for a bad time, then, because Dipper’s not going to let one little surprise scare him off.

Besides. The average guy would get into horrible, even deadly trouble, whereas Dipper… sort of knows what he’s doing. No, he is good at his job. Finding secrets, solving mysteries, thwarting evil jerks who think they’re oh-so-hilarious, the whole shebang. He does it all.

Taking another breath, hissing through clenched teeth - Dipper lets it out. Losing his temper isn’t going to help deal with an extradimensional being. He has to be careful.

He thinks for a long moment before he responds.

Okay. Let’s say I believe you. Maybe. Then you should know I didn’t steal your… whatever this is. I found it lying around, and I just. Got kind of curious.

HA HA HA! Of course you were! Careful with that impulse, kid, it kills more than just cats!

A jerk who definitely thinks he’s hilarious. Dipper rolls his eyes, then, rather pettily, decides to ignore that statement.

More pressing questions take the lead. Like what the fuck he’s holding right now, and if there are any other nasty tricks in store. A little bit of him, bubbling under the surface, wonders what being a demon is like. What they get up to, common habits. Ways they could be tracked down and, y’know, defeated, maybe.

Theoretically, he’s got a line to a bunch of innocent, totally not-thwarting-related information that could be super useful to someone trying to, maybe, be a super cool monster-fighter.

Dipper backspaces a bunch over some poorly thought out questions. First things first. Like what the hell he’s holding right now.

So. What is this?

Good question! The gadget you’re poking at with your sweaty meat-paws is paired to the one I have here at my place. A little one-on-one communication assistant, if you will. Once you started groping around with your magic, it wasn’t hard to tell someone had picked it up!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. Though he already has an idea… a little confirmation never hurts.

Like, you got a notification? Or literally felt?

The latter! Kinda like smell, but by touching things with your eyeballs. And with all your prodding around you might as well have been stinking up the place! Your spells aren’t real subtle!

Hey, they’re subtle! Having weird extra senses is just cheating.

Sucks to be human, then! In that you suck at everything! What’s a LOSER like you gonna do about it?

Dipper nearly throws the stupid artifact again - but he holds back, gripping it tight. Instead he sits up, leaning down and hauling his backpack up from the side of the bed.

Maybe Bill thinks he can’t do anything. That he’s some ignorant nobody, who doesn’t have any real skills or talent or doesn’t have any friends - but he’s got that wrong. Dipper’s not a loser. Bill’s not getting away with that bullshit.

One quick unzip and a bit of rifling around later, he finds what he was looking for. Carefully, Dipper bounces the heft of a flashlight battery in his hand. Shutting his eyes, he focuses on crafting a quick working.

Magic is all about energy, and its direction. Focusing power, conveying it from one place to another. Pushing anything across dimensions would take impossible amounts of energy, stuff Dipper doesn’t have. If it weren’t for a very convenient connection, already in his hand.

Dipper has nothing on hand to actually exorcise the guy - he’s not sure that’s even possible when Bill’s where he should be - but retribution is in order.

More text lines appear on the artifact. He ignores them. Changing this up to work with the demon device is a challenge, but after figuring out how to alter the tracking spell changing this one up isn’t hard. He adjusts the flow of magic this way, into the tangle of not-veins in the device that way, finishes the chant-

Then touches his tongue to the battery.

The jolt passes through him painlessly, following the spell. It zips along his nerves, down into his hand and from there - into the artifact itself.

Where it should, theoretically end up right at that bastard.

Dipper tosses the battery back into his backpack. Picking up the ‘phone’, hunching over to stare at the screen.

That worked. He felt the energy move… unless he got the math wrong. Or a detail of his spell. Or maybe demons are immune to electricity, and he just did something totally pointless.

God. It might even prove Bill right, and wouldn’t that be the worst -

The next line of text comes in.

What the hell? A joy buzzer? That’s some real petty prank stuff! You seriously pulled that bullshit? And across dimensions?

A tense pause. Dipper taps the phone, checking for it heating up again - but another line pops up after a few seconds.

Y’know what, kid? I think I might actually like you! You’re FEISTY.

Dipper nearly does a double-take.

But no, that - what? Aren’t demons supposed to be vengeful? He was half-sure he’d have to chuck the phone out the window before it exploded in his hands.

In fact, you’re in luck! ‘Cause I’m pretty bored, and I can totally show you how to improve that jinx of yours! If you can keep up with a little theory, that is.

Because that’s not suspicious or anything. Conversation with a demon can only lead to ruin and disaster. He should absolutely, definitely stop this right in its tracks.

Still, Dipper shrugs, and types,

Try me.

#billdip #I should probably make a tag for this 'series'#Let's say the tag will be #Portal AU #I say series but my plan is to complete it then post it in One Big Post on AO3 eventually #I just wanted you all to know I really am working on stuff and I hope you enjoy these two idiots #This is ~5k of the now 21k document I have going #Truly I am caught in a trap of my own making #Suffering is writing and writing is suffering #I also realized while putting this on Tumblr that I can totally change text colors!#I might apply that formatting trick later if I can find a shade of yellow that isn't totally obnoxious to actually read #Little nervous about this since it's not Familiar AU but they needed not to know each other for the Premise to work #I'm excited to get to later stuff because I can make SO many dumb jokes

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ilysmcoups · 2 months

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hi guys !

this is a plea, a call for help from one student to another.

I know you are all waiting for the Rental Romance Mingyu fic to be published and I can't lie, so am I.

HOWEVER, I physically cannot post when my brothers and sisters are dying on the streets. The country i live in has practically announced war on its students. I can't fit the whole thing here so I'll just say it in short even though I'll be missing out on a lot of details.

Bangladeshi students started a protest for the reformation of the quota system in Bangladesh. What started as a peaceful protest turned into a warzone across Bangladesh when the police started shooting at the unarmed students. This quota system is a system that has an effect on government jobs, which gave 30% quota on the govt. jobs to the children and grandchildren of those who fought the liberation war of 1971.

That's right. 1971. 53 years. However, most of the freedom fighters did not accept this quota system or the "allowance" they got, claiming that "we fought for independence, not for this."

Now, instead of having this 30% quota reformed, they opened fire on unarmed students, killing over 1000. Though the official body count is 250, countless eyewitnesses state the count is much more. I, myself, doubt how can the official count be 250 if there are 80+ unidentified bodies that had to be buried without anyone claiming them.

This has turned into a war of getting the dictatorial reign of our Prime Minister, Sheikh Hasina, to step down from her position as she has made no effort to stop the police or even once, admitted to her faults. In fact, 40% of the deaths are caused by the student political wing under her, Student League.

To this date, 4th of August 2024, we suspect the death count to be over 1500. This includes 10+ kids, starting from age 4. These kids were shot with bullets, from helicopters flying low, in their own homes. The safety of their own homes. On the balcony, through the window and even, one bullet piercing through the metal of the grills of a window.

Remember, I said that this isn't even half of it so if this seems long to you, imagine the rest. There are countless videos on social media. With all this happening, I am sorry but as a student myself, I cannot keep quiet.

I'm sorry if this shows up on tags you do not want it to show up on, but my country is burning. Please, please, please, spread awareness. International coverage is what we need the most right now. My brothers are dying, my sisters are dying.

Will I be next?

#writing #save bangladeshi students #red for justice #help bangladeshi students #seventeen x reader #seungcheol x reader #jeonghan x reader #joshua x reader #jun x reader #hoshi x reader #wonwoo x reader #woozi x reader #the8 x reader #dokyeom x reader #vernon x reader #seungkwan x reader #dino x reader #mingyu x reader

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seospicybin · 11 months

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DON'T THEY KNOW IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD?

PART II

Lee Know x reader. (s,a)

Chapters: Part I

Synopsis: Making a contact with an ancient object, you meet a demon who takes form of the man you desired and forces you to commit terrible acts to stop the world from ending. (13,1k words)

Author's note: I recommend listening to this track while you're reading this fic. Happy Haloween!

Based on an episode of Black Mirror. Content warnings: Violence, gore, mentions of abuse, assaults and graphic imagery. Reader’s discretion is advised!

"I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free." Michelangelo

Save one or billions?

Minho's number one rule may be to not leave an eyewitness but your number one rule is to not kill innocent people. Clearly, the man is merely there in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and certainly not expecting to meet a sculptor who turns a murderer at night.

You turn around to run away through the front door but Minho stops you.

"No, no, no," he strongly against your plan to flee.

He fiercely looks at you and says, "No witnesses. You have to kill him!"

You shake your head and refuse to do what he told you. All you want to do is run but Minho holds his ground, not allowing you to leave.

"He's seen you. You have to kill him!" He persists and steers your body to come at the man whose face turns pale once he realizes the horror he's about to face.

The man starts throwing you with anything in his reach, a bag of bread, a pack of sliced cheese, a half-empty bottle of soda, a spoon.

"Go away! Get out of my house!" He says while keeps throwing things at you, sending a bag of chips flying around the kitchen.

"Do it! It's him or you!" Minho urges you.

With one hand steadily covering your face from objects being thrown at you, you rummage inside your bag to take out your hammer to use it once more for the night.

Getting a good grip on it, you aim it at him while he keeps maintaining a safe space from you by swaying a chopping board in front of you.

"Get out, please!" He demands.

He then kicks you quite hard on the leg and with the strength a grown man has, it's enough to send you fall onto the ground. You see the hammer is still in your hand but the bad thing is the man is trying to escape through the kitchen door.

You drag yourself and hurriedly stop him from getting to the door by catching him by the legs, sending him crash down onto the floor.

The fight continues on the floor, the two of you struggling to survive. You try to hit him with the hammer while he gently grips your hand by the wrist to not let you hurt him.

You notice that his other hand is groping the floor, reaching for the bread knife lying inches away from his fingertips.

He only needs to get it and there's a big chance that he can easily stab you with it. You decide to drop the hammer and race him to get the bread knife before him.

You can feel the wooden handle of the knife on your fingers and close to gripping it, he flips you over on the floor to get the knife.

Before he can take it from you, you use all of the strength you have left to flip over, sending him farther from the knife and you can get a hold of it.

Relentlessly, he turns over not knowing that you're holding the knife, and stabs himself right onto it. You can feel the knife piercing through the flesh and right into his chest.

With the knife going all the way in, he still manages to crawl to sit and leans his back against the wall. He's groaning as he looks down at the knife impaled his chest.

You can only watch as he holds the knife and tries to take it out of him, despite you knowing that he shouldn't do it, you do nothing to stop him.

"I'm so sorry," you sob as he finally grabs the handle and slowly pulls the knife out.

Blood is gushing from the wound, soaking his sky blue shirt with crimson red color. Painful groans are escaping his parted mouth followed by a blob of thick, sticky blood.

"I'm so–" your choked sob gets in the way.

"Sorry," you finish with a shaky voice.

You get up from the floor and take two steps back, looking at him helplessly trying to stay alive. The man looks at you and you can see in his eyes that life is slowly leaving him.

The silence that takes over is deafening and the hands on your shoulders are putting some senses back into you.

"Come on. Let's go!" Minho whispers, reminding you that it's time to leave, not wanting to risk another person finding you like this.

Taking one last look at the lifeless body sitting against the wall, you gather your senses and eye the bloodied knife, collecting it along with your hammer as you make your way out of the door like you haven't just killed two men.

No matter how long you stand under the shower, the blood is still on your hands.

You sit on the end of the bed in your bathrobe, drops of water dripping from the end of your hair as your head looks down and your hands gripping the edge of the bed frame.

You're in complete shock at what you just did. Killing Tim was the plan, there was no remorse in killing him because you know he deserved it.

But the man, you don't even know his name to begin with, he got killed just because he saw you. You did that.

You look up and Minho is standing right in front of you, "Who was he?"

He sighs before answering your question, "That would be Tim's brother, Kurt."

"What was he like?" You ask, almost inaudible.

He gets quiet and you glare at him to demand an answer, "You know stuff," you say.

You intensely look into the two orbs in his eyes and ask, "Was he a good or bad person?"

He clasped both hands in front of him, "He was... ordinary."

You feel bile rising inside you, feeling sick of yourself for killing an innocent man. You grip the bed frame tighter until your knuckles turn pale.

"I know it's not what you want to hear but..." Minho says, talking in a soft tone and takes a seat next to you on the bed.

"What's done is done and on the plus side, you scored two tonight," he shares, always has a way of looking at the brighter side of evil things you did.

"I think you've done it, look!" He shows you the talisman.

Those two lines should have disappeared since you killed two men tonight which should release you from the binding contract. You feel a little hopeful that maybe you have done it, you have stopped the world from ending.

Minho is just as confused too. He taps the glass as if that would fix it. His face turns sour, realizing that something is wrong.

He holds a finger, at you. "Wait for one– No, two seconds!"

Minho walks over to the landline phone that you only use to call the concierge or to ask for any services available in the building.

He enters 666 on the dialing numbers and presses the phone close to his ear, "It's me, Minho, yep," he speaks to the phone.

"Yeah, uh... I got a talisman circa 1925 but it failed to register one of the sacrifices," He informs while looking closely at the pocket watch.

"Two kills but only one's been recorded," he turns to look at you and flashes you an uneasy smile.

His face tells that he's receiving bad news, "I mean, yeah, but..."

He puts a hand against the wall, needing to hold on to something, "We can't just, ugh... no, I get it, I get it," he says, defeated.

He slams the phone shut and tilts his head up as he lets out a deep sigh. After a while, he turns around to face you and delivers the news, "Tim didn't count."

You feel all hope has exited your body and feel betrayed, "What? Why?"

"He's a murderer. Makes him ineligible. That's what they're saying," he explains with a strained facial expression.

Isn't that the point? You killed him because he was a murderer, he deserved it.

"But we've been picking people who deserve it," you state the only truth you know.

Minho nervously smiles, "Well, you're not supposed to do it that way. It's just..."

He leans against the wall and continues talking, "I thought you'd find it easier that way."

You drop your head and pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to asses everything. You need to process the fact that you need to kill another man.

"I'm sorry," Minho sincerely apologizes.

He then sits next to you, turning his body to face you as he explains, "Look, basically anyone who's already been directly responsible for the death of another human being, they're off limits."

He gets concerned by how you're so quiet and afraid that you would change your mind by the slight changes in the rules of the game.

"As far as my boss is concerned, they're playing for the home team," he reassures you.

Suddenly, you don't see the point of doing it anymore. Kill an innocent has certainly way out of your boundary and you can't find it in you to do another one.

"We're actually lucky, you know. His brother turned up thus made your effort didn't go to waste," he calmly concludes.

Lucky? You wouldn't call killing an innocent man lucky. Tonight, his words don't quite comfort you like they usually do. You feel played and maybe it is his trick just to make you do his evil deeds.

It's like you finally came to your senses, you don't see how it benefits you because it's going to be a win for him either way.

You shot up from the bed and sharply pointed your index finger at him.

"Fuck you!" You curse him.

"Go fuck yourself!" You curse louder.

Minho just sits there and takes it all in like you didn't just spew your thick, hot rage on his face and it pisses you off more.

"This is all right for you, huh?"

He lightly shakes his head, "No, it isn't."

He has it easy because he doesn't need to do the heavy workload, he just needs to be there and keep tabs on you.

"No blood on your hands. You're just watching," you lay out the facts with rage bubbling inside of you.

Minho seems to decide to let you finish talking, knowing that you need to get it all out.

"This is entertainment for you!"

You're the only one doomed in this contract, not to mention, that you accidentally put your blood on the talisman and he forced you to permit entry. It's one sick game that he likes to play.

"If the Apocalypse does come, you'll have one big, fun finale!"

"That would be upending the whole place—"

"Yeah, you failed your initiation and got told off," you easily resolve because you don't see why it's so frowned upon. Shouldn't they be happy that the evil won?

"If I fail my initiation..."

You cut through his sentence again, "Get kicked out of the demon school? How sad!" You mock him with a sinister laugh.

"More like cast out," Minho corrects.

You shrug his words away, "Whatever."

The silence takes over for a moment until Minho speaks and fills the air with his light, whispery voice.

"Cast out into a boundless cosmic void and doomed to spend eternity in a vacuum of infinite nothingness."

You look at him as he stares at the thing he describes in his words flashes right in front of him.

"Absence of matter, time, space, light, and sound. I would endure a profound, palpable, and ever-present lack of existence..."

Hearing that makes you feel cold inside and the way he speaks as if he's been feeling that emptiness already makes you empathize with him.

"Alone in perpetuity, forever more," he finishes with a blank stare at you.

It's something that you can easily relate to. Your whole life you've been alone, living in your head because no one cares for you except for the art you made. You can see why Minho spoke with so much sorrow in his voice.

All these times, his fear has been hiding behind his indifference.

You swallow air, then say, "That sounds like my life..."

He watches as you approach him and sit next to him. He closes his eyes as if what he's about to say next is too painful.

