dragonflyover

[angabby-zzz]

Daphne is the person danny would be like “thank god i finally found a normal person in this group (or town)” about only to find out shes just as if not more into the weirdness of the place as everyone else is

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (9)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: A shocking call has Spencer questioning her involvement in the case. wc: 3.7k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

MASTERLIST

SPENCER COULDN'T REMEMBER THE LAST TIME HE FELT AT PEACE. Although protecting people and making them safe gave him a certain comfort, the pressure of being involved in harrowing cases took a toll on him more than he expected. But amid the ongoing investigation, he felt rather...calm.

He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly the reason why, between his responsibilities and obligations, he found himself embraced by this unexpected peace. It certainly had to do with the woman still nestled in his bed as he now stood in his kitchen, contemplating whether she preferred drinking coffee or perhaps something sweeter to start her day.

He couldn't believe it. He never imagined himself debating on another person's choice of beverage. Yet here he was, making a new pot of fresh coffee and setting out another mug to prepare a nice, warm cup of hot chocolate because its rich sweetness reminded him of her. If he didn't know which one she preferred between the two, he was going to make both.

He let out a sigh. He was a fool, wasn't he? Spencer was never one to indulge himself in romance. It wasn't easy for him to get swept away by any potential relationships. Falling in love again seemed like an illusion for him, something so far out of his reach. It seemed impossible to find someone he genuinely liked after losing the only person he ever considered spending the rest of his life with.

But look at him now, falling for somebody he met less than two weeks ago. For a smart person with an IQ of 187, he certainly was a fool.

Although having to know her for a mere fraction of time, Spencer had never fathomed that he could harbor such feelings. Having her soft body pressed against his side let him understand how much her presence stirred his heart.

And it wasn't just the physical aspect. The night wasn't simply spent with the warm feeling of her bare skin, but it was also filled with her laughter. Their late-night conversations delved into the realms of dreams and vulnerabilities, effortlessly bridging the gap between two strangers. With each passing conversation, he discovered the captivating intricacies of her mind which he wanted to understand better.

He liked her. He really did.

Maybe after all this ordeal, after he could disclose this current case, he could ask her out on a proper date. When there was no more boundary between them, when he wasn't an authority and she wasn't someone linked to a case, he would finally enjoy her company without feeling guilty.

He was pouring the fresh pot of coffee into a mug when his phone suddenly rang. He let out a groan, knowing what was waiting for him as he noticed Garcia's name plastered on the screen.

"Hey, Garcia," he greeted, slipping his phone between his face and his shoulder. "New update?"

"Reid."

He froze, noticing the strain in her voice. He quickly stopped what he was doing and straightened himself, pressing his phone against his ear. "What's wrong?"

"Are you sitting down?"

"Uh—no." He frowned at her question. "Why?"

"You might want to sit down."

He didn't, of course. But his mind was already buzzing with curiosity. "What is it?"

"Reid," she whispered, her voice dropping low as if trying to keep quiet. "You're the first person I called which means nobody else knows about this...yet."

"Garcia," he probed, suddenly feeling anxious. "What is it?"

There was a shuffling at the end of the line before her voice filled his ear again.

"Okay, so I crossed references that could help me find any articles Jamison Lynch wrote that might involve Kevin Marshall, and it turns out, there are none. Nothing. Nada." There was an unsettling pause before she continued, "Although there is one article mentioning Mr. Marshall by a journalist, who as of now, is an active employee at the publishing firm Jamison worked at. Guess who it is?"

He clutched the phone tighter as a tumultuous mix of emotions churned in his gut. In that moment, time seemed to stretch, waiting for his response. He paused, his mind spiraling into a web of confusion and disbelief as he pieced together the verity of this call.

"I'm guessing by your silence you already know why I wanted to call you first."

He did. He knew why it was important for Garcia to be informing him before anyone else. His eyes then glanced towards his bedroom door. Gone was the peaceful bliss he had felt, replaced by a gnawing sense of unease. Confusion suddenly swirled within him, clouding his thoughts and casting shadows upon the woman who still lay peacefully on the other side of the wall.

The warmth he relished this morning was now replaced by a chill of uncertainty that seeped into his veins.

"What—" He suddenly cleared his throat, hating how his voice sounded so foreign to him. He took a deep breath. "What else did you find?"

"I did more sleuthing and found Y/n's name as one of the people who filed a complaint against Jamison—which meant nothing, really, since he was known as a complete douchebag." Garcia then stopped. "May he rest in peace."

"Is there anything else?"

"Well, as it turns out, Jamison Lynch wasn't the first person Y/n filed a complaint for. There was also a complaint against Mr. Marshall."

"I thought Kevin Marshall was clean?"

"He was until I hacked into his company's database system and found this single complaint sent by her, which by the looks of it, seemed to be buried under a lot of firewalls." The clicking sound of a keyboard played in the background. "It was as if the company he worked for, or even Mr. Marshall himself, tried to hide it."

His burrows furrowed. "What was the complaint for?"

"Sexual Harassment."

His heart pounded in his chest, a fiery rage suddenly coursing through his body. The revelation he had just uncovered struck him like a thunderbolt, leaving him torn between seething anger and a torrent of conflicting emotions. The person he came to like had once suffered the unimaginable—a vile act of assault perpetrated by the man who now lay lifeless, a victim of murder.

Yet beneath the simmering rage, doubt festered like a poisonous seed. He was suddenly questioning the nature of her involvement. Not only did she know one of the victims, but she was also acquainted with both of them. His thoughts churned, torn between the desire to dismiss this uncertainty and the nagging voice of suspicion that echoed in the depths of his mind.

"Reid," Garcia called out when she was met with silence. "I don't what this means. I don't understand how or why she's linked between these two victims but please, please, don't do anything stupid."

His eyes drew back to his bedroom. Even when he was stuck between the depths of his emotions, the rational part of his brain managed to turn its gear. "Garcia, I need you to find out whether she knew the third victim."

"You mean the suicidal case that doesn't seem like suicide?"

"Harvey Webb," he confirmed, the name printed in his brain.

"Alright, I will. Oh—and Reid?" He hummed a reply. "Don't act on impulse. Please don't go concluding stuff on your own when you're obviously involved with her."

"I..." He took a deep breath. "I'm not involved with her."

"You're telling me you asked for her address and you didn't do anything about it?" When he didn't respond, she clicked her tongue. "Exactly. Now listen, I need to go and tell the others this, so come by the office and we'll deal with it together, okay?"

He glanced towards the cup of coffee now sitting cold by the counter. "Thanks, Garcia."

"You're welcome, boy genius."

As the phone call ended, Spencer found himself adrift in a sea of swirling emotions. This information was a step further into the investigation now that he found a link between the victims. But as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, a cloud of doubt descended upon his thoughts.

The deeper he delved into the complexities of the situation, the more elusive the truth became. Was it really possible she had anything to do with the murder? Could the trauma she had endured have pushed her to take matters into her own hands?

The questions lingered like a toxic fog, polluting his mind.

"Good morning."

Spencer looked up to see Y/n padding across the room wearing nothing but his shirt. The way the material draped over her form accentuated her curves, holding an allure that was impossible to ignore. His eyes traced the lines of her body, from the tousled strands of her hair to the subtle curve of her hip. It was an intimate sight that would have once mesmerized him completely.

But his mind was too clouded with his doubt.

"I hope you don't mind me borrowing your shirt—" She stopped when her eyes fell on him. "What's wrong? Is it the shirt?" She looked down at herself. "Should I change out of it?"

As quickly as the enchantment had taken hold, the weight of his doubts resurfaced. At that moment, the air crackled with unspoken words, an invisible barrier separating them. Spencer's heart ached with the weight of uncertainty.

How could the woman he had fallen for potentially be connected to a heinous crime? It seemed inconceivable, yet the voice at the back of his head urged him to question his doubt.

"Why didn't you tell me you knew Kevin Marshall?"

The unexpected question startled her, her feet instinctively taking a step back. "What?"

"When I questioned you that day, why didn't you mention that you knew him?"

She studied him, wondering where this was suddenly coming from. "I didn't think it was important," she finally responded. "And technically, I didn't know him personally. I interviewed him once for work."

"What happened that day?"

"What do you mean?"

"When you interviewed him, what happened?"

She felt his gaze upon her, intense and penetrating, and a shiver ran down her spine. It was as though he had glimpsed into the depths of her soul, unraveling something not many people were aware of.

"You know." It was more of a statement rather than a question. She took another step back. "Nobody else knows except a few of my closest friends but—" She shook her head. "That doesn't matter. What matters is how you know. I don't even think that company kept the files, they practically ignored my complaint."

"They kept it," he mused.

"And how do you know this?"

"The technical analyst in our team managed to find your files hidden."

"Technical analyst—why were you even searching for it?" She crossed her arms across her chest, focusing her attention on him. "Answer me. Why was your technical analyst searching for my complaint?"

Her heart was pounding against her chest as she waited for his answer.

"Because you're currently the only person linked between the two cases we're working on."

She frowned. "You mean the cases you think are done by the same killer? The death between my late boss and Kevin Marshall?"

"Yes. But this is only procedure, we do an investigation on any leads that we find."

"Investigation?" Then it dawned on her. It fucking dawned on her. Offense suddenly surged through her while his words, accusing and laced with suspicion, struck her with a sense of betrayal. "You think I have to do something with the murders."

The atmosphere, once a sanctuary of shared affection, now felt suffocating, closing in around her as the weight of his accusations settled heavily on her shoulders. His silence spoke louder than words.

"Unbelievable." Her eyes blazed with anger, her voice sharp and defensive. She turned away and stalked back to his room. "Unbelievable."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving," she hissed, noticing him trailing behind her. "Did you expect me to stay here and let you interrogate me like I'm some kind of criminal?"

His face twisted in frustration. "I just want to know what happened the day you interviewed Kevin Marshall."

"Why? So you can accuse me even further?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“You’re questioning me. You want to know whether I have some kind of vendetta against him."

"I'm not trying to accuse you of anything."

"But you are." Without any warning, she gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over her head. "You're practically cornering me with all the questioning, especially with that look on your face."

He quickly looked away and she stopped herself from scoffing at the absurdity of it. She was about to divulge how his sudden modesty was unnecessary when he spoke, "I wouldn't have to constantly ask you if you had answered me sooner."

This time she did scoff, grabbing onto her own pair of clothes. "You caught me off guard. What was I supposed to do?"

"Answer the question and not avoid it like what you're doing now."

"You think I'm avoiding the question on purpose?"

He drew his eyes back to her. "A study shows that body language plays a crucial role in interpersonal communication, and based on its verbal indicator, an attempt to avoid answering the question is notable by your vague response."

"And you're analyzing me based on that?"

"It's my job to analyze anyone involved in the case.”

"Anyone involved?" She screeched, dumbfounded by his judgment of her. "I trusted you last night, I opened up to you, and now you're throwing these baseless accusations at me?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm trying to make some sense of where you're connected in all of this."

"You don't even know how I'm involved!"

"That's what I'm trying to find out!"

The air crackled with tension, heavy with the echoes of their heated words. The silence that followed was almost deafening, a palpable strain that hung in the air like a fragile thread. The once intimate space now felt hollow, as if drained of its energy by the intensity of their emotions.

Breathless and emotionally drained, they stared at each other, their eyes mirroring a mix of regret, hurt, and lingering anger. But as the echoes of their heated argument faded, she felt a sudden wave of exhaustion wash over her. The adrenaline that had fueled her anger now deserted her, leaving her drained.

"You know what was on my mind this morning?" She suddenly spoke. "I woke up thinking I was happy to run into you again. It didn't take long for me to understand that, albeit the circumstances, I actually came to like you."

As the words spilled from her trembling lips, her voice quivered with vulnerability. But then a shadow of doubt danced in her eyes. A new wave of anger surfaced, overpowering the fragility of her confession.

"But the person I like is not this version of you. Who I like is Spencer Reid, not Doctor Reid."

He frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, right now, you're not the same guy I spent the night with. You're scrutinizing me, you're—what is it that you do again? Ah, yes, a profiler." She pointed a finger at him. "You're trying to profile me, you're trying to read my mind in my most vulnerable state because if you haven't noticed, Spencer, I'm standing here half naked while you're pestering me with your questions."

He quickly glanced away, noticing the truth in her words. He had let his anger and suspicion cloud his judgment of her, something Garcia had warned him not to do. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I'll go wait outside."

"Don't bother, I'm almost done."

But he was already out of her vision, and when she heard the soft click of the door closing behind her, she let out a shaking breath.

She stood there, her heart aching with a mix of disappointment and betrayal. His accusations had cut deep, searing through the bliss they had nurtured the past night. The warmth that once enveloped them had been replaced by a cold emptiness, leaving her feeling adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

Her eyes drifted to the unmade bed before her. The memory of the night lingered in her mind like a bittersweet melody, playing on the strings of her heart. The tender moments they had shared, the warmth that had enveloped them seemed so distant now, overshadowed by the disappointment and anger that colored her mind.

She had hoped for a peaceful morning, a continuation of the intimacy they had shared under the cover of darkness. Instead, she found herself faced with the harsh truth of their current reality, the dissonance of their unspoken tensions. His doubt had tarnished the tender memories, leaving a bitter taste on her lips.

With a heavy sigh, she let the memories of last night linger for a moment longer before gathering her strength. She walked out of the room once she was fully clothed to find him standing by his couch, his body turning at the sound of her footsteps.

"Y/n."

“Thanks for listening to me last night."

"Y/n."

"Thank you for letting me stay too."

"Y/n."

"Stop."

Her hands clenched into fists, a physical manifestation of the conflicting emotions raging within her. He watched her, and as the silence stretched between them, she saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, a recognition of the hurt he had inflicted. Perhaps he had acted out of fear, allowing the shadows of the investigation to cast doubt on her. But the betrayal still lingered too deeply.

"You know what frustrates me?" She wondered. His silence was a sign for her to continue. "You're questioning me not because you genuinely want to know, you're doing it out of your obligation because you think it's your job to do so."

She held out a hand when he took a step closer.

"And it's fine," she went on. "It is your job. You're the federal agent here and I'm merely someone whose name is linked to the case."

"Y/n, I didn't mean to—"

"With that being said, we should keep our relationship strictly that way."

Her words hung heavy in the air, each syllable an arrow piercing his heart. He stood there, frozen, his eyes fixed on her as if searching for a flicker of hesitation, a glimmer of doubt. But her resolve was unwavering. With a deep breath, she mustered the courage to speak once more, her voice steady and resolute.

“If you really want to know what happened, call me into your office, I'll answer your questions then.”

Her expression dulled as she held his gaze, and with one last jaded look etched in her somber eyes, she finally turned around without sparing another glance, excusing herself from his apartment.

He watched as the door closed behind her.

Spencer stood there, surrounded by an oppressive silence that echoed the void she had left behind. Time seemed to stand still as he grappled with the overwhelming flood of emotions. The truth of the situation settled upon his shoulders, the reality that their paths had diverged and the bliss they had once shared had transformed into something unrecognizable.

Just as the weight of his emotions threatened to overwhelm him entirely, his phone suddenly pinged with a new alert. Startled, he reached for it, his fingers trembling as he unlocked the screen. The digital glow illuminated his face, casting a pale light upon his features as he read the message.

PENELOPE: THEY'RE CALLING HER IN. SHE KNEW THE THIRD VICTIM.

Spencer stood frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stared at the words. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat reverberating through his entire being. He dialed Garcia’s number only to be rejected as soon as the first ring echoed in his ear.

PENELOPE: CAN'T TALK. HOTCH IS BESIDE ME.

His heart raced, his breath quickened, and a mixture of anger, confusion, and fear surged through his veins. Spencer quickly walked over towards his window and saw a glimpse of Y/n climbing into a cab, her phone pressed against her ear. He ran a hand through his curls in frustration as his phone alerted a new message.

PENELOPE: GET YOUR ASS HERE, REID.

SPENCER: I'm on my way.

Confusion clouded him, the lines between truth and lies blurring in his head. And beneath it all, fear lurked, whispering doubts about his judgment.

A heaviness settled upon his chest, constricting his breath and swarming his thoughts. The calm that had graced his waking moments seemed like a distant memory now—his peace only lasted briefly.

>> NEXT PART

.

taglist

@tereresrock @casthings @vader-is-hot @maevethelesbian @whereintheworldisspencerreid @reidverseq @niyahwhoreworld @l4venderia @theintrovertedthespian @lovelyxtom @tayzerr-72 @mulbsstuff @dorothleah @stevenknightmarc @prettyboyspenceee @gracesmusings @kalulakunundrum @fearlessmoony @r5court @simp4f1 @thecrazytealady @nyeddleblog @ghostheartbeat @comfortzonequeen @iiheartbowie @louderfortheback @busy-buzzing @alexis-exe2008 @imtherealslimmoony @baeofevery @elamultistan @lyxennz @avid-fic-reader-05

@cowstealer427 @thollandsdarling @ghxst-heart @cashtons-wife @kyuupidwrites @you-sunshine @comboboo @sebastiansstanswhore @panic-monster @marimorena06 @alice-ace299 @uncle-eggy @bollzinurmouth @julezs-bl0g @ruhrohragu @eternally-passionate @kazuumii @spencerr3idd @withered-rxse @broken-pieces @siredtomsgilbert @kaiya3333 @furiousbanditnickelknight @pinkangelavenue

@slay-and-gay @woahnotmecryingoverafanfiction @zeysartzone @frxcless @sadroses98 @ashpeace888 @poo-tay-toot

PLEASE READ: If any of you asked me to be added and you're not on the list OR you want to be added in the future, please comment on this post so I could see it. But make sure your blog can be searched by anyone or I can't tag you. Thank you :)

Don’t forget to interact with the story!

[writingdespair]

Hi hi!! I have a request if you’re up for it :]

Maybe hiyoko with a shy s/o? (Shy in the “quiet/listens rather than speaks” way, not in the “anxious mess (Mikan)” way, if that makes sense ^^)

Tysm if you do this!! Keep being wicked you fell demon <33

Apologies for the wait! I had been struck down with a curse of the fabled blue screen of death. The only remedy to such a curse was to empty the dark depths of my wallet. Fear not, as I have returned from the pits of hell to write once more!

Enjoy, my fallen angel!

-Overlord of Ice, Mod Gundham

Opposites are definitely attracting here. Hiyoko is loud, crude, and excitable. While most would say your calming personality could try and calm her down, it’s actually the opposite. When she’s with you, she gets energetic. She’ll tease you and prod at you to try and get a reaction.

If you’re not the affectionate type, that’s okay. Hiyoko’s clinginess is enough for the two of you. She’s a big fan of jumping on your back no matter what you’re doing. There are times where she’ll tell you to lean down for a kiss, just for her to bop you on the head instead.

In front of others, she’ll love to make fun of you as if you’re the one that hangs off of her. “They may be quiet but they’re actually a total pervert when we’re alone!” None of your classmates really believe her.

You love to listen and Hiyoko loves to talk. She’ll tell you about anything: her dance recitals, badmouthing your classmates, anything that comes to mind. Hiyoko loves to sit in your lap while she gossips. Her hand will be deep in a bag of gummies while she rests against your chest.

While she does tease you, and borderline humiliates you, she’ll put you on a pedestal above your other classmates. In her eyes, you could truly do no wrong. She’s a small yet fierce guard dog. She’ll make sure to uplift you while berating anyone else.

If you ever seem like you have something to say, but can’t speak up over someone else’s voice, she will make sure you’re heard personally. “Hey! Shut your waste of space mouth! Your breath is stinking up the air.” She would cling onto your arm with a big childish smile. “(Name), didn’t you have something to say?”

During the killing game, she’s glued to your hip. Even though she acts big and bad, Hiyoko is scared of both losing her life or yours. Hiyoko practically moves into your cottage. There is no more privacy, you can’t even shower by yourself. If you don’t already know how, you’ll have to learn how to tie her kimono for her.

Hiyoko will vouch for you during trials and investigations. With your keen listening skills, you’re bound to find something out but you might not have the courage to speak up. If you wanted, she’d relay the information to the others. Not for them, but for your skills to be recognized.

Due to your quiet nature, you’re often a main suspect in trials. If Hiyoko was busy on the day of a murder, you might be without an alibi. Worry not, as Hiyoko will be your biggest defender. Hajime is at his wits end as he’s called vulgar names one after another. No one gets a chance to speak as she wails about your innocence.

Even if you were to murder someone, she would always be by your side.

“(Name), you’re the only one that could’ve done it.” A spotlight shines down on you as Hajime speaks. All eyes were on you. Frankly, you didn’t know what to say. What were you supposed to say while backed into a corner?

Fuyuhiko kissed his teeth, rolling his eyes. “You’re being accused of murder, and you still can’t speak up? How stupid can you be?”

You open your mouth, trying to formulate anything coherent. Before you could say anything, a shrill cry echoed through the trial room.

“Waaaah! You stupid pigshits are picking on them! They would never commit murder!” Hiyoko slams her small fists against the podium. “Why couldn’t you be the victim, Hajime?” 

Ignoring the death threat, Hajime explains his reasoning. “It could only be them. They were the only one on the second island with no alibi.”

“Shut up!” Hiyoko was clenching the wood so tight her knuckles were turning white. “I was with them, dumbass! So how about you kneel down and apologize to them like a good mutt!”

With a point of his finger, Hajime shot down that lie. “No, that’s wrong! Nagito said he saw you at the beach right before the body discovery announcement. You wouldn’t have had time to meet up with them before the time of death.”

Hot tears pooled down her cheeks. Hiyoko knew the truth. She knew you were guilty. She didn’t want to face the truth. You weren’t supposed to leave her side. “You’ll trust that nasty perv to be honest? You’re a fucking idiot-!”

“Hiyoko.” Your quiet voice reached her ears. She looked at you like a deer in headlights, her body shaking. “That’s enough. It’s over.”

“O-over…” Her bottom lip quivers, snot threatening to pool from her nose. “Why are you giving up? Tell them you didn’t kill that stupid whore. Tell them you didn’t do anything wrong, you moron!” 

Walking over to her podium, you take her into your arms. She fights back for a moment, slamming her fists into your chest.

“I’m sorry, Hiyoko.”

“Shut up!” Hit! “Shut up!” Hit. “Shut uh-uuuuppp!” She slumps into you, sobbing her heart out.

[mar64ds]

can u tell us more about the rest of the characters you showed off for ur s&m game?

Thank you I'd love to talk about them!!!

-This is Manny Money, of course I had to go with an Ace Atttorney-like name. He is the one who has organized the party in his big mansion. He is usually always smiling, he is very cheery, but you can easily tell he is a very fake person. He owns a toy brand/company, inhereted by his father, but lately the toys have not been selling well and for some reason Manny is not really doing anything about it? Strange

-I have not decided the name of the rest of the characters yet, this lady here is mysterious, cold, distant and always seems like she knows a lot about everyone and about this mystery. She's a succesful singer, although she usually stays out of public eye from some reason. She is also Manny's ex, something he clearly hasn't let go of, but she has, she is very open about how much she dislikes him. She is suspicious but Sam and Max have funny interactions with her because they are usually pretty nice to her despite everything

-This is a supervillain skeleton, also the owner of a film company, that's not his secret identity or anything but Sam and Max think that it is lol. He is a very theatrical person, when he tries to be a villain or when he is simply having a normal conversation, he just loves a good show. Sam and Max have fought him in the past, but they barely remember anything about him

-This fish is shy, socially anxious, gets startled easily, they are not having a good time in a murder mystery. Think of characters like Luigi, Boober, they are kind like that. They are an actor, whenever they act they become a very confident person, acting is the thing that always calms them, also water because they are a fish. There is a theatre and a pool on the mansion so perhaps that can help? Overall they are a very sweet person, they just worry a lot, and you have a lot to worry about in a murder mystery. They genuinely like Sam and Max, like they don't roll their eyes at them or think they are strange, they genuinely like Sam and Max, it's very sweet. Oh yeah, first sam&max nonbinary representation, second if the VR player counts, there will be a couple more, the party will have plenty of NPCs

-This pig, capitalist pig, he is a terrible person. His entire personality is being a billionaire asshole, he is fun to hate or you can just hate him without the fun. He has funny facial expressions, think of Burgerpants from Undertale, not exactly like that but similar. He is rivals with Manny, even though this pig is richer than him Manny somehow always humiliates him, but he keeps going to his parties anyway

-Of course you know her already, but I want to talk about her too! She is a succesful fashion designer, she has her own magazine. She wants to interview the guests on the party, take pictures, take notes about the different outfits, etc. She does that but gets bored after a while, she loves her job but the party grows old quick. She has a very cute personality with a very blunt and direct sense of humor, she says what she thinks and she is not shy to ask questions, she is a reporter of her own magazine after all, even though it's only about fashion, she is just curious to investigate about everything else too. She gets along well with Sam and Max, the things they find amusing and entertaining she also finds amusing and entertaining, she is just very casual about it. She helps with solving the mystery, because that sounds fun, she will give find a bunch of hints and stuff that will help the case move forward. You'll even get a dress-up minigame thanks to her! She does more in the story but that's a spoiler, but overall she is just a lot of fun and she has the best friendship with Sam and Max

-The squirrel is only there for a puzzle, it's not a character. The bee is not a character either, but it's the mascot of Manny's toy company, you will see him a lot

-The little bat however! That's a little guy that was flying around the mansion until Max accidentaly knocks it out, we use it for a puzzle and then Sam keeps it in his pockets. When it wakes up, even though it's a little mad, it will help you for one thing: fast travel! This is a big mansion, you don't have to backtrack over and over, this little bat is here and is strong enough to carry you both. You can talk to it too, it will have another role in the story later on, but that's a spoiler. I don't know how to describe its personality other than a cute videogame companion, think of Telly Vision from Chibi-Robo, or Heart from Mad Rat Dead

[lokilickedme]

The Way

I’m writing horror again.  I guess it’s that time, you know, that time that has nothing to do with Halloween or the seasons or whatever, that time when it just hits me for some reason.  And just like I always do, I’ll say I don’t know why.

Even though I know why, and you know I know why.

Because the truth is always so much weirder and worse and more disquieting than any excuse I could make up for it, and sometimes I just feel the need.

Today I felt the need, and I couldn’t make it go away.

And so I sat down, and words I didn’t want to write were written.

.

8592 words I would rate this Mature 18+ if it was a fic, strictly because of the subject matter.

Warnings: Death, mostly.  Religious trauma, brief descriptions of abuse, mentions of mental illness, domestic violence, grief, familial dysfunction, religious abuse, emotional abuse, medical conditions, brief mentions of drug use/abuse, mild gore in reference to corpse decomposition, psychological unease and mild terror, child abuse (mental/emotional/psychological), brief allusion to physical child abuse, cult references, loss of faith, attempted murder, possible actual murder.

A Note:  I love you guys, you’re always so quick and willing to be helpful and offer advice and suggestions and such, and I adore that about you.  But on this piece of work I ask that nobody offer any theories about what happened to my brother - medical, criminal, or otherwise - and please no suggestions on things we could do to pursue investigation, that ship has long sailed.  It’s been 23 years and he’s a cold case.  We spent years trying to sort it out but in the end it’s just something that happened, and we moved on because we had to.  There are a lot of open ends, a lot of question marks, a lot of suspicious details that never connected to anything - and we tried, we truly did.  If anyone out there knows the truth, they’ve never shown themselves to us.  We do have our theories, but my brother was a secretive person living a life none of us knew about, and the people he knew weren’t people we knew.  Everyone involved is either dead or moved on or got away with whatever it was they did, and there are only three of us who still care.  It’s over.

Until today, I’ve never put these events into words.

It was something I needed to do, finally.

This is PART ONE.  There may not be a part two, unless doing this ends up making me feel better.

Please feel free to comment if you wish.  As you can see, pretty much nothing triggers me.  I just ask that you please refrain from the type of comments noted above.

And thank you.

----------

This is, regrettably, a true story.  Nothing has been changed but the names, because the dead don’t like being talked about, and James was just enough of a shit to haunt me for it.

----------

----------

They made up their minds And they started packing They left before the sun came up that day An exit to eternal summer slacking But where were they going without ever knowing the way

They drank up the wine And they got to talking They now had more important things to say And when the car broke down They started walking Where were they going without ever knowing the way

Anyone can see the road that they walk on is paved in gold And it's always summer They'll never get cold They'll never get hungry They'll never get old and gray You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere They won't make it home But they really don't care They wanted the highway They're happier there today, today

Their children woke up And they couldn't find them They left before the sun came up that day They just drove off and left it all behind them But where were they going without ever knowing the way?

Anyone can see the road that they walk on is paved in gold And it's always summer They'll never get cold They'll never get hungry They'll never get old and gray You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere They won't make it home But they really don't care They wanted the highway They're happier there today, today

You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere They won't make it home But they really don't care They wanted the highway They're happier there today, today

- The Way, Fastball, 1998

.

That was the year James died in his sleep.

Or that’s what they say, anyway.  Asthma, the likely cause based on his medical history, our first and least disturbing assumption.  Undetermined, the official determination based on the hastily scraped-together autopsy, the best that could be done under the circumstances.  We tell people he had breathing problems, and they nod their heads and agree because they knew he did, and now he’s been gone so long that nobody asks.  Most of the people who ever met him have long moved on or disappeared or died themselves, or just remember him as the enigmatic middle son from the Keithley family that nobody really knew very well.  You know, the odd one, the one that showed up at meetings maybe once a year and smiled nervously but didn’t really talk to anyone and always seemed anxious to leave?  The one who died under mysterious circumstances?  That one.

He left the way he always came in.  Quietly, unexpected, without anyone being aware of either his entrance or his exit.

But me and mom know some things, and she’s not talking.  She probably never will.

So maybe it’s time I did.

December 1998.  I’d gotten married two years previous and moved back to the family land with my new husband.  He hated it there, but we had an affordable place to live.  It wasn’t bad.  He’d tell you otherwise.  The land never sat right with him, but I’d lived there too many years to see it.  I’d been fifteen when my father uprooted his large family from the city and hauled us out to the great back door to nowhere, and even though I’d left several times to wander elsewhere, I always came back.

I didn’t realize why at the time, at any of the multiple times.  But now I know.  That place gets you, and it holds you, and unless you’re goddamned devoted to staying gone you will always be pulled back.  It took me till I was 49 to funnel the necessary amount of devotion away from the religious dedication I’d had jackbooted into me and turn it toward getting out, but against a great number of overwhelming odds I finally did it.

But this isn’t about that, not yet anyway.  This is about my brother James, and how he went to sleep one night and found his own way out.

----------

It was snowing, had been for days, a bit unusual but not unheard of.  The part of the state we lived in was notorious for extended ice storms and we knew a bad one was coming, but until it hit we played in the snow like it was a gift and we were deprived children who knew it was all going to be taken away soon.  My brothers and I were adults but you wouldn’t know it, watching us sneak around in the woods staging elaborate commando attacks on each other.  James was the best of us, a stealth king who could stand in the middle of a room for an hour without a single soul seeing him.  Perception bias, he said.  Your brain ignores me because I obviously don’t belong, like those puzzles where you circle what’s wrong but it takes you forever to find them.

He crept around in the forest scaring the shit out of people, dropping his long tall self out of trees, appearing from nowhere to administer a well aimed snowball to the face of whoever happened to cross his path and then disappearing just as quickly.  We called him a wraith and it wasn’t a good natured jibe.  We meant it.  He made people nervous.  He was the stealthy kind of quiet you associate with danger, and he knew how to do things an average person doesn’t ever have any need to know.  It was a quiet cool that we admired him for, because none of the rest of us had it.

The religion we were raised in kept a tight lid on us, but me and James, we never really let it get into our bones.  We were the smart ones, in retrospect.  I went through the motions by force of habit and a sense of self preservation, doing what was expected and demanded of me, following the rules and making myself a perfect example of a young member of the church so I wouldn’t bring shame on the congregation and my family.  But mostly the congregation.  It was always more important than anything else.  And I had behaving down to an art form, but mostly when people were looking.  Usually also when they weren’t.

But sometimes, not quite.

And then I prayed for forgiveness about it later because God was supposed to forgive you if you asked him to, right?  The tenet of willful sin being unforgivable never took root with me even though that was what the church conditioned into us through fear and constant repetition.  They said it from the stage two nights a week and again on Sunday to hammer it home.  Two nights a week and again on Sunday my head silently disagreed.  God’s not like that.  And then I did the praying for forgiveness thing even though I knew I was right, because I was disagreeing with the church, and the church was God’s channel here on Earth, wasn’t it?  I committed a mortal sin at least three times a week on that subject alone, and though the dread of divine punishment was hardwired into me, I never could reconcile the concept of a loving and forgiving God destroying me simply for knowing better.

I’m not sure the comprehension of an overwatching deity ever actually established itself in James’ brain.  A moral code, yes.  But isn’t that what God is, really?  Maybe he understood more about God and forgiveness than the rest of us.  But he was considered an unapproved fringe member of the church because he couldn’t suffer people and noise and being looked at and he refused to preach, and he was soft-shunned as a result.  Because if you weren’t all in to the point of being willing to die at any moment for your faith, you were as good as faithless.

And faithless meant condemned.  And the congregation couldn’t be bothered with condemned people, regardless of their reasons for not having both feet in the water.  The first and only option on their list was to put the person out and let them find their own way back once they realized they had nobody left in the world who cared about them.

James escaped that somehow.  He was supposed to be shunned whole scale, but he wasn’t trying to convince anyone to leave the faith and he presented no threat to anyone’s strength of belief, and so far as anyone knew he’d committed no grave sins other than disinterest.  So the rule that dictated we cast him out was bent enough to allow him to remain living on the family land, though at one point during a fit of overzealous righteousness my mother had tried to have a family meeting to vote on whether or not we were going to let him stay.  I refused to vote and when I walked out of the house the meeting fell apart.

I’ve never forgiven her for that.  Her son’s life being put to a vote with her presiding over the proceedings, vengeful and unfeeling and devoid of compassion on behalf of God himself.  It takes my breath away, the anger, still to this day.  The only thing I ever truly learned from my mother about parenting was a long and intensely detailed list of what not to do to my own children, and I suppose I should be grateful for that.  It’s a bitter thank-you to have to give, but it’s something.

We knew James as much as he would allow us to, and not an inch further.  Which meant the extent of our knowledge of him pretty much stretched to include the singular fact that he was different.  What that meant, I still don’t really know - but it was there from the day he was born, that slight off-ness, the oddly off center calibration that you can’t really see so much as sense in a person.  I know now he was likely on the autism spectrum and he walked through life seeing and reacting to everything differently than most of us, but that wasn’t a thing back then.  You were just weird, or you weren’t.  And I’m not convinced that was a bad thing for him, strictly speaking.  But in the confines of our religion and our family’s devout and sometimes violent dedication to it, it took its toll almost daily.

He stood out, and he was very much a person who didn’t want to.  He wanted to fade into the background, to not be seen, to not be known.  And our religion didn’t tolerate that kind of nonsense, because we were commanded to be bold bearers of The Word Of God, and no exceptions were made.

None.

I’m going to stop calling it a religion now.  I beg your indulgence as I shift to calling it what it is, because calling it a religion is an insult to actual religions that don’t destroy peoples’ lives with callous indifference and murderous glee.

We were raised in a doomsday death cult.  There’s no other name that fits.

And we were trapped in it and its ugly cycle of neverending mental and emotional manipulation and abuse until we were adults, and some of us are still bound to it.  My oldest brother worked his way up to the upper levels of oversight in the local congregation and was solidly entrenched in it until his death, which is a story for later.  My youngest brother, the last remaining living blood sibling I have, is still deeply in it to this day and will likely never leave it.

I took the hard way out, three years ago, by walking away.

James, though.  He took the easy way.  He simply closed his eyes, and he was free.

----------

December 22, 1998.  Three days before Christmas, though that meant nothing to us.  The cult told us Christmas was a filthy demonic pagan ritual that was condemned by God, so to us the season was just a nice chilly time of year with lots of time off from work.  We’d had an unusual amount of snow, the most we’d had in years.  The roads were impassable and everyone was home except my husband, who worked close enough that his boss at the glass shop came and picked him up that morning with chains on his tires.  Lots of windshields had shattered from the sudden violent cold that had struck the previous night and Scott had the only glass shop for sixty miles.

I think it must have been around noon, and likely my mother had sent my dad up the hill to see if James wanted to come down for the lunch she was making.  He and his wife had split up against the strict rules of the church after a few years of suffering through an ill advised marriage, an important detail to this story that will come into the tale later, and he was alone up there at the top of the hill a lot.  Sometimes he forgot to eat, or he got so busy that he just didn’t bother, so our mother always made something for him because even though he was in his 20′s he was still a kid who needed looking after and her zealous fervor against him had died down with time.  I think he let her believe he was helpless because it worked in his favor and there was always lunch waiting for him in her kitchen as a result.

He was different, he wasn’t dumb.

We all lived on the hill back then with the exception of our youngest brother.  He’d moved to the city with his new wife not long prior.  The locals jokingly called the place a commune, and I guess they weren’t completely wrong.  Thirty-eight acres of wooded land far beyond the city limits that we’d painstakingly spent years carving a livable space into, with five houses, all built from the ground up and inhabited by an extended family of well known culties from a well known cult.  It’s almost comical, looking back on it, knowing now how they kept an eye on us for years to make sure we weren’t doing anything weird up there.

They should have run us off with pitchforks and burning stakes at the very beginning.

Things might have ended differently for us if they had.

----------

My grandparents lived at one end of the property, an old couple as simple and solid as salted soup, devoutly religious and devoted to the cult and very much cut from the can survive anything and probably will cloth like so many old country folks of their generation.  They were waiting out the end of days up there in their little wooden house, expecting the final hour of this old system to come long before their own demise.  I liked my grandmother, she had a sweet smile and fell asleep every time granddad started talking about the Bible and she paid me five dollars every Wednesday to drive her into town to get groceries, and years later, when she was dying, she told me she’d had a dream where she met my unborn son.  I was four months pregnant and didn’t know yet that I was having a boy.  She died before he was born, but to this day, fifteen years later, he tells me he’s sure he met her, he just can’t remember when.

I was scared of my grandfather.  Not terrified, but there was nothing grandfatherly to him and I always suspected he never actually liked kids much.  He’d once told us a story about the great Fort Worth flood that wiped out most of the city when my mom was a baby, and how he had told my grandmother to let go of my 2-year-old mother while he was struggling to get them across a rushing flooded creek in water up to their shoulders.  My grandmother couldn’t swim.  We could make another Ruthie, he said.  But I couldn’t get another ‘Nita.

He said it proudly, like he was to be admired for his choice.  I was young when he told that story, but it settled into me that this was evil.

Even when he was old as dirt and dying of a brain tumor in hospice care, he made me uneasy.  I was never close to him.  But for some reason, in his final days, he forgot who everyone was except me.  I had been living in another state for years and he hadn’t seen me since before the tumor started taking his life.  But when I walked into the room he turned his head and looked at me, and he mouthed my name.

He couldn’t speak.  I don’t know what he was trying to say, struggling with words that nobody could hear.  And I felt bad.  I didn’t want to be the last person he recognized.  My cousins adored him and had spent the last few years constantly at his side, and they were angry, maybe justifiably, that I was the one he reached for.

I didn’t want that at all.

I don’t believe he was a bad man, but he never spoke of anything except the cult’s interpretation of the Bible, and it was as tiresome as it was terrifying.  Granddads are supposed to be fun.  Ours quoted doctrine at us in a deep loud commanding voice that you couldn’t interrupt and you couldn’t tune out, and once he got going you had to just settle in and wait for him to run out of zealous steam.  And then he would suddenly stop and command grandmother to turn on a John Wayne movie and bring him some ice cream, and it was over until the next time.

I know my mother resented him.  She knew grandmother was the one that had refused to let her go, the one that had held onto her even though she almost drowned by the simple act of holding on.  She knew her father had been willing to let her wash away and drown.  That he thought she was interchangeable with whatever baby they would have next.  How she could spend her entire life with that knowledge and not be deeply affected by it was something that never made sense to me, but now, when she’s in her 70′s and I’m in my 50′s, I finally understand.  It affected her.  She’ll just be damned if she’ll let anyone see it.  And she had stood there in that hospice room watching him mouth my name with resentment burning in her eyes, though she would have rather died than let anyone know what it was for.  He’d forgotten her weeks ago.

The house in the center of the hill was mom and dad.  The homestead.  The house we’d all lived in together, that we’d built with our own hands, the first thing that marked that wild overgrown hill as a place where people actually lived.  A long path through the woods connected it to the grandparents’ house, and it was the epicenter of everything in our lives.  James and I had lived in the upstairs rooms of that house until we both moved out and married our respective mates years later, a reprehensible act on our part that was never okay with my mother and that she never forgave either of us for.  She’d wanted us all to stay.  We can all live here together until the New System comes, she always said.  That’s how the Bible says it’s supposed to be.  We can all keep each other safe and on the right path until the end comes, and then we’ll all be here together forever.

A decade later when I sat up on the hill watching that house burn to the ground, there was as much relief as grief billowing into the sky with the black smoke.  It was the end of an era, and it was far beyond time for it.

Nobody saw it but me.  James was dead, had been for years.  Robbie was dead now too.  Dad was gone, so was granddad.  Me and my youngest brother David were the last two left of the kids, but he had moved to a neighboring city when he got married and he has never seen things the way I see them.  We were of different generations, we weren’t raised the same way, and he’d never experienced the abuse I lived with for the first half of my life.  And he had dedicated his own life to the cult with all the honesty and lack of guile that I didn’t have when I’d made my own dedication vows at the too-young age of sixteen.

It was the end of an era, but apparently only for me.

James’ house was up the hill, past a clearing where my dad used to keep old cars that he cannibalized for parts.  Our oldest brother Robbie, long married with kids of his own, lived at the bottom on the farthest corner of the land.  And my house was on the slope to the west, built on the spot where we’d cleared off an old half-fallen homestead from the late 1800′s, dutifully paying no mind to the fact that a grave was nestled into the slope, right where the yellow daffodils grew.  The cult told us superstition was tied up with the demons and false religion, so we didn’t have the built-in human instinct that tells most people to stay the hell away from certain things.

We just pretended it wasn’t there, and put no importance on it.  It was just an old grave.  The soil was good and the garden I planted next to it did well, though those strange daffodils always wound themselves through everything I put in the ground.  My husband said something wasn’t right about it, but I didn’t pay any attention to him.  He hadn’t been raised as devout as me.

My dad knocked on my door around lunchtime and I opened it.  He backed up, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, the fancy leather coat the dealership had awarded him when he was designated a five-star Chrysler technician and given the state’s first and only license to work on the new Vipers that had recently rolled off the prototype line.  It was a cool jacket.  Made him look like the old pictures my other grandmother had shown me of him from the early 1960′s, when he was young and very much a product of a fancier era.  He’d never stopped greasing his hair back and was still so thin that he and I wore the same size jeans.

I’ve never understood the look on his face when I opened the door.  To this day I can’t sort it.  It wasn’t a blankness like so many people who’ve seen death wear without awareness.  It wasn’t grief.  It wasn’t even shock.

He was sorry.

Those were the first words out of his mouth.

I’m sorry.

I stood there, not knowing what he was sorry for.  It was cold.  I couldn’t push the screen door open very far because of the snow blocking it.  And my father was standing at the bottom of the steps James had helped my husband build, his hands shoved down far into his pockets like a penitent child about to get in trouble, telling me he was sorry.

James is dead, he finally said.  He’s in his house.  I went up there and he’s dead.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I do now - just now, this very moment in fact, I know that I was the first person he told.  He came straight from James’ house to mine and told me my brother was dead.

I don’t know what I said back to him, I just remember sitting down on the top step and feeling the cold bite of the snow through my pajama pants.  There’s a vague recollection of putting my face in my hands, and the embarrassing knowledge that I did that simply because I didn’t know what else to do.  And dad just stood there, nervously stepping from foot to foot in the snow, because he didn’t know what else to do either.

I think I asked How at some point.  He said he didn’t know.  He had something in his pocket but to this day I don’t know what it was.

I don’t know if it was important.  Something tells me it was.  Or maybe it was just the eternally present handkerchief he always kept on him.

I’m sorry, he said again.  He seemed to feel like it was his fault somehow.  I’m sorry.

What do we do?  I asked him.  I’ve never felt more blank.  What are we supposed to do?

I don’t remember what he said, other than he was going to get my older brother.  I remember thinking that was a good idea.  Robbie would know what to do.  He always did.  Brash and blustery and bigmouthed, he got things done while other people stood around debating how to do them.  He would get on it, whatever needed doing.  He would figure it out.

I went back in the house and dad walked away, headed down the path through the woods that connected my house to Robbie’s, hands still shoved deep in his pockets, the big retro vintage Chrysler emblem on the back of his jacket the last thing I saw before I pulled the screen door shut.  I stared down for a minute at the mound of snow it had scooped into my livingroom, still with no clue what I was supposed to do.

No clue at all.

I kicked the snow back outside and shut the door.

----------

It’s an odd thing, watching the coroner’s van drive away with someone you know inside it.  Someone you saw just yesterday.  Someone who was alive.  Someone who should still be alive but isn’t, somehow.  And since there’s really no way to earn a ride in a coroner’s van without dying, there’s an awful unsettling sensation to it that you can’t get away from.  The last time I saw James he was laughing that devious little laugh of his, his eyes red and bloodshot from the ever present asthma he’d suffered with his entire life.  I don’t count the sight of the coroner’s van leaving the hill via our long steep driveway with his cold corpse tucked into a black zippered bag, because I didn’t see him.  I never saw him.  I didn’t see him dead in his house and I didn’t see them carry him out, I didn’t see them put him in the van.  I didn’t see him later, when it was all over with.  And if I try hard enough I can imagine that van empty, with that long black bag tossed crumpled in the back without a body in it, and James somewhere else living his life however the hell he pleases.

I hold onto that.  Some days it helps.  And some days I think I see him, walking by the side of the road or getting out of a car in the post office parking lot, and it makes me happy thinking he escaped.  I see him in every hitchhiker, in every wandering traveler making his way down the interstate, in every tall thin man I glimpse from the corner of my eye as I go about my business in town.

He’s out there.