"To be honest, I'm scared," he honestly says.

You take his hand and let him rest his head on your chest, you caressingly cradle his head, protecting him any way you can.

Minho turns his head and looks at you, letting you see everything in his eyes. In that moment, you can see that he's afraid, lost, and lonely, feelings that are way too familiar to you and you find comfort in knowing that you find yourself in him.

You slowly lean in and kiss him, letting him know that he's not the only one living such a life.

Something flickers inside you the second your lips meet his in a kiss that feels like a long time coming, it's ever-consuming, taking over.

Minho returns the kiss passionately, allowing you to let go of the worries that chained you and hold you down.

For tonight, you let yourself free.

FOUR DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD

The sliver of sunlight shines through the cracks of the blinds and hits you right in the eyes, waking you from your deep slumber.

You're lying on your side and feel another body next to you, taking a moment before turning your head in the other direction and seeing Minho there.

Sharing the bed with him feels natural. It's as if you've been sleeping with him for years that he belongs there, lying right next to you.

He reaches for the strand of hair falling over your face and endearingly tucks it behind your ear, then places his hand there, holding the side of your face.

"Morning," he softly says.

For a split second, it feels possible to connect to another human being without feeling afraid that you'll be misjudged. He knows you, he knows the darkest thing you ever done that you don't feel the need to hide yourself anymore.

Then the truth hits.

This is not what normal people have. Normal people don't kill, they're following the rules and stay on the safe side.

You inhale air and close your eyes for a second, "So, one more victim then?"

He drags his hand down to your neck. His thumb tenderly rubs your jaw, "Yeah, the only thing for it," he answers.

There's only one thing crossed your head at that moment, "I can't kill another total innocent," you remark.

Minho takes a breath and slides his hand down to your shoulder, "It's just murderers we have to avoid," he reminds you.

"You mean people like me," you sadly say.

You roll over and lay on your back, staring at the ceiling as the truth once again sinks in: You're a murderer.

"My whole life... I never wished harm on anyone," you sigh with so much remorse and guilt.

When you think Minho would do the look-at-the-brighter-side-of-evil-things, he scoffs at your words. You look at him and he is chuckling at you.

You sit on the bed and turn at him, "I-I didn’t," you persist.

Minho also gets up and puts his hands around his knees, smirking.

"Uh..." he scratches the back of his head.

"You couldn't have summoned me for my trial if you hadn't," he says with the smirk still plastered on his face.

You look away and think it over. Were you thinking of hurting someone that night?

"Well, you had to be corruptible not beyond corruption," he further explains.

He then reaches for your hand and holds it, "You know what? You must have had some dark force inside you when you touched the talisman," he says.

That gets you shooting a death glare at him, feeling offended that he takes you as that kind of person.

"There's no shame in it," he assures you with a squeeze on your hand.

That night, you were indeed feeling so much anger and you remember channeling all of that anger on your work. You know exactly what and who happened.

"No, go on," Minho encourages.

He then leans in, not stopping until his head meets yours. With gleaming eyes and whispery voice, he asks, "Who pissed you off?"

"There she is!" Kim exclaims.

"Don't you just stand there!" She gets up from her chair and welcomes you with a hug.

It was supposed to be a celebration dinner that she promised, but you see that she invited the director of the gallery with her.

She hugs you and keeps her hand on your shoulder as she pulls away, "You look..." she pauses as she takes a look up and down at you.

Since she said it would be just her and you, you casually dressed in jeans and a blouse.

Kim leans in and quietly asks, "Did you wash your hair?"

She then peers over at Jeff, the gallery director then looks back at you, "Let's sit!"

The waiter pulls a chair for you and prepares another set of cutlery for you on the table.

"She's nice," Minho appears behind you.

He walks over to Kim's chair and looks down at her, "She's a front runner for the..." he mimics throat slitting with his hand on his neck.

He stands behind her chair and continues talking, "Do you know that she takes a bigger cut on your art sales than the one written on the contract?"

You ignore him by taking the napkin and putting it on your lap, at the same time, Jeff talks to you.

"Kim said you're already working on new sculptures?" He asks.

You nod and take a sip of water before answering. Well, you're busy stopping the apocalypse from coming.

"Yeah, I am," you shortly answer.

"Oh, she loves working. There's no way of stopping her from doing what she loves," Kim says with an extra wide smile and false compliments.

Jeff asks the waiter to refill everyone's glass with more wine even though he can do it himself with the bottle sitting not so far from his grasp.

Minho props a hand against Jeff's chair and points at both Kim and him, "These two just fucked earlier in his office," he shares.

That's not the information you needed to know. You kind of guessed why they're so overly friendly with each other, you just didn't expect that Kim would screw a married man.

You quietly sigh while watching the waiter carefully pour wine into your glass without spilling a drop.

"Thank you," you mutter in gratitude.

"Should we start by making a toast?" Jeff suggests.

Kim enthusiastically agrees to his idea, being the first person to lift her wine glass and you have to follow suit, taking your glass in your hand for the toast.

"To our talented artist," Jeff says as he glances at you, then looks the other way, "And to the hardworking art dealer!"

In which Kim smiles and blushes at his words. The second after everyone clinked the wine glasses together, you take a long gulp of your wine in the hope of washing down the sour taste in your mouth.

Once the food is served on the table, you keep yourself busy by stuffing your mouth with food, not wanting to engage in a conversation with them.

You don't mind that you're now only there as a cover for their affair yet you were wrong to think that's the worst thing that happens tonight.

A waiter comes to your table and pulls the chair next to you for someone else. You turn your head to see who else Kim invited to the dinner.

"I apologize for being late," Nick says, taking off his coat with help from the waiter.

"Oh, please! We're more than pleased to know you're still willing to come and have dinner with us," Kim says with yet another fake, bright smile.

If this is her idea of torturing you, she won big. There's nothing that agonizes you more than sitting with these people at the same table.

"You come just right on time, no worries," Jeff says, also pleased by his presence.

Nick sits on the chair next to yours and looks at you when he says, "Yeah, I came just in time for desserts."

You sip your wine to avoid talking to him but that doesn't stop him from talking to you.

"How are you?"

"Good," you shortly answer.

He nods even though looks dissatisfied by your short answer. He takes a sip of his wine as Jeff starts talking to him.

"Thank you for letting us keep the sculptures until exhibitions end," Jeff says.

He waves him off and puts down his wine glass, "No problem at all."

Kim leans on the table at you, "He's the one who bought all of your sculptures," she informs.

"Really?" You innocently ask.

Kim laughs in response but you sense the scornful in that laugh, "She's still in awe," she puts it politely for everyone to

As an artist, you would love for someone appreciative of your art as the one who bought it, not someone who solely has the power to buy it. You know which one is Nick, worse is, he bought them just to impress you.

"Must be busy campaigning, huh?" Jeff says as he digs into his dessert.

Nick lets out a low chuckle yet not denying it. You've been busy stopping the end of the world from coming and not been keeping up with the news.

"Campaigning for what?" You innocently ask again.

Kim leers at you and places a hand on yours, "Nick is running for congress, honey," she says with a strained smile.

"Ah," you swallow a piece of cake down and your throat feels like closing up.

"Young and smart, oh... anyone would be lucky to be with you, Nick," Kim praises with her eyes oozing with admiration.

She looks at you to seek your agreement, "Amazing, isn't he?"

You don't see what is amazing about that when he uses his family's wealth to back his political campaign but surely, you can't be honest about it.

"Yeah," you half-heartedly answer.

Nick seems to be delighted that you show a tad interest in him a smile rises on his face.

The waiter has taken all the plates away and everyone is draining the wine bottle with more conversation that you're not part of and you don't want to be a part of it anyway.

"Nick's brother and I went to the same private school," Jeff boasts of his connection with Nick's family.

"Oh, really?" Kim asks with her saccharine smile.

"We still play golf together now and then, right Nick?"

"Yes," Nick confirms.

"Fuck me," Minho comments as he sits on the table behind Nick.

Nick thinks that you're looking at him and asks, "I've been meaning to ask you," he says.

You gently put your coffee cup down on the saucer, "yes?"

"Our family has this villa, we're renovating it now and I'm wondering if I can personally request you to make a sculpture or two..."

It's a mystery how you manage to have not puked at this point. These subtle bragging and power moves, they're suffocating you.

"I'm not sure," you vaguely answer.

"She's busy working on her new series," Kim answers for you and you feel thankful that you don't have to reject him.

"But maybe if she manages to finish it sooner, she'll reconsider the offer," she adds, shattering the kind thought you have for her just now.

Jeff pats Nick on the shoulder and says, "I can't wait to hear your big speech at the city hall!"

"Oh, please!" Nick politely smiles and leans back in his seat, "Jeff has been kind enough to lend me his villa as our temporary office."

Jeff laughs while squeezing his shoulder, not sure who they're trying to impress beside Kim.

"Oh, fuck me some more!" Minho groans with a dramatic eye roll.

Even when it's time to leave, Nick and Jeff get into a little argument about who should be paying for dinner tonight and the fight has to happen in front of you and Kim.

You're itching to pull out your credit card just to get it over with but you don't want to make a dent on two grown men's egos.

"Thank you for dinner," Kim says to Nick as the winner of the argument.

You meekly follow suit, "Thank you!"

"It's my pleasure," he says with a smile that showcases his perfect white teeth.

Even Minho has disappeared from the scene, probably fed up with everything.

"Can I give you ladies a ride home?" Nick offers as he fixes the collar of his coat.

"I would love to!" Kim eagerly answers, "But since our homes are on the same way, I'm getting a ride home from Jeff."

She holds her purse by the other hand and pulls you close to her side, "but she'll take the lift home, right babe?"

When Kim says, it has to happen or else it's going to end badly.

Despite that he can afford a chauffeur, Nick drives his own car.

You've been meaning to ask if he knows where you live because you don't enjoy spending more time with him but how to do that without initiating a talk with him.

"You live in the Crystal Palace, right?" Nick asks.

Should you be grateful that he knows where you live or spooked? But one thing you know for sure is that Kim tells him about it.

"Yes," you answer.

"Isn't the owner just passed away a few days ago?"

"Yes."

"My grandfather knew him when he was still working as the company's mailman," he says.

That's news to you because what did a mailman do that led him to own one of the most luxurious apartment buildings in the city?

"Oh, I never knew that," you weakly say.

"I know, right? One day he just... turned wealthy," he says, gobsmacked by the simplest of mysteries.

He puts one hand down and places it on the space between you and him, "Guess, we'll never know," he says.

He stops the car right near the entrance of the apartment building and you quickly gather your bag, don't want to waste time to exit his car.

"Thank you for the lift home," you tell him, your hand pushing open the handle of the car door.

Nick grabs your elbow and stops you from stepping out, he catches you off guard to place a kiss on your cheek.

"I had a great night," he says, then lets you go.

You don't wait for another second to get out of his car and wipe his kiss off your cheek until your cheek is raw by the excessive rubbing you do on the elevator ride up to your floor.

"So, have you decided yet?" Minho reappears in your apartment.

You toss your bag and take off your coat, "What?"

"Are you going to kill Kim or do you have your eyes on someone else?"

Going to your bedroom, you open your laptop and type a name on the search engine. The results come in under a second and you scan every article there is about this person.

"Oh?" Minho lowly gasps from behind you.

You lean back on your chair and stare at Nick's photo on the laptop screen, "What's his future?"

Not getting an answer from Minho, you swivel your chair to face him, "Can you show me his future"

He seems to hesitate when he has no problem showing you everyone else's. After a moment of consideration, he finally answers, "Yeah, but let's not."

You lean forward on the chair and press him, "Show me right now!" You demand.

He takes a step back and puts a space in between, refusing to do what you ask.

You get up from your chair and stand in front of him, "Show me or I'll confess to everyone and then it's over," you threaten him.

Not letting him get away, you place a hand on his shoulder before continuing your words, "And then you're fucked," you enunciated the doom lingers on those words.

Minho clicks his tongue to try to diminish the threat in your words but it falls short on itself. He knows that he has to cooperate with you for this to work.

"Show me!" You pressure him with a squeeze on his shoulder.

He takes your hand away and now putting his hands on your shoulders, steers you back to your chair, then sits you down.

"Alright, I'll show you," he says, turning the chair the other way. He covers your eyes with his hand to show you what you want.

It's like a movie playing in the back of your head and each scene is taken from war, apocalyptic movies. Getting a seat at the congress is just the beginning, from there Nick will climb the power ladder and become the worst of evil.

Minho snaps you out of it and you gasp as if you've been pulled out of water.

"He's a fucking satan!" You say out of spite and that is the first thing that crosses your head.

"No, he's not one of us, not literally," Minho denies.

You turn your chair to see as he sees him sitting at the end of the bed, "They do like him, they're fans of his work, you might say."

When you thought Nick couldn't be more vile, the future Nick is far worse than you imagined. From what you saw through Minho's vision, you're assured of your decision.

"He's got to go. He's next," you remark.

You see Minho's face turns dim as if someone flipped the switch off, "Uh-oh, they're not going to like that."

Not accepting that Minho refuses to get behind your decision, you come up with your own defenses. You walk up to him and stand firm on your ground, "The only rule is to avoid murderers. You said that!"

He licks his lips which are as red as his hair and lets out an exasperated sigh, "Right. But he's responsible for an impressive number of juicy deaths—"

You cut him off with the current fact, "Not yet he isn't."

"But he–he... he likes to assault women," he argues.

You tip your head and come up with a reply, "But hasn't killed one, though, has he?"

"I mean, he killed a dog with a rock when he was 11," he shares information that he doesn't really favor him.

"Animals don't count!" You remind him of that, "That was one of the first things you said."

Minho seems to be struggling to come up with another excuse. It's the right opportunity for you to push him to the edge and give in.

"Is he qualified or not?" You corner him with the important question there is.

"Technically, yeah. But..." He meekly answers with a defeated sigh.

"He's the one. That's that," you end the conversation there.

With or without Minho's approval, you're going to kill Nicholas de Ville and stop the end of the world.

THREE DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD

"Miss Kim is in a meeting with Director Lane," The assistant says as you're about to push into Kim's office.

You turn around with your hand still lingers on the handle of the door.

"I know," you calmly reply.

"You don't mind if I wait in her office, right?" You ask the assistant.

Knowing Kim's traits, you're not surprised that she changes her assistant every few months. Must be hard to find someone who can handle her.

She seems to hesitate to let you in. You let go of the door and hold your bag in front of you. The occasion calls to use your power.

"You know who I am, right?"

"Y-yes," she stammers.

You walk up to her table and look her right in the eyes, "Are you?"

She nervously swallows air and gets up from her chair, "I don't think Miss Kim would mind letting you wait in her office," she says.

You maintain the gaze with her then smile, "Right."

Before you push inside, you stand in the doorway and request, "And can I have a cup of coffee?"

"Sure," the assistant replies.

"With cream, no sugar," you add.

"Yes," she answers.

"Why are you still standing there?" You ask with a subtle glare.

She fumbles to get out of her desk, "Right away, Miss!"

The coffee is just an excuse to send her assistant away so you can get on Kim's desk and search for something on her computer.

To cut time, you use the search box and type in what you're looking for. It takes a few seconds until the desired result appears on the screen, and you take a picture of it with your phone.

"Playing spies, aren't we?" Minho asks as he plays with a figurine on Kim's desk.

Hearing footsteps outside, you hurriedly sit on the sofa and pretend to play with your phone.

"Your coffee, Miss!" The assistant says, serving the steaming hot coffee on the glass table.

She holds the tray close to her chest and informs, "Miss Kim is on her way back and will be here in a few minutes."

"Thank you," you mutter.

Right after the assistant left, Kim came into the office, looking like she just ran a whole yard in her exquisite, pencil skirt.

"Oh, you're here!" Kim exclaims as she steadies herself with her hand on the handle of the door.

"That's what you called sex hair!" Minho shares as he sits next to you.

It takes no genius to know that the so-called meeting means so much more than that. The tousled hair, the untucked shirt, and the folded collar of her blazer are enough to explain what happened in the meeting. You lift your coffee cup and blow on it before taking a small, careful sip.

"What's up? How's it going?" She nervously asks, putting her notebook and phone on her desk as she quietly fixes her hair.

You swallow your coffee first before answering, "I came here to return the paperwork," you answer.

You take them out of your bag and place them on the table, "And also to taste the coffee your new assistant made," you add with a smile.

You seem so calm and collected that Kim takes it as unusual. She stops fixing her appearance and leans against her desk, her eyes are scanning you.

"Are you okay, babe?"

You smile at her and coyly answer, "Never been better!"

Your words only worry her instead of the opposite, she's nodding yet her eyes remain suspicious.

"I have to go back and work on my sculpture," you get up from your sofa and take your bag with you.