I hope he’s happy.

The ice storm hit the next day.

----------

For the next two weeks we were stuck on our hill.  Power out, no electricity, no heat, no lights, roads iced over and impassable.  We all piled up in mom and dad’s house, quietly grieving James, trying to stay warm.  Most of the state lost power for days, including the city 150 miles away where his body had been taken to the state coroner’s office.  There was no apparent cause of death, so the state ordered an autopsy.

His body had just been placed into cold storage to wait its turn when the power grid went down.  And then, by some unholy stroke of nightmarish luck, the facility’s generators failed.

Nobody could make it in to work because of the ice.  By the time someone finally got into the morgue the cold storage had been down for four days.

Six bodies melted, including James.

----------

No viable autopsy could be done, though they tried their best I suppose.  The end report was obtained two months later.  It was mostly inconclusive due to the long delay and resultant decomposition of tissue.  There was apparent scarring on James’ heart, but it was old scarring and had nothing to do with his death.  His lungs were scarred as well, but that was no surprise, he’d had severe asthma his entire life.  There was no determinable cause of death, no inflicted trauma, no presence of illicit drugs as far as they could tell from the limited toxicology report they managed with what they had to work with.

No reason.

He’d simply died.

It seemed fitting, to me at least, that the end of him be enshrouded in an unsolvable mystery.  He was a secretive person, intensely private.  He would have loved knowing nobody had a clue what happened to him.

And so we drew our own conclusion as a family.  He’d had an asthma attack in his sleep.  There had been an inhaler next to his bed, but it was new and still in the box.  He simply hadn’t woken up to use it.  Dad didn’t participate in the drawing of this conclusion, his input kept stoically to himself, like he knew something the rest of us didn’t.

We pretended not to see it.

He and mom braved the last of the ice a few days later to make the 150 mile drive to see James one last time.

They came back different.

You couldn’t tell it was him, my mother said.  He was melted, literally.  It was like one of those science fiction movies where they melt you with a laser beam and you turn to goo.

Dad had nothing to say.  He went to bed and stayed there until the next day.

You can go see him, mom told me.  I’ll go with you if you want to go.  But I don’t recommend it.

I decided not to go.

And so I never saw my brother dead.  I never saw any proof that he was gone.  He just wasn’t there anymore.  There was no funeral, he was cremated and his ashes were sent home weeks later, and I went on with my life with the image in my head of James, alive, somewhere else.

----------

Dad was different from that day on.  He’d always been stoic, terse, strict.  My childhood had been spent in fear of him, an eternal dread of making him mad and feeling his temper erupt keeping me from showing any hint of a personality during my formative years.  The cult had forced him to abide by the violent tenet of Spare the rod, spoil the child and there was never any risk of me being spoiled.

James being gone flipped a switch in him.  He was nicer suddenly.  Mellow.  Kind.  After the trauma wore off his humor discovered itself and he was funny.  The dour angry demeanor fell off and revealed a man that I was sad never to have known before.  He and I became friends.  I could sense in his new attitude toward me that he regretted how he’d raised me and respected the way I’d always stood up and been my own person despite it.  But my mother was falling off the deep end and for all the newfound easygoingness of my father, she counterbalanced it with an extremism born of the religious fervor of a mother determined to gain enough favor with God to see her dead child again.  And she was going to make sure the rest of us did too.

We all had to get good and straight on the path, get completely right and stay that way, or we’d never see James again.  He’d be in the New World and we wouldn’t, and how would she explain that to him?  She and I worked together in a law office at the time and as she became more unhinged and unpleasant, I reacted by becoming more outgoing and accomplished.  Our boss changed my work designation from receptionist to Executive Assistant and started teaching me how to do everything from filing papers at the courthouse to photographing accident scenes.  I no longer answered to my mother, the office manager.  I answered directly to the boss.

That didn’t go over well.  She was a control freak with heavy untreated trauma, and the one person in the world she felt the most obsessive need to control was suddenly no longer under her thumb in a workspace where she considered herself the supreme authority.  She countermanded every order the boss gave me and tried to load me up with general office chores that left me no time to do the important assignments he’d given me.  I had no choice but to tell her she wasn’t my superior anymore.

She chose that day to have her nervous breakdown over James, jumping out of my car at a red light on the way home and storming angrily through a shopping mall with me trailing frantically along behind her, yelling for security to arrest me while I tried to get her to calm down.  I ended up telling her she wasn’t the only person who lost James but that none of the rest of us were allowed to experience our own grief because we were too busy catering to hers.

She sat down on a bench outside the sporting goods store and glared at me with a cold hatred I’ve seen on very few other faces, ever.

I knew it would be you, she hissed at me.

That moment changed our relationship forever.  It changed me forever.  That was the day I decided my life was my own, that she not only didn’t have authority over me at work, she didn’t have authority over me anywhere else either.  She could no longer dictate my actions, my behavior, my thoughts and feelings.

For this she disowned me.  It was the first of several disownings over the next few years.  I got used to it.  We went to work the next day like nothing had happened, and I didn’t do a single thing on the task list she slapped down on my desk.  It was a metaphor for the rest of my life, but I didn’t know it yet.

My husband and I moved out of state a couple of months later, away from that hill, away from her increasingly controlling paranoia and bitterness, the first of many small steps toward freedom.

As we were driving away with our trailer full of personal belongings behind us, he said one thing that I tried to argue against, but that somewhere deep inside I knew was probably right.

That land is cursed, he said.

----------

A few weeks before we moved my youngest brother came to town and we went into James’ house together.  It was exactly like it had been the day my dad found him.  The only thing that stood out as different was the bare mattress on the bed - the men from the coroner had wrapped him up in the sheet he’d been laying on and took it with them, leaving just the naked springform mattress James had bought for Jessica right before her final breakdown and their subsequent separation.

It took me a while to go in the bedroom, but I knew from the moment I walked into the house that I was going to end up there.  I needed to see it, the place where James had closed his eyes and left us.

There was a small puddle of dried blood near the foot of the bed, brown and stained into the fabric.  James always slept backwards, with his head at the wrong end.  The blood had come from his nose.

I touched it.  I don’t know why.  It was dry.

He was gone.

----------

David and I laughed a lot that day.  James had been funny in a way that was distinctly him, quiet and of few words, but those words had always counted.  And as we sorted through his things and talked about him and moved some of his stuff into boxes to be stored away, I felt as much awed respect as befuddlement at what was around me.  He’d never been a conformist, which I knew was why the cult had never gotten a firm grasp on him.  He was unknowable and therefore unbindable.  But his house was proof that he didn’t conform to any human expectations either, and nothing in it made sense unless you’d spent time around him.

There was an engine in the bathtub.  I’m not sure what it went to.  Another engine, in the beginning stages of disassemblage, rested on a blue tarp in the center of the livingroom floor, obviously the last project he’d been working on.  There wasn’t much furniture - his wife had taken most of it when she left and it would have never entered his mind to replace any of it.  Jessica’s cookware was in the kitchen cabinets, unused, some of it still in the original boxes, some not even fully unwrapped from their wedding shower years before.  Jessica didn’t cook, she microwaved.  David asked me if I thought it would be okay for him to take a glass Pyrex measuring cup because he’d broken his.  I told him to take it.  It had never been used.

I didn’t want anything, but knew I needed to take something.  One of my husband’s solo CDs was sitting on the entertainment center and the cover, the cover I’d designed, caught my eye and brought me to the CD player to pop the tray open.

Inside was a CD single of The Way.

It was the only thing I took.

----------

My husband told me some time later that my dad and older brother had altered the scene before the police arrived.  After the phonecall from me his boss had rushed him home and he’d gone up to James’ house without my knowledge.  He’d thought it strange that he’d had to step around at least a dozen empty compressed air cans scattered haphazardly around the place as he entered, like they’d been used and tossed aside one after another.  There had been several more on the floor around the bed.  My father had told him to go back down and see how mom and I were doing, and when he returned to James’ house after the coroner’s departure, the cans were gone.  Other than that he said things seemed different, but he couldn’t say quite how.  Just not the same.

He told me my dad didn’t call the police until after he and Robbie had been in there at least an hour, alone with the body.

It’s not something we’ve talked about often, because there’s no satisfactory explanation for it that either of us can come up with.  My mother says they probably didn’t want the police to assume the cans meant he was huffing compression fluid and accidentally killed himself, because Look at the shame and reproach that would bring on the congregation if anyone thought such a thing!  We all knew he used the compressed air to clear the valves on the engines he was working on, all mechanics do, it’s common.  Wouldn’t the police have accepted that explanation?  Dad was the only one that spoke to them.  They wrote down whatever he said, and then they left, and then the coroner came and took James away and that was that.  My father, the most upright straight-and-narrow devoutly dedicated man I’ve ever known in my life, misled the police for a reason that he took with him to his own grave.

The only other person in the world who knew the truth about it took it to his grave too.

At the same time.

In the same car.

Four years later, on October 18, 2002.

----------

The big garbage bag of empty air cans and whatever else that was removed from James’ house that morning had been stashed in my dad’s garage and stayed there until a few weeks after he and Robbie’s joint funeral, when my mother asked my husband’s old boss to come and dispose of it.  Scott was a man who knew people who could do things.

The evidence, whatever it was evidence of, vanished.

----------

The mystery around James never dissolved and eventually no one talked about it anymore, I guess because there was no way we could ever truly find out what happened without him here to tell us.  There were a lot of details that we could never find a way to weave together into anything that made sense and a lot of it was probably inconsequential anyway.  There was a girlfriend that he’d tried to keep hidden from us, a woman that was quite a bit older than him who wasn’t a member of the cult and therefore needed to be kept a secret.  In the end she had convinced him to stop hiding their relationship and he’d bought her a ring.  We met her all of twice before he died, and within days of his passing she left town with her brother and never came back, taking whatever she might have known with her.

James’ ex Jessica had sneaked onto the hill and broken into his house to put a dead raccoon in his kitchen sink a few days prior to his death.  We were shocked when he told us she trespassed on the land often without anyone knowing, and my mother made my father fix the electric gate down at the road so that it wouldn’t open without one of three clickers in the possession of herself, my father, and me.  James would have to come to her house and get hers any time he needed to leave the hill, an arrangement he agreed to because Jessica stole things from his house all the time, she would absolutely take a gate opener if she saw it.

He told us the gate wouldn’t keep her out though, and that she didn’t come in that way anyway.  The only way to protect ourselves from her was to lock her up and he doubted even that would do it.

He died less than a week later, and twenty three years later we still don’t know how or why.

----------

We never felt safe on the hill again.  Jessica was deranged in the worst possible way, we’d known it for a while, and James was her obsession.  She’d threatened to kill him multiple times and had tried twice.  We hadn’t known this, because James, big strong stoic Clint Eastwood type that he was, wasn’t about to tell anyone he was violently abused for years by a skinny little woman that everyone believed was not much more than a meek dormouse with shyness issues and a case of painful awkwardness.  But we knew she was evil.  We just didn’t have any proof.

The first thing my mother said after the initial emotional breakdown of finding her son dead was Jessica did this, I don’t know how but I know she did it.

I believe she was probably right.  But if Jessica was anything she was wily and devious with a strong survival instinct and an uncanny ability to lie convincingly and draw sympathy onto herself.  She’d convinced us for years that she was the perfect combination of sweetly harmless and endearingly clueless, but that only lasted until the day she called 911 screaming that James was beating her and then threw herself face first into a tree in their front yard and sat, calmly singing and coloring in a coloring book on the porch with blood running down her forehead, waiting for the police to arrive.  The act she put on when they got there was one for the Academy, but the officers didn’t buy it.

James calmly rolled up his sleeves and showed them his scars where she’d burned him and slashed him with a kitchen knife.  He pulled up his shirt and pointed out the marks she’d left on him with her teeth and nails.  He hooked a finger into his mouth and showed them the empty hole where she’d knocked one of his teeth out with a baseball bat.  One of the officers asked him why he hadn’t killed her and buried her somewhere on the land already.

She left in the back of the squad car, and my mother took James to the courthouse to get divorce papers started two days later.

Jessica came to his memorial service when we finally had it, several weeks after his death.  She wasn’t invited but we couldn’t keep her from coming.  She wore black like a widow and created a dramatic disruption complete with loud wailing and declarations of undying love, and afterward she stood to one side of the room, smirking at us with the kind of icy malice that you only see on the dangerously deranged, and then usually only in the movies.  Several people commented in hushed voices, asking why she’d been allowed to come.  At one point she started wailing They killed him!!, but everyone with the exception of her mother ignored her.

Her mother, who was still in our congregation, flitted around the room chatting with everyone, sobbing her heart out like it was her own son we’d just memorialized.  She was an ER nurse and had been famously fired from her job at the hospital for taking locked-cabinet medications home by the purse load.  She claimed she put them in her pocket to use on her shift and forgot to return them to the cabinet before leaving.

Jessica had been staying with her for a while.

----------

We fed the crowd at mom’s later that afternoon with my husband and his boss guarding the gate, making sure she didn’t try to come into my mother’s house.  The police were called preemptively, and because this was a town of 300 with not much of anything else to do, a squad car was dispatched and stationed near the inlet to the main drive.

Jessica showed up not much later, like we knew she would.  She drove past the police and parked a few yards down from them in plain sight, just sitting there by the side of the road, far enough away from our property that we couldn’t legally do anything about it.  The officers got out and talked to her, warned her not to cause us any problems, and she fed them a woeful tale about being banned from her beloved husband’s memorial service and denied the right to say goodbye to him.

The officers knew there was no body at that service to say goodbye to.  They also knew her.

My husband came up the hill and told us she was down at the road and that Scott was blocking the driveway with his truck to keep her out.  I told my mother it was time to file a restraining order against her.  She was living in fear and Jessica was known to be trespassing on our property frequently.  No, she told me with tears in her eyes but not a sign of distress on her face.  It was a look I knew, because my mother rarely showed emotion unless she was angry and the rest of the time it was this cold detachment.  That would bring reproach on the congregation because everyone knows what we are.  I can’t do that.  I won’t let her win that way.  I won’t let her cause us to bring shame on God’s name.

God’s name.  I took it in vain that day.

More than once.

I was leaving in a few weeks, moving a thousand miles away.  My husband and I weren’t going to be there to help her keep an eye out, and thirty eight acres of heavily wooded land is impossible to protect and easy to sneak onto from a hundred different directions, James had shown us proof of that.

God will protect us as long as we do the right thing and leave it to him, she said.  He knows what she is.

I think it was just a coincidence that nothing terrible happened in the following weeks, because my faith was getting tenuous and a lot of prayers were going unanswered.  But Jessica quietly disappeared back to her own world after a couple of infuriating weeks of putting herself in our paths every chance she got, and not long after that my husband and I moved away, and as we left the driveway for what we thought would be the last time he sighed and shook his head with the exasperation of a man about to say I told you so.

“That land is cursed,” he said.

I tried to disagree, though I don’t know why.

----------

Less than a mile up the road we passed a man walking.  He was tall and thin and covered in the dust of a long journey with a ratty backpack strapped to his back, and as we passed him I caught his reflection in the side mirror.

It was James, I knew it in my heart every bit as strongly as I knew it couldn’t be.

He was walking away from the hill, toward the west.  The way we were going.  And I swear on whatever holy relic you wish to place under my hand that he raised his head and met eyes with me in the mirror, and he smiled.

.

Anyone can see the road that they walk on is paved in gold And it's always summer They'll never get cold They'll never get hungry They'll never get old and gray You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere They won't make it home But they really don't care They wanted the highway They're happier there today

.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 6

Hi , do you got any fluffy johnlock with cuddling

(submitted by here-4-tha-ship)

Anonymous asked: hiii got any johnlock fics where sherlock wants a hug but he feels embarrassed to ask john? thank you sm <3

—–

Hi Lovelies!! I sure do! And enough to do a new list too!! So thank you, people don’t ask for this enough these days hahhah! Hope you enjoy!!

See also:

Hugs & Cuddles and Tooth-Rotting Fluff (Pt. 2)

Hugs & Cuddles Pt. 2 /…/

…/ Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 3 /…

Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 4 

Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 5

A Better Fate Than Wisdom by flawedamythyst (G, 1,339 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, John’s Sexuality Crisis, Pining Sherlock, Happy Ending, Fluff) – Nearly four hours pass between their first kiss and their second.

Evermore by SosoHolmesWatson (G, 2,068 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4,  5-Year-Old Rosie, Love Confessions, Song Fic, Parentlock, Oblivious John, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Disney Songs, Beauty and the Beast) – For the past years, John and Sherlock have lived at Baker Street again, raising Rosie together--as friends and nothing more. Ever since the little girl has watched her first Disney movie, she is obsessed with princesses. When John comes home one day, he finds his friend and his daughter in the middle of a reenactment of her current favourite. Part 1 of Made of Music

Living Musical by VeeTheRee (G, 4,149 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hobbies, Summer, Song Fic, POV Sherlock, Painting, Play Fighting, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Love Declarations, Hair Petting, Promise of Forever) – A one-shot of John and Sherlock being domestic during summer. There is paint, fluff, and music from Imagine Dragons, namely from the album 'Speak To Me', specific song in this one-shot is 'Living Musical'. Part 1 of the Happy Fluffy Johnlock Time series

Date Night by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 4,451 w., 1 Ch. || Anxious / Worried Sherlock, Caring John, Schmoopy Fluff, Fidget Cube, Baking / Cooking, Date Night, Established Relationship, POV Sherlock Holmes, Understanding John, Grumpy Sherlock, John’s Bum, Kisses, Hugs, Domestic Fluff, Touching, Hair Petting, Light Humour) – It's John and Sherlock's first Date Night as an official couple and Sherlock needs it to be PERFECT. Mrs Hudson helps. Part 7 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

There's So Much Labour Just in Breathing Lately by Susan (E, 12,708 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF / Mentions of S3 Events, Romance, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Mutual Pining, Meddling Mycroft, Therapy, Ambiguous Hopeful Ending, Infidelity) – The dreams he hated most – the ones that left him a sweating, shaking mess when he woke – were the ones in which Sherlock was just Sherlock. Laughing or drinking tea. Sitting across the table from him at Angelo’s eating pasta. Trailing his open hand behind him on the way to the bedroom. “C’mon, John. I’m about to have my way with you.”

holding steady by darcylindbergh (E, 12,724 w., 4 Ch. || Post S4, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Growing Old, Gone Fishing, Mood without Plot, Soft Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, POV John Third Person, Anxious Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Feeling Old, Sherlock Worship, Crying Sherlock, Cuddles, Comforting, Introspection, Retirement, Hand Holding, Forehead Kisses, Caring John, Bed Sharing, Emotional Love Making) – Sitting on a thick wool blanket at the end of a rickety dock side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge, a styrofoam container of wet, dark dirt between them, they’re fishing. John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss, Insecure John, Pining John, Hug, Greg Finds Out) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

The shape of the world around us by Salambo06 (E, 15,058 w., 5 Ch. || Lumberjack John / Botanist Sherlock, Different First Meeting, John Has a Beard, Light Case Fic, Flirting, First Kiss / Time, Masturbation, Love at First Sight, Horny Sherlock, John’s Bum, Bottomlock, Tenderness, Virgin Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Shy Sherlock, Sexual Fantasies) – Looking through the bush, Sherlock felt his heartbeat quicken as a man passed in front of him. Sherlock frowned, trying to get a closer look despite the bush. The man was wearing a red plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows, and Sherlock couldn't take his eyes off the man’s arms. Muscular, slightly tanned with golden hairs along his forearms. For some unknown reason, Sherlock found himself imagining them around his waist, holding him tightly. Closing his eyes for the briefest second, Sherlock shook his head. Opening his eyes and looking back to where the man stood only a moment prior, he found himself alone. Great, now his only chance to find his way back to town was gone. “Why are you wearing a suit?”

A Hooligans’ Game Played By Gentlemen by scullyseviltwin (E, 15,213 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Rugby as Foreplay, Porn with Lots of Plot, John POV, Ogling, Body Appreciation, Cranky Sherlock, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Cuddling, Touching, Heavy Petting, Blow Job, Botttomlock) – In which John wants to get back in shape, does so, joins a rugby league and has sex with Sherlock Holmes. In that order.

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Deck the Halls by itsalwaysyou_jw (T, 31,018 w., 24 Ch. || Advent Fic / Multiple One-Shots, Assorted Tags) – One Johnlock ficlet for every day leading up to Christmas. Who is ready for pining, first kisses, established Johnlock, and everything in between? This collection of stand-alone ficlets will have it all.

Lucifer's Gardens by ampersand_ch (E, 32,679 w., 12 Ch. || GERMAN VERSION || Romance, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Murder, Poison / Drugging, Mystery, John Undercover, Academic Club, Therapy, Rituals, Jungian Archetypes, Doctors & Physicians, Grief/Mourning, Esotericism, Hospitals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, John Falls In Love With Another Man, Jealous Sherlock, Crying, Doctor John, Hand Holding, First Kiss/Time, Mysticism, Hugging, Touching) – John goes undercover for an investigation as a favour to Lestrade in a village in Suffolk. The events surrounding the case awaken deep-seated fears in Sherlock. While John begins to come to a realisation of what he needs in Lucifer's Gardens, Sherlock tries to find a way to reach John – in more ways than one.

Isosceles by SilentAuror (E, 56,609 w., 7 Ch. || Post-S4, POV John, Original Male Character / Sherlock Dates Another Man, Love Triangle, Jealous John, Virgin Sherlock, Sexual Coaching, Angst, Romance, Domesticity, Unrequited Feelings, Miscommunication, First Kiss/Time, For a Case, Friends With Benefits, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Spooning) – After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date...

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love, Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Archie//happily ever after

Request: Archie Andrews imagine where the reader is pregnant and dodger targets the pregnant reader and you can add whatever else you want but a fluffy ending and then skip to the birth

hey! first, trigger warning: threats/stalking (ikr, what a way to spend valentines day) other than that, i hope you like this!! i really wasn’t sure what to do with it but i think i figured it out! enjoy!

“Archie, really I’m fine.” The last step creaks beneath your feet, the sound alerting your mom to your presence. She looks up from the book she’s reading and sends you a small wave and half a smile before going straight back into reading it. 

It’s one of those that you always find donated somewhere, with the really weird cover of a poorly drawn woman clinging onto a half naked man. This time she’s branched out and is reading about a werwolf falling in love with a human, but it’s still got the same amount of R-rated smut in that makes you shiver every time you think of her reading it.  

You’ve told her that if she wants to read about stuff like that, she’s better off going on the internet, but computers are a gateway to viruses and hacking so she doesn’t touch the computer thats years older than you, sat in the spare room. 

Your dad is stood over the stove, stirring something in a pot that makes you feel sick and hungry at the same time and you’re not sure if you want to throw up or eat all of it. 

You peer over his shoulder, and he looks back at you with a smile before lifting the spoon out and offering it to you. Your eyes light up as you taste it and give him a silent thumbs up while Archie rambles about nothing on the other side of the phone. 

“Seriously I’m okay.” You say again, but he’s not listening and if it weren’t for the bump attached to your stomach that makes it more and more difficult to walk, you’d be over there in five minutes to kick his ass. “You don’t have to come over.” You roll your eyes at him. 