You walk up to her and look at her, looking at her face that would usually make you feel the slightest bit of distress. However, as you keep looking at her, you realize that there's no need for you to fear her. With or without her, you'll manage to live because she needs you more than you need her.

Kim senses that you're analyzing her in your head and you see that her cool exterior starts to crumble.

"Is something wrong?" She stammers

You smile at her and sling the strap of your bag on your shoulder, "I'm sorry for interrupting your meeting."

She rubs her neck and chuckles, "The meeting was close to finish anyway," she says.

"Jeff must be satisfied, huh?"

She rapidly blinks her eyes, "Pardon?"

"Satisfied with your amazing work," you put a context to your words.

She dryly chuckles and flips her hair to the back, "Yeah, I guess?"

"I'll let you get back to work," you say and make your way to the door.

You stop by the doorway and look at her, you point at her lips to tell her, "You might want to fix your smudged lipstick."

Kim's hand flies to her lips, cluelessly wiping the excess lipstick on her lips. You leave the room with a triumphant smile.

"You make good coffee but I suggest you work for someone else," you tell Kim's assistant on your way out.

After spending most of the day to prepare the technicalities.

You come back to your apartment to create the perfect plan for tomorrow. You lay out the city map in the living room.

With the address of Jeff's villa you stole from Kim's computer, you can look for the right place to execute your plan.

"After Nick finishes his speech at the city hall, he's got to head for Jeff's villa which is here," you mark the place with a marker.

You look at the distance between city hall and Jeff's villa, guessing which way Nick will likely take with his car.

"So... whichever way he goes, he's heading out of the city," you mutter.

A country road means it's less crowded therefore, it's an advantage for you.

"I'm thinking... I wait outside the city hall, then I follow him from there," you look at Minho.

You expect an opinion or two since you should be working together on this but he's too busy worrying about other things, worrying Nick is more like it.

Instead of solving it for you, he asks you another question, "What if he's not alone?"

You stack your hands on the table and look at him, "Is he going to be alone? You tell me," you ask him back.

He acts like he doesn't have the power to know everything, "Well, yeah but..."

You point at the map with the marker, "All I have to do is follow him and intercept him somewhere along—"

"Didn’t you hear me?" Minho suddenly stops you midsentence.

He waits until you look at him before continuing to talk, "They're not going to like it," he says for the umpteenth time.

You have enough of him reminding you of it but you have decided therefore, you will not back out of your decision just because he told you so.

"It's within the rules so they can suck it," you dare him.

Minho runs out of things to defend himself and this will be the last time you let him try to change your mind.

"It's him or no one," you sternly tell him.

With two days left and a plan you created, you don't see why you should back down now. Nick is the perfect target, he needs to be killed.

You sit face him on the floor and urge him to pick a side with the most important question of all, "Do you want to fail your initiation or not?"

Minho knows that he doesn't have much of options, he either helps you with your plan or lets it blow and obliterate everything.

From his silence, you know what the answer is.

TWO DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD

It feels right to kill him.

At this point, you can't tell what's right and wrong anymore. But killing Nick feels like the right decision, you'll not only save the world from ending, but you also save the world from a doomed future.

You've been waiting outside the city hall in the used car you bought yesterday and have your eyes on Nick's car that is parked not far from yours.

Your hands are steadily holding the steering wheel, knowing that Nick is going to come out of the city hall soon.

When he does, you grip the steering wheel and your hand is ready to turn the key in the ignition.

You watch as Nick talks to someone else before getting into his car. You turn your car engine a minute after him and drive, trailing not far behind him.

You look to the side, at Minho who has been so quiet sitting on the passenger's side, and give him the one last chance to say something.

"You've changed," he says and you're not sure if he is disappointed or impressed.

Minho is simply running out of things to say to change your mind. What he can do now is go along with the plan.

You wait until you're entering the quieter country road to pick up the speed, getting closer to Nick's car.

You step on the gas and align your car with his, before hitting the back of his car, almost sending his car out of the road.

Aware of what you're trying to do, Nick drives faster and you catch up to him by not letting go of the gas, pushing the car to its limit.

To get momentum, you slow down your car to give you space to hit his car harder. You brace yourself for impact and crash your car with him.

There's a loud banging sound and you hurriedly step on the brake, not risking your life until you know for sure that he's dead.

Your car swerves before the brake stopping the car from hitting the tree even though you ended up hitting your head on the steering wheel.

You look through your rearview mirror, Nick's car is turning over on the side of the road.

"Let's just go!" Minho says.

You shake your head, "I need to make sure that he's dead."

Ignoring Minho who keeps telling you to flee the scene, you get out of your car and check Nick's car. The car is upside down, you have to kneel to see if he's still showing signs of life.

There's only one way to make sure of that. You walk to your car and open the trunk, you retrieve the gallon of kerosene you bought.

"What are you doing?" Minho asks in a panicked voice.

"I'm making sure that he's dead," you answer.

You pour it all over Nick's car and stand a few meters away as you look for the lighter in your jacket pocket. The bursting flame swaying away with your shaky breath you let out through your parted mouth.

"And he doesn't deserve an easy death," you add.

You toss the lighter and the inflammable catches it fast, setting the car on blazing fire. Your eyes are filled with glowing embers, reflecting the hatred you have for him.

The last thing to do is to get rid of the car.

You drive it to the nearest junkyard and have it crushed with the machine by paying the worker there. You fetch a bus from there and throw all of the clothes you're wearing into the bin a block away from your apartment building.

Nothing feels as good as knowing that you've done the worst of things for the greater good of humankind.

You come home to see Minho is already inside, leaning against the back of the sofa with his arms crossed.

"You did it!" He says with disappointment tainted his triumphant smile.

With the adrenaline still pumping, you come up to him and not stopping until your body crashes into him. That's enough of arguing, talking, scheming, plotting, and not enough physical contact.

After everything you've done, you learn that fear is nothing to you but something that's been holding you back. You don't want to let fear dominate you anymore, you want to take back your life into your own hands.

Without hesitating, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him close, close enough that you can land your lips on his.

Something explodes inside of you the second both of your lips collide in a rapturous kiss.

The two of you stayed like that, encased in a moment that slowly set the fuse on your desire.

You gasp as you pull away from the kiss and you look at him, finding comfort in what once was a scary pair of eyes. He looks back at you with his arms locked around you.

Gosh! He's so beautiful, even more beautiful than the one you created in your head. Using your hand, you tenderly touch his face, you run your finger down his sharp nose and remember sculpting it.

And these lips, oh... you remember how hard and cold it felt under your touch but now, it feels warm and soft, like a flower under the sun.

"Just let me—" You let your desire finish your words.

You lean in and kiss him again, tasting his lips that get even sweeter with each kiss and with each kiss, your hand gets curious.

You let them explore his clothed body but that's not enough.

Minho gently pushes you away, breaking the kiss and putting a space between your bodies. For a second you thought he refused to do this and instead of that, he takes all of his clothes off right in front of you, exposing his body that is you eager to explore. It takes you a moment to take everything in.

Minho has to take your hand and put it on his body, letting you know that it's okay to touch him.

"You're beautiful," you breathlessly say, overwhelmed by what you're seeing.

You whimper at how perfect he is, smooth and warm. His muscles are firm yet you touch him with so much tenderness, afraid that you would break him.

"You're ethereal..." you dreamily sigh.

Minho puts his hand around your neck and tilts your head to kiss you. As he puts you in a spell with his kiss, his hands are swiftly removing your clothes and let them fall onto the floor.

Slowly, he draws your body close until your body meets his, skin-to-skin with nothing in between.

It's unclear what has gotten into you but you like it.

You like how confident you are, how carefree yet in control you are. Other than that, you like how Minho looks at you as you sit, straddling him on the bed.

Aligning his cock with your entrance, you slowly lower yourself down his length while letting a long, breathless moan out of your parted open mouth.

You mewl feeling his cock filling you to the hilt, keep mewling as you're adjusting yourself to his size.

Minho places his hand on your chest, right on your beating heart then slowly drags it down, then to the side to hold you by the waist.

Then out of the blue, he chuckles at you.

You open your eyes and place a hand on his chest, "What?" You ask as you look down at him.

He places his other hand on your waist, "I haven't permitted your entry yet," he says.

You break into laughter and lean in, stopping him from laughing with a kiss.

"Say yes, say yes, say yes," you say with each you plant on his face.

Minho is smirking under you, not answering your question just to annoy you.

You catch his lips in yours and bite on his lower lip before you let it go, "You're not going to say yes?"

Still not getting an answer, you place both hands on his chest and slowly, roll your hips in circular motions. You're lowly moaning feeling his whole length inside you.

You look down at Minho and he has his eyes closed, his eyelashes fanning out so beautifully along his eyelids, and his mouth is slightly parted open, you hear him lowly whimpering as you keep rolling your hips with his cock inside you.

Now moving your hips back and forth, Minho is grunting, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thighs. You keep your hips moving and keeping a steady pace.

Driven by the desire, your body is taking over and picking up the pace. You plant your foot on the bed, launching him deeper inside you and earning a groan from him.

Minho grabs you by the waist, trying to slow you down but you don't seem to be the one in control of it, you keep chasing for that high.

You throw your head to the back while keep taking his cock, in and out of you at a quick pace, getting you closer and closer...

"Oh..." you let out a broken moan.

You keep moving despite the immense pleasure that clouds your mind and dulls your senses. Your hands are grasping at nothing but clawing at his warm, smooth skin.

Minho catches you as you collapse into his arms, putting his arms around you with your head resting on his chest. He put all of your hair to the side, allowing him to place a kiss on your neck.

"Yes," he whispers into your ear.

You weakly chuckle at his late response. You look at him and say, "Too late."

Yet he tightens his hold around you and begins to buck his hips from under you, making you moan with your head buried in his neck.

Minho presses his mouth close to your ear and whispers, "I said yes nonetheless."

ONE DAY TO THE END OF THE WORLD

Today is going to be a good day.

You can just tell from the moment you open your eyes. You have to squint for a moment to adjust to the light and see the bright, beautiful day through the window.

You stay lying on the bed while looking at the morning sky and as you gather your senses, the recollections of last night come into your mind. What you touched, you tasted, you kissed... and without you intending to, your hand is wandering to places where he laid his hand on you.

It reminds you of the company you're with and you turn on the bed to see nothing but a crumpled sheet next to you.

You clutch the duvet close to your chest to shield your naked body from the cool, morning air.

"Minho?"

There's no answer but your call that is echoing in your empty apartment. Wrapping yourself with it, you get up from the bed to look for him.

"Minho?"

Still no answer and the first thought that runs through your head is that he's gone. The contract is finished, therefore, there's no need for him to stay.

Tears pool in your eyes as you keep looking for him from room to room, dragging your duvet across the floor wherever you go. You're getting hopeless the more you search and not finding him there.

Fear is spreading inside you, telling you to give up and stop hoping. You return to the living room and finally find him there, standing in the middle of the room.

You rush to come up to him and break into tears as you bury your head in his chest, "Where have you been? I've been looking for you!"

Minho holds you, putting his arms around you, and tangles his hand in your hair. He places a soft kiss on the top of your head.

"I have to make sure of it," he says.

With teary eyes, you look up at him, "Make sure of what?"

He takes something from the inside pocket of his black coat, it's the pocket watch and he opens it to show that the line hasn't gone yet.

Another kind of fear spreads all over your body and you feel cold all of a sudden. You slowly let go of him and take the pocket watch from him, looking at it in disbelief.

"But I–I killed him..." your voice breaks at the end of the sentence.

Minho turns his head to the side and magically turns on the TV. It's a broadcast of the morning news with the anchor in the middle of reading breaking news.

"...running for congress, Nicholas de Ville of the de Ville family got into a fatal accident on his way to a private residence where his campaign base is located. The car was on fire when the emergency service came and luckily managed to pull him out a moment before it exploded. Nicholas de Ville is now getting intensive medical care at the Unity Hospital. It is announced that he suffers from third-degree burn and a broken—"

You stop listening to the news and look at Minho, "Why—"

A moment ago, everything was so perfect, so right, and now... you're at a loss for words. You should have checked thoroughly, you should have stayed there and made sure he was dead.

"I have to finish it," you remark with your eyes still prickled with both tears and fear.

Minho sighs and puts his hands on your shoulders, "Just let it go," he says.

You take a step back, sending his hands to slide off of you and drop to his sides.

"Nick has to die," you persist.

Before Minho can try to change your mind again. You go back to your room and toss the duvet, you get dressed as quickly as you can.

Minho is trailing behind you as you make your way out of your apartment "We gave today to find someone else—"

You shut the door closed to stop him from talking. You should have taken him out with your own hands and that's what you're going to do today.

This time, you're going to do it right.

The studio looks like an abandoned place when you haven't visited it for a few days.

You came here to retrieve something. You make your way to carving tools and you remember throwing away the one you used to kill Tim into the river, along with the bread knife.

You have a selection of hammers but the sight of the sharp end of the chisel catches the light and reflects it to your eyes.

Your hand is reaching for it but before you get a hold of it, the doorbell rings.

No one visited your studio except for Kim but she wouldn't come this early, not on a Friday morning. You check through the window and see a man standing outside your gate.

"He's a police," Minho informs.

The police may catch up to something at this point but to your surprise, you don't feel scared at all. Maybe the scariest thing for you at the moment is letting Nick live and giving him the chance to rule the world to only stir it into its doom.

It's either now or later. You calm yourself down and put on your game face before opening the gate.

"I'm Detective Leon from the police department," he says, showing you his badge, "I'm just making some routine inquiries."

You keep the door open just enough to show yourself that you're unarmed.

"Do you mind if I have a word?" He asks.

"Yeah," you answer.

Then you realize that you're saying the wrong thing, "I mean, no, I don't mind," you correct yourself and put on a courteous smile.

He nods and asks, "Inside?"

You don't want to let him inside, not when he can see that you have all your carving tools on display.

"Invite him and kill him," Minho comments from the back of the door.

Not letting him in would only add suspicion, you open the door wider to let him in, "Yeah. Please, come in!"

With his salt-and-pepper hair and beer belly, Detective Leon looks too old to be a police detective, he should be retired already.

He walks around your studio and now is observing your far-from-finished sculpture.

"Would you like something to drink?" You offer as you make your way to the kitchen.

He is now standing close to the table full of your carving tools, "Oh, no. I won't keep you," he kindly refuses.

"Like I said, it's just a routine," he adds with an unsettling smile.

"Okay."

Yet you proceed to try to make a cup of tea as to seem you're going on about your day like normal people.

"Were you at the bar on the Monday night?" He asks.

You open your drawer and see the knife blinking at you, tempting you to pick it up.

"It'll be an easy kill. He was gonna have a heart attack next year anyway," Minho encourages you to take the chance.

You almost forget the question and retract yourself back, "Yes, I was," you honestly answer.

"Regular, are you?" He asks.

You put your hand inside the drawer and take a spoon instead, turning to face him so as to not be seen as rude.

"Nah. I wouldn't say that," you reply.

"How often are you in there?"

You lean against the kitchen counter with your hand ready at the handle of the drawer

"It's not like he has any family. No one is going to miss him," Minho whispers from behind you.

You close your eyes to remain composed, "To be honest, that night was the first time."

"First time?" He asks in disbelief.

He stands next to a block of stone and lowly chuckles, "Isn't it just around the corner?"

You don't see why it's something unbelievable? It may sound suspicious but you tell him the truth.

"Well, I don't drink. Not usually," you tell him and that is also the truth.

"But you did that night," he points out and the one corner of his mouth curls into a subtle smirk.

You quietly exhale air to maintain your composure, "I was busy working on my sculpture and I'm not meant to drink. I was... having a creative block, you might say," you're eyeing the unfinished sculpture standing close to him.

Detective Leons also looks at it, touching the rough edges of it.

"I don't have alcohol in the studio or anything, but... I needed it that night," you lie. You needed the courage that night and that's why you drank.

Detective Leon walks and stands in the middle of the room "Well, we all need to let off steam every now and then," he says.

He shows sympathy just so he can earn your trust, to allow him to dig deeper until something slips out of your mouth. You catch his eyes and hold his gaze for a moment, not long enough to see the anxiety stirring inside you.

"Thank you," you mutter.

You dare to look at him and casually ask, "What's this about anyway?"

It's been a while yet you only asked about his intention to come here just now.

"Well, you've probably heard about Tim and Kurt Shaw," he answers.

Now that you know which murder he linked you to, you get more cautious with everything you say to him.

"Who?" You play innocent.

He walks up to you and leans against the end of the kitchen counter, "Tim and Kurt Shaw."

It's no use to play dumb, detective Leon probably knows by now that you went to the same school with Tim.

"I know Tim Shaw but Kurt... I don't know him," you lie.

You're well aware he's analyzing every gesture and word you said and he gets quiet after getting an answer from you. After a moment, he talks again, "Tim Shaw was there at the bar that night, did you see him?"

"Yes," you shortly answer, stalling would only make you seem suspicious.

"I wasn't sure it was him at first and when I did, I came to greet him, you know as a friend from art school," you further explain with a thin smile at the end.

"Did you see him after that?" He asks, getting more specific with his questions as if he has decided that you're the one he's looking for.

"No," you coyly answer, "I went back here and continued working on my sculpture.

He gets closer to you yet maintains a respectful space in between, "So you didn't see him after?"

"No," you tell him without showing flinching and blinking your eyes.

This time, he looks right into your eyes and you can't avoid it, or else he knows you're hiding something.

You walk him back to the gate and open the gate for him, "So sorry, I wasn't much of a help," you tell him.

He stands in the doorway and gives you his card, "Well, if you recall anything, please let us know."

You take it from him and smile, "Have a lovely day!"

Detective Leon takes one last look at you and exits the gate, you're more than glad to slam it closed.

"Well, one good liar, aren't you?" Minho comments from the top of the stairs.

"I'm impressed," he adds as you walk past him to get back inside the studio.

"He didn't buy it though," Minho informs.

You make your way to grab a chisel and put it inside your coat pocket, "Better hurry then!"

You hail a taxi the moment you're out of the gate and get into the back while clutching your chest, feeling the cold chisel inside your coat pocket.

"The cop is following us," Minho says.

You can worry about the police later. You have an urgent task and you have to get it done as fast as you can.

You look away from Minho and tell the taxi driver where to go, "Unity Hospital, please!"

Taking a look at the map of the hospital, you guide yourself through the hallways of the hospital.

"It's not too late to find someone else," Minho urges you to change your mind.

"Oh, shut up!" You snap at him, it's his fault to talk at such a dire time.

You take a turn to the right that leads you to where you're heading and there it is. It's not hard to find where he is, a rich family like him would be staying in the VIP room.

The hardest part of it is to enter it, you have to sneak your way in.

Seeing that you hit a dead-end, Minho takes this as his last endeavor to turn it all around, "I'm just saying it'd be much easier for me if you found someone else," he explains.

Minho seems to not get it yet that it's not about stopping the end of the world anymore. It would be pointless if Nick is still alive, he has to die no matter what.

You turn your head at him and intensely stare into his eyes, "If you're not going to help, then piss off!"

He looks at you, doubting that you dismiss him.

"I mean it," you tell him, feeling fed up with everything and you don't need him to keep interrupting you.

He sees it now that you want him to go, "Fine!"

With a snap of his fingers, he disappears right in front of you, leaving a cloud of black smoke behind him.

You manage to grab a medical mask from the nurse station and put it on, pretending as a mere relative of a patient.

Looking around the hall and making sure the coast is clear, you let yourself into the room with his name written outside the door.

There he is, lying on the bed with his body wrapped in gauze. You get closer to see his face, the burned skin around his eyes that is now closed, you guess he must be heavily sedated.

You hate to give him the easy way out but this is your chance to end everything for good.

You stand close to his unconscious body and take the chisel out of your coat pocket, pressing the sharp end to his neck.

This is not the good time to hesitate but you can feel your determination shrinks in each passing second, ultimately because Minho isn't here.

You take a deep breath and press the chisel deep into his neck. All it takes is one good stab at it, poke it real hard, and make a hole in his throat.

You lift your chisel and decide to aim it at his heart, taking one long breath, you put all of your strength into—

"Stop!" Someone shouts with the door wide open.

Your head snaps to see Detective Leon aiming his gun at you and taking cautious steps toward you.

The time is closing in and if you get caught now, you won't get another chance. You make another attempt but Detective Leon takes another step toward you, taking a good aim of his gun at you.

"I said stop!" He orders you.

You put away the chisel but keep holding it, gripping it tight until your knuckles turn pale and cold.

"I have to do it," your voice is quivering as your anxiety rises inside you.

"It's not right!" Detective Leon says, taking another careful step to get close to you.

You point your chisel at Nick's body and desperately say, "If I don't do this by midnight..." A choked sob gets in the middle of your sentence.

Standing right across from you, Detective Leon pushes his gun right at your face. He stares straight into your eyes that were filled with suspicion now filled with a slight terror and repulsion.

"Put it down!" He orders you

You quickly wipe away the tears rolling down your cheek with your hand, "There'll be fire... everywhere," you continue your words.

For the umpteenth time, he urges you with his gun steadily pointed at you, "Put it down!"

Giving in means that you've given up on everything and wasted away all of your endeavors but at the same time, you just want it to end.

"I... I can't!" You resist with your heart filled with despair.

As your eyes get blurry with tears, you wipe them away only to get caught off guard. Detective Leon successfully got ahold of you.

You keep crying as you get pushed to the wall and he puts your arms together behind your back, putting you in handcuffs.

"Minho, I'm sorry..." you mutter even though you know he's not there.

After hours of being locked in the interrogation room and refusing to talk without the presence of a lawyer like Kim ordered you through the phone, they let you go.

It feels good to let go of the cold of metal handcuffs around your wrists, but it's not yet the time to let out a breath of relief.

Kim sits you down on the dining table while she sits next to the lawyer, drilling you with questions about everything you've done.

You're too busy looking at the clock, seeing that it's getting closer and closer to the end. You turn your head and realize that the lawyer asked you a question, but you're too distracted to hear him.

"Pardon?"

He fixes his sitting position and clears his throat "You have to kill three people?"

You've been holding your glass of water with both hands on the table, watching the droplets of condensation dripping down the back of your hands.

"Yes," you weakly answer.

"You're saying you were only targetting people who have done something wrong?"

"Yes," you answer, "Except for Tim's brother."

You take a moment to recall his name, "Uhm... Kurt?"

The lawyer is fiddling with the stack of papers as he further asks you more questions.

"And each time you sacrificed someone, it got registered on the talisman? Is that right?"

You nod again, "Yes, but they said Tim didn't count."

The lawyer clears his throat again, but this time, he does it while glancing at Kim. He then takes a ziploc bag of your things that got confiscated when you were at the police department.

He takes the pocket watch out of the bag and slides it across the table, "Is this the talisman?"

You let go of the glass of water to take the pocket watch, opening it to find the watch is dead and the glass cracked. It appears to people that it's just an old pocket watch and nothing more.

"Before, it had numbers on it and that sort of changed when you looked at it..." your words are trailing off the second you realize how crazy you sound.

The lawyer stacks his hands on the table, "And the demon who told you to do all this?"

"Yes."

"And what did he look like?"

"A monster at first, then he turned into the man of one of my sculptures," you shortly answer.

"He looked like the man you carved? Like your sculpture you made?"

You nod.

A moment passes in silence as the lawyer exchanges a look with Kim.

"So the demon..."

"His name is Minho," you keep holding the pocket watch, hoping that it'll summon him and assure you that it is all real.

You can hear the lawyer letting out a big sigh before asking the next question, "And if you don't do what he told you..."

He sighs again as he writes something on his note, "It'll be the end of the world?"

Instead of answering it verbally, you nod.

"He didn't just tell me," You say.

You hold the pocket watch inside the palm of your hand and put all of your fingers on it, "He showed me what it would be like."

The vision Minho made you see is still vivid and you can see it replaying in the back of your head, "I felt the flames. I smelled people burning..."

The lawyer seems to have given up trying to get something that would help you avoid getting sentenced to life for what you did.

He turns to Kim and quietly whispers, "Her mind's gone, that's for sure."

It's Kim's turn to draw a big sigh and sits straighter on the chair, "You may leave now. It's late, we can continue this tomorrow," she says to him.

The lawyer collects his papers and pens, putting them into his briefcase, looking impatient to get out of here.

Kim has been eerily quiet. She comes back after sending off the lawyer, she then drinks her glass of water just so she can fill the glass with liquor next.

"I tried to stop it, Kim," you tell her.

She looks at you as she drains her first drink and refills it with more liquor.

"Honest I did," you assure her, feeling like a failure that you let down everyone, billions of them.

"Enough!" Kim snaps, throwing the glass she's holding at the wall and it's breaking into pieces, glimmering under the fluorescent light.

"You have to trust me. You have—"

Kim slams her hands down on the table, "Enough with this nonsense!"

You understand that it's a lot to take in, not to mention that she's upset and tired. You try again even though you know it's going to be another fruitless effort, "I know that you think I'm crazy, Kim, listen to me..."

"No!" She cuts you off with another slam of hands on the table.

"I told you to take your medicine!" She screams at you until her voice is strained.

You admit that you haven't taken your medicine the last few days but that doesn't mean you made everything up. You remember taking them and still seeing Minho which doesn't prove that you made it all up.

Then it hits you that the reason why she always reminds you to take your meds is not because she cares, it's because she thinks you are crazy.

"You're just like everyone else..." you meekly say.

You didn't know you're crying until you touch your cheeks and they are wet with tears, "You think I'm crazy..."

Kim doesn't say anything but goes to your room and returns with your bottle of pills in her hand. She uncaps the bottle and lets the contents spill onto the table.

"If you had taken all of these pills..." she says, letting the empty bottle roll across the dining table, "All of these wouldn't have happened!"

You take the bottle and see your name written on it, seeing all the pills scattered on the table, you realize how many days you have gone without them.

This is when your reality starts to distort. You don't what's real or not anymore. Did you make it all up? And if it's real then where's Minho?

"I—" You look around for any signs of him, of his figure, or the sight of his red hair.

"I'm not..." you pause to wipe the tears pooling in your eyes, "...not lying."

The only way to prove everything is by showing Kim that you have only a few minutes left until the world is burning and comes to an end.

You look at the clock on the wall and the time shows that you only have less than two minutes to midnight, "Not long now," you mutter.

You look at Kim and tell her, "Know that I tried to stop it."

Kim grips the edge of the table and lets out a long sing, having enough of all of it, "Just... stop," she says through her gritted teeth.

"It's coming..."

You clasp your hands together in front of you and push it close to your mouth, nothing prepares you for what's coming. You close your eyes as you keep listening to the ticking of the clock that intensifies with each passing second.

Tick, tick, tick...

THE END OF THE WORLD

It's midnight and you open your eyes to look at the clock to make sure of it.

The needle has ticked past midnight and you look around to see that nothing happens. You hesitate to get up from your chair and look through the window to see that the world looks exactly how it usually looks like.

A single tear escapes the corner of your eyes and rolls down your cheek, you feel faint all of a sudden. Other than that, you feel like questioning everything you know.

Are you crazy just like everyone said you are? You ask yourself.

Your legs are wobbling, you collapse onto the chair as the answer hits you.

Maybe you are crazy.

Kim turns away, possibly holding herself back from screaming at you and telling you how right she was all along.

When she turns around to face you again, she looks frustrated by you and the whole situation, but mostly by you to the point that she can't look at your face anymore.

She walks to the sofa to retrieve her handbag and then stands at the end of the dining table, "I'll... see you tomorrow," she says.

She then heads to the door and the sound of her closing the door echoes in the big space, leaving you to process everything on your own.

A moment later, you get up from your chair and walk over to the window, looking at the world that seems so small to you from up here.

And tonight, the view makes you feel smaller than you already are.

Then you hear sirens blaring in the distance. You turn around and see him there, sitting on the chair you sat on earlier with his hands on the table.

"Hey..." Minho says with an apparent sadness in his eyes.

It doesn't matter anymore whether people think you're crazy or not, now that the world is ending, you're just glad that he's there with you.

"I failed," you can hear your heart breaking inside your chest as you said it.

He inhales air and then lets it out, "Yeah, well... me too so that's that," he says.

He turns the chair to face you and puts his leg over the other, "Just got word that they're casting me out."

Minho doesn't look like he's delivering bad news with a smirk dancing on his face, "so... eternal oblivion it is," he finishes.

To say that you're disappointed with yourself would be an understatement, you are devastated. Not only that you failed the billions of people from raging flames, but also Minho.

"I'm so sorry," you sincerely tell him.

Minho gets quiet. He then gets up from his chair and walks up to you. He looks at your face and stares deeply into your eyes, he seems to have something to say to you.

You look back at him and patiently wait for him to say whatever he wants to say to you.

"Do you want to come with me?" He asks.

"What?" You ask in utter confusion.

"That's where I've been, checking the small print," he says, placing his hands on each side of his waists, "The rules don't cover it."

He takes a step closer toward you and continues speaking, "There's another loophole, apparently."

He looks at the view outside as the world slowly stirs into chaos with the sounds of sirens blaring everywhere, exactly like he showed you that night.

"They don't say anything about a human companion," he explains, then slyly smiles before talking again, "So, I mean... you could come with."

The offer comes so sudden and you remember how he talks about this place that he tried so hard to not fail his initiation.

"To eternal oblivion?" You ask for confirmation.

He scrunches his nose, "It's much worse than that," he says.

The sheer enthusiasm you have fades away with his answer, perhaps it would be bearable when you have him with you, wherever it is.

"It's with me," Minho adds with a playful smirk.

Well, the choice is here or there, but you can't have him here. You look at the world then at him.

"I'll give it a go," you say with a smile.

A smile rises on his face too, a smile that shines brighter than the fire that is about to engulf the whole world. He takes another step, closing in the gap between your bodies.

At the same time, an explosion occurred at the end of the horizon and it's so bright it's blinding you.

Now you know that it's the end of the world from how everything falls into place and in the end, nothing matters anymore. It doesn't matter that they choose not to trust you and think you're crazy.

What matters now is the one that sticks with you to the very end.

Minho takes your hand and intertwines it with yours, "It's going to be alright now."

You look at him and hold his hand back, everywhere it is, you can't wait to spend eternity with him.

Together, you're walking hand-in-hand, leaving the world as it goes up in flames and into the oblivion you go, forever more.

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ray4hotchner · 1 year

Text

Reckless

❀ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: aaron hotchner x reader

❀ 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: Y/N, a team member of the BAU, faces her past during a challenging case. Struggling to cope, Y/N's impulsive actions strain her relationship with Hotch.

❀ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 5.5k

❀ 𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣’𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: Hi everyone, I finally caved in and wrote something on my own. This is my first fic, so let me know what you think

❀ 𝕞𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕒𝕔𝕔: @iyv-ray24

On Ao3

Normally, Y/N was one of the last people to board the jet after a case. Not this time though. She didn't wait for the team and drove straight from the sheriff's station to the airport once the case was wrapping up. It had been a couple of stressful days, and everyone was exhausted. However, Y/N was not only exhausted but also very, very pissed – pissed at the team, pissed at herself, but most importantly, at Hotch.

This case was not easy for any of them. Three girls between the ages of 9 and 13 were abducted, horribly abused, and killed before their bodies were dumped in different local parks in the city. The BAU was called in when the third child was missing, but unfortunately, they arrived way too late. Now, the fourth girl, Casandra Johnson, an 11-year-old, was missing.

Most of the times, Y/N wouldn't have problems with distancing herself emotionally from cases, but this one just hit too close to home. Her little baby sister was abducted from their front porch when she was 9. Y/N herself was only a teenager at that time, and she was the one babysitting her sister. Just a couple of minutes of distraction, and her baby sister was gone forever. They found her body a week later, and the man who killed her luckily got caught, but Y/N never forgave herself and lived every day with the guilt of letting her sister down.

Yep, the team knew all about this stuff. They were familiar with each other's messed-up pasts and traumas; they were like a close-knit family, after all. So, when Penelope started laying out all the details about the case, she could feel her teammates' eyes on her. Sure, it wasn't easy to stare at pictures of innocent little girls and remember what happened to her own sister, but that wasn't going to stop her from getting her job done. She was a pro at this, and as far as she was concerned, this was just another case.

She found herself in the tiny kitchenette of the jet, pouring a cup of coffee, when Hotch walked over.

"Hey, want some coffee?" she offered, but he just shook his head.

"You doing okay?" he asked, standing close because the kitchenette was so darn small.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she replied, knowing exactly why, but she wasn't about to show her feelings to him.

"You could sit this one out, you know.”

"Hotch, no way! Please don't even suggest that! These girls deserve justice, and I've got to see it through."

"I get it, but if things start getting too heavy and overwhelming, promise me you'll give me a heads-up," he said gently.

"You bet," she nodded.

They hung there for a few more seconds. Hotch's presence always had a calming effect on her, and she felt more grounded when he was around. He saw the tension on her face and he probably wanted to reach out and offer comfort, but he held back. So, he turned around and went back to his seat. She watched Hotch walk away and caught eyes with Emily, who gave her a knowing look. She was the only one on the team who knew how Y/N felt about Hotch. To this day, she regretted telling Emily, on a drunken night, that she had a crush on their boss. Emily had persistently encouraged her on more than a few occasions to confess her feelings, but she had consistently declined, fearing the potential embarrassment and awkwardness it could create between them. Emily smirked at her, but she only mouthed "Don't" before also returning to her seat.