Ever since you got pregnant and he lost his dad, he’s been obsessively worrying about your safety. And it was sweet at first, he was looking out for you and his baby, but now, you’re worried that if he keeps up with this level of anxiety, he’s going to break. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You interrupt him and for a change he actually shuts up. “Byeee. We love you.” You add and hang up quickly. 

“Was that Archie?” Your dad asks and you let out a small huff. “I see it’s still all rainbows and hearts with you two.” He teases and you narrow your eyes at him. 

“He’s just worried about us.” You reply and point down to your rounded stomach, currently being hidden by the oversized t-shirt you stole from Archie. “Too worried if you ask me.” You mumble and shuffle over to the fridge. 

“Hey!” Your dad smacks your hand with the towel resting over his shoulder. “No snacking, dinner is almost finished!” 

“I’m eating for two dad. I could eat the entire contents of the fridge and dinner and still be hungry.” You reply and he grumbles quietly to himself while plating the food up. 

“You know, I was just like Archie when your mom was pregnant with you.” He says and you place the jar of pickles back in the fridge. “Maybe a little less, but then again me and your mother did live togeth-” 

“Dad.” 

“Sorry. All I’m saying is that it’s natural for him to be anxious. I mean, it’s your first kid and a lot has happened to the two of you. He’s bound to be a little more nervous than most. But it’s not a bad thing.” 

“It’s an annoying thing.” You reply and he rolls his eyes.

“What’s an annoying thing, dear?” Your mom asks as she shuffles past you and opens the fridge. 

“Do you people not see the food that is literally on plates waiting to be eating?” Your dad throws his hands up and you and your mom share a look.

“We do dear.” Your mom cups his cheek and smiles up at him sweetly. “It’s just we don’t want to eat it.” She adds making you laugh loudly. 

“Archie is an annoying thing.” You giggle while your dad glares at the two of you. 

“All men are dear.” She replies and pats your shoulder sympathetically. “Here you go.” She hands you an envelope and you look at her confused. It’s blank, apart from your name in bold black letters and a small x near the bottom. “It was pushed through the front door just before I came in here to see what abomination your father had created today.” 

“The only abomination I created was her, and you helped.” He says and grabs her waist, pulling her into his chest and the two of them giggle. 

“Hey! And ew.” You pull a face and rip the letter open. Your eyes scan the same clunky writing and suddenly you feel your blood run cold. You drop the letter and rush towards the window, frantically pulling the blinds up. 

“What is it?” Your mom joins you, her eyebrows knitted in confusion as she watches you move frantically. 

‘roses are red, violets are blue, you can’t see me but i can see you’ 

Your dad reads aloud, his voice trailing off near the end and slowly he looks back at you. 

The kitchen suddenly seems a lot darker than it was a minute earlier. The light flickers and bushes rustle outside, making you shuffle further towards your mom and suddenly you wish Archie had come over. 

“What?” Your mom laughs. “Who would send something like that?” She shifts uncomfortably and wraps her arms around her. “Y/n, is this one of your friends playing a prank?” 

“No.” You shake your head. “I don’t know who it is.” 

“Well they know you.” She replies. 

“Audrey.” Your dad says lowly and she shuts up. 

The front bell ringing makes the three of you jump, and before either of your parents have a chance to do anything, you’re already stomping your way towards the door. They follow you quickly, both of them shouting for you to leave it but you’ve never listened to them before so why should you now. 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath before swinging the front door open. 

The only thing that greets you is the flowers and ornaments that line the porch and you let out a shaky breath, but then you see it and it feels like you can’t breath again. 

“Oh. Isn’t that nice?” You say sarcastically. Your mom and dad look at each other and then at you, confusion turning into fear when they notice the picture pinned to the front door. 

Your smiling face stares back at the three of you, with scratched out eyes and red paint splattered over it. 

“Y/n, Audrey, go inside.” Your dad ushers the two of you back in before snatching the paper and slamming the door shut. 

You watch your dad storm into the kitchen to grab the not so secret lighter from your mom’s not so secret smoking stash. Your mom follows and the two of them stand in front of the sink as your defaced picture burns. 

You sigh and pull your phone out, already knowing that this is not going to end well. 

“Hey Archie.” You start slowly and you can already hear his heart rate rising with each second that passes. “You might want to come over.” 

---

A rattle at your bedroom window has you awake and sat upright within seconds. You watch the shadow of a figure contort and move across your bedroom walls and you know you should run and scream and cry, but you can’t. Your frozen still in your bed with nothing but a lamp and a duvet cover to protect you. 

A silent sob escapes your lips and you slowly push the blanket off of you, your legs shaking as your feet touch the soft rug by your bed. The wood rattles and you feel the breath leave your lungs and a scream forces its way out of your throat. 

Whoever had sent you that letter, whoever had been watching and following and mailing you pictures of you and your parents doing mundane things like mow the lawn and water plants, they’ve finally decided that tonight is the night. 

Tonight the Y/l/n’s become the newest family to be added on to the growing list of Riverdale’s murder victims. 

Honestly you thought you’d have a little more time, you seem to have escaped death before when investigating the going’s on in town. So you assumed this would just be another thing that gets solved. 

But after four days of Archie and your friends working tirelessly to try and figure out who wants you dead...nothing. And so as you make eye contact with the person or thing that has come to murder you...hopefully in a fast manner, you know this is the end. 

But then the window opens and you see a flash of ginger hair sticking out of a black hoodie and you drop back down onto your bed, ragged breaths leaving your lips. 

“It’s okay.” Archie shushes and rushes towards you. “It’s fine. It’s just me.” He reassures you and pulls you into a tight hug. 

“You idiot.” You smack his chest and he coughs at the force. “I thought you were it! I thought you were going to murder me, you’re a fucking idiot.” You smack his arm with each word. “Idiot.” You finish and he waits a minute before deciding to speak. 

“Sorry.” He mumbles. “It’s just it’s late and I didn’t think anybody would answer the door.” 

“So you decide to climb through the window?” You ask and he shrugs, kicking his shoes off and throwing his jacket over your desk chair. 

“Hey, I used to do it all the time.” He replies and climbs into your bed. 

“Yeah, I remember.” You reply and shuffle in next to him. He props his head on his arm and shifts onto his side so he can look at you properly. “What happened to you?” You ask and stroke his cheek gently. “Why do you look like you’ve just come from a fight.” You add and follow the bruises and dried blood covering his face. 

“Because.” He mumbles and looks down. 

“Because?” 

“Because I have.” He replies and your jaw drops. 

“Archie, you’re gonna be a dad. You can’t go around fighting people because they’ve stolen from Pop’s or threatened your friends.” 

“I know.” He nods and drops onto his back. “I did it because of you.” 

“What?” 

“I know who sent you that note. It was Dodger.” 

Of course it was Dodger. He’d been nothing but a pain in Archie’s ass since he turned up and started involving kids in drugs. Of course, Archie being Archie tried his best to get the kids out of it and Dodger away from Riverdale. However this place being the way it is, nothing is ever that easy, and now you’ve landed yourself a stalker. 

“Him?” You ask surprised. “What the hell did I do to him?” 

“Date me.” He shrugs and you glance at him. 

“And he wants to do that?” You ask and wiggle your eyebrows making him laugh. “Now I understand the whole creepy poetry theme.” You say and glance at the small pile of threats sitting on your desk. 

You’ve had one every single day for the past four days, meaning you’re under 24 hour surveillance by your mom, dad and Archie. 

“No, he wants to kill me, so I guess he thought he’d go after you.” He replies and you huff loudly. 

“Well that’s just plain rude. It’s you he’s got the problem with, not me.” 

“I know.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, I tracked him down and told him to leave you alone.”

“And did that work?” You ask and he sends you a look. 

“Does it look like it worked?” He points to his bruised eye and you shrug. 

Silence fills your small room and you stare up at the ceiling, hoping that it’ll tell you the right thing to say. 

“Archie?” You ask and he hums in reply. “You know I love you right? Like more than anything ever?” He nods and you take a deep breath. “You know that me and this baby are going to be fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. I know you’re under a lot of stress and I know you’re really worried, but beating people up isn’t going to fix everything, no matter how much they deserve it. Maybe you should talk to your mom or something.” You whisper and he sighs. 

You feel his hand against your skin, his touch light and soft as his fingers run up your arm, until he rests them against your stomach. You rest your own hand on top of his and let out a shaky breath. 

“It will be okay.” You say, although right now you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince. Because having a baby is terrifying anyway, but it’s even scarier at 18 in a town that’s most famous for murder. It feels like every year there’s something new that you, Archie and your friends barely get out of alive. 

It’s hard keeping yourself safe when the baby is safe inside you, but what happens when they’re born and it become more difficult to keep them safe. 

“Y/n. Listen to me.” He starts, picking up on your panicked breathing. 

“I promised you I would keep you safe. And I plan on keeping that promise. Nobody is ever going to hurt you or our baby.” 

---

It’s been a long and stressful journey, and there were parts of it that thought you wouldn’t make it. 

But finally you’re here. 

The hospital smells like machines and hand sanitiser, and the four blue walls feel like they’ve paled in the time you’ve been stuck between them. 

Archie thought he’d never be able to step foot in a hospital ever again, not after everything that has happened, and not without his father. But then your waters broke in the middle of Pop’s and all of his fears were forgotten. 

Everything after arriving at the hospital seemed to pass him in a blur. He was sure five minutes ago he was helping you through the front doors of Riverdale General Hospital, rambling incoherently about you and the baby and how you need help, and the next he’s stood beside you, letting you break his hand and watching nurses and midwives rush around you. 

Your scream forces him out of the daydream he’s in, and then it’s not you’re scream he can here anymore. High pitched wails are heard throughout the whole room and he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. 

“Well done babe.” He whispers and presses a kiss to your knuckles. Your let out a tired chuckle and drop your head back onto the pillow. 

“I did it!” You whisper, and a few stray tears roll down your cheeks. Archie grabs a tissue to wipe them off, before pressing a gentle kiss to your nose. 

“I’m so proud of you.” He smiles and kisses you again. Your eyes flutter closed, but a loud cry makes you sit up a little straighter, despite the pain you feel. 

“Y/n. Archie. Meet your son.” A grey haired woman grins as she hands you your son. His small fists kick away the blanket wrapped around him and you both let out a small giggle as you watch his face scrunch up into a yawn. 

“Our son?” Archie asks and runs a hand over his cheek. “Do you think he’ll be ginger?” He asks and you look up at him. He’s already staring back at you, and there’s a look in his eyes that is reserved only for you. It’s so full of love and awe and it makes you feel more loved that you ever have before. 

“I really, really hope so.” You smile and kiss him slowly. A small noise forces you to pull away and the two of you stare down at your newborn son. “Have you got any ideas for names?” 

“Archie Junior!” Archie replies and you send him a look. 

“I have not spent the last 9 hours in labor for you to call our baby Archie Junior.” You say making him huff and mumble a small ‘fine’. “What about Freddie?” You ask and he looks at you quickly. 

“Really?” He asks, his eyes watery and you smile sadly. 

“Of course.” You nod. “Freddie Archibald Andrews. Named after the kindest, sweetest and bravest men I have ever had the privilege of knowing.”

✨tagged ✨

@moxleybabe

[mochegato]

Pixie Spy

Written for the Jasonette July Wayne Gala prompt.

Why?!? Why was she doing this again? Oh right, because John Constantine promised to give her some help with a particularly difficult part of the Grimoire if she did.  And he needed the information he was currently obtaining in order to give said help.  That is how she ended up with an invitation, still not sure how Constantine pulled that off, to the most exclusive event of the year, the Wayne Gala.  

Plus, Adrien was kind of right, ordinarily it would be a great opportunity to showcase her designs. The problem was on its surface, her dress wasn't one of her best works. The black dress had a high, cowl neckline in front and in back, adding a bit of drama and a small homage to the local heroes, vigilantes she silently corrected herself.  The high neckline also offset the incredibly short bubble skirt, making her legs look longer than the Nile.  Despite being a bit uncomfortable showing that much leg, it was necessary for this particular design and if she could actually feel like she had long legs for once, she was willing to deal with the discomfort.  She also added a glittery belt to show her shape and add some bling, which seemed like something the people at this particular event would value.  It was functional, not fashionable.  Not that it was ugly, just that it was designed to be passable, enough to fit in but not enough to get noticed.

She fidgeted slightly as she stood in the entryway trying to get past the people piling up trying to not so discretely pay homage to the king.  That king being Bruce Wayne. From her research, he actually did seem like he was a good guy. The list of charities he started or contributed to was longer than she was tall. She scowled at the voice in the back of her head that sounded suspiciously like Adrien's saying that wasn't much.  Adrien, who got out of coming tonight because the mission was to observe the Waynes unnoticed and Adrien Agreste would get a bit too much attention, that cat bastard.

Despite the laundry list of charity work, Marinette was still suspicious of Wayne.  First of all, he was rich, filthy rich.  Anyone that rich had to have some dark and twisted secrets they were hiding.  He wouldn’t be the first rich person to hide their illicit activities behind a veil of charity work.  Second, he chose to live in Gotham, the most crime-riddled city in the world.  And that is just the reported crime.  A great deal of the crime never got reported to or investigated by the police, whether through corruption or exhaustion.  The kind of place a rich person could be confident they would get away with literal murder.

But mostly, it was Constantine that made her suspicious of Bruce Wayne.  Not that Constantine had ever said anything negative about him, well nothing more than calling him a pain in the ass, but that was really not so much an insult as a compliment coming from Constantine.  But, Wayne had information Constantine needed to help them with the Grimoire and Constantine refused to say how Wayne had gotten that information. How and why would a playboy billionaire have that information?  There is absolutely no reason someone outside of the hero/villain/magic community would have that information.  And, if he was such a good guy, why would Constantine need to go to these lengths to get it without Wayne’s knowledge?  Unless it was related to one of his illicit secrets.

Her eyes darted around the room taking in its grandeur, muttering to herself about how ostentatious it all was.  Normally, she would be completely mesmerized by the grandeur and pomp of the scene.  The room was decorated to perfection.  Everything was absolutely exquisite.  However, she was too anxious and wary to enjoy it.  So instead of being inspired, each gorgeous detail grated on her. She reached up to tug on her hair before remembering her hair had been pulled up into an elegant twist held in place with a single silver pin. With her normal anxiety relief method unavailable, she instead shifted nervously from foot to foot while she scanned the room trying to catch sight of the rest of the Waynes, gently tightening and loosening her grip on her purse, trying not to crush Tikki.

She was so lost in her anxiety she didn't notice the dark haired man walking behind her take notice of her and stop.  He stood behind her with a nonchalance that didn’t seem to fit a man his size.  He watched her fidget and muttering to herself about “damn rich people” with a smile on his face.

“You don't seem excited to be here” he said quietly.

She turned around with wide eyes, shocked that someone had heard her.  Whatever she was expecting to see it was not what she saw in front of her.  The man towered over her.  Even in her ridiculously, dangerously high heels, Chloe insisted, her head didn’t even come up to his chin.  He was also extremely handsome, with chiseled features and the most gorgeous blue eyes she had ever seen.  Those eyes were going to be a problem.  They were clear and kind and roguish and hypnotizing.  His black hair with a shock of white was slightly tousled giving the impression of a rouge trying to look sophisticated.  Was it inappropriate to imagine running her hand through his hair and along his sharp jawline?  Yeah, probably not appropriate and likely not welcome.  Clean up your thoughts, girl!  Great, now Alya was in her head scolding her.  No, that’s not right, because that would definitely not be Alya’s advice.  

He was grinning at her with an impish look in his eyes. “What?  Not impressed with the ‘we care about whatever the point of this gala is, but we’re not hobos so let’s not skimp on the luxury for us’ décor?  Or maybe it is the illustrious, soul sucking, benefactors of Gotham that have set you on edge.”  The smile he shot her was guarded and critical. She chuckled lightly and looked away. “You have good judgement and a good reason to be suspicious.  But you made it to The event of the season, so you must have done something right… or wrong.”

She hummed and looked away.  “Have you ever had one of those days where everything went wrong and now you don't know how you got where you are or why you are there?”

“I’m familiar with the feeling,” he nodded.

“That's my life. All of it.  Every single fucking day.  This one included."

He barked out a laugh and looked at her again appraising her.  “Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine.  I think I like you.  You might just make this torture session more bearable.  See you around,” he chuckled as he walked away.

Marinette watched the man’s retreating back.  The night was already going better than she thought it would.  But the plan for the night wasn’t to find a date it was to act as a scout and keep tabs on the… enemy?  For all intents and purposes, that is what the Waynes were tonight, right?  They had information that she needed, that Paris needed, and they apparently weren’t going to part with it willingly, so they were the enemy.  No, enemy sounded too harsh she chided herself.  Opposition? Yes, they were the opposition.  That sounded much less hostile, more like a game… a game where people’s lives were on the line.  You know, just for fun, no pressure.

She found a spot against a wall she could use.  It was slightly raised but not well lit so it wouldn’t draw attention to her.  From her spot she could finally see the family. It was very thoughtful of them to group together like that.  She could see the little one, stiff and military-like posture, glowering at the people around him.  He was standing as far away from the rest of the people there as he could without actually leaving the room.  Much closer to the dancefloor, she could see the middle boy talking to a few business men. They all had fake smiles plastered on their faces as they made seemingly insignificant small talk.  She did not envy him that experience.  Between the two and to the side was the oldest son. He was chatting up some business person’s daughter, leaning in a lot closer than etiquette would dictate. Just the father then… there he was still not too far from the door talking to a dark haired woman.  He had his arm around her waist as she leaned into him. She must be the girlfriend then. Mari made a note that she should probably pay attention to where she was as well.  Fortunately, the spot she had chosen gave her a great vantage point.  Unfortunately, her observation spot wasn’t as unnoticed as she had hoped.

 ___________________________________________________________

Jason made his way over to the bar and ordered a beer.  He still hadn’t spoken to his family to let them know he was there and he definitely needed a drink before he approached them.  Why the fuck was he here again?  Fucking Batman.  

Fresh glass of beer in hand, he made his way over to his brothers, refusing to acknowledge any of the partygoers along the way.  He watched as his brothers took note of his approach and excused themselves from their conversation partners.  Dick didn’t look too happy to turn away from the latest interest, smiling at her and giving her reassurances before sending her away.  Tim looked less happy to have to turn away from the men he was talking with. He should be thanking Jason really. He was giving him an out from having to deal with them and their god awful personalities and fashion. Seriously, who told that guy that tie was okay.  Even the Riddler would think that tie was obnoxious.

“Okay, I’m here,” Jason said taking a large swig of his drink.  “How long before I can ditch this bottomless pit of misery?”

“Woah, slow down there.  You’re going to get drunk before the announcement.”  Dick cautioned him.

“Do you want me here or do you want me sober?  You’re going to have to choose one.  They’re mutually exclusive, Dickweed.”

“Come on Jaybird, we all have to be here.  None of the rest of us are getting drunk.”

“That’s just because I’m smarter than you guys are,” he said tipping his glass to Tim who had scoffed at the suggestion and took another drink.  “There is no reason we all have to be here.  We shouldn’t all have to suffer.  And officially, I’m not even a member of this hellscape of a family anymore so I really shouldn’t have to be here.”

“If The Disappointment gets to leave, so do I. Someone should be patrolling tonight instead of all of us wasting our time entertaining these harpies.  And if one more person tries to touch me on my head I’m going to break a hand.”

“Stop it!  Nobody is leaving, Damian.  We’re in this together.  And Jason, if anyone got to go home it wouldn’t be you.  You are the reason we all have to be here in the first place; so we can ALL show our support when we officially announce that you are part of this ‘hellscape of a family’ again.  So enjoy it,” he said with a cutting smile.

“Not everyone enjoys getting groped by the gold-digging, trust fund whores.  I’ve found a way to cope.  It’s called alcohol.  Now if you’ll excuse me,” he downed the drink in his hand, “my drink is empty.  I’m going to go find another.”

“At least try not to interact with anyone. We don’t want to piss anyone off tonight.  And I don’t want to have to fix your messes.”

“Way ahead of you, Replacement.”  Jason turned and walked away before Dick could reprimand him again.  He needed to get away.  He could only handle his family in small does, very small doses, miniscule amounts, and he had already surpassed that limit.  

He grabbed two more drinks off of a passing waiter’s tray and looked for the Sunshine Girl.  He scanned the room sipping the champagne, trying not to make eye contact with anyone in the room.  His size and demeanor was usually enough to keep people away but making eye contact made people think he was open to talking.  He was not.  He had no interest in making nice with Gotham’s elite.  He wanted to get this night over with, with as little pain as possible.  

He finally spotted her off to the side of the room speaking with the obnoxious tie guy.  Jason watched as the man slid his hand up the side of her leg starting to move under her skirt.  Jason started to make his way over to them until he saw her move closer to the man.  She was close enough to whisper seductively into his ear now.  Ah, not uninvited then.  Maybe he had misread her.  Well there goes his hope of this party not sucking balls.  He started to turn away but noticed a pained expression on the man’s face.  He turned back to reexamine the scene.  She was holding the man’s hand at an unnatural angle.  It was a hold he’d used a few times himself, it was discrete but extremely effective, causing intense pain with a small movement.  He knew if she moved her hand just a few more centimeters, she could easily break his wrist.

She let go with a viscous look pushing him away from her as she did.  The man shook his hand and scowled at her.  He started back toward her and Jason took off running, not pausing to apologize to the people he bumped into along the way.  Before he could get to her, she had already taken care of it. She squared her shoulders and glared at the man, making it clear that she could and would continue with her actions if he persisted.  When she moved her hand ever so slightly, just enough so he could see it and remember what she had done, the man turned away and smiled at the people who had been standing behind him as though nothing had happened.  Jason chuckled to himself watching her move away from the man. She was definitely going to make this night more bearable.

“Looks like you don’t need me around for protection. Although I did bring a drink so maybe I can earn my keep that way,” he said handing her one of the glasses in his hand.  “That was extremely impressive.  How did you lean to handle yourself like that?”  

She accepted the glass and shrugged.  “You live in Paris long enough you pick up a few things.”

“That isn’t something you just ‘pick up’. That’s experience.”

“And that is exactly what you get when you have a supervillain terrorizing your streets and thoughts for 5 years; experience. And how do you know about that move?  Rich boy secretly a vigilante?” She raised an eyebrow at him giving him a daring smile and pretending to take a drink from the glass.  She was on a mission and she didn’t know him.  She wasn’t about to actually drink anything a stranger gave her, let alone get drunk.

“You don’t grow up in Gotham without learning how to take down someone trying to cop a feel.  And what do you mean about a supervillain in Paris?” he asked taking a step closer to her, concern edging into his stare.

“It doesn’t matter.  It’s not relevant for tonight.” She said taking a step away and scanning the room again to locate the Waynes.

He looked at her for a few moments taking her in, not just her appearance but how she held herself.  She stood with confidence and nonchalance.  She wasn’t acting coy, she wasn’t baiting him to ask her more questions, she was serious.  There was some kind of supervillain running around Paris that they had no idea about.  Well that piqued his interest.  He wanted to find out more about that and just his luck, the only person around who knew about it was the gorgeous and badass Sunshine Child in front of him. Guess he’ll just have to suffer and spend more time talking to her.  The things he does for Gotham, he smirked to himself. “I’m Jason,” he said putting his hand out for her to shake.