The case was progressing as usual – examining the crime scene, talking to victims' relatives and potential eyewitnesses, and creating the unsub profile. Throughout the investigation, the team noticed Y/N becoming increasingly agitated. However, things took a sharp downward turn after Casandra was kidnapped. Y/N grew moody, neglected sleep and food, and immersed herself in reexamining the same files and evidence over and over again.

Y/N and Spencer found themselves back at the last crime scene, as Y/N insisted on revisiting it, when new information arose. Penelope added them to the group call and informed everyone that her research had led her to a man fitting the unsub's profile. She sent over his last registered address.

"We're nearby. It's not far from the last crime scene," Y/N informed the team.

"We'll meet you guys there," Derek said before they ended the call. Y/N and Spencer then drove to the address.

They parked in front of the house and awaited the team's arrival when Y/N spotted movement inside. She immediately called Hotch.

"Hotch, there's someone in the house. Maybe he's holding the girl in there. We need to go in. Now!"

"We'll be there shortly. You can't go in there without backup," Hotch cautioned.

"Spencer is here too."

"Agent Y/L/N, I said wait. That's an order!" Hotch's tone was stern.

"I'm sorry, I have to," Y/N replied, and with that, she exited the car and headed toward the front door of the house. Hotch heard Spencer shouting after Y/N before the call ended. Cursing under his breath, he instructed Derek to speed up.

In under 5 minutes, the team reached the unsub's address. The front door had been kicked open, and the team could hear Y/N yelling at someone.

"Where is he? Tell me! Where is your brother?" She was shouting, pinning a young man facedown on the carpet. Y/N's knee was pressed into his back, immobilizing him as she held his hands behind his back.

"Agent Y/L/N, that's enough!" Hotch's order rang out, and he turned to Emily, gesturing for her to take over. Emily walked over, cuffed the man's hands, and assisted him to his feet. The officers and the team exited the house. As they were leaving, Hotch turned to Y/N and said, "We will discuss this later."

Upon arriving at the station, Hotch instructed Derek and Rossi to interrogate the suspect's brother regarding the unsub's whereabouts. He told the team, except for Y/N, to leave the room the sheriff assigned to the BAU upon their arrival. Facing her, Hotch clenched his jaw, in order to stay calm.

"You are off the case," he stated in an unwavering voice.

"Hotch, no, I'm—"

"You. Are. Off. The case. Agent Y/L/N."

"That's not fair. We have the guy's brother."

"That's not fair? That's not fair? Are you really talking back right now?" Hotch's anger escalated.

"I said I'm sorry! But what if we would have lost our chance? That guy had his things packed; he was leaving!"

"I don't care if he was leaving or not! You can't act on your own in situations like this! You put yourself and Spencer in danger."

"We're fine!"

"Yeah, luckily! But you didn't know what awaited you behind that door. Both of you could have been injured or worse. Your actions were selfish and unprofessional. I don't want you anywhere near anything related to this case until we're back in Quantico. Do you understand?"

Y/N didn't even respond; she simply stormed out of the room. She headed straight to the bathroom, seeking some privacy to calm down. Splashing her face with ice-cold water, she leaned over the sink, taking deep breaths while still seething with anger. Just then, JJ entered the restroom. Like everyone else at the station, she had heard the heated exchange between Hotch and Y/N and came to check on her.

"Hey, are you alright?"

"I'm off the case."

"Maybe it's for the best, don't you think?"

"Not you too, JJ," Y/N replied, releasing a heavy sigh as she dried her hands and face. She walked past JJ and left the restroom, unwilling to argue with her as well. Although she was banned from anything related to the case, Hotch hadn't instructed her to leave the station entirely or return to the hotel, so she remained. In the breakroom, she sat, observing and straining to catch any updates. She watched as Derek and Rossi emerged from the interrogation room, but they refused to share information due to Hotch's orders. Naturally, Spencer and Emily also followed Hotch's directives, all for Y/N's own well-being.

Suddenly, there was movement as the team geared up, putting on their vests. Clearly, they had a new lead. Y/N swiftly rose, walking toward the team to grab her own vest, but Hotch halted her immediately.

"I told you that you're not allowed anything related to the case."

"Hotch, come on! Punish me with paperwork or anything else, but not like this, please!"

"No."

"Hotch, maybe you should—" Derek attempted to intervene.

"I said no!" Hotch's tone was firm as he locked eyes with Y/N. He could see the anger in her eyes and how she was holding back tears of frustration. With Hotch's final words, the team exited the station and drove away. Unable to hold back, Y/N retreated to the bathroom, shedding a few tears of anger. She knew she had made a mistake and was in the wrong, but the frustration and sense of being left behind lingered. Hotch should have been the first to understand the weight of guilt from not saving a loved one. Yet, he treated her as the issue, disregarding the missing child who might require the help of every agent for her rescue.

She let out a deep breath, a release that felt like she had been holding it in for days, as the team returned to the station with the little girl in Emily's arms. Y/N's gaze remained fixed on the heartwarming scene of the girl reuniting with her parents, embraces and kisses shared all around.

Mistiness gathered in Y/N's eyes once more, her mind drifting to how it might have felt to get her own little sister back all those years ago. Lifting her eyes from the heartwarming family reunion, her gaze locked with Hotch's, and it was as if he could read her thoughts. He took a step towards her, but she promptly spun around and walked away.

Hotch was not surprised by her reaction; he didn't even know why he had attempted to approach her. He did know, deep down, but he wasn't ready to admit it to himself, especially not at this moment. A few minutes later, he noticed Y/N storming out of the station, her bag slung over her shoulder.

"She said she'll be waiting by the jet," JJ informed Hotch as they both watched Y/N leave.

That was why she found herself being the first to arrive at the jet, a rarity. Normally, she'd take the seat in front of Hotch, and they'd dive into their paperwork during the flight back home. It was an opportunity to talk and maybe even steal glances at his handsome face. But now, she didn’t even want to hear his voice.

Instead, she settled onto the broad couch, the same one where Spencer often napped, and attempted to drift into sleep. Exhaustion from the past days quickly pulled her into slumber. She faintly registered the team entering the jet and briefly woke at takeoff, but she promptly turned away and slipped back into sleep, determined to avoid everyone, especially Hotch.

The jet's interior was dimly lit, and most of the team dozed off in their seats. Hotch occupied a couple of seats away from the couch where Y/N was deeply asleep, while Rossi sat directly in front of him. He observed her for a moment, noticing her curling up into a ball – she must be cold. The realization prompted Hotch to stand up promptly. He opened one of the jet's cupboards and retrieved a blanket. Quietly, he approached Y/N and draped the blanket over her, observing as she snuggled into the soft fabric. With the exception of Rossi, everyone else was already asleep, so his actions would likely go unquestioned by the team. Besides, he was merely helping a colleague, right? He lingered by her side for longer than necessary; her relaxed face was undeniably beautiful, and he wanted – no, needed – to savour it for just a little while longer. He was painfully aware that the only expression he'd encounter in her eyes when she woke would be resentment toward him. He would give anything to reach out and caress her cheek at this very moment. Eventually, he returned to his seat, and Rossi's gaze immediately landed on him.

"You're hopeless, Aaron," Rossi chuckled.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hotch replied, his gaze shifting to the files before him.

"You know, she kind of has the right to be angry at you."

"You can't seriously think that what she did was right."

"No, I do not. It was actually really fucking dumb, but you're sort of being a hypocrite here."

"How so?"

"Well, yes, she made a mistake barging into that house on her own, and she acted impulsively. But so did you. Every one of us has made stupid mistakes at some point, and hers at least helped us locate the unsub. If it were any other agent, you would have let them join the rescue and handed them a pile of paperwork as punishment later. But because you have an emotional attachment to her and feelings for her, you were afraid she'd act recklessly again. You couldn't risk her getting hurt, like, say, jumping in front of a bullet – which we both know she would have. So, you left her behind. Not to mention, you understood why she acted the way she did. This case was deeply personal to her. Needless to say, you both acted like idiots."

Hotch leans back in his seat and lets out a sigh. He knows Rossi's right, though sometimes he hates working with profilers.

"We all want to protect the people we love, Aaron. But remember, she's still an agent, and this is her job," Rossi adds before returning to his files.

Hotch glances over at her and ponders Rossi's words. He realizes he definitely overreacted because it was you who put yourself in danger. He knows she's a great agent and can take care of herself in these dangerous situations, but just the thought of something happening to her makes his stomach drops.

It had been a couple of days since the team had returned to Quantico, and as Hotch expected, Y/N was avoiding him at all costs. She submitted her reports well before the deadlines, left the office earlier than usual – a rarity for her, as she was typically one of the last agents to leave. Hotch even noticed her falling silent whenever he entered the break room or the bullpen, and she seemed to find excuses to distance herself from him. This avoidance was starting to irritate him more and more. He missed the late nights spent doing paperwork together in his office after everyone else had gone home. He longed to hear her laughter and engage in conversations with her. He just missed her. While she appeared to be getting along fine with the rest of the team, her anger toward Hotch still lingered. He knew he needed to talk to her and explain his actions; he hoped that she might understand once he did.

So, as soon as he arrived at the office the following day, he made it a priority. Upon entering his office, he noticed Y/N's completed report on his desk, finished once again before deadline. He was aware that she was completing her work ahead of time to avoid any interaction with Hotch about the report. Without even glancing at the report, he stepped back out of his office.

"Agent Y/L/N, a word, please," he said, his tone possibly more agitated than he had intended. The rest of the team exchanged questioning looks as Y/N ascended the few stairs to his office. She knocked on the door, even though it was already open, and announced herself before entering.

"Close the door," Hotch ordered, his voice firm as he removed his jacket.

He had initially only wanted to apologize and explain his decision on the case, but seeing that finished report again ignited a kind of anger within him. Particularly because he knew how much she despised working on it in the first place. Now, she stood in front of him, alone for the first time in days, yet she didn't even glance at his face.

"You finished your work early again, Agent Y/L/N?"

"Yes, sir." Sir... she never called him 'sir.' He really wanted to hear his name from her. He tried to catch her eyes, but she purposely looked away. There was a brief silence before she finally spoke up, "Is there something wrong with it, sir?"

His emotions were getting the better of him due to her distant tone, possibly amplified by the frustration that had built up over the past few days. So, he responded with unnecessary sharpness.

"Yeah, there's something wrong with it. Do it again," he snapped, tossing the file onto the desk closer to her. For the first time in days, she met his eyes, her brows furrowed in irritation, though her voice remained calm.

"May I ask what was wrong with it, sir?" she inquired, striving to sound neutral.

"You may not, Agent! Get back to your work," he replied, his voice unintentionally louder than he intended.

Y/N stormed out of the room, doing her best to restrain herself from slamming the door behind her. She settled back at her desk, aware of her colleagues' watchful eyes on her, though no one said a word. In his office, Hotch couldn't help but curse under his breath. "Why did I do that?" he wondered. This kind of pettiness was uncharacteristic of him, yet there was something about her that could evoke such strong emotions from him, both positive and negative.

He struggled throughout the remaining day to focus on his work, his mind repeatedly drifting to thoughts of her. Glancing at the clock, he realized that the workday was drawing to a close. He had planned to talk to her today, and he was determined to do it before she left, especially since she tended to head out before the others. Stepping out of his office and peering down into the bullpen, he noticed Spencer packing up while Y/N and Emily waited. Derek and Penelope were already on their way to the elevator, and Rossi had left hours ago due to personal matters.

"Y/L/N, to my office, please," he called out in his strong voice from the top of the stairs before returning back into his office. Spencer and Emily exchanged glances, and while Y/N was clearly displeased, it was inevitable that she had to have a conversation with Hotch.

"You guys go ahead. Don't wait for me. I'll see you tomorrow," she said, placing her bag back on her desk before making her way up to Hotch's office.

"Sit down," Hotch says as she enters his office, gesturing to the free chair in front of his desk.

"For how much longer do you plan to keep this up?" Hotch asks in a plain tone.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

Hotch rubs his face and lets out a sigh before continuing. "Cut it out! This whole 'sir' thing. You haven't spoken to me in days. It's affecting the work environment."

"I don't think it's affecting anything. I've been working efficiently, and my reports are always on time."

"I don't give a damn about your reports, Y/N!" Hotch exclaims, standing up and slamming his hands on the table as he leans toward her.

She stands abruptly. "Then there's no reason for me to be here if this isn't work-related," she nearly yells, matching Hotch's intensity. She starts to turn around, indicating her intention to leave.

"You're not leaving before we talk about what happened and clear this up!", he said and walked around his desk to now stand infront of her.

"There's nothing to clear up!"

"How is there nothing to clear up? You've been avoiding me since we got back from the case. You won't talk to me, you won't look at me—hell, you leave the room when I walk in."

Hotch's frustration was palpable as he stepped closer to her. "You think you can just avoid me and everything will be fine? You think you can act like nothing happened?"

Y/N's voice trembled with anger. "I'm doing my job, just like I always have."

"Your job? This is more than just about your damn job. We're a team, and that means communication and trust."

Y/N shot back, her voice rising. "Trust? Is that what you call it? You completely shut me out during the case. You made me feel like I can't make decisions, like I'm incapable."

Hotch's eyes blazed with frustration. "I made a decision to protect you, to keep you safe!"

"By treating me like a child? By belittling me in front of the team?" Y/N's cheeks were flushed, her anger evident.

"You were reckless, Y/N! You put yourself and Spencer in danger!"

"I had a lead, I had a chance to save that girl!"

"By charging into a potentially dangerous situation without backup? You're lucky nothing worse happened."

Y/N's fists clenched at her sides. "You don't understand. You never understand."

"Oh, I understand more than you realize," Hotch retorted, his voice dripping with frustration.

The room seemed to crackle with tension as their argument escalated. Each word was a jab, a release of the pent-up emotions they had been harboring. The distance between them had grown from physical to emotional, and they were both struggling to bridge the gap.

Suddenly, a knock echoed through the room, and JJ's head appeared in the doorway. "Oh, sorry for disturbing. I just wanted to say goodbye before I leave. Don't let me interrupt," she said, sensing the tension in the room, and then closed the door behind her. Throughout JJ's brief interaction, Y/N and Hotch's eyes remained locked on each other.

JJ's interruption seemed to inject a moment of calm into the charged atmosphere, allowing a slight easing of the tension in the room.

Hotch's voice broke the silence once again, this time with a calmer and more composed tone. "Believe me, I understand why this case held such significance for you. The entire team recognised that. However, that doesn't justify putting yourself in harm's way."

Y/N's voice softened, her frustration mingling with a touch of vulnerability. "I know it was reckless to charge in without waiting, and I've already apologized for that—I'm still sorry. But what you did was unfair. You left me behind. Aren't we supposed to be a team? How could you make that decision, Hotch?" Her eyes misted over, a mixture of hurt and confusion in her gaze.

Hotch's gaze softened as he heard the hurt in her voice. He took a step closer, closing the physical distance between them, and rested his hands on his hips. "Y/N, it's not about whether you apologized or not. It's about the fact that you charged into a dangerous situation without considering the consequences. In this line of work, we can't afford to act on emotions alone. We have to think logically, strategically. Acting solely on emotion can get people killed."

Y/N's eyes welled up with tears as his words sank in. She looked down at her hands, her voice choked with emotion. "I know that, Hotch. I do. But in that moment, all I could think about was finding that girl, saving her. It was like... I couldn't control myself."

Hotch took another step forward, his presence a comforting presence in front of her. He reached out and gently lifted her chin, guiding her gaze to meet his. His touch was tender, his thumb caressing her cheek. "Y/N, I get it. I do. But I was scared. Scared of losing you, of seeing you hurt. I couldn't bear the thought of something happening to you."

She looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. His touch was a lifeline, grounding her in this vulnerable moment. "I... I couldn't save my sister," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I was supposed to be watching her, and I let her down."

Hotch's grip on her chin tightened ever so slightly, his eyes locking onto hers. He leaned in closer, his voice tender. "Y/N, what happened to your sister wasn't your fault. You were just a child yourself. You couldn't have known."

A sob escaped Y/N's lips as she leaned into his touch, her tears falling freely now. Hotch gently wiped away her tears with his thumb, his touch soothing. "It's okay to feel the pain, Y/N. But you can't let it dictate your actions now. You have so much strength, so much potential. I just want to keep you safe."

She let out a shaky breath, her emotions raw and exposed. Hotch's presence and his words were a balm to her wounded heart. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice filled with remorse.

Hotch shook his head softly, his eyes never leaving hers. "There's no need to apologize. I should have handled things differently too. We both made mistakes."

They stood there for a moment, their gazes locked, and the air around them seemed to shift. Hotch took a step forward, his hand moving from her chin to her cheek, his touch gentle and caring.

"Y/N, we're a team. And I promise you, I'll always have your back. But I need you to promise me that you'll think before you act, that you'll prioritize your safety."

She nodded, her tears slowing as a small smile tugged at her lips. "I promise."

And in that moment, with their bodies close and their gazes intertwined, they found a connection that went beyond words—a connection forged in vulnerability, understanding, and the unspoken bond of a team that had weathered the storm together.

Y/N closes the distance between them and wraps her arms around Hotch in a tight embrace. Her face is buried in his chest, and he holds her close, his hand caressing her hair with utmost tenderness. In this vulnerable embrace, their walls begin to crumble, and the weight of unspoken emotions hangs heavily in the air.

Hotch's voice is barely above a whisper as he presses his lips to her ear, letting all the truths he had been holding back spill forth. "I was so scared, Y/N... scared to lose you. I can't bear the thought of ever losing you. Please, don't ever put yourself in that kind of danger again."

His words are a mixture of desperation and genuine concern, a heartfelt confession that had been weighing on him for far too long. He holds her tighter, his grip on her waist firm yet gentle. "I don't know what I would do without you. You've become such an important part of my life."

His voice quivers with emotion, each word carrying the weight of his feelings. "I missed talking to you, missed hearing your laugh. Even the complaints about paperwork, I missed those too. You mean so much to me, Y/N, more than you might realize."

Y/N's grip on him tightens, her tears soaking into his shirt as she listens to his heartfelt words. It's a moment of vulnerability, of raw honesty that they had both been avoiding. Hotch's whispers in her ear are like a soothing melody, erasing the tension that had been building between them.

Their embrace lingers, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken bond that ties them together. Hotch continues to caress her hair, his touch a silent reassurance of his feelings. In this moment, surrounded by their shared emotions and the warmth of their connection, they find solace in each other's arms.

Y/N pulls away slightly, creating enough space to look up at him, her eyes glistening with sincerity. She takes a deep breath before speaking, her voice a mix of vulnerability and determination. "Hotch, Aaron... I became so upset about this situation because it was you who was disappointed in me. You mean the world to me. Your opinion, your feelings, they matter more than I can even express. Not just as my boss, but as a friend and... and maybe, just maybe, even more."

Her cheeks flush with a soft hue of pink as she admits her feelings, her gaze dropping to the floor as if overwhelmed by the weight of her confession. She's both relieved and terrified to have finally voiced her emotions, unsure of how he'll react despite his previous words of comfort.

Hotch's breath catches in his throat as he absorbs her words. His heart races, and a mixture of surprise, hope, and affection blooms in his chest. He reaches out to gently lift her chin, his thumb brushing against her skin as he tilts her face up to meet his gaze. His expression is a mixture of tenderness and warmth, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings.

"Y/N..." Hotch's voice is soft, carrying a mix of emotions that mirror her own. He searches her eyes, his thumb tracing over her cheekbone, his touch both soothing and electrifying. "I've been struggling with my own feelings, with the fear of crossing a line. But I want you to know... you're important to me too. More than I can put into words."

A gentle smile tugs at the corners of his lips, his gaze locked onto hers. "I never wanted to push you away or make you feel like your actions don't matter. They do, because you matter. And I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise."

Y/N's heart swells with his words, and the warmth of his touch resonates deep within her. Her eyes well up with tears, but this time they're tears of relief and joy. Her lips tremble into a soft smile as she meets his gaze with renewed hope.

"I'm glad we talked," she whispers, her voice filled with sincerity. "I don't want to avoid you, Aaron. I want us to be honest with each other, no matter what happens."

Hotch's thumb continues to caress her cheek, his touch grounding her in this moment of emotional intimacy. "I feel the same way," he admits, his voice a mere breath against her lips. "And I promise, from now on, we'll face things together."

Their proximity becomes charged with a newfound understanding, their unspoken connection now verbalized. And as they stand there, gazing into each other's eyes, they both know that this conversation is just the beginning of a deeper and more meaningful journey ahead.

As the weight of their emotions lingers in the air, Y/N takes a small step closer, her heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability. Hotch's gaze softens even further, and in that moment, they both feel the pull of an unspoken desire.

Without any more hesitation, Y/N tilts her head slightly, her lips brushing against his in a tentative yet gentle kiss. It's a kiss filled with the tenderness of their shared feelings, a silent promise of everything they've both been longing for.

Hotch's arms instinctively wrap around her, pulling her closer as he deepens the kiss with a mixture of longing and affection. His lips move against hers with a slow and deliberate rhythm, their connection intensifying as their bodies press against each other.

The air between them grows warmer, their shared emotions igniting a spark of passion. Y/N's fingers thread through his hair, holding him close as the kiss becomes more heated, a reflection of the desires they've kept hidden for so long.

Their breath mingles, the world around them fading as they lose themselves in the intoxicating sensation of their lips moving together. The kiss becomes a dance of emotions, each movement a declaration of their feelings.

Finally, they break apart, their lips still lingering just millimeters away. Their breaths come in ragged gasps, their eyes locked in a heated gaze filled with a mixture of surprise and bliss.

A soft, love-drunk smile tugs at Y/N's lips, and she brushes her thumb against his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her touch. Hotch's fingers continue to caress her back, his touch a silent affirmation of his feelings.

"Wow," Y/N breathes, her voice barely above a whisper, her heart still racing from the intensity of their kiss.

Hotch chuckles softly, his forehead resting against hers. "Yeah, wow," he replies, his voice filled with a mixture of wonder and contentment.

Their smiles mirror each other's, and in that moment, they both realize that this is just the beginning of their journey together. The walls that once kept their feelings hidden have crumbled, replaced by a newfound connection that's deeper and more meaningful.

As they stand there, breathless and gazing into each other's eyes, they know that they're embarking on a path of honesty, vulnerability, and love. And with their lips still tingling from their kiss, they share a quiet understanding that whatever challenges lie ahead, they'll face them together.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #hotch x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #aaronhotchnerissuchadilfandIwoulddieforhim

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leiascully · 24 days

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Smutty fic prompt? Established MSR. Mulder and Scully are on a case, Mulder is being serious, Scully is amused but not convinced - and just wants to stay at the hotel and have sex for the week because the case is a total waste of time. Mulder telling her everything he wants to do to her but ultimately rebuffs all advances, and it’s all fun and games because Scully thinks he’d rather chase monsters than put his money where his mouth is. Anyway — he ends up being a man of his word which takes her by surprise

I think this fills your prompt, anon.

9000 words; M/E for sexual situations including pegging; good little agents don't consort while on assignment, but they really, really want to. (ao3 link)

“You’re serious.” She fixed him with a level gaze over the roof of the rental car.

“I’m always serious,” he said, and they both ignored the inherent fallacies in that statement. “Are you serious? You thought I brought you up here to play house?”

“What else was I supposed to think?” She gestured at the forest around them and the quaint bed and breakfast standing in the clearing. “That you brought me up to an adorable B&B on the wooded shores of Lake Champlain for a week to hunt another sea monster no one’s ever actually seen?”

“There have been over 300 eyewitness reports of a snake-like creature in the lake, dating back to the Iroquois,” Mulder told her. “That doesn’t even include the latest series of reports. I don’t know why you wouldn’t want to investigate it.”

“First of all,” she said, “your last lake monster ate my dog.”

“It wasn’t my lake monster,” he muttered.

“Second of all,” she said, fixing him with a steely eye, “last time you took me on a trip that was so obviously a wild goose chase, we hadn’t yet escalated our relationship. So yes, Fox, I thought you brought me here to play house.”

He raised an eyebrow. “We’re back to Fox?”

“I think I’ve earned the right to use your first name now and again.” She smirked. “After all, I’ve been inside you.”

To her surprise, he blushed.

“How many rooms did you get?”

She heard his feet shuffle. He wouldn’t look at her. “Two.”

She sighed. “Lake monster.”

“Lake monster that’s been frightening tourists,” he said. He came around the car and stood a little too close to her, the way he always did. “The tourism bureau asked around. Someone told them we were the people to solve their problem.”

She leaned against the car and tipped her head back to look at him. “Two rooms.”

“Come on, Scully,” he said in a low voice that made her tingle. “You know the people in finance already share our expense reports around. I want to win the betting pool.”

“And what will you do with your thousands?” she teased.

He shifted even closer. She felt her lips part in anticipation as he leaned down, but he skimmed past her mouth to whisper in her ear: “Take you on a real vacation.”

She reached out past the loose lapels of his suit jacket and hooked her finger into the waist of his trousers. “You better.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He stepped back, taking her with him like they were dancing. They’d always been dancing, she thought. Two steps forward, three steps back, but rarely entirely out of sync. He reached behind him to pop the trunk and pulled out her suitcase, pretending to strain against the weight of it. “Maybe you won’t need this many clothes for our vacation.”

“Hmm,” she said, “maybe I’ll bring something less bulky than a suit.”

“You could wear one of those little t-shirts,” he suggested. “Some cutoff jean shorts.” He paused, clearly caught up in an intriguing possibility. “You could wear my boxers.”

She smiled at him. “Maybe even something more abbreviated than that.”

He dropped his voice even more. “Scully, are you holding out on me? Do you own lingerie I haven’t seen?”

She leaned into him, slipping her fingers further into his trousers to graze the elastic of his boxers under his shirttail. “I guess you’re not gonna find out this week.”

He groaned.

She gave her fingers one last wiggle and extracted them from his waistband. He heaved his own suitcase out of the trunk and closed it. They trundled their luggage along the brick path and up the stairs. She looked at him one last time as they stood on the porch in front of the lobby windows.

“Two rooms?”

“Don’t worry, Scully,” he murmured. “I’m sure I’ll be able to hear you through the wall.”

Heat flooded her body as he opened the door and ushered her in with one hand at the small of her back. This time, she didn’t mind that he’d gotten the last word.

+ + +

When they were checked in and settled, she went to his room and sat on the bed. All the furniture in the place seemed to be charmingly mismatched antiques. Mulder’s bed had four posters and it creaked picturesquely when she shifted her weight. “Tell me about our suspect.”

“Champ?”

She sighed and rubbed her hand over her face. “Of course it’s called Champ.”

“We’re dealing with a protected species here, Scully.” Mulder leaned against his dresser. He’d taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “The lake was declared a safe haven for its resident monster in 1981. In 1984, 58 different people claim to have seen Champ. Early reports declared it to resemble an enormous serpent with the head of a sea horse, a white star on its forehead, and a band of red around its extremely long neck.” He stepped forward to pass her a fuzzy copy of a photograph. She studied it. “This is the Mansi photograph. No one’s ever been able to debunk it, but Sandra Mansi destroyed the negative, so nobody’s ever been able to authenticate it either.”

“Naturally.” She got up and went to the window. The lake was visible as a blue glint through the trees. “And what crimes has Champ perpetrated?”

“Overturning small watercraft, biting fish off people’s lines, that kind of thing.” He joined her at the window. “No human casualties.”

She let her shoulder brush his chest. “So what are we doing here? It doesn’t sound like there’s anything for us to investigate. If anything, this level of activity would draw in tourists and benefit businesses like this one. The loss of a fish here and there seems negligible.”

“No human casualties yet,” he said, “but there have been reports of people feeling something large brush against them in an area where there was no underwater debris.”

“Are there fish in the lake?”

“Big ones,” he said. “Sturgeon and gar, for starters.”

She gestured. “Ta da. There’s your suspect.”

“Neither sturgeon nor gar are capable of disappearing multiple swimmers and boaters.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “You never lead with the most pertinent information.”

“Impertinence is my middle name.” His eyes twinkled as he grinned at her.

“I think I read that in your file.” She turned to face him. “So what are we supposed to do about it?”

“We do what we do. Dredge the truth up from the depths.”

She looked longingly at the bed. “Wouldn’t local law enforcement be better at this? We know nothing about the area.”

“Local law enforcement hasn’t turned up anything.” He sat on the bed and took her hands, drawing her close to stand between his knees. “Help them, Scully-Wan Kenobi. You’re their only hope.”

She softened, gazing down at him. By default, they’d become two of the foremost experts in American cryptozoology, and their solve rate on missing persons cases was the envy of the Bureau. Maybe it was Mulder’s intuition; maybe it was her eye for detail. She couldn’t deny that their expertise was unparalleled in cases like this, paranormal or not. “I want a nice vacation after this.”

“I promise.” He raised her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

“And not to Loch Ness.”

He laughed, soft and low. “I promise that too.” He looked up at her and his eyes were like a forest fire. The blaze in them kindled an answering flame in her belly. “I’ll make it up to you.”

She pouted a little. “How?”

“Very, very slowly.” He licked his lips, making his meaning clear. Scully squirmed and he pressed his knees into her hips, pinning her there.

“Did we ever decide if we can consort during a case?”

“Go against the regulations?” He turned her hands over and rubbed his cheek with its incipient stubble over the soft skin of her wrist. “Why, Agent Scully, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

She curled her fingers around his jaw and ran her thumb over his lips. “And if we solve this thing tomorrow?”

He lifted one shoulder. “Then I guess I’m buying plane tickets and you’re buying lingerie.”

“This B&B could be haunted,” she suggested. “Then we’d have to stay and investigate.”

He squinted up at her fondly. “Why didn’t I know you were susceptible to the charms of creaky floors, Scully?”

“Maybe you don’t know me very well.” She tilted her head, challenging him to challenge the patent absurdity of the statement.

“Then I’d like to know you better,” he said in a voice like velvet. Damn him, he always understood exactly how to disarm her.

“Not until we solve this,” she scolded him, and stepped away. “I’m going to freshen up.”

“Hey, Scully?” he said from the bed.

“Hmm?” She turned in the doorway to face him.

“How big a box of condoms do you think the drugstore will sell me?”

She thought for a moment. “I don’t know, but buy two.”

She heard him exhale in a rush as she slipped out the door.

+ + +

As it turned out, they shared a bathroom. She’d been too distracted to think about the geography of it when she’d glimpsed the door in his room. The B&B was an old house with a lot of additions. She doubted there was a true angle in the place. But it was charming. There was a clawfoot bathtub that she was definitely going to get better acquainted with.

She freshened up and changed into her small-town uniform of jeans and a windbreaker. People in places like this often distrusted suits. She’d learned over the years that she needed all the credibility she could get. For some reason, showing up armed with federal credentials and factoids about cryptids didn’t garner much respect.

Mulder was also wearing jeans when she found him downstairs. Scully was suddenly glad he’d cut his hair. If he’d been looking like that with his hair falling over his forehead, she would have dragged him straight back upstairs, and let anyone missing stay missing. His ass, hugged by denim, was a more compelling force than anything previously discovered in her known universe.

Instead, she took the file folder he offered here and spent the drive to the local police station reviewing the details. Behind a thick stack of garbled reports of enormous, half-visible underwater shadows and unexpected friction, she found the reports. Most of the people who’d gone missing had been found a few hours or a day later, including a group of teens who’d been stranded when their boat ran out of gas. Fortunately, they’d been in shouting distance of Burton Island State Park, and someone had spotted them the next morning. There was the occasional death by drowning, but the bodies turned up with marks of predation that didn’t indicate anything bigger than fish. Frankly, Scully didn’t know why most of them were included. A nine-year-old who’d wandered away in search of ice cream and been rediscovered sleeping in his parents’ car didn’t deserve a missing persons report. But it was a small town. Maybe local PD didn’t have much else to do.

There were two people who had disappeared the previous week and hadn’t been found. Both women in their thirties. A place like this would need seasonal workers, but when Scully checked their addresses, they were both townies. Grown and raised here, graduates of the local high school (go Panthers). One worked in an antique shop (of course). One managed an ice cream parlor and its attendant roster of high school employees.

“Just these two actually missing persons?” she asked.

Mulder drummed on the steering wheel. “So far.”

“Mmhmm,” she said. “And you’re sure this isn’t a joke case? Something you dreamed up so we could dillydally on someone else’s dime?”

“This is a legitimate investigation,” he assured her. “Cassy Miller and Naomi Diaz are gone. No one’s seen or heard from them. They were fishing buddies. Their boat was found washed up on shore halfway across the lake with all their tackle in it.”

“I take it this was uncharacteristic behavior.”

He nodded as he flipped on the turn signal. “Neither of them’s missed a day of work in years without a doctor’s note. Never late. Reliable as the sunrise.”

She examined Naomi’s photo. A young-looking thirty-something with dark wavy hair. She was smiling in the photo, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “And now…what, devoured by a mythical creature?”

“It’s a possibility,” Mulder said. “However extreme. The boat wasn’t far from one of the areas where frequent sightings have occurred.”

Scully flipped the page and re-read the sparse details of Naomi’s life. “Allegedly.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgment. It was a familiar push and pull between them. No case would have felt complete without it.