She looked at his hand before hesitantly taking it. His hand absolutely engulfed hers. “Nice to meet you Jason,” she said looking toward the dancefloor.  She had last seen the Waynes near the dancefloor and they couldn’t have gotten far, right?  They were likely to be near it.

Misinterpreting her focus he asked, “Wanna dance?” placing down his now empty glass.

She needed a better vantage point to locate the Waynes and even if they weren’t on the dancefloor anymore, the dancefloor would be the ideal place get an unobstructed, overall view of the room.  She could see the entire room from the dancefloor.  She just had to scope it out discretely so Jason didn’t get suspicious.  “Sure,” she said smiling at him and accepting the hand he had offered her.

He guided her out onto the dancefloor.  Jason noticed a little girl standing nervously next to the dancefloor looking at a group of kids nearby.  “Hold on just a second,” he said dropping her hand to kneel down next to the little girl.  “Hey, I just wanted to say what a beautiful dress you have.  I wish you had a smile to match.  Anything wrong, kid?” he asked gently.  The little girl gave him a nervous smile.

“Thanks.  My Mom said I could pick out a dress and I chose this one.  But Mom says it looks silly.  It’s too fluffy and gets in everyone’s way.”

At that Marinette kneeled down next to her as well. “Oh.  Well, let me fill you in on a little secret.  I’m a fashion designer and I can tell you there is nothing wrong with fluffy.  You did a great job picking it out.  It is perfect for you.  I couldn’t design anything better.  I wish I looked as confident and effortlessly beautiful as you do. ”

The smile the little girl gave her was genuine this time.  “You really like it?”

“I do,” Marinette responded.  

“I do, too.  I’m not a fashion designer, but I still think you look good, kid.  And if anyone tells you they don’t like it, scr… I mean, forget them.  Who cares what they think.  A fashion designer and a delinquent think it looks amazing.  Don’t let someone else tell you what you like.” Jason added.  The little girl beamed at both of them and bounded off to join the kids with much more confidence.

Marinette watched him as he watched the kid play with her friends making raucous noise as they played, a grin on his face until he saw some parents come to reprimand their kids for being so noisy.  So, rich boy has a heart and is really protective of kids.  Well that wasn’t going to help Marinette focus solely on the mission. “That was incredibly nice of you.  That’s not advice I would have expected from someone attending a party like this.” Marinette said taking Jason’s outstretched hand again.

“Just because we’re miserable here doesn’t mean she should be, too.  Kids should be happy.  It’s ridiculous to bring a kid to a party if you aren’t going to let them be a kid. Adults in Gotham expect too much of their kids.  They treat them like props instead of kids, tools to help them achieve a goal.” He said voice getting gruff as he spoke.  He looked back at her and shook his head as if to clear his head of his thoughts.  He smiled at her instead and took her waist with his free hand to start dancing with her.

“You know, I noticed you never did give me your name.”

She looked into his eyes for a just a moment before she looked back to the dancefloor, “You know, I noticed that too.”

“Hmmm.  Secretive. No name but a fashion designer from Paris,” he said.  Marinette paled slightly refusing to look back at him.  He was paying attention to her and noticing details.  She hadn’t expected that from this crowd.  She was going to have to be more careful about what she said.  ‘Not get noticed’ played over and over in her head.  She was supposed to slip in and out with nobody remembering her.  She might have blown the mission already.  But, was she ready to walk away from those blue eyes?  Surely, talking with him couldn’t do any harm, right?  “So, did you design the dress you’re wearing?”

She was brought back to reality with a jolt.  “Yes.  Not… not my best work, but it fit the uh, occasion,” she stuttered out.

“Was the occasion to look stunning?  Because you do.”  He grinned smugly as she blushed heavily under his praise.  This was fun.  This was his new mission for the night; to see how many times he could make her blush.  “Still not going to tell me your name, huh?”

She looked back at him before dropping her eyes again.  Stupid mission.  If it were just her here for herself, she could stay here dancing with Jason and gazing into his eyes for the rest of the night, and tomorrow, and the day after for that matter.  But she wasn’t here for herself.  She was here for a reason and that reason demanded she be anonymous and keep track of the Waynes.

She scanned the floor again and finally spotted the Waynes, confirming they were all there.  Nobody had snuck off.  They really liked sticking around each other didn’t they?

“No, it takes more than a pretty line from a pretty boy to get my name” she said looking back to Jason and plastering on a fake smile. “I don’t need any rich boys remembering me after this is over.  Tomorrow I’ll go back to my real life and it will be like none of this ever happened. I can report that I came, I danced, and I even smiled a few times, then never speak of it again.”

“Friends or family forced you to come because they thought you needed some excitement in your life, Pixie Pop?”

“Something like that… Pixie Pop?”

“You won’t tell me your name and I need to call you something.  You’re little and mischievous and can handle yourself… Pixie Pop. Honestly, you’re lucky I didn’t go with Odysseus.  Also, you think I’m pretty?”  He grinned down at her.

She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway, cheeks flushing slightly.  “I think that would have made you Polyphemus, which you certainly have the size for,” she grinned up at him.  “Anyway, that’s why I’m here.  How about you?”

“Oh, my family thinks I have enough fun already. I’m here because if they have to suffer, so do I.  And all to bolster the name of the illustrious Bruce Wayne.”

Marinette examined his face as he stared toward where she last seen Bruce Wayne.  He looked annoyed and frustrated.  This was a side of Mr. Wayne she had not heard about in her research, a side that frustrated native Gothamites.  A bit more information could be helpful for her to figure out what role he played in the Grimoire information Constantine was gathering, figure out whether or not he was a threat.  “Not a fan?” she asked delicately.

He looked back at her examining her face for any malice.  “Depends on the day.”

She hummed in response.  “What can you tell me about Bruce Wayne?” she finally asked.

“Why do you want to know?” he responded suspiciously. Most people looking for more information wanted it as a weapon.  Bruce might not be his favorite person, he might actually hate him right now, but he wasn’t going to help someone take him down unless it was him.

She shrugged, “everything I’ve seen shows an exemplary record for him.  You don’t seem to be a fan though and you’ve grown up in Gotham so you would have some good insights.  So, I’m wondering what your take on him is.  What he’s done to draw your ire.”

Jason nodded slightly seeming to mull over what she said.  “He does good things.  He helps a lot of charities.  He honestly does care about the city and the people and about making their lives better. His parenting skills could use some work though.  He could show his sons that he actually cares about them as more than tools, you know, whether they live or died…” he furrowed his brows and looked away for a few seconds before he schooled his expression.  His eyes got a wicked gleam to them and he leaned towards her to whisper conspiratorially “… and I hear he’s sleeping with Batman.”

Mari looks at him surprised.  “Huh, I guess he has a type then, supermodels, superheroes…”

“Supervillains…” Jason says under her breath looking back at Bruce and his date.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he covered quickly, but the damage had already been done.  She had started thinking about Bruce’s involvement with the super community.  If he was sleeping with superheroes and super villains, that meant he was part of the same circles as Constantine… and Constantine liked dating in the super community.  Could Bruce Wayne be in the super community?  That would explain why he had information pertaining to the Grimoire.  And she might need to revisit exactly how Constantine knew Bruce Wayne.

“Are you okay?  I didn’t break you, did I?” he asked cautiously.

“Yeah, fine I could just maybe use some uh, water?” she gave an awkward smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, please?”  She just needed a bit of space to think.

Jason left to grab a glass of water and turned back to her.  She watched Bruce with her head crooked to the side.  He saw her finger discretely swiping to the right a few times as she stared intently at Bruce.  After a few times her finger swiped left instead and head straightened.  She looked around to the other members of the family as if she was counting, confirming something in her head.

Marinette’s eyes widened as she suddenly realized why Bruce Wayne could have information they needed and why Constantine needed her to keep an eye on the Waynes.  Shit. Shit shit shit shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshit. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.  She turned away quickly.  This could not be happening.  This. Could. Not. Be. Happening.  She did NOT help him break into the BATCAVE while she kept tabs on BATMAN.

And if Constantine was trying desperately to avoid him, like he did all his exes…That little…

Jason had no idea what happened but as he got closer to his Pixie he could hear her muttering under her breath in French.  His French was a bit rusty so even the pieces he could pick up were scarce and nonsensical.  Something about maybe “lying” and “Roast Beef” and “bat” and “shark” and “fucking”.  He couldn’t be positive about any of the words except two; “fucking” and “bat” those he was pretty familiar with.  Not to brag but he could swear like a sailor in at least 7 languages.  And “bat”, he knew that word in a few more languages for obvious reasons.

She was abruptly moving and ran right into him before she could take notice of her surroundings.  She looked at Jason with wide eyes, reexamining the man she had spent the evening speaking and dancing with.  Suddenly, everything clicking into place.  There was one more hero she hadn’t accounted for, Red Hood, who while he hid his face behind a mask, just so happened to have the same towering build as Jason. But Bruce Wayne didn’t have any more kids, right?  And if the other vigilantes were his sons, Red Hood should be too, right?  He just had the three boys and the two girls who were out of town.  That was it.  He had another son, but that son had died.  What was his name… She gasped loudly, “Oh God! You’re Jason,” she exclaimed out loud.  

“Yeah?”  He said confused.  They’d been over this before.

“You’re Jason Todd,” she said looking down and taking slow breaths.  “You’re Bruce Wayne’s son.”

He looked at her startled.  She put that together quicker than he was expecting especially since she didn’t seem to know much about the family. “For what it’s worth, I don’t feel like his son most of the time,” he tried to joke.  “Sorry for not telling you before.  I don’t like talking about being in the family, or being in the family at all, actually.” He winced looking at her wide eyes.

“I wasn’t supposed to get noticed by the Waynes. Shit!”

“Then you shouldn’t have worn that dress… or that face… or that smile, Pixie.”  He said grinning suavely.  

She examined him for a few seconds, emotions flittering across her face almost too quickly to identify them.  Confusion, bashful, flattered, hopeful, guilt, pain, melancholy.

“I have to go.” She finally spoke up.

“Wait.  What?”

“I… I have to go”

“Wait, is it… you have to go because I’m Wayne’s son?”

“No, I… shit.  Putain de bâtard.” Yep, that one he understood too.  Wait... “Me?” He asked pointing to himself.

“No, not you… Not because you’re a Wayne, well kind of because you’re a Wayne.  It’s…” she faltered for a few seconds then muttered under her breath again “Je vais tuer cette putain de mère.”

“Wait, who is the mother fucker you’re talking about? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.  I’m just going to kill a bitch when I get home.”

“Okay… Okay, first, that is a lot more swearing than I thought you were capable of and I’m extremely impressed… and turned on,” he chuckled as she rolled her eyes at him and mumbled under her breath “you should have heard what was going on in my head”.  He raised his eyebrows at her suggestion.  “Okay, you’re making it really hard not to make out with you right now.” He watched proudly as her cheeks suddenly blazed red at his comment. Another point for him tonight.

“Second, if you’re just worried about Bruce finding out you were here, it never happened.  I never saw you.  You were never here,” he assured her.  Instead of calming her she seemed more panicked, eyes darting from the door to him. This seemed like more than just not wanting to get noticed.  She was into something and didn’t want to be.  “Or, if you’re in trouble, I can help.  You just need to tell me what is going on.  You don’t seem like you would willingly work with someone out to hurt others, so whatever it is, I’m sure you aren’t willingly doing it.  If it is something bad.  I just really have no idea what is going on right now and I would like you to tell me.” He continued earnestly, looking her in her eyes to make sure she understood how deathly serious he was about it.  If she needed help, he WOULD help her.  Even if he didn’t like her, which he really did, he was going to help put that smile back on her face.

She looked at him for another few moments opening her mouth slightly to say something then seemed to think better of it and closed it again.  She narrowed her eyes and looked away scanning the room as she thought about what to say and do next.  She seemed to come to a conclusion as she turned back to him and set her feet firmly on the ground.

“I never told you why I was here, did I?” Even before he shook his head she continued.  “I’m here to keep an eye on the Waynes.  On you, apparently.  Didn’t know you were back from the dead though, so I wasn’t looking out for you. Congratulations on that, by the way, you know, on the whole not being dead thing.  That’s really amazing.  I’m glad you can be around to enjoy life and laugh and be sarcastic and look at me with those eyes and look like that in a suit… probably even better out of it.”  She muttered the last part under her breath.

“I’d love to see you out of that dress, too.” He smiled smugly at her.

She huffed out a breath, cheeks reddening again, “Yeah, not happening.  I’m burning this dress as soon as I get out of here.”

“I can help you with that, too.  I like setting fires.  Two birds, one pyrotechnic.” He preened for a moment enjoying the flirting. Wait, less flirting, more focusing back on the more important part of her earlier speech.

“Wait, why are you keeping an eye on us?” he asked apprehensively.

“So I could warn my… associate if any of you left. So he could have plenty of time to… what is the best way to say this…” she looked up to the ceiling and took a deep steadying breath thinking about the words she wanted to use.  None of this was part of the plan. “…so he could have plenty of time to evacuate your… lair? No, lair makes you sound like villains… your illicit… cavern of, actually I don’t know if it is a cavern… and it isn’t really illicit, is it?  Well, actually I guess it kind of is, but that still makes it sound like you’re a villain…your underground… no, I don’t even know if it is underground… to evacuate your… uh… secret… base of… um, operations?”

“My what?” Jason demanded now more than a little concerned. “Who are you?”

“Nobody.  Absolutely nobody of consequence. And nobody who should be here right now.”  She turned to walk away before Jason stopped her.

“No.  You don’t get to say something like that then try to slink away like nothing happened. Come on, we’re going to go talk to some people,” he said grabbing her arm a bit harder than strictly necessary and dragging her towards his brothers and Bruce.  She definitely figured out who they all were or at least who Bruce was and that they knew too, which put her in danger, and she was working with someone to break into the Batcave, which put them all in danger.  Everything about this situation was dangerous and bad and they needed to talk to the family to figure out the best next steps.

Marinette dug her heels into the ground pulling against him, a really bad idea considering how high her heels were. Instead of stopping him she stumbled into his chest allowing him the opportunity to wrap his arms around her, “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said squirming to get out of his embrace. “This is between you guys.  I have neither the desire nor the interest to get involved in this little lover’s spat.  I have more important things to be doing right now.  Things that asshole was supposed to be doing instead of pulling practical jokes.”

“Jokes?  What do you mean jokes?  What the fuck is going on?”  He looked at her again.  She wasn’t afraid, she wasn’t gloating, she wasn’t even nervous.  She was annoyed verging on enraged.  

“Nothing you need to worry about, Red.” She threw in the moniker at him to get him to back down.  She knew how important secret identities were, and how finding out someone knew yours could throw you off your game.  She felt a bit of guilt as she used that knowledge against him but this was no longer fun.  Now this was infuriating.  John was playing games with his former lover, or current lover, whatever Bruce was to him, instead of just helping.  He was taking time she didn’t want to spend, time the people of Paris should not have to wait.  They had spent weeks planning this when he could have just walked in and asked for the information.  They had wasted so much time.

“I. Do. Not. Have. Time. For. This.  This is not a joke.  This is not some gag for you overgrown children to play at,” she said hitting her finger into his chest with each word.  “I have people in need relying on me.  I have children counting on me. Parents counting on me.  Single people, who also deserve to live just as much as everyone else, counting on me and all suffering while they wait.  I. Am. Done.  And I am leaving”

Jason listened to her shocked.  Something was happening and he had absolutely no idea what, but somehow they were involved.  He hated not knowing what was going on.  Apparently children were suffering because of all of this and he didn’t know why.  But, he was going to figure it out.  She was right.  They did not have time for this.  Whatever was going on, they were going to help.  He turned away loosening his grip on her waist to just laying his arm on her instead of encircling her.  He touched his hand to his ear to activate the com hidden inside, “Tim, can you check the security video for the uh… our base of operations?”

It appeared that Tim was giving Jason some resistance because Jason turned away even further and started yell whispering threats into the air.  He was trying to be as discrete as possible in the crowded room, which normally wouldn’t be such a concern but there was a group of dancers headed their way, just leaving the dance floor after the song ended.  Marinette took advantage of his distraction and the sudden cover to twist away from him and slip into the crowd.

Jason called after her and tried to grasp her arm but missed her.  He searched for her but the crowd was too thick, having had to bottleneck to get past the tables surrounding the dance floor.  He scanned the crowd for her twisted hair or the black dress, but couldn’t see her in the group.  She had effectively disappeared, but if she went into the crowd, she would have to come out and cross the dancefloor in order to leave.  He could just wait for her on the other side of the group and keep an eye on the dancefloor.  He moved to go around the table, but that side was just as crowded so he did the only rational, discrete thing he could in the situation, he slid across the top of the table landing on the dancefloor and waited to grab her there, but she never came out.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

_____________________________________________________________

Marinette had a habit of catastrophizing.  She knew this.  Everyone who knew her knew this.  She thought of all of the worst case scenarios and tried to plan for them. Generally, it was a wasted effort that did little more than stress her out and annoy her teammates.  Today, however, today it paid off.  She had anticipated having to make a quick escape and once she decided it was time to go, she put her escape plan into action. Freeing herself from Jason, she pulled off her belt before even getting to the crowd.  As she entered the crowd of people, she pulled out her hair pin, letting her hair fall down.  She didn’t even have to hunch down much at all to disappear into the crowd as she weaved her way through them.  One advantage to being short.  She ran her left hand through her hair tousling it so her long raven hair cascaded around her shoulders.  With her right hand, she yanked at the cowl neckline of her dress, allowing the fabric overlay to drop forming a floor length skirt, revealing the bodice of her now red Harlow inspired dress that had been hidden underneath.  Her new dress hugged her body until it reached her hips then fell freely.  

Finally, she reached into her red purse, removed her phone, the cookie for Tikki, and Kaalki’s glasses, nodded to Tikki, turned her purse inside out revealing a now black purse with red detailing, and returned her phone, glasses, cookie, hairpin, and belt into it, leaving plenty of room for Tikki. The entire change took all of 10 seconds.  By the time she would walk out of the crowd, she would be completely unrecognizable, at least by anyone who didn’t already know her.  Unless that is, if they were looking for someone moving against the tide of people.  That would be a dead giveaway.  So instead, she pivoted and moved with the crowd instead of against it, parting with them after a few tables and moving laterally toward the exit.

Marinette made her way to the exit quickly, but not quickly enough to draw attention to herself.  She needed to get to Constantine before the “bat family”, as her research had called them, got to him.  They had reasons for keeping other superheroes out of Paris and she had no interest in having that particular awkward and slightly guilt laden (stupid gorgeous blue eyes she wanted to get lost in) conversation with them.  Especially when she was this utterly livid with Constantine, which was another reason she was rushing.  She needed to get to him so she could beat the asshole out of him. Oh, she was going to make him pay for this, and not in a way he would enjoy.  

She was angry and frustrated and guilty and grieved. She knew Jason didn’t deserve for her to snap at him like she had but she had been too frustrated to hold back and he was part of the problem.  She had been having fun with Jason.  She had been enjoying bantering with him and looking into his eyes.  She had really, really been enjoying having him look at her like she was the most interesting thing in Gotham and having him hold her closer than he had to while they danced.  And now it was gone.  She was a hero and he was a vigilante so he had to be kept at a distance.  A 3,670 mile distance to be precise, well approximate.

She was just about to cross through the exit when a voice stopped her.

“Hey,” a woman with short black hair and green eyes called out to her.  Marinette slowed down weighing the risk of just blowing her off vs the risk of stopping. She decided ignoring her might lead to the woman calling after her, which would bring unwanted attention, which she wanted to avoid.  Stopping seemed the safer answer.  As long as she didn’t look back at the gala or do anything else that might incriminate herself, she would be able to get away without any awkward conversations or fights.

“Yes” she answered with a strained smile.

“I saw that little quick change back there,” the woman responded.  Marinette’s eyes widened in panic.  Before anxiety could start going over all the worst case scenarios her mind could come up with, she was already in the midst of one of them in real life she really didn’t need to start thinking of worse things to add to it, the woman continued, nonchalantly scanning the people at the gala, “don’t worry, I’m not going to out you.  I just might have occasion to use a quick change myself from time to time, so I was hoping you might share where you got your dress.”  She shot Marinette a wicked smile.  ”Just because you’re hustling doesn’t mean you can’t look killer doing it.”

Marinette relaxed minutely and gave her a small smile, “it’s called MDC Designs.  She’s online. What’s your name so she’ll know who to look out for?”

“Thanks kitten.  I appreciate it.”  She said never looking back at Marinette.  “Selina.  Selina Kyle. I’d say nice to meet you, but we never met, did we?”

Marinette smiled to herself as she walked out the door. Maybe the night wasn’t a total loss. Hopefully, Constantine got the information they needed, she’ll get to punch his smug face as soon as she sees him, and she’ll get a new client.  Guess Adrien was right about showcasing her design after all.  He must never know.  Not such a bad night at all.

 Chapter 2

 Tag:

@fsketchart @jasonette-july-2k20

[pastelpaperplanes]

Part 5

Optimus had never worn as little as he was in that moment, and considering the situation, he would normally be a lot more anxious about it, but when you're suspended this high off the ground with only two thin strips of fabric holding you up, that was the least of your worries at the moment.

Jadarite, Eion and Calipso were all on the ground, calling up words of encouragement to him as he managed to get the wrap around his torso properly. 

Unverlo was up in the rigging alongside some of the workers who maintained said rigging, mostly there to let him know if something got tangled and they’d have to drop him onto the massive padded mat directly under him on the stage.

He took a moment before he began the next stunt to question how Jadarite had even got him into this.

Something about his upper frame physique and how the crowd would love it?

After that thought was done, he let himself go, letting the flow of the fabrics let him spin around and around and around.

Just as he was about to hit the mat, he shifted, and the roll stopped, leaving a perilous amount of fabric left underneath him and his optics having to recalibrate to adjust to the sudden change in depth.

There was a round of applause from those around him as he put his servos and knees to the mat and untangled himself from the fabrics.

Once they were free hanging again, Unverlo and the mechs up in the rigging started to pull it all back up for storage, that had been the last trick he had wanted to get right, so the session was over.

Jadarite offered her servo to him, which he took as she helped him off the mat. “You’re a natural Pax, the crowds gonna love you even more when you get up the confidence to do it in front of them.” She praised, shifting to walk with him off the stage and down to where the tables and chairs were for the guests, a servo resting on his opposite shoulder as the predominantly white femme led him down and around to the doors that led to the network of workers only corridors that would in turn lead to the dressing rooms. 

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “You sure Boss? I’m still feeling pretty wobbly.”

Jadarite chuckled with a lot more conviction than his own. “How many times do I have to tell you I’ve got an optic for talent Pax? Everyone is wobbly to start with! Why when I was at your level of experience I ran face first into a pole in the middle of a performance and knocked myself out!” She exclaimed, whacking her forehelm with her palm to emphasise the incident. 

He gave her an awkward chuckle. “Hopefully I don’t do that…”

She went to reply back when the ships intercom came to life, and one of the Captains, it wasn’t easy to tell which with just the voice, started to speak. ::Attention all Passengers and Crew, we will soon be arriving at the Intergalactic Port, Galvara-5, if this is your departure call, please make sure you have everything you have brought with you packed away, as we will not be turning around for an errant data pad. For those who are not departing us at Galvara-5, we will be docked for two cycles, if you are not back on the ship exactly two cycles after we arrive, we will leave without you.::

He made a face. “That’s a bit harsh…”

Jadarite shrugged. “Think of it from their perspective, The Polaris is a literal city, does a city stop for one data pad?”

“No?”

“No, plus, being blunt about this and having it as part of the policy prevents grounds for lawsuits… it’s been company policy since the time of their Grandsire being in charge of the fleet.” She explained. 

Optimus nodded. “That makes sense… so… Galvara-5? What’s it like? I’ve never been off Cybertron before.” He explained. 

“Oh it’s hectic, because The Polaris and the rest of the fleet have it as their first docking spot after Cybertron, there’s always at least ten companies fighting and throwing money to have their cargo to get the fast track treatment.” She explained. “That’s something the Captains handle though, everyone else gets two cycles to hit up the clubs and tourist traps that have sprung up since the Fleet started using this place, before the Fleet took it as their first landing spot, it was apparently a pretty standard space port, now, it’s supersized and handles everything coming through this Quadrant, The Polaris is still the largest docking ship by leagues, of course.” She puffed up a bit as she stated that.

That was something he noticed, all the mechs and femmes who worked on this ship seemed to hold a great deal of pride, especially those like Jadarite, who felt like someone who knew the ins and outs of the ship better than she knew how to dance, which was saying something, he’d seen her during some of the shows, she could cut a rug and make artwork out of it.

“So, want to see Galvara-5 for yourself?” Jadarite offered. “We don’t have to put on shows during docking periods, it’s expected most bots will get off to take in the scenes and sights instead.” 

He shrugged. “If that’s the case I certainly don’t mind.” 

Jadarite beamed. “Wonderful, we can all go as a group and do a bar crawl! How does that sound?”

He chuckled. “Sounds good… so long as I’m not the only one carrying everyone’s drunk afts back to the ship. Especially Drakus, I don’t know about you, but I might need to go see Dust for a thrown out back strut if I tried to carry him!”

Drakus was the ‘big mech’ of the entertainment department, and was apparently very good at tossing the smaller bots into the air for more dramatic stunts, luckily Optimus was just above the weight that Dust allowed the mech to toss. 

Jadarite chuckled in turn. “Ah’ll remember that kiddo! Now how about you go and get changed out of that get up? Hmm? Before a lost passenger sees you and catches feelings!” She jested, nudging him ahead of her and into the changing rooms. 

Suddenly reminded of just how little he was wearing, Optimus yelped and tried to cover himself up, earning another truly raucous laugh from Jadarite. 

Cybertron

Megatron had to admit, he was having a hard time paying attention to what he was doing. 

He had the star map for the Trans Galactic fleet folded up on one side of his desk, if the Polaris was making good time, they’d be arriving at Galvara-5 soon, and hopefully one of his friends would have the chance to give him a call. 

He was itching to hear about Orion, make sure the dancer was doing alright. 

He’d sprung the change of employers so quickly on the mech, he’d wanted to give him time to pack and the like, but his concerns over Shockwave pulling something had overruled that wish. 

A knock at his door drew his attention away from the paper work he’d been looking at without actually reading. “Come in.” He spoke. 

The door opened and he would admit to himself, he was surprised to see who walked in. “Blackarachnia?” He asked in surprise as the femme walked in. 

The femme, known infamously as the Queen of the Insecticons, looked murderous, melt a poor soul into the sidewalk for being within her vicinity murderous, he was surprised Lugnut let her reach his office with that expression. He might need to go and check for his body...

“What. The frag did you do?” The femme hissed out. 

“You know full well your going to have to be more specific than that.”

“Optimus. What the fuck did you do to him!” She snapped, lips pulled back in a snarl. 

“Who?” He asked, he’d never heard of a mech called ‘Optimus’. He had a feeling BlackArachnia was misplacing her anger. “BlackArachnia, if one of your… associates has gone missing, I am not the one responsible.”

She blinked at him dumbstruck for a moment before snarling again. “Don’t pull that slag with me! You’re in deep slag you idiot! The Elite Guard’s started a murder investigation on you!” She snapped out. 

His optic ridges shot up. “...What…”

She nodded. “You killed their informant. I knew him… he… he used to be my friend… before… this…” She gestured to herself. “Words spreading fast… surprised you didn’t hear about it before me… So… what the frag… did you do… to Optimus?”

He shook his helm. “I’ve never met a mech by the designation ‘Optimus’.” He tried to explain. 

She sighed. “Baby blue face, bright blue helm piece with finals, waist that should not be supporting a chassis as broad as his?” She began to list off. 

That was all he needed to hear for his attention to go to a black and white photo on his desk, framed in a quaint wood frame, he slowly turned it to face her. “Your… Your describing Orion.” 

“Orion? Frag… he used a cover name… wait… you didn’t know he was an informant?”

Megatron felt something in his spark drop. “No… I didn’t…”

She looked at him confused. “Then… why did you kill him?”

“I didn’t!” He exclaimed, affronted at the very idea of him being responsible for Orion… Optimus… Orion’s death. “He’s not dead!”

“Then where is he?! He was Magnus’ favourite once upon a time! And he’s using the fact that he’s not been seen in weeks to build a murder case on you! They’ve had ships trawl the docks for his body!”

He froze then. “What… wait… the docks?”

She nodded. “Yes! Everyone knows you took him to the docks with Lugnut and Shockwave! Everyone… came to the conclusion you… put him in the Docks… you didn’t… put him in the docks…” 

He shook his helm. “No… I had his contract changed from being in my name, to the name of an old friend. He’s on their ship as we speak.” 

BlackArachnia’s shoulders dropped in relief. “He’s not dead…” 

He nodded, but his expression soured. “Now that we’ve established that… what’s this about him being an informant?”

BlackArachnia made a face. “That I don’t know much about… but what I do know is… it’s a scandal in the Elite Guard… Magnus apparently never cleared this… Sentinel Prime went behind his back and made Optimus work as an informant for him… Optimus wasn’t part of the Guard… he was a civilian… that it seems… Sentinel strong armed into getting information on you for him… That’s all that’s gotten out into the rumour mill so far…” She explained. 

He hummed and intertwined his digits. “The ship with… Optimus… on it… is soon to arrive on Galvara-5… I will address the Captains and see about getting proof that he is alive and well on the ship… that will hopefully enough to clear me of murder when a trial comes… Thank you BlackArachnia… for bringing this all to my attention… Now I know to be prepared...” 

BlackArachnia nodded and took that as her que to leave. 

It would seem, it was more than just Sol and Neb that he would need to speak with on the Polaris… directly. 

The Polaris Bridge.

Nebularburst yawned as she watched the bid prices roll in, Solarstorm was handling the auction itself in Galvara-5’s trading hall, everytime they flew through here, wealthier and wealthier companies and syndicates were throwing more money at them to get their stuff along the flight path they had. 

A chipper autotone voice pipped up from the main console. “Tired Pilot?”

Nebular snorted. “Me? Tired? Child who do you think you are suggesting that?”

The voice snickered through the speakers. “This child~ Who knows you haven’t recharged in four cycles.”

“You’ve been using the security cameras in our quarters to spy on me again… haven’t you?”

“........... Fraggit…”

“POLS!”

“Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” The voice yipped.

Nebularburst sighed, rubbed the sides of her helm. “No… no… I’m sorry… I know it’s pointless thinking we can have you keep some of your innocence… what with what we have you do on the outer rim…”

“What I do on the outer rim is my duty… I’ve known my duty since the cycle you brought me online… I should still try not to swear like those who work in my engines...”

She patted the console gently. “It’s okay… HOLY FPPPFTTT…” She suddenly exclaimed, puffing out her cheeks to stop herself from cursing as she pointed at the sudden spike from the Auction count. “Someone just bet a brand new mining colony filled with rare ores!” 

“WHAT?!”

“... Looks like we’re going to be even more busy now…”

“Think there will be useful stuff to be found?”

“I don’t know… but it looks like that plus a whole warehouse full of credits is the winning bid… the others are declining raising the stakes… Looks like the Prince of the Empire of Falgranum… Wonder what he wants us to ship for that much…” She mumbled. 

She didn’t get anymore time to ponder as the bridges com-link was pinged by a familiar number. 

Nbbularburst beamed. “It’s Megzy!” And sent the clearance for the call to go through. 

:We need to talk.:

Her optic ridges shot up. That didn’t sound good. 

[queenbirbs]

in plain sight | Ch. 1 | Ethan x MC

Book/Pairing: Open Heart / Ethan Ramsey x female MC

Word count: 3.3k

Rating: T

Summary: After Senator Farrugia's mysterious death at the Edenbrook, an upscale hotel in Boston, Special Agent Ethan Ramsey and CNN investigative reporter Sloane McTavish must untangle a web of secrets and murders before time runs out.

Category: AU series

Warnings: mention of off-screen su*cide, language

Continue to chapter two or read on AO3

Link to Spotify playlist

Saturday, January 10, 8:34 p.m.

“They could at least shut off the car alarm,” Bryce complains as they weave through the crowd.

A sea of phone screens float above their heads, all capturing the same lousy photo of a blue-tarped Nissan Rogue. Glass from the shattered windows sprinkles the pavement, where investigators are circling like vultures in their white Tyvek suits. Police cruisers and fire engines form a protective circle around the spectacle. Though their sirens are quiet, their lights flash in bright strobes of red, blue, and amber -- more of a crowd deterrent than anything else. Clogging the rest of the street are vans from all the local stations. Reporters are scattered about the sidewalk, all vying for the best angle of the scene, all spouting the same minute-thirty soundbites for the viewers at home. One of their own, Elijah, waves at them from his spot amongst the circus.

Above it all, rows upon rows of faces press against the glass of their windows, hands covering their mouths at the sight, ignoring the officers’ shouts to close their curtains.

“No way we’re getting a peek at whoever’s under that tarp.” Next to her, Bryce pauses to readjust his bag, trying to make it look less obvious. “So, how you wanna do this?”

From underneath her hat, Sloane shoots him a grin.

Pushing through the stragglers at the crowd’s edge, they navigate around the border of emergency vehicles and into the ornate building. The lobby is just as flashy with its gleaming floors and wooden panels. A chandelier hangs in the center, formed from hundreds of blown glass leaves suspended in a spiral. A marble staircase leads up to the second floor where the bar’s warm lights shine through floor-to-ceiling windows. Piped in through hidden speakers, classical music floats under the anxious murmur of guests. Bellhops herd them towards the elevator bank, urging them upstairs to their rooms. A woman sits on a velvet chaise lounge, black lines running down her face as she gives her statement to a trio of detectives.

It’s not hard to spot the stairwell door, teeming with cops as it is. Bryce frowns when he spots the uniforms. Sloane reads his expression with ease.

“It’s your fault for wearing that jacket everywhere.”

“It’s your fault for not snagging one of those for me.”

Patting him on the arm, she tugs the hat down further and slips into the group of officers headed up the stairs. It’s easy to go unnoticed in her dark clothes and makeshift disguise -- especially when one of them loudly jokes about out-of-shape cops, prompting a wave of sarcastic remarks. Despite the jesting, they all make it up to the twelfth floor landing to join three detectives, some CSU techs, and a hotel employee.

“Why are you all here?” one of the detectives demands to know.

“Lozoya said you needed us to secure the--”

“It’s a fuckin’ roof. What the hell is there to secure?”

The officers grumble at the tone, but stand firm. “Fine, sure.” The detective waves them through. “But no takin’ photos for your Pictagrams and no botherin’ the feds.”

Sloane steps out onto the roof with the rest, lagging behind but not pulling away completely. Two men stand near the door, their backs turned away from the wind as they converse. Whatever they’re saying is lost to the noise carrying up from below, so she passes on eavesdropping and trails after the officers as they circle towards the building’s front. Yellow tape has already been posted around a section of gravel, where the loose stones have been kicked around. From someone pacing and contemplating their decision, or two someones having a fight, she isn’t sure. One of the cops makes a comment about how he must have hit the fire escape on the way down, what with how his face was caved in. The others cringe at the mental image.

Slipping her phone from her coat pocket, Sloane hides it in her palm and snaps a round of photos. At least one of them will be useful, she figures. She’s edging closer to the tape and feigning interest in the view below when she spots the signet ring. It’s gold, made of three bands stacked and melted together. On the front is a small, black triangle with the number “33” stamped in gold.

“You’re not being as subtle as you think you are.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she raises an eyebrow at the man approaching her. He’s one of the FBI agents -- obvious by the expensive suit and coat, and from his lack of a visible badge. Homicide always wears theirs around their necks.

“I’m sorry?” she asks when he comes to a stop in front of her.

He’s tall -- like really fucking tall. This close, she can see the striking blue of his eyes as he glares down at her. His breath fogs out in a heavy sigh.

“Just because the majority of these morons don’t watch CNN doesn’t mean you can get away with trespassing.” With a pointed glance down at her hand, he continues: “Or taking pictures of active crime scenes. I could have you arrested, you know, for impersonating an officer.”

She slides her phone back into her pocket and reaches up to adjust her hat.

“Maybe I’m a fan.”

He levels an unimpressed look at her.

“No one is a fan of the Boston Police Department.”

“What’s your name?” she asks, sidestepping his attempt to corral her towards the access door.

“I’m not interested in being interviewed.”

Sloane tilts her head back and assesses him: no-nonsense and a little condescending, but there’s enough of a spark of sardonic humor in there to use. She could play up the charm, but she has a feeling he wouldn’t fall for it. Getting under his skin it is, then.

“Well, considering you aren’t in coveralls and booties, you’ve clearly nothing better to do than stand around anyway.”

“Getting you out of an active crime scene is in my job description, actually. Besides, don’t you have a war-torn country to parachute into?”

“They’re on a ceasefire right now. And besides, I know who’s under the tarp downstairs.”

The agent snorts at her claim and guides her closer to the door, his hand hovering near her back but never making contact.

“You and every other lookie-loo down there with a camera phone.”

“I was supposed to have a meeting with him tomorrow,” she tells him, keeping her voice low.

The brief chuckle is enough to tell her that she isn’t winning this one.

“Looks like your schedule cleared up a bit, then. Now, if you’d like, you can join your friend in the garish Hawaiian-print jacket who’s shooting B-roll in the lobby. But if I see you up here again, I won’t hesitate to arrest you.”

Sloane shrugs off his warning and digs into her pocket for her business card.

“I have information that might be relevant to this case, if you’d like to get in touch with me.”

“I’m sure you do, Miss McTavish,” is all he says as he takes the card. “But I’m not one for schmoozing, even if you deem it ‘relevant.’”

With an aborted gesture, he waves her to go on through the door and leave. She does so without comment, which surprises him. Though the look she gives him before she disappears down the stairs tells him that this may not be their last communication.

“Reporters,” he scoffs and crumples her card into his coat pocket. With that distraction taken care of, he turns to find his partner.

Tuesday, January 13, 12:46 p.m.

“Ethan, hear me out: maybe we try a different type of knock.”

His hand pauses in front of the door as he turns to his partner, asking his question by raising a single brow.

“I was reading about intimidation tactics in regards to psychological manipulation,” Baz continues. “It talked about the ‘cop knock’ and how commonly associated with guilt it can be. Maybe we try a softer knock, to let them know they aren’t in trouble.”

“They might very well be in trouble, though, if they lied to the police,” Ethan points out, to which Baz blinks at him and then sighs.

“I know. But we drove all this way and if we have to turn back around because another person decides not to answer their door I’m going to scream.” At Ethan’s look of doubt, he shifts on the stoop. “Okay, fine. I’ll sigh really, really loud.”

“Very out of character for you.”

Ignoring the comment dripping with sarcasm, Baz leans forward and knocks a gentle melody against the door. To the right of the stoop, the curtains in the window move back a few inches before falling back into place.

“Mr. Stevenson, I’m Special Agent Mirani and this is Special Agent Ramsey,” he speaks to the closed door. “We’re just here to ask a few follow-up questions.”

Inside, there’s the high tone of a woman’s voice before the muffled roar of a television reaches them. Knowing that camping out front of their door isn’t going to do them any good, Ethan nudges Baz and tips his head to the sidewalk. With a sigh of defeat, Baz follows him down to the SUV parked down the block.

“That’s the third one this week,” he whines, shuffling from foot to foot to keep warm as he waits for Ethan to unlock the car. “And it’s only Tuesday.”

Pulling the keys from his pocket, Ethan curses when a paper falls out with them and onto the asphalt. He bends down and snatches it up, crushing it in his palm to relieve some of the frustration he feels. Because Baz is right -- that’s the third witness who has refused to talk to them about what they saw Saturday night. The distrust of law enforcement he can understand as a reasoning, but for there to be so many in such a small span of time is nothing less than odd. It goes against the average, which is something he finds frustrating.

He slides into the driver’s seat and turns on the car. Baz lets out a weak cry of relief as he climbs into the cab and flips on the seat warmer. The crushed card ends up tossed into the other debris of the center console, where Baz eyes it with interest.

“Have you reached out to her yet?”

“Have I reached out to the person who trespassed onto a crime scene?” Ethan scoffs. “No, can’t say that I have.”

“Maybe you should.”

“It would be a waste of time.”

Baz shoots him a look, as if he’s the one being insufferable.

“And driving out to Quincy isn’t?” he questions with a gesture to the neighborhood around them. “She said she had information. Right now, she might be the only one who’s willing to talk to us.”

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, then berating himself for the bad habit, Ethan glares out at the wintry mix settling on the trees and shrubbery. As much as the bureau likes to brag about solidarity with the press, he doesn’t like dealing with them. It’s no surprise that people whose job it is to stick their nose into other people’s business aren’t the easiest bunch to work with. Though the same could be said for his fellow agents. Including his partner.

Heaving out a sigh, Ethan hands the card over. The momentary event is cut short, however, when her phone rings out and then rolls over to her voicemail.

“This is Sloane. Leave your name, number, and reason for calling at the--” Baz hits the end call button and classical music plays through the car speakers once more.

“I could’ve left a voicemail.”

“Nobody leaves voicemails anymore.”

“Then how will she know it’s me?” Ethan asks.

With an elaborate gesture, Baz opens up the messaging app and begins tapping at the screen. Ethan rolls his eyes as he pulls out into traffic. The muddy water of the Neponset River churns below them as they head north along the interstate for Boston. The chime of a text notification rings through the cab.

“‘Can’t talk right now, in a meeting. Ready to share?’” Baz reads off.

“Tell her yes.”

Another moment of silence, then: “She says ‘no beating around the bush, then. I like that.’ Um, then says she’ll be downtown for the next hour, then has an interview at two. Are you able to meet her today, or do you want to do this over the phone?”

“I despise texting.” Ethan does a double-take when Baz’s fingers move in a flurry across the screen. “No, don’t send--”

Another chime sounds.

“She says ‘that checks out.’”

“What does she mean by that?”

“That you’re a classic type of guy, you know,” Baz fumbles. “Really… old-school, but in a cool, retro way.”

“Uh-huh. So, where does she want to meet?”

Tuesday, January 13, 1:34 p.m.

“Where’s your hat?”

McTavish lets out a dry chuckle at his question and hops down from the retaining wall as they approach. The leather messenger bag she carries smacks against her hip; she immediately shoves it behind her as a reflex.

“Last time I wore it, I was accused of impersonating an officer. Figured it would be safer to leave it at home.”

“A wise decision,” Ethan says. “An even wiser one would be to toss it.”

At the suggestion, she wrinkles her nose and shakes her head.

“Nah. But c’mon, you aren’t here to share fashion advice. Let’s walk and talk.”

This time of year, the Common has nothing more to offer than the bare limbs of the famous oaks and elms. Being the middle of the day, only a few people are out skating on the frog pond. Dreary weather aside, Ethan likes the winter season -- there’s less violent crime when it’s cold out. It’s hard to motivate hardened criminals into action when it’s below freezing. Not that it stopped whoever tossed Senator Farrugia off the Edenbrook’s roof.

“I assume you’ve had less than good luck when it comes to follow-ups,” McTavish says as they wander down a branching path.

“What makes you say that?” Baz asks.

Rolling her head to the side, she glances between the two of them before settling on Ethan.

“Because you wouldn’t have stooped to contacting me if things were going fine. How many times have you been stiffed?”

“One no-show and two others that wouldn’t come to the door.”

“Damn.” McTavish clicks her tongue. “And it’s only Tuesday. Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve had about the same luck.”

Ethan stops short, forcing the others to halt, as well.

“We’re not here to make conversation. At the hotel, you said you had information.”

“I do, or -- at least, I’m trying to uncover a deal he was working on with--”

“Everyone knows the deal he was working on,” he interrupts, much to her obvious frustration. “That addiction rehabilitation bill was all over every news site for the past three months. Including yours.”

“Yeah,” she scoffs, “and everyone knew he wasn’t going to go through with it. Not when the Cyrus Brothers donated to his campaign last week. It’s no coincidence that they’re one of the biggest players behind privatizing the prison system in Massachusetts. The less people clogging the prisons, the less money in their pockets.”

When he glances over to his partner for confirmation -- he’s never been one to pay much attention to the finer workings of corporate America -- Baz gives a small nod.

“Tell us something that everyone isn’t aware of, then,” Ethan demands.

“The Edenbrook and a big-name pharma company have something going on under the table.”

It’s certainly not what he was expecting her to say, as evident by the fact that he has to bite back a reaction.

“Who we talkin’?” Baz jumps in. “Lavinium? Cale-Anderson?”

“Bigger,” McTavish says with a shake of her head.

“Sachmis?”

“Think Greek.”

“Can you two stop--” Ethan tries to quash their guessing game, but he’s drowned out by Baz’s excited gasp.

“No way! Panacea?”

“Bingo.”

Crossing his arms, Ethan frowns at the name.

“What do they want with an old-money hotel, though?”

McTavish bites at her lip and fiddles with her bag’s strap.

“I’m not entirely certain just yet. But it can’t be pure coincidence that their CEO Declan Nash stays at the hotel pretty often, especially when he owns two properties in the area. I suspect it has something to do with the fact that legislators who stay at the Edenbrook later pull their support from anything that would wound Panacea’s revenue. There’s something suspicious going on there, though, I’m sure of it.”

“Nash is a total scumbag,” Baz agrees. At Ethan’s pointed look, he doubles down with: “In my professional opinion, of course.”

McTavish gives a not-so-subtle gesture to her watch.

“Damn, and it’s almost two. Okay, so here’s my deal: I give you whatever information I learn from my interviews if you share the tox results from Farrugia’s autopsy.”

“We won’t get those back until--” Baz tries to deflect, but it’s no use.

“You mean you won’t share results with the public until three weeks from now as a precaution. Especially since everyone thinks he killed himself since his mistress came forward.”

“Ah, but you don’t?”

She levels an unimpressed glance at Ethan for his tone. He doesn’t bother adding that he’s fine with the public thinking that; it gives them more time to work behind the scenes. He gets the sense that she’s smart enough to know that.

“Politicians don’t commit suicide over infidelities -- they go to sex rehab or church and then pay to get themselves out of the news circuit. C’mon, guys, you’re the feds and he’s a United States senator. Give me a little credit.”