They reached the edges of the town, and then, very quickly, the center. The police station was easy to find. When they walked in, Scully knew jeans had been the right choice. It wasn’t the kind of place a suit would garner any kind of respect.

“Gosh, we will be glad of the help,” said the police chief. Her name tag said Hughes. She seemed earnest enough. “We do stay busy around here during tourist season. Not just people going missing, but petty theft, the occasional fire, all that. A lotta DUIs, if I’m honest.”

“And you’re…experts?” Chief Hughes’ second-in-command was standing in the corner of the room, thumbs hooked into his pockets. “In…Champ?”

“We’ve done extensive work in cryptozoology,” Scully said coolly. “Champ, as you call it, is just one example of a larger clade of hypothetical marine reptiles. If these women were consumed by such a creature, we would be able to verify that predation occurred. If there are other, less fantastic explanations, we’ll find those.” She glanced at Mulder, who was lounging in his chair. “Isn’t that right, Agent Mulder.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth, Agent Scully.” He smiled at the police chief, who blinked back at him, her mouth open just slightly.

He was such a little shit sometimes.

+ + +

They spent the day on the lake. It might have been romantic, if it hadn’t been for the trio of deputies assigned to them. They kept looking at Mulder and Scully, nervous or envious or skeptical or some combination of all three. She was used to it. Big city feds in their sunglasses and windbreakers inspired a variety of interesting feelings in their less cosmopolitan counterparts. She’d seen it all.

“Bet I could bully them into letting me drive the boat,” Mulder whispered to Scully, leaning in so the deputies couldn’t hear them.

“You’d have to dump me in the lake first,” she whispered back.

“And let you get eaten by Champ?” His eyebrows crimped together under his sunglasses in an exaggerated expression of woe. “Scully. I would never.”

“I would,” she told him.

“I accept my fate.” He sat back, stretched his arms along the side of the boat.

The deputies showed them where the boat had been found, the boat, the intact tackle. Scully examined it all dutifully. Mulder examined it less dutifully, gazing out over the water. He had one hand on his hip, the other shading his already shaded eyes. He looked like a statue.

“Does he see something?” one of the deputies asked Scully. Her voice was hushed, almost worshipful.

“I’m sure if he does, he’ll let you know,” Scully told her.

The purported victims’ boat having yielded nothing, the deputies herded their federal charges back onto their own departmental boat. Scully peered into the depths, Mulder’s hand braced on her back. No serpents emerged. There wasn’t so much as the silver flicker of a fish, although that was telling, in its own way. But they’d disturbed the waters with the wake of their boat, coming and going. The fish had fled the limnetic zone because of the noise of the motor, not because of some primordial beast.

Still, it was nice: the sunshine on the water, the convivial throng of tourists on the beaches. She and Mulder talked to the assistant manager at Cassy’s ice cream parlor, a young man clearly flummoxed by his brevet promotion.

“I don’t know,” he said, bewildered. “She’s great. Runs this place - ran this place - really well. I mean it’s hard to deal with a bunch of kids sometimes, right? But she started working here when she was a kid and just never stopped. I don’t know. I don’t know.” He put his face in his hands. Scully patted him on the shoulder, a little gingerly.

Afterward, they got ice cream: strawberry for Scully, butter pecan for Mulder. They carried their windbreakers folded inside out over their arms to hide their credentials. They might have been anyone. They walked along the lake shore and he smiled down at her and they could have been an ordinary couple. The sunshine gleamed on his skin and brought out gold flecks in the green of his eyes. She couldn’t stop looking at his mouth.

“What?” He licked his lips exaggeratedly. “Ice cream?”

She shook her head.

“Then what?”

She squinted up at him. “You’re just really pretty sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

She smiled. “Sometimes.”

“Well, you’re really pretty all the time.” He bumped her with his arm. “And that’s my professional opinion, by the way. I’ve been working on your profile a long time. I don’t want to brag, but I’m known for my powers of observation.”

“That’s not what profiling is,” she said sternly.

He tilted his head at her. “Sometimes.”

She huffed: not a laugh, not a sigh, but happy. “Sometimes.”

+ + +

They got dinner at a little restaurant. The fish was fresh, the coleslaw was crisp, and the fries were hot. There was homemade pie on the menu and Scully indulged in that too. If she couldn’t have Mulder, she was going to treat herself in other ways. It had cooled off by the time they finished dinner. Scully shrugged her windbreaker on. On the drive back to the B&B, they rolled down the windows of the rental car.

“This is summer,” Mulder said with satisfaction. “T-shirts in the afternoon, sweaters in the evening.”

“Not like DC,” Scully said. She put her arm out the window and spread her fingers to feel the breeze push through them.

“Not like DC,” Mulder agreed. “Unless you like being wrapped in a wet wool blanket.”

Scully let her head loll over on the headrest, gazing at him. “I can think of other things I’d rather be wrapped in.”

Mulder flicked his eyes at her. “Or maybe you’d rather be unwrapped?”

“Maybe I would.” She tipped her hand so the breeze washed over it. “But someone put a note on me that says ‘Do not open until Christmas’.”

“Not until Christmas, Scully,” he said, amusement in his voice. “Just until we’ve wrapped the case.”

“Wrapping begets unwrapping. I see.”

“A little motivation for us,” he suggested.

“You know, I always thought that I’d be the one who insisted we separate work and play,” Scully mused.

He chuckled. “I did too. Turns out you’re not the good girl you play on tv, Agent Scully.”

She wished that didn’t send a little thrill through her. “Aren’t you glad I’m not?”

“Desperately,” he said, with a raspy edge to his voice that sent another frisson up her spine. He pulled into the little lot of the B&B and turned the car off, then slung his arm over the steering wheel and turned to her. “Don’t think I wouldn’t unwrap you right now, Scully.”

“Haven’t we paid enough cleaning fees to the rental agency?” she said, leaning toward him just a little. Mulder’s event horizon extended too far - she’d been pulled in unexpectedly so many times.

“Not for this.” His voice strummed a chord inside her. “Variety is the spice of life, Scully.”

“Uh huh.” She tipped her chin up. “And what would you do with me, if you unwrapped me in this rental car?”

“Obviously, I’d start with kissing,” Mulder told her. “I’m a gentleman. I’d never jump right in unless you asked for it.”

“Mmhmm,” Scully said.

“Oh, sorry, I misspoke,” Mulder said. His eyes glinted. “I meant I wouldn’t jump right in unless you begged for it.”

Scully licked her lips. “And under what circumstances do you think I’d beg for it?”

“If I kissed your neck for long enough, you might,” he said. She was staring at his mouth, half-hypnotized. “That spot behind your ear. If I put you on my lap and played with your tits and you could feel how much I wanted you.”

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I’ve always considered myself to be a stubborn person. I don’t think that would do it.”

“Maybe if I stretched you out in the backseat. Braced myself over you. Stroked my way up the inside of your thigh,” he suggested. “Never quite touching exactly where you wanted. I’d use my hands, my leg. Maybe my lips. Just teasing until you can’t stand it any longer.”

“Mulder.”

“Yeah?”

“Is that what you were doing for the past seven years?”

“Metaphorically,” he said, twinkling at her. His eyes were dark. “Are you ready to beg?”

She leaned forward, her lips nearly touching his. “Good night, Mulder.” She climbed out of the car and left him in the dark surrounded by the song of crickets.

+ + +

Later, in bed by herself, she touched herself just like he’d imagined, drawing her fingertips up the soft skin to brush her curls over and over until she was shivering with need. She didn’t stifle her cries. When she finally dragged her thumb over her clit, she said his name. She thought she heard a groan from the other side of the wall.

She was glad it was a small B&B. That meant fewer eavesdroppers. The other guests all seemed to be adults, at least. Maybe their vacations would be improved by this kind of soundtrack. It was her turn to be the one gasping in her tangled covers, even if she was doing it alone.

+ + +

The next day, she fell in the lake.

They’d borrowed the boat and the deputies again. Mulder was studying a map of the lake. It was all marked up with places of particular interest. Maybe that’s what he’d been doing while she was raking just the edges of her nails up the crease of her thigh.

“Right down there,” he said, peering over the gunwale. “There’s a deep spot. Maybe that’s where its den is.”

“Its den?” Scully said, joining him. “Doesn’t it have to breathe? Or is that part of the myth?”

“There could be pockets of air underwater,” Mulder said. “An intricate system of caves. Or maybe it can hold its breath.” He turned to look at her. Scully glanced over his shoulder. The deputies were watching them breathlessly. “Some whales can hold their breath for hours. Maybe Champ can too.”

“Maybe something cold-blooded needs less oxygen,” she said. “It might have a slower metabolism. And the red band around its neck - that could be a primitive system of gills. That could allow it to stay underwater, even in the benthic zone.”

“I love it when you come out to play,” he murmured, just quiet enough that the deputies couldn’t hear.

She opened her mouth to reply to him and then the boat rocked on a huge swell of water and she went over the gunwale before she could reach for the railing.

“Scully!” Mulder shouted, and grabbed for her, but she was past the point of no return and his grip on her ankle just meant she banged her side hard on the boat as she splashed into the water. It was cold in the lake. She was soaked instantly, water pouring into her shoes and down her collar. The current swirled, tugging at her, pulling at her until she couldn’t tell which way was up. Scully opened her eyes. She was deeper than she’d thought. The darkness under her rippled. She kicked toward the surface. Mulder was reaching toward her almost as soon as her head broke the water. He and one of the deputies hauled her into the boat while the other two braced themselves against the other gunwale.

“Are you okay?” he asked. A deputy passed him a towel and he blotted her face gently with it.

She spit out a bit of lake water and took the towel from him to squeeze water out of her hair. “I lost my sunglasses.”

“Tragic.” He took off his own and settled them on her nose. They were too big and slipped down, but she loved him for it all the same. She patted her pockets. She still had her badge and her wet brick of a phone and her wallet. Fortunately, Mulder had the keys to the rental car.

“Agent Mulder?” said one of the deputies. “What made the boat tip?”

“Heavy wake from another boat,” Scully said automatically. “A gust of wind that created an abnormally large wave. Unregistered seismic activity.”

“Or a lake monster,” Mulder said, still looking her over. Seemingly satisfied with what he found, he turned to the deputies. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” said one.

“Not a boat big enough to pull that kind of wake,” said another. “You’d need a ferry.”

The last one shuffled her feet. “A shadow,” she said at last. “I think. Maybe nothing.”

Scully coughed. Mulder rubbed her back. He was pressed against her side. Her wet clothes were soaking him, but he didn’t move away. “Sorry to say, Deputy, you’re going to spend a lot of time investigating shadows if you stick with this job.”

The deputy’s brow was furrowed. “Do you think that’s what happened to Cassy and Naomi? A wave? But they could swim. Everyone here can swim.”

“All their gear was still in the boat,” Mulder pointed out. “They fell out and the tackle box didn’t?”

“I guess not.” The deputy looked troubled. “The lake’s too deep to dredge and too big to dive.”

“Then all we can do is our best,” Scully said. She shivered. The sunshine was bright, but the breeze ruffling the water kept it from warming her.

“Let’s get you somewhere where you can dry off,” Mulder said, and the deputies took the hint and powered up the engine.

+ + +

Scully ran a very hot bath in the clawfoot tub. Her clothes had dried a little in transit - they were definitely going to get a cleaning fee for the rental car, and not for any entertaining reasons - but she was still too wet and too cold to be comfortable. She peeled off her clothes and hung them on the towel bar with her damp towel from the boat underneath to catch drips. It was a relief to climb into the steaming foamy bath. She sighed, her whole body relaxing into the warmth as she tipped her head back to rinse her hair.

When she thought of the lake, she got fragments of memory. The breathless moment going overboard. The splash. The cold. The dark. It had only been an hour or two and yet it slipped away from her. She was glad she’d given a report before they’d come back to the B&B. Had there been something looming below her in the darkness? Even in the moment, she hadn’t been sure. Had she been brushed by a tangle of floating weeds? Had the water been agitated by cross-currents from boats speeding over the busy lake?

Had a monster tipped her into the water, or was it a silly mistake on a slippery deck?

She sighed again, sinking into the water up to her chin. For a while she drifted, eyes closed. The window was open for a crossbreeze and the smell of lake and pine mingled dreamily with the lavender scent of the bubble bath. She lay there, imagining the life of a prehistoric creature trapped in the modern world. If there were a monster, what had it seen? How much did it understand about the changes in its habitat? Did it long for the past? Had it eaten Cassy Miller and Naomi Diaz? Had there been other victims?

The adjoining door creaked open. Mulder walked in and knelt by the tub, pillowing his arms on the side.

She opened one eye. “I thought we weren’t consorting while on assignment.”

“We’re not consorting.” He brushed a wet strand of hair off her forehead and resettled his chin on his arms. “We’re conferring.”

She made a skeptical noise. “How collegial of us.” Most of the bubbles had popped, and what remained didn’t provide much modesty. They’d had less-clothed conversations about work, but not many.

“What happened at the lake?” she asked.

“You tell me.” He gazed at her. “You were the one in the drink.”

She pushed herself up a little in the tub so they were face to face. His eyes dropped predictably to her breasts and dragged back up to her face. “A larger-than-average wave rocked the boat. I fell in. There was some kind of current that pulled me further under than would usually result from a fall of such a short distance. I can’t speak to its origin. During my brief time under the water, I thought I saw movement below me, but it could have been anything, Mulder. A shadow. A log.”

“An ancient reptile.” The sun had shifted and the bathroom was draped in shade. What light there was reflected patchily off the bathwater to dapple Mulder’s face. She wondered if there had been a time in her life when she hadn’t known how beautiful he was. She couldn’t remember that either. Her life before Mulder felt somehow insignificant.

“What did you see?” she asked him.

“I only had eyes for you,” he said.

“You’re losing your touch,” she said lightly.

“I’m all right with that.” His eyes searched hers. “As long as you’re all right.”

“I’m fine. I’ve been wet before.” Her lips quirked. “You of all people should know that.”

“I had a suspicion.” He tipped his cheek onto his bicep.

“I have a suspicion of my own,” she said. He raised his eyebrows, inviting her to continue. “Cassy Miller and Naomi Diaz ran away or disappeared through otherwise un-supernatural circumstances.”

“Going out on a limb there, Agent,” Mulder told her. “I don’t know if I can present that kind of wild theory to Skinner.”

“If, and I stress if, there were a mysterious reptile that had been inhabiting this lake for centuries if not millennia, I don’t think it would target humans. We’re too noisy, too fast. Increased activity on the lake would likely drive it deeper, not provoke it.”

“Unless it were desperate,” Mulder said. “A drop in the population of fish. Rising temperatures in the lake.”

“A species would take generations to adapt to the changes that have occurred in the local environment, but this is one hypothetical individual, Mulder. One organism can alter its behavior on a timescale far more rapid.”

He nodded against his arm, just a little. “They were last seen in a boat.”

“So the report says,” Scully said. “But Cassy Miller’s car is missing.”

“There are actually a surprising number of car thefts for a town this size,” Mulder told her. “Something about teens and tourists.”

Scully opened her palm above the water. Her fingers were pruny. “That’s my theory.”

“I respect it,” Mulder said. “But I haven’t decided yet whether I agree.”

“Why am I not surprised.” She cupped water in her hand, let it pour over her breasts. The bubbles sluiced down the slope of her chest, pearling around her nipples. She watched Mulder watch her. His breath caught a little and his pupils darkened. “Are we still conferring, or have we moved on to consorting?”

“You know there’s nothing I want more than to climb into that tub with you,” he said in a low voice.

“I can recommend against wet denim,” she said. “The chafing ruins the mood.” She thought of straddling his lap, feeling the friction of the sodden fabric against her skin, and rubbed her thighs together in anticipation. Up until the chafing, it would be delicious.

“I think I learned my lesson today,” he told her. “No clothes. Just you on top of me, skin on skin. You could take your time. I’d worship your tits.”

“I think your vision ends up with water all over the bathroom floor.” She let her hand drift down her body.

“Worth it.” Hunger flickered in his eyes.

“Is it consorting if I’m pursuing solitary pleasures while we’re discussing a case?” she asked.

He laughed. “If so, we’ve been consorting for years.”

“I knew it,” she said. Her fingers wandered down her belly, strayed lower.

“Fuck, Scully,” he said roughly. “You know I can withstand anything except temptation.”

She toyed with her curls, imagining the slow swell of his erection. He shifted a little on his heels as she pushed her fingers between her folds and stroked slowly. She let her head loll against the porcelain. Her other hand rose to stroke her breast. Mulder took a deep breath and let it out in a slow hiss.

“You know there’s nothing but your own conscience stopping you from getting into this tub.” She arched her back, pushing her breasts out of the water.

“I told you,” he said. “I’m trying to take this seriously. I take you seriously. Everything we’re doing deserves our full attention, Scully. The work. This.” He gestured between them. “Whatever you think about my lake monster theory, there are two women missing. People are worried about them.”