“Why do you want them so badly?”

“I’ve got a hunch.”

Humming as he weighs his options, Ethan scrubs a hand across his jaw.

“And I’m supposed to let you in on an investigation because you have a hunch.”

“I think my hunch record speaks for itself,” she says, her chin lifting as she smirks. “I was the one who dropped the Nighthawks’ doping scandal. And I uncovered Farrugia’s shady dealings when he was the mayor of Worcester in the mid-2000s.”

The agents share a look. Maybe adding another player to the field wouldn’t be so bad. After all, they have been trying to talk to the senator’s aide for the past few days and haven’t had much luck. Though his whereabouts were confirmed the night of the supposed murder, Ethan has his suspicions. And if there’s anything the guilty hate, it’s talking to the feds.

“How easy would it be for you to secure an interview with Travis Perry?”

McTavish’s mouth curls into a scowl at the name.

“Not very,” she murmurs. The grimace drops from her face a moment later. “But I’m always up for a challenge. I’ll see what more I can do. But I think something bigger is at play here.”

“So do we,” Ethan assures her. “Like you said, this is a senator’s death we’re dealing with. We have to be methodical about this. If that means taking the time to clear some names from the board, then that’s what we’ll do.”

“But keep in mind that we are on a tight schedule here because they’re firing up the retort next Monday morning. Any physical evidence will be gone.” The corner of Baz’s mouth dips into a frown. “There’s no exhuming and running another autopsy on ashes.”

“Understood. And as much as I’d love to stay and discuss funeral plans, I’ve got an interview with a former bellhop.” With that, McTavish readjusts the strap across her shoulder and nods at them. “I’ll be back in touch when I’ve got something to share, boys.”

“Ramsey,” he offers as he reaches out to shake her hand.

“Baz,” his partner says as he does the same. “It’s what all my friends and/or secret press contacts call me.”

He rolls his eyes at Baz’s comradery. McTavish flashes him a smile, her nose scrunching up as she does, as if this is some private joke he isn’t privy to. Ethan shoves down the immediate notion of how charming he finds the expression.

“Well, you can call me Sloane, then.”

Taglist: @openheartfanfics @writinghereandthere @maurine07 @lsvdw-blog

Author's notes and what-have-yous:

*rolls up to the club six months later to find a closed sign on it*

Okay, all kidding aside, I've been working on this thing since September 2020 and decided it was high time to post. I'm breaking my Number One Rule posting it now, since this story is technically still incomplete, but I am currently working on the final chapter.

[donttouchmeimwriting]

Argo ch. 1

Friday the 13th - Friendship/Romance - Jason Voorhees/OC M/M ship

2897 words, 3rd person POV

This is not following canon closely at all and I'm kinda blending bits of Jason's personality between original movies, the remake, and fan versions so this is pretty solidly AU. I hope you enjoy!

Cross-posting on FFN under PyroTheWereCat

There was no pleasure in killing. It was a task, like any other, but one that had to be done adequately. Even if it took several tries and the body was mangled by the end of it, the life had to be gone from their eyes.

"We can't have them coming back to hurt us, can we?"

Mother was right. Mother was always right. She was the only one who cared. She was the only one who knew kindness. It was her idea and her decision to take revenge against the wicked counselors of Camp Crystal Lake, and what she wanted, she would get.

She had nearly died herself trying to punish the ones responsible for her son's drowning, and so the pair needed to live in hiding, deep in the woods surrounding the camp. It took over ten years of teaching and training, but it was finally time. Mother knew best, and Jason Voorhees was willing to serve her every command.

Four years ago, Jason began his killing spree. He picked off the counselors one by one, catching each in a deadly infraction. He worked carefully at first, making the disappearances look like believable shirking of duties or horrible accidents. That year, authorities ruled the camp could reopen for the next season with some extra safety precautions. Jason was praised so lovingly that year.

The second year, Jason continued his streak, but allowed himself to get a little sloppy. The murders were attributed to one of the staff members, and no one was the wiser to his presence (or, more importantly, his mother's). The camp was forcibly closed for the following season, and Jason's mother prayed it would stay closed and they could be free of the evil of the counselors who knew no compassion.

But, as an investigation cleared the camp of outside interference, further cementing the falsely accused staff member as the murderer, Crystal Lake reopened for another season, forcing Jason out of hiding once more. He did not want to go back, having enjoyed the peaceful summer with his mother last year, but he knew he had a job to do. He dusted off his mask, sharpened his machete, and set out for Camp Crystal Lake once more.

This year already felt different for Jason. Perhaps it was the time off, or perhaps he was growing tired of killing, but this year he decided to approach things in a different way. He spent the first two weeks of camp watching from the shadows, identifying the counselors and their habits. There were eight of them: four men, four women. Their ages were uncertain, but it seemed the youngest was about seventeen and the oldest was about twenty-five, the majority being roughly twenty-one. College age, Mother had said, was the worst age for most folks. Leftover rebellion from their adolescence and newfound freedom created a sinful breeding ground for debauchery and cruelty that needed to be punished. Jason was of this age now as well, and he had promised to not let himself lose sight of his task.

During the weeks Jason watched the camp, he noticed a few important details. First, he noticed that ghost stories about the murders he and his mother had committed were being told at nightly bonfires, embellished to near supernatural lengths. This excited Jason to some degree, seeing that his hard work had noticeable impact years later. Second, he noticed there were no hikes on the outer trails and strict curfews were imposed on both the campers and the counselors, keeping the grounds barren between the hours of 9PM and 7AM. This rule would make Jason's work difficult if he planned on making any of these deaths appear accidental, but he could improvise if needed.

The third detail, and the most curious of all, Jason noticed that out of all eight counselors, one stood out as unique. The first distinctive feature was that he was shorter than the rest of his coworkers, somewhere close to five feet tall. Jason almost mistook him for a camper at first, but the back of his shirt clearly read 'COUNSELOR'. What truly set him apart from the rest, however, was how attentive he was to the campers. He made sure every voice was heard and no one felt left out. He kept a bright and supportive demeanor no matter the circumstances, and helped the campers with every activity. Furthermore, he did not seem interested in sneaking off to sacrifice his job duties in favor of more lecherous behavior. Jason found himself growing fascinated with this counselor, and opted to watch him a little more closely to see if he had any damning secrets that would confirm his impending death with the rest.

Another week dragged on, and Jason regrettably had lost track of time. He followed this seemingly kind counselor as he engaged the children in their activities and lent a listening ear to those who had problems or concerns. What could he be hiding? Mother was certain that anyone who took a job at this camp was a bad person, and Mother was always right...right?

"Alright, everyone!" the strange counselor called one morning, catching the attention of his group, "It's Friday tomorrow, and that means s'mores night!"

He allowed for a brief cheer from the kids before quieting them down again to continue,

"S'mores are really nice, aren't they?" Whoops and words of agreement rose from the group. "Do we agree that nice kids deserve to have nice treats?" More affirmations rang out. "That's right! But it's come to my attention, as well as the other counselors, that there's been some of you who haven't been as nice as they should be."

Jason leaned forward from his seated vantage point on a log, listening curiously to the counselor's teaching moment. Would he punish the whole group of kids for a minority's bad behavior? Would he revoke s'mores privileges? Would he try to drown some of the children in the lake? That last one was unlikely, but the thought still crossed Jason's mind. The counselor continued,

"Here at Camp Crystal Lake, we value honesty, teamwork, and what else?"

"Accountability," the children chorused.

"Exactly right," he praised, "And if one of us is being picked on, it's up to the rest of us to help them feel included, right?"

"Right!"

The counselor clapped his hands together, smiling kindly at the group.

"I don't want anyone to feel like they're in trouble, so we're gonna make this into a game, okay?" he proposed, "We're all detectives looking for clues on whodunnit. We have to solve the mystery of who's being a bully and have them apologize by tomorrow night, or all the s'mores will have to go away until next week. Does that sound fair?"

"Yes," the kids answered, somewhat anxious now that the promised snacks might be withheld.

"Awesome! Here are the rules of the game: you can't force someone to give you a clue if they don't want to. That would defeat the purpose of the game! You also can't point any fingers until the bonfire is lit tomorrow night. If the person who was mean wants to come forward on their own, they have to come to me or one of the other counselors so it doesn't spoil the end of the game. Once the person is revealed, they have to apologize to the person they hurt and will spend the weekend making it up to them because, here at Camp Crystal Lake, we want everyone to have a great time. If one of us isn't having a good time, we all have to work together to help them so we can leave here at the end of the summer with the best memories and the best friends. So let me hear it from you guys: are we ready to go out and have a great day?"

The kids burst into another round of cheers and the counselor shepherded them off to their first activity of the day. Jason propped his elbow on his thigh and rested his chin in his hand. He frowned in contemplation. This counselor was so dedicated to the kids...could he be an exception? Could Jason's mother have been wrong? He would have to catch this counselor alone to find out more. He still had plenty of time to dispatch the whole staff, he figured, so he had the time to learn what he could about this one counselor.

Jason stalked the counselor over the next few hours, watching him be the perfect role model for the kids as usual. Finally, sometime near midday, the counselor took a break after passing his group to another and announced he was going to check the nearest hiking trail for debris before he took the kids on it later. One of the female counselors offered to walk with him, and Jason detected signs of flirtation in her body language, but he refused, claiming it would be a short trip. Jason felt his heart beat faster with anticipation, following him just out of sight as he walked the trail, moving any large sticks or rocks from the path. Jason flexed his fingers on the hilt of his machete, wondering if he should kill him now despite having no evidence yet that he was a bad person. He resolved he would wait until they were far enough away from the camp where screams would not carry, then he would decide.

The counselor moved at a brisk and energetic pace, enjoying his time alone. He seemed so full of life and vigor...Jason almost felt bad that he was planning on murdering him. The counselor stopped at a fallen branch blocking the path and looked it over, his hands on his hips.

"That's a big one," he commented to himself, "I hope I can get it out of the way on my own."

With that he bent down to lift one end of the branch, stepping backwards to drag it off the trail. From Jason's position, he could see another, smaller branch on the ground behind the counselor, twisted and gnarled, but big enough to pose a hazard. Jason watched as the counselor caught his foot on the hidden branch and tumbled backwards, rolling through the leaves and sticks as he fell down the slope. He went over a slanted rock near the bottom and crumpled on the other side of a rotting log, his ankle caught in a hole in the log. Jason slowly approached, minding his steps down the slope so he would not fall as well.

The counselor grunted in pain as he pushed himself up on his elbows and attempted to free his leg from the log. He had dirt on his face and debris in his hair and, as Jason drew closer and could see more clearly, cuts and scrapes all over his arms and legs. Unsuccessful in his attempts, the counselor fell back on his elbows, breathing hard. He craned his neck to look over the log, having heard the approaching footsteps, and his eyes met Jason's, mere feet away.

"Oh my gosh, you startled me!" he greeted, "Thank goodness someone else was on the trail! I'm okay, by the way, I'm just a little stuck. Can you help me out?"

Jason froze as the counselor addressed him. Oddly enough, he didn't seem afraid, despite Jason's hulking stature, out of place hockey mask, and freshly sharpened blade in hand. He tilted his head to one side, puzzled. He hadn't been this close to another person (aside from his mother) in almost two years, but he distinctly remembered every person he had been this close to fearing him on sight. He looked down at his machete, wondering what was holding him back from stabbing this man and walking away. It was all so easy before...

"Ooh, yes, you came prepared!" the counselor said, noticing the machete as well, "If you're careful, you can probably hack around the opening so I can get my foot loose. If you want, I can get you some free food back at camp for helping me out. It's not much, but Miriam makes a mean chicken salad."

He smiled up at Jason, and Jason felt his heart stop for a moment. There was not a single flicker of fear in the counselor's eyes. All he could see was the same gentle expression shown to the kids back at camp. An unfamiliar feeling came over Jason and, for the first time in years, he felt compelled to help. He raised the machete, his eyes focused on the counselor's trapped leg. His breathing hitched, one part of his mind urging him to kill as Mother instructed, the other begging him to show mercy, just this once. He glanced back at the counselor's face, at that warm smile, and made his choice.

The machete swung down and struck the wood of the log, sending a spray of splinters into the air. The counselor winced, shielding his eyes from the shower, and tried to wiggle his leg loose.

"Still a little stuck," he announced, "I think one more whack on the other side oughta do it."

Jason wrenched the blade out of the wood and swung again on the other side of the counselor's leg. As predicted, the counselor was able to maneuver himself out of the weakened structure. He brushed the splinters and dirt off of his skin and shakily stood up, clearly in some pain from the fall.

"Thank you," he said to Jason, his smile returning, "Really, I would have been in some trouble if you weren't here, so thanks a lot. My name's Lijah."

He extended a hand to Jason to shake, but Jason was too caught off guard by his own response to the situation as well as Lijah's genuine friendliness to return the gesture. Lijah lowered his hand, unfazed by the lack of reaction.

"Not a talker, huh? That's okay," he noted, then became visibly nervous, "Oh, cripes, I'm sorry, are you deaf?"

He made some strange hand movements with that last sentence, gesturing to Jason and to his own ear. Jason shook his head, slowly coming out of his confusion.

"Ah, gotcha," Lijah said, relaxing, "That works for me. I'm not very good at signing."

He laughed at this, and Jason felt a pang of....something. Lijah's laugh was light and pleasant sounding...it reminded Jason of dappled sunlight through trees. He couldn't explain it, but he wanted to stay near Lijah for a while longer.

"In all seriousness, what is your name?" Lijah asked, "I'd like to know who my hero is."

Hero. That wasn't a word Jason thought would ever be associated with him, but it felt surprisingly good to hear Lijah call him that. He looked around himself for a moment, then up the slope at the trail. He motioned for Lijah to follow him and made his way up to the flatter part of the forest floor. Lijah had some slight difficulty following him, being so much smaller and having mild injuries, but he made it up the slope all the same. Jason waited until Lijah had caught his breath and stood next to him. He held his machete out to the ground and drew the letters of his name into the dirt. Lijah read the name aloud once he had finished and looked up at Jason brightly.

"Jason!" he chirped with delight, "Like the Argonaut in Greek mythology!"

Jason tilted his head, frowning. His mother had told him many stories as he grew up, but they were all from the Bible. He wasn't familiar with the character Lijah was referencing, and Lijah could see his bewilderment.

"He's a hero in his story," he explained, "well, for the most part. He goes on adventures with his crew and they see and do all kinds of amazing things together."

Jason nodded, liking the sound of this hero with the same name as himself. And the fact that he was not entirely virtuous...that struck a chord with him. He gestured to Lijah, who seemed to understand that he was asking about his name.

"I was originally supposed to be Elijah," he said, emphasizing the 'e' at the beginning, "but my little sister had trouble saying the whole name, so I changed it to just Lijah. By itself, I don't think it means anything special, but it's pretty special to me."

Jason stared at Lijah. How was he so good-natured? Even with an intimidating stranger like Jason, he managed to keep his upbeat attitude and unselfish way of speaking. Was he stupid or genuinely that benevolent?

"Hey, walk with me back to camp," Lijah encouraged, setting off in that direction, "I owe you lunch."

Jason felt a small stab of panic and shook his head. He looked over his shoulder and back at Lijah, who nodded.

"You've got somewhere to be - that's fine! Don't worry about it, big guy! But, if you find yourself back this way, come find me at counselor cabin 5 and I'll get you a meal to pay you back for helping me. Thanks again!"

He waved goodbye before turning and walking back towards the camp, the pep in his step dampened only slightly by the soreness in his legs. Jason watched him go and wondered wildly what had just happened. Had he somehow accidentally made a friend?

[bbykpoper]

Chapter 3 // Masterlist

GENRE: mafia au, fluff, a bit of smut, a smudge of angst if you squint your eyes hard enough, possible fantasy????

WARRNING: description of murder and blood at the end, viewer discretion is advised!!!

SYNOPSIS: A centuries old feud which kept itself silent suddenly ignites once again as two warring gangs face each other for the first time. A family of established immortals who came together after the war, a band of humans who began remembering their past lives and officials breathing down their neck threaten the world once again as fantasy and reality clash in the form of a young man hell bent on being in the lead and a young woman hell bent on ending this meaningless feud. A story will unfold before you now, questioning your morals as well as grinding your nerves to the edge.

“A princess turned assassin?”

“A coward turned prince?”

Who will survive the last wave of this war?

°˖✧

“I don’t trust them. Why are they here?” Mark spoke as two of Bangtan’s finest sat outside their meeting room with them. “She even killed Jaemin!”

“Shush Mark. She can hear you.” Haechan spoke up, trying to calm his friend down. 

The girl in question only observed the two, blinking occasionally to show she was alive. Her back was glued to the wall as she sat on the small bench, Solas by her side observing the commotion inside the NCT dining room. Forcas and Beelzebub were facing two very annoyed individuals, one of them being Johnny who had lost the race to Yeonjun earlier this night. 

“She killed our youngest and you want us to work with her?!” Brain was screeching at the two Bangtan men. Both of them sighed thanking every possible Gods out there that Yoongi was not here, or Jongkook. Those two would have lost their temper a long time ago and killed at least half of the house before y/n could stop them. “The fuck do you think we are?! We can take care of our problems by ourselves!”

“Oh? Is that so?” Forcas smirked in amusement. “Then why don’t you do it by not stepping into our territory of business?”

“We do what we have to, and we have similar interests with the Chinese regarding you.” Brain seethed through his teeth.

“Then I guess this conversation is over.” Beelzebub sighed, standing up along with Forcas. “Such a waste of time.”

Solas and Fae noticed the two walking up to them and both stood up catching the two babysitters off guard at the quickness of their movements. Forcas softly smiled at her and placed his hand on her head, a coping method to soothe his anger, and gently patted the younger girl.

“Wait, wait.” The leader of NCT, Lee Taeyong also known as Boss, was quick to stop the group from leaving. “Please excuse my subordinate, his anger keeps talking for him.” The four individuals didn’t seem amused. “I apologize in his stead. May we start over?”

“We are very busy individuals Mr. Taeyong.” Beelzebub narrowed his eyes, the air around them taking on a certain buzz. “We don’t have time to play childish games with men who can’t do orderly business in a disciplined fashion.”

“Then do business with only me and Boss.” Johnny spoke up from next to Fae, the girl only observing him from the corner of her eye. She noticed his intention of coming closer to her even before he thought of it. His body language was too obvious for her. “We will close the doors and come to an agreement, without anybody interrupting us.”

“Seems quite fair.” Forcas spoke, motioning for Solas to step in between Johnny and Fae. “But, I have a condition.” 

“We’re listening.”

“Keep Brain away from Fae.” Was the simple condition.

“Why? Scared I’m going to kill her?” He mocked, glaring at the girl. He was met with the most emotionless pair of eyes, which slightly glazed over with something which Brain could only identify as blood thirst.

“Oh no, I’m pretty sure she will kill you first.” Forcas smiled, coming close to him. “We wouldn’t want NCT’s top mastermind to lose his head now would we.”

“We’ll be by the car.” Fae announced and turned to leave with Solas, nodding slightly to the two men.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t you two. And be cautious!” Beelzebub yelled after them as Solas burned with embarrassment. “Now then, shall we?”

°˖✧

Kim Hanbin, Chief Inspector in charge of taking care of the whole Bangtan/Nct problem, now sat with crossed arms as four young women sat across from him. His expression was sharp as they stared down at him, with his lips trained in a tight line.

“Inspector Kim, it has come to our attention that you’ve been quite lacking with your work concerning the Bangtan gang.” Agent Manoban spoke to him, her eyes peering through the glasses she wore as she looked over a file she held in her long fingers. “No arrests were made, you are not even a step closer to finding out who their Angels of Death are-”

“Fallen Angels.” Kim Hanbin spoke up for the first time. 

“- yes, the Fallen Angels.” Agent Manoban rolled her eyes. 

“Let’s cut to the chase Inspector Kim.” Agent Kim Jennie spoke up, having enough of this spectacle her colleague and this Inspector put up. “Our superiors are not satisfied with the progress of this case and they’ve sent us to finish this, make the appropriate arrests and close it.” 

Inspector Kim didn’t speak up about this, knowing very well that he had no say in this and that if he even tries to he’ll be taken off the case. 

He’s been working on this case for the past two years and finally, a few months ago he managed to place one of his detectives as an undercover agent almost at the top to work with one of the Fallen Angels and extremely close to Fae, making contact with her on more than one occasion. He couldn’t compromise his man, and he couldn’t exactly tell these four FBI agents because they would no doubt, reveal him and endanger his life. 

And he was extremely glad that he briefed his own men on this silent code.

“All right, what do you need?” He asked, sighing and bringing his his hands on the table. 

“We will need all of the information you have gathered on the group, as well as the full support of your team.” Agent Kim Jisoo smiled softly at him. To Hanbin she seemed to be the kindest one among the four, but he knew better than to blindly go along with it. 

“We need the names and badge numbers of your team.” Agent Park handed him a piece of paper and a pen. 

Chief Inspector Kim Hanbin complied and wrote down five names. Five detectives who were part of his team and regulars at the station. 

“Aren’t you missing one?” Agent Manoban raised an eyebrow.

“One of the men was taken off the case a few months back. He is now in another division.” He spoke calmly, his eyes not giving away the secret he held.

The women nodded and took the paper from him, releasing him to go his own way. 

He went back to his division and took a seat at his cubicle as the rest of the men glanced at him, too scared to ask him anything.

“Well friends, we’re screwed.” He announced. “The FBI is going to become part of this team and investigation. They asked for all of your info and names, while they will most likely look into Jiwon to see if he really is in another division or not. I believe we will co-operate with them and not get ourselves in trouble or in sticky situations.”

“Yes sir!” They all answered, noticing how Agent Manoban observed the interaction closely.

The men went back to their tasks at hand as Hanbin looked over to his desk where a picture of him with his whole team stood. They really didn’t need the FBI breathing down their necks right now, but if this is what it meant for them to keep themselves on the case, then he’ll be damned if he couldn’t take it.

°˖✧

Fae sat on the hood of the car observing the two designated babysitters as they paced left and right. They were annoyed and on edge to have to keep an eye on them but at the same time there was something more. They were anxious, as if they were expecting something to happen.

“Hey Tae, do you feel the shift in energy in the air?” She turned to look at her friend who also seemed restless to a point.

“Yes. But it’s coming from the east. Outside of the house and their border of territory.” He spoke up, his eyes trained on the spot where he felt this sudden shift of energy.

“I’ll go check up on it and you go tell Joon and Jin.” He nodded at her as she swiftly disappeared in the shadows. 

Her footsteps were light on the ground as she neared the place of question. Her dark eyes trained on the group of people before her became lighter when she noticed it was someone who they could have expected. Approximately seven men, in dark clothing stood with guns at the ready, mask pulled up so their faces were revealed. Faint talking revealed to her that they were not Korean, but rather Chinese and that their target was to take out the four of them from Bangtan with the help of NCT.

“Rubbish.” She seethed out through her teeth as her eyes steeled themselves like the blade of her katana which she carried with her.

“I know right? Some of our kids are not exactly well behaved and they called them over.” Johnny’s voice came as a whisper, but (y/n) didn’t care much of it. She saw red and wanted them dead, as much as she wanted every single NCT member to lay their last breaths under her blade. “Please don’t look at me like that. I fear I cannot allow you to kill our kids.”