“I know that,” she said, an edge creeping into her voice. Her hands slipped away from their pleasant tasks.

“We crossed a line together,” he said. “I don’t regret it. I’ll never, ever regret it. But there are other lines we shouldn’t cross.”

“You’re the one who keeps telling me all the things we’d be doing if we weren’t working,” she snapped.

“And I mean every word of it.” It sounded like a vow. “When we’re done here, I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember your name. But we’re not finished.”

“I’m finished.” She toed the stopper out of the train and hauled herself up out of the water, too cranky to finish what she’d started. He rocked back on his heels, looking wounded. “With this bath, Mulder. I’m tired. I’m going to take a nap. Wake me up for dinner.”

“I will,” he said. He handed her an enormous fluffy towel and helped her out of the tub.

“Scully,” he said as she opened the door to her room, and she turned just enough to indicate she was listening. “I’ll make it up to you.”

She went back to her room, dried off, rolled naked into the bed. She was too keyed up to sleep. She rolled onto her stomach and thrust against the ridge of her hand until pleasure spiraled tight within her. She moaned into the pillow, suddenly boneless as release hit her, and drifted into sleep.

+ + +

The rest of their investigation yielded nothing. They dutifully went in each day to work with local law enforcement. They searched a few other areas of the lake. The deputies made Scully wear a life jacket, but there weren’t any other mysterious waves. They followed leads to dead ends. Wherever the women were, they weren’t using credit cards. Cassy Miller’s car was found a few miles away. It wasn’t far from a bus station, Scully noted, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Subsequent trips to the lake produced no evidence of a lake monster or any foul play. No bodies. No torn clothes.

“We’ll keep following up,” Mulder assured the chief of police. “I’ve added their names to our list. If anyone turns up matching their descriptions, we’ll let you know.”

“I appreciate your help.” Chief Hughes shook their hands.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t help more,” Scully told her.

“We’re grateful anyone showed up,” Chief Hughes said. “Not a lot of feds would care about our small-town problems. But two of our own disappear, that’s something we feel here. Like a missing tooth.”

Mulder looked away. Scully clasped Chief Hughes’ hand. “We won’t stop looking.”

Chief Hughes’ smile was watery. “Neither will we.”

+ + +

“I thought the breakfast at the B&B was excellent,” Mulder said as they walked to their gate at the airport. “Those scones were homemade.”

“The beds were also excellent.” Scully glanced up at him. “At least, mine was. I can’t speak to the quality of any other accommodations.”

“I’d stay there again,” he said. “Recreationally.”

“Oh? Are you seeing someone?”

He stopped suddenly in the middle of the passageway. She stopped too and looked at him curiously. He took her face between his hands and kissed her. It was profound. It was passionate. It was making her weak in the knees in the middle of a fucking airport. She put her hands on his waist to steady herself.

“It wasn’t because this is a secret, Scully,” he said. “I’d get your name tattooed in five inch letters on my ass tomorrow if that’s what you wanted.”

“I know.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “I know. The work matters. It was just weird not to be on the same page.”

“It was,” he agreed. His eyes searched her face and he smiled at whatever he saw there. “Should we go home?”

“Are you conferring with me in a professional context, Agent Mulder?”

He shook his head, the smile turning into a grin. “I’m not interested in your professional opinion at this time, Agent Scully.”

“Then yes, we should go home.”

He slung his arm around her shoulders as they walked and she leaned into him.

+ + +

In the DC airport, Scully caught a glimpse of curly hair and a familiar profile. “Naomi,” she said quietly to herself, and then louder. “Naomi!”

The woman turned, blanched, tried to push through a crowd. Scully swore. It was the suits. It was always the suits. Scully pursued, Mulder at her heels.

“Naomi! You’re not in trouble. We just want to talk.”

Naomi turned at last, eyes bright but her chin held high. She was clutching the hand of a blonde woman Scully had seen in a dozen photographs.

“Naomi Diaz,” Mulder drawled. “Cassy Miller.”

“How do you know our names?” Naomi demanded.

“We’ve been looking for you.” Scully showed them her badge. “Police Chief Hughes called the Bureau to follow up on a missing persons report.”

“And here you are, remarkably unmissing,” Mulder said. He was enjoying himself too much for someone who had been completely wrong, Scully thought.

“We shouldn’t have left the way we did,” Naomi said. Her mouth trembled. “I know that. But we couldn’t stay.”

“Why not?” Scully asked, and then looked again at the women’s clasped hands and understood.

Cassy stepped in front of Naomi without letting go. “It’s a small town, ma’am. Everybody knows everybody there. The kids at my store, I watched them grow up. I babysat half of them. Their parents are the older siblings of the kids I went to high school with. If I changed shampoo brands, the whole town would know by the end of the week.”

“I see.” Scully put her hands in her pockets. A week looking for two women and no one had mentioned they were lovers. The picture drew itself.

“I have loved this woman for a decade and everyone pretends they don’t know that,” Cassy said fiercely. “They just look right past me. It’s almost worse than if they were hateful.”

“It was like we were already dead,” Naomi put in. “We can’t get married. Landlords kept losing our application when we tried to get an apartment together. So it seemed easy. Everybody knows that people get drunk and stupid on the lake and nobody ever sees them again.”

“We read the reports,” Mulder told them. “Nobody in that town thought either of you would be drunk or stupid.”

“It was better than staying,” Cassy said in a firm voice. “Now we can start over. We can have a life that’s real. I’m thirty-two years old. I can’t spend the rest of my life playing pretend. Not about her.”

“They think you were eaten by the lake monster,” Scully told them.

Cassy laughed. “Champ? That’s just a legend.”

“No, it’s not,” Naomi muttered.

Scully exchanged a look with Mulder. “Regardless,” Scully said smoothly, “I think in this case, we can file a report saying that all evidence was inconclusive.” She paused. “Being eaten by a lake monster isn’t the worst way to go.”

Mulder was scribbling on a piece of paper. He passed it to Cassy. “Go to this address. The attendant in the Metro can show you the best stop. Tell them Mulder sent you. They’re weird guys, but they’ll help you.”

“And that’s it?” Naomi asked. “You’re not going to turn us in?”

“Leaving town isn’t a crime,” Scully told her. She started to turn away, and then turned back. “This may sound strange but…it’s never too late to start living the life you want. For what it’s worth, I think you’re both brave.”

“Thank you,” Cassy said.

Scully nodded and walked away with Mulder at her shoulder. They were quiet as they picked up their backs at the luggage carousel. She said nothing as they got into Mulder’s car. She waited until they had exited the airport road and merged onto the highway.

“Mulder?”

“Hmm?”

“I told you so.”

+ + +

He parked in front of her apartment and carried her bag in for her. “What a gentleman,” she started to say, but before she could get the words out, he was pressing her into the door, his hot mouth descending on hers. She tugged at his lip with her teeth and then surrendered, opening her mouth to the insistent slide of his tongue. Their hands tangled trying to get to each other’s buttons. But finally, fucking finally, his hands were on her bare tits and she was digging her nails into his back. She could feel his erection against her belly. She cupped it with her palm and he groaned.

“Fuck, Scully.”

She dragged his head down and nipped at his ear. “Time to put your money where your very active mouth is, Mulder.”

“Anything you want,” he promised.

“Tease me,” she said. “Worship me.”

He pressed his body into hers, fumbling at the closure of her skirt. After a moment he gave up and just pushed it over her hips. His hands ghosted over her skin, barely touching, until her nerves crackled and fizzed like a plasma globe. By the time his thumb traced up the damp gusset of her underwear, she was almost panting.

“What do you want, Scully?” he whispered, his tongue flicking at the shell of her ear.

“I want to give it to you,” she gasped. His hips jolted against her and she moaned.

He bit gently at her shoulder. “I’m confused but very turned on.” His thumb grazed her underwear again and she arched into the touch for a moment. It was difficult to wriggle out from between his body and the door, but she had the fuel of a week’s worth of frustration. He followed her, shedding his pants as they slid off his hips.

She dragged her suitcase into the bedroom and tipped it onto the floor. She unzipped it and pulled out a bundle of straps wrapped around a slender purple dildo.

“That was in your suitcase the whole time?” he said from the doorway.

“I thought it was a different kind of trip,” she told him. She shook out the straps; they resolved into a harness. The dildo fit neatly into it. She’d practiced assembling it. There was no fumbling here. She shed her skirt but didn’t bother with her underwear, stepping into the harness and buckling it tight.

“I thought you were going to be the one begging,” he said, sauntering closer. “Looks like you’ve turned the tables on me again.”

“Say ‘please’,” she told him.

He knelt in front of her, gazing up her body. As she looked down at him, he lapped slowly at the head of the dildo. She shuddered at the way his eyes closed in pleasure. He opened them again and stared up at her. “Please.”

“Clothes off. Get on the bed.” She ducked into the bathroom and grabbed a towel. He caught it when she tossed it and spread it under his hips. “You’ve done this before?”

“Not in a while,” he admitted. “I didn’t know if you’d be into it.”

“It’s got more reach than my fingers,” she said. “And honestly, Mulder, I’ve wanted to fuck you speechless for years.”

“Is that a challenge?” His eyes gleamed.

“It’s a promise,” she said, pulling a latex glove out of her suitcase and snapping it on.

She took her time preparing him. A single finger up his ass in the heat of passion was different from the dildo, even if it was the smallest of the set she’d bought. He lay on his belly on the bed. She knelt between his legs, pushing his thighs wide with her knees. The marks of her nails were pink half-moons up and down his back. She liked seeing them: proof he was hers.

She worked him open slowly, slicking him with lube until he was dripping, rubbing her fingers up and down and up and down between his ass cheeks. One finger, slow and steady. Her pussy throbbed under the base of the dildo, aching for him. Two fingers and he was groaning, lifting his hips toward her. Three fingers - that was probably the same girth as the dildo, and he rocked against her eagerly.

“Are you ready?”

“God, Scully, please.”

“Turn over,” she commanded. “I want to watch you while I fuck you.”

He flipped himself over with a surprising amount of grace. She gestured and he tossed her one of the pillows. She dragged the towel over it and helped him wedge it under his hips. He looked so vulnerable like this, splayed out before her. His cock banged his belly and she couldn’t resist dragging her tongue up it to taste the salt. Her thumb stroked the tender skin under his balls, sliding back and back to push inside him. More lube. More pressure at his entrance. She circled it with her thumb, slicked the dildo with yet more lube, let the head of it rest against him.

“Scully, please,” he said in an urgent hush.

“Please what?”

“Pretty please,” he said. “Pretty please, please fuck me.”

She checked her watch. “It’s only 4:58 p.m., Mulder. Are you sure we’re off the clock?”

“Please,” he said. “I swear we’ll talk about it next time we take a case that looks like a vacation.”

“In that case,” she said, and pushed into him oh so slowly. He took the toy an inch at a time. She would have sworn his eyes got greener the deeper she pushed. He made a noise like she’d touched his soul. When she started to pull out, he whimpered. The naked need on his face floored her.

“I’m not done,” she assured him, and thrust again. Fuck, it was hard not to just snap her hips into his. She wanted to fuck him rough. Maybe once he had graduated to something bigger, she’d bend him over her couch. Maybe she’d pull out her most indulgent dildo, the one that was almost too big, and let him gag on it. Not tonight, but maybe if he pulled a stunt like that again.

For now she fucked him slowly. The base of the dildo ground against her pubis, not quite the contact she needed, but good. And his face while she fucked him, God - she could have come just from the way he looked at her.

“Enough,” he gasped when she was so on edge she was gritting her teeth to keep going. “Fuck, Scully, enough.”

She pulled out of him and he reached for her and dragged her up the bed. He undid the buckles on one side of the harness and she undid the other side and the straps fell away. She tossed the dildo to one side. And then she was straddling him and his beautiful fucking cock was pressing against her and how was she already this goddamn close? She was seeing stars and he’d barely touched her yet.

Mulder wrapped his hand around his cock and rubbed it against the wet cotton that separated her skin from his. She reached down and pushed it aside and moaned. His shaft slid between her folds. Fuck, yes, that was what she’d needed. She wasn’t waiting any longer. She cupped her hand over his and used her other hand to pull her underwear away and then she was sinking down onto his cock.

“Not yet,” he said. His hands grabbed her hips, urging her higher until she was sitting on his face. Her underwear had slipped back into place, but that didn’t seem to bother Mulder. He licked at her through the fabric, lips and tongue working together. The cotton blunted the edges of his teeth when he scraped them over her clit. She moaned, a high urgent sound, and he pulled her down hard and sucked her clit until she saw stars.

“Mulder, yes,” she was saying, over and over. Her legs shook. He lessened the pressure, then swirled his tongue in rapid circles until she was coming again, grabbing at the headboard. He slid out from under her and pressed up against her back, his big hands on her tits, thumbing at her nipples until she was almost coming again. She turned her head to kiss him hungrily as his fingers slipped lower, spreading her folds so that he could push two fingers inside her. His thumb circled her clit and she came again, a warm wave of pleasure that surprised her.

“I think these need to come off,” he said, and helped her wriggle out of her panties.

“Now will you fuck me?” she panted.

“However many orgasms that was wasn’t enough for you?” He grinned.

“It’s different,” she said. “It was good - it was fantastic - but I need you inside me, Mulder.”

He didn’t have anything to say to that. He surged up behind her again, nudging her knees apart roughly, and pushed into her, filling her pussy in a way that immediately soothed the ache inside her and made it worse all at the same time. His arm locked over her shoulders as he heaved up into her, holding her in place on his cock. She whimpered and sank her teeth into the corded muscle of his forearm. She was clinging to the bars of her headboard. The motion of his hips rocked her up and down. His other hand was braced next to hers, his fingers curling over her fist. She leaned her head against his shoulder. Fuck, she loved him.

The pressure of him inside her made her desperate. She freed one hand, touched herself with trembling fingers. She was coming undone, again, her muscles clutching around him. He moaned and pulled out of her. She cried out in protest, still shuddering, but he put his back against the headboard and hauled into his lap, thrusting up into her like he’d never stopped. She braced her knees wide and took him as deep as she could, grinding against him. His thighs were tensing under hers. She was amazed he hadn’t come yet, and grateful, and determined.

“I want you to come inside me,” she whispered, and his whole body shivered. “I’ve been so good, Mulder, please.”

He bent forward and took her nipples into his mouth, first one, then the other, his mouth hot and desperate. She kissed his forehead, scraping her fingers through his hair as he squeezed her tits. And there, so unexpected, another orgasm building inside her. She rubbed herself against him in a frenzy. She’d never come this many times in a row, with a partner or a toy, but a week’s tension had wound her tight.

“I’m close,” he warned her. He rubbed his cheek over her nipple and the friction of his stubble made her gasp. “Scully.”

“I’m coming,” she said, and it was true. Sparks burst behind her eyelids and he held her hips down and pounded up into her and she could feel him inside her, the wet heat of his pleasure. It seemed to last forever as he surged into her and then finally, finally, she was back in her body, wrapped in his arms. When he eventually pulled out of her, it felt like a loss.

“I want to lick you clean,” he said. His voice was shaking.

“Next time,” she promised, wincing just a little. She was too sensitive everywhere, but it had been worth it. Fuck, it had all been worth it. They eased down together. Mulder flopped on his belly, ass in the air.

“Did I make it up to you?” he asked.

“I believe I got the rewards I was promised,” she said.

“If I’d known you’d brought your own equipment, I don’t think my conscience would have won,” he told her. “It was hard enough seeing you in that bath, all flushed and damp.”

She patted his ass. “You took it like a champ.”

He huffed a laugh into the crumpled sheets. “I would have absolutely bought a novelty t-shirt that said that.”

“I know,” she said.

He pushed up on one elbow and gazed at her. “And you would have stolen it to wear to bed.”

“With no underwear underneath,” she agreed.

He swore under his breath. “We could go back.”

“Let’s go somewhere else,” she suggested. “I don’t want you getting distracted by the local legends. Do you think I can find you a t-shirt that says ‘Rode Hard And Put Away Wet’?”

“We’ll have to get matching ones,” he said.

“We can do that.” She smiled at him. “You can wear it to work.”

“I think that would leave Skinner with some questions.”

She shook her head, yawning. “I think that would answer most of his questions.”

“You’re probably right,” he said.

“Mulder?”

“Hmm?”

“I changed my mind,” she told him. “Lick me clean.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and settled between her legs like it was his job. His mouth was gentle on her tender skin. His eyes were closed like he was praying. She pushed her hands through his hair and let herself drift into a dream of a life where they could do this anytime they wanted, forever and ever, amen.

#my fic #leiascully fic #msr fic #xfiles fanfic #pure unadulterated smut #thanks for the prompt!#this is too long for tumblr tbh

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