Wait a minute, he can read my thoughts?

“A little bit. Weird isn’t it?” He smiled widely at her. “It’s quite easy with you, even though I thought it would be harder.”

The movement from the seven men caught her attention and averted her gaze from the man crouching next to her in the high tree branch. Without a second glance, she jumped onto the one directly above one of the men in the back and she landed on him, her blade running through the middle of his head. She pulled it out quickly and with a swift turn cut two more heads off, before she slid into the shadows of the nearby tree line. The other four took to a stop when one turned to see the decapitated bodies of their companions and this gave (y/n) leverage to slide out round them and cut two of the mens feet off in one swift swish. The scream they let out alerted the rest of her existence but she was too fast, and in three flowing moves, their bodies were cut in half.

The minute she exhaled a breath and sheathed her sword, her eyes narrowed in on the overly excited man still stuck in the tree branch where she originally was.

“Who are you, Johnny Seo?”

[spencers-renaissance]

Mayhem

Summary: Imagine that scene in S4E1 when Derek is driving the ambulance loaded with a bomb about to explode, except it's Spencer on the other end of the phone and they finally get their shit together. 

Tags: canon divergence, spencer is the tech analyst, death-bed love confessions, getting together, mutual pining, insecure spencer, angst with a happy ending, fluff

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 4.2k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

A Gift For: @habs252117 — anybody can request fics in my ask box :)

A quick recap as this follows S4E1 which is technically a follow-on from the last ep of S3:

The BAU was called to the NY field office to investigate a series of random shootings in the city, often on subways and shit. They realise that this is actually a terror cell practicing for their big attack, and as this fic starts, they believe that the shootings were all in locations they planned to bomb in order to test 911 response times. Kate Joyner is Hotch's old friend, the blonde English one from Scotland Yard and Lisa is Lisa Bartleby, the NY field office tech analyst assigned to help Penelope in the show, Spencer in the fic.

The case had been stressful enough from the beginning. Spencer doesn’t often get to join the team in the field, usually staying in his computer den back in Quantico, so he’d initially been quite excited: he’d get to spend more time with Derek, plus visit New York, which he’s always had a strange sort of affinity for, as well as see his team in action. But then he’s working with equipment that isn’t his and they slowly piece together just how complicated this terrorism ring is and things seem more… bleak rather than exciting. 

They’d all been starting to make their way back to the hotel when the news of the bombing hit the networks, and Spencer’s heart is in his mouth as he rushes back to his post, meeting Lisa Bartleby with harried nods of acknowledgement. Almost as soon as he’s settled at his desk the phone starts ringing.

“Spencer,” Rossi greets as soon as he picks up, “you’ve seen the news?”

“Yes, I— do you know where anyone is? What should I do?” he asks, feeling the panic settle on his chest, his stomach clenching in fear he doesn’t dare try and address.

“I’m here with Penelope, she’ll handle the media,” Rossi says, and Spencer realises that he can hear her low, steady voice she always employs in moments of extreme stress in the background of the call. “I need you to call homeland security and direct them to every site of the recent shootings. Tell them to pour troops in. If our profile is right we’re looking at eight suicide bombers who are about to hit every one of those locations.”

“Actually, if we’re correct, there’ll be sixteen suicide bombers,” Spencer realises with a start. “We predicted they’ll hit the second wave of first responders, too.”

Their conversation is interrupted by the news reporting that the bomb was inside a black SUV near the Federal Plaza and Spencer is pretty sure his entire body stops for a moment: cells stop replicating, blood stops flowing, hair and nails stop growing. This is his family. And he doesn’t know where any of them are, spread across an unfamiliar, dangerous city.

“Right, Spencer, do you have eyes on the Plaza?” Rossi asks, controlled urgency colouring his voice as he tries to keep himself and everyone else as calm as possible.

“Uh— yes, I’ve got like three hundred cameras there,” he says, glancing at Lisa, the NY field office’s contribution to his technological complex, as they jump into action, “give me a minute.”

“I’m here with Penelope, but I don’t know where anyone else is,” Rossi says, and for the first time Spencer can hear the panic rising in his voice. It’s quickly suppressed, but it’s there, and it does nothing to help him calm down. “Find them.”

He instructs Lisa to find every camera feed 20 blocks out concentrically from 26 Federal Plaza before fiddling with his headset, taking a deep breath, and, naturally, trying Derek first. His name has been circling round Spencer’s head like a prayer ever since they heard that it was potentially one of their own hit by the bomb, and the knot in his chest starts to unravel when he picks up the phone.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” Derek says, sounding impatient and stressed, but Spencer doesn’t mind. He’s alive. He’s okay. 

“Thank God,” Spencer breathes. He keeps him on the line while he tries Emily, who sounds just as anxious when she picks up. He doesn’t mind though, he’s keeping a tally of everyone he knows is safe and it’s the only thing making him any less panicked. When JJ doesn’t pick up, the knot tightens a little and he tries to ignore the little string of ‘no no no’s dancing through his mind. 

He hears Emily’s distressed exhale and closes his eyes for a second before forcing himself to get his head back in the game. The phone goes dead mid-JJ’s voicemail message, and then Emily drops off the call, Derek following, and that’s it. He’s lost contact with his team, JJ and Hotch still unaccounted for. Before he can actually lose his head, Lisa is calling him over, and he finally has eyes on the bombing. 

He has to watch the man he sees as a father projected through the air by the blast from the bomb, and all he can hear for a solid five seconds is the fear buzzing in the static electricity around his ear. 

⭐️

Derek arrives at the site of the explosion riled up in a way he hasn’t been for a long time, his only consolation being that he knows Spencer is safe. God, you can definitely count on working a terrorist attack in New York City to accentuate your crippling crush on a coworker; a subtle burn has settled itself across Derek’s chest, the urge to hold and protect Spencer far too distracting for the circumstances. 

He reports immediately to Captain Warner but before he’s even able to identify himself, he hears Hotch shouting desperately for help and he slips immediately into rescue mode. 

“Hey! This area’s restricted,” an ESU shouts at him, as soon as he dashes for the barrier, and he forces the blinding anger flaring in his stomach to simmer down as he turns to the Captain again. 

“That’s my boss down there,” he shouts, making himself as intimidating as possible. 

“I have my orders,” the Captain replies simply, eyes hard and unrelenting. 

“I don’t give a damn what your orders are.” He’s finding it increasingly hard to restrain his anger as he hears Hotch shout again, turning to look hopelessly down the road at him. 

“Look, I get it agent,” Warner attempts to placate him, “but we’ve been told by you that responders are the targets. So until the blast site is cleared, no-one goes in.”

Derek spins around to face him again. “You’re Marine Corps, right?” By the look on Warner’s face, he’s found his way in. “Right?”

“Please, go back to the marshaling point,” he replies, the fight draining out of him. 

“I’m not doing it,” Derek yells stubbornly, furiously. “I’m not just gonna let my man lay down there like that.” Conveniently, Hotch’s miserable call comes down the road again and Derek meets the Captain’s eyes with a hard gaze. “Never leave a man behind. You do remember that, don’t you?”

“Help us!” Hotch screams again. “We’re here! Please!”

Derek glares at the Captain, and sprints as fast as he can towards Hotch as soon as he nods his okay. His boss is clearly disoriented and in a state of obvious distress but he doesn’t look terribly injured. Kate, on the other hand, is clearly a different story, and any hope Derek has for her survival melts away as Hotch explains her arterial bleed and he has to tell him that they can’t expect an ambulance any time soon. He tries to tell the kid crouching down by Kate to leave, but he seems reluctant. 

Derek doesn’t have the headspace to analyse why until he’s finally got him to run off and Spencer’s ringing him to tell him that he’s the bomber. 

⭐️

As soon as Spencer hears Derek run off after the bomber he feels his stress levels rising again. If Derek dies before Spencer finally works up the courage to tell him that he’s in love with him, he’ll never forgive himself for being such a coward, and he’ll never forgive Derek for leaving him. 

Immediately, he patches into the marshaling point and tells the rest of them, who have only just all reunited, what’s going on. 

“The bomb,” he explains, talking as fast as he can, “it was under Kate’s SUV. Hotch is out there with her, he seems okay but Kate is really hurt; they haven’t been able to move her.”

“Where was her SUV parked?” Rossi asks as they all gather around the computer.

“Two blocks east of Federal Plaza.”

“Two blocks east and they target Kate’s SUV?” He sounds incredulous. “Have you identified the bomber?”

“Lisa’s running him through VICAP,” he says, but shrugs hopelessly. He knows it’s a lost cause.

“Call Homeland Security,” Rossi instructs Penelope. “They should be at all the murder sites. See if they found anything.” She nods and stalks away on her heels, still managing to stay cool under pressure. Spencer would envy her, but he knows it’s only an external front, only a mask she has to wear out of complete and utter necessity.

“Okay, okay, but Morgan,” Spencer says, feeling more impatient and stressed than before, “he’s run after the bomber.”

“He’s run after the bomber?” JJ asks, bewildered. “Why?”

“He was at the bomb site,” he replies. “I’m trying to trace him on the city's CCTV network, but the feeds are grainy at best and completely severed at worst.” This is feeling more and more hopeless by the second, and the light at the end of the tunnel is only dimming. 

“Keep trying,” Rossi says, and then he’s turning to the rest of the team. 

Spencer takes a few calming breaths and focuses back on the computer in front of him. Find Derek, he thinks. Find Derek and, when this case is over, stop being a coward and tell him how hopelessly in love with him you are. The pool of dread and fear weighing his stomach down only seems to deepen as he searches relentlessly through the CCTV feeds he can access, looking for Derek and the bomber chasing through the streets of the city. Eventually, he finds him and follows his movements down to the subway station. He watches with baited breath as Derek looks around the empty platform, clearly shouting to the unsub, though Spencer can’t hear what he’s saying. He speeds up the feed, seeing as it’s delayed slightly and fast forwards to Derek entering the tunnel, his sense of dread only intensifying as he loses visual. 

Trying desperately not to panic, he fast-forwards until he’s watching in real time, but Derek still hasn’t emerged, and neither has the bomber, both still hiding in the secrecy of the depths of the city’s transport network. There’s a vague spark of light — which he later finds out was the bomber electrocuting himself on an exposed part of the railway — only barely visible on the poor quality of the camera feed, before Derek emerges, looking rattled but very much alive. 

He doesn’t have much time to celebrate Derek’s livelihood, however, because JJ and Penelope are patching him back through to their conversation. 

“Spencer, Homeland Security has poured tactical teams into all the locations on the geo-profile — SWAT, bomb techs, HRT, hazmat, the works — they found nothing,” Penelope says, clearly puzzled and frustrated.

JJ’s about to reply when something catches her eye. “Yeah, all except one,” she says. “Kate’s SUV — none of the shootings were near it.”

“Maybe it’s personal,” Penelope muses. “I mean, this death card they gave us; they delivered on it.”

“No,” Spencer jumps in, realising what JJ’s getting at, “that’s just it — they haven’t. A cell as large as this one and multiple targets to choose from, they target a single SUV?”

“It’s a diversion,” JJ says, “Everything that’s happened so far has appeared to be something it’s not. The seemingly random acts of violence, Emily’s suicide by cop to make us believe it’s all over. Hotch and Kate as an endgame; they want us to think this is over. They’ve deliberately skewed our profile to make us believe they would be at the sites of the shooting.”

“You’re right. That was memorable” Rossi says, finally chiming in as he gestures to a picture of the twin towers on the wall. “This is not. There’s something else.”

⭐️

As soon as Derek manages to calm Hotch down, he summons the rest of the team to St Barclay’s and for the first time since the bomb went off under Kate’s SUV, the team is back together again.

“Are you okay?” Emily asks Hotch as soon as the team walks into the hospital. He’s scratched and bruised all over, visibly shaken, and clearly in a lot of pain but, Hotch being Hotch, he’s stubbornly refusing to accept the necessary medical attention and probably just wants to see the back of this whole ordeal, not unlike the rest of them. 

“I’m fine,” he says, clearly not fine at all but shouldering his jacket on anyway. “I just want to understand why I’m still alive. Did you identify Sam, the bomber?”

“Spencer put Sam and the other dead unsub into every known database,” Penelope offers. “Nothing.” At the mention of Spencer, Derek feels his heart clench in his chest. God, Spencer’s intelligence is so attractive to him, even though he knows it’s something his pretty boy can be so unreasonably insecure about it. He can’t wait to see the end of this night and touch him, reassure his aching, restless heart that he’s safe, alive, protected. 

Once again, he thinks cynically, nothing like a terrorist attack to leave him on the brink of finally telling Spencer how he feels. 

They quickly get back on topic, deducing as a team the terror cell’s real endgame: they’ll use a single chemical bomb planted in the ambulance. If Sam wasn’t calling 911 every few minutes but a number that went dead minutes after he died, then there’s only one reason he stayed with Hotch and Kate. To make sure the ambulance got to them. The ambulance they drove into a hospital, with the paramedic’s help, housing someone important enough to have the Secret Service protecting them. 

Derek doesn’t think. He runs. 

“Spencer?” he says, into his ear piece as he runs down the stairs, refusing to let fear come to the surface. “I need you to jam the frequencies in this cell block for as long as possible, okay?”

“What’s going on?” Spencer asks, clearly concerned, but Derek can hear him already tapping away at his computer.

“Just,” Derek pauses, takes a second to feel, process, and then suppress his panic, “just… I need you to do this for me, alright, pretty boy.”

“I’m already on it.” Spencer sounds exactly he does: carefully, artificially calm. He runs down the last few flights of stairs and into the parking garage, locating the ambulance before he hears Spencer again. “Morgan?” 

“Yeah, baby,” he says, panting half from the exertion of sprinting down far too many flights of stairs and partly from the pressure of the situation settling on his chest — the stakes actually registering for the first time. 

“You sound stressed,” Spencer says, deliberate and light. “Where are you?”

“Not where I want to be right now,” Derek replies, a little self-deprecatingly. Really, it’s just deflection; a last ditch attempt at avoidance of the likelihood he dies tonight. “Reid, take this down for me: FDNY 108.”

“That’s an ambulance, are you okay?” His voice is quick and rises ever so slightly in pitch. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just track it for me.” Tentatively, he opens the door to the ambulance, heart sinking and blood pressure rising as soon as he clocks the monumental bomb stowed neatly in the trunk of the seat. “Reid, how long can you keep jamming the cell block?” He knows he’s sounding breathless now and he knows Spencer is probably panicking, unable to know what’s going on but clearly reading enough of the situation to understand that asking would be decidedly unhelpful right now. 

“Uh, maximum of a few minutes, Morgan,” Spencer replies. “Why?”

“I’m going to have to get this ambulance out of here.” This is it. The culmination. 

“Or you could just evacuate the building like everyone else,” Spencer says urgently, sounding outraged at the idea. 

Derek cringes at the disapproval, but he doesn't have a choice. “No, as soon as the airwaves are clear, this thing’s going up.”

“Going up?” Spencer doesn’t bother concealing the outright panic in his voice anymore. “That’s like… in three minutes, that’s when the satellite moves position.”

“Reid, listen to me,” Derek says, climbing into the cab of the ambulance and beginning to fiddle with the wiring. “I need you to find me an area of town I can drive this thing, and you tell everybody, you hear me, everybody that I’m coming.” He finally gets the engine to start and begins to drive out of the garage. “Alright. Talk to me, Reid.” He prays desperately that they get this right, that Spencer helps him, that they manage to subvert this terrorist attack. 

“Okay,” Spencer says, back to his measured, calm tone of voice, and Derek sighs in relief at the sound. “Okay, head north… and floor it. I’ll tell you where to turn.” He’s almost out of the garage when the ‘paramedic’ starts shooting at the back of the ambulance, screaming in rage as Derek manages to escape both van and bomb unscathed. “What was that?”

“It was nothing,” Derek shouts, heart pounding in his ears as he turns the sirens and lights on, stepping on the gas as he heads north, “it was nothing. Just… talk to me. How am I doing, Reid?”

Derek hears Spencer ask Lisa for an update before exhaling hard. “1 minute, 50 seconds,” he replies, despair spilling into his voice. “Why does it always have to be you? Why do you always have to do this?” His stomach clenches at the sound of Spencer on the edge of tears and feels himself tearing up in response, swallowing his grief in lieu of actually replying. “Derek, you don’t have much time. Please be smart about this. Signal’s coming back on line, there’s thirty seconds until full coverage.”

Derek’s never driven so fast, his hands pinching at the steering wheel and every muscle tensed. He tries very hard not to think about the fact that there’s a bomb only a metre behind him, set to explode in less than half a minute.

“Derek, drive to the opening and then get the hell out,” Spencer says, no constraint to his emotion at this point, he’s almost shouting down the phone, very clearly crying, now. 

He swallows. He has no choice; he has to tell him. “Spencer,” he says, nearly choked off by a sob, “there’s something I really want you to know.”

“Save it,” Spencer shouts. “Just get out!”

“No, you know what Reid? If I don’t make it out of this alive, I need you to know that I love you, alright?” he says, finally confessing to the secret he’s been holding close to his chest for so long, but as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he’s throwing himself out of the ambulance and running as fast as he can away from it, still not outrunning the blast picking him up and tossing him across the field. 

Slowly, getting back to his feet, he turns to face the fire as he catches his breath. He has no idea how he’s still alive. 

Fiddling with his earpiece, he tunes back into Spencer’s line to hear him crying on the other end. “Oh, God, Derek, I love you, too,” he sobs as soon as he hears Derek click back into the call.

“Spencer, I’ll tell you what you are to me,” he says, relief and warmth and love blooming across his chest, driving out the crippling fear and panic previously rooted there, “you’re my God-given solace. Baby, you promise me one thing… whatever happens, don’t you ever stop talking to me.”

Spencer laughs wetly, and it’s the most beautiful sound Derek’s heard so far. “I’m so mad at you, right now,” he says, but his happiness is written across every word, “I’m so angry. But… I love you, too.”

Derek laughs, too, the relief of being both alive and loved by Spencer almost euphoric as he walks away from the still blazing ambulance. He guesses he has a terror cell’s failed attack to thank for his long overdue admittance of his love for Dr Spencer Reid, and the frankly wonderful news that it’s actually reciprocated.

⭐️

Derek and Hotch arrive back at Quantico 12 hours after everyone else, having driven home instead of taking the jet with the others due to Hotch’s rather inconvenient ear trauma. That only gives Spencer more time to panic over seeing him for the first time since their deathbed love confessions; they’d spoken briefly on the phone the morning before Derek and Hotch set off, promising to talk about it in person as soon as he was home, and now he nearly was.

Penelope had made a beeline for Spencer as soon as the others had arrived and taken him out for coffee, despite their mutual exhaustion. She’d deduced the situation based on Spencer’s incredibly cryptic HELP. IT HAPPENED. text message almost immediately after the explosion, having been the only one Spencer had confided in about his feelings for Derek. No matter how much she promised him Derek felt the same, he refused to do anything about it, leaving her to watch her two favourite people pine miserably for one another, and actively choosing to remain in said misery instead of confessing and being happy. 

He now actually felt bad for her. 

“Just tell him what you want,” Penelope says over the top of her latte, croissant crumbs littering the table in between them. “You want to get married and have lots of babies with him.”

“Okay, first of all,” Spencer says, fixing her with a look, “you know that neither of those things are true. And, secondly, it’s not that simple. What if he isn’t looking for a relationship or anything? Why hasn’t he said something before now?”

To her credit, Penelope avoids slamming her head into the table in frustration despite how much he looks like she wants to. “Spencer,” Penelope says, levelling a look right back at him, “Derek thought he was about to die. And in that moment, all he felt like he needed was to be sure that you knew he loves you. How could you possibly be that in love with someone and not crave a relationship with them?”

Spencer finds it hard to argue against that. 

Derek reclines on Spencer’s sofa, comfortably surveying the organised chaos of his living room, while Spencer tries to gather the snacks and drinks as calmly as possible in the kitchen, finding it much harder to assume the seemingly unaffected air Derek pulls off so easily. He walks back to where he’s sitting, and he almost drops his only slightly wobbly tray at the blinding smile Derek sends his way. 

“Oh, pretty boy, you’re spoiling me,” he teases, sitting upright and leaning forward to survey the snacks Spencer had rushed out and bought earlier that afternoon. Naturally, he blushes immediately at the compliment and sits next to him on the sofa, grabbing a drink for something to do with his hands. 

“Well, if all it takes is some cheese puffs from Walmart to make you happy then I think this is going to be alright,” Spencer says, trying for cool, calm, and collected and hitting somewhere near nervous and frenzied instead.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Derek scoffs as he breaks off a piece of chocolate and takes a bite. “I’m here for you, not the refreshments, luxurious as they might be. I don’t remember confessing my love to snack food in the moment I thought I was going to die.” He ruffles Spencer’s hair as his face heats up even more, smiling bashfully over at him. 

“No,” Spencer agrees, feeling all warm inside, “you told me.”

Derek looks serious all of a sudden. “I did,” he nods, leaning forward to put the chocolate down on the tray so he can focus all his attention on Spencer, taking his hands in his own, “and I meant it. I’ve probably been in love with you since you joined the team, Spencer, but I realised it properly last year, and I was always too scared to say anything. I’m sorry it had to be in that moment, and I’m even more sorry that if I’d died you would have had to live with that for the rest of your life.” He pauses and looks down at his lap for a moment. “That was unforgivable.”

Spencer smiles at him, gripping Derek’s fingers a little tighter. “I’m not mad about any of that, Derek,” he says, “I’m just glad it finally happened. And so is Penelope, apparently. She’s been telling me you loved me back for years but I never believed her; I didn’t think this would ever happen.”

Derek chuckles fondly at that and brings his hand to Spencer’s cheek, brushing his fingers across the warm skin for just a moment, but Spencer can’t help but lean into his touch, eyelids fluttering half-closed as they meet in such an intimate manner. “So, pretty boy,” he says, smile warm and eyes bright, “shall we give this a go?”

Spencer looks back up at Derek and takes a second to let the moment he’d daydreamed about for so long sink in, let himself marinate in the love that Derek has for him. “Yes,” he replies. “Please.” And then Derek’s lips are on his own, his hands around his face, and the future’s never looked so bright.

taglist: @strippersenseii @criminalmindsvibez @drinkingcroissants

Just a note: a lot of the dialogue was stolen directly from the episode and Derek & Spencer's conversation on the phone is almost an exact transcript; it's from my notes though so it may not be perfect. It also follows the case very closely and none of that is mine. 

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Can I request a Viv Tang fic or hc?

It's angst, where The Poppy leaves MC to take the blame on one of their heists, promising that they would break her out, but never did. Yet despite that she never sold them out.

Then Nadia was the one who broke her out, manipulating her and plotting lies in her head to make her join Flashpoint.

The Poppy did do their everything to break MC out but everytime Nadia intercepts them. So when they finally tracked down where MC and Nadia is, on the location of their latest operation, they tried to reason to her. But MC's loyalty was too deep for Nadia maybe because Nadia also made MC think that she loves her or something.

And maybe the last words could be:

"Next time I won't hesitate to tell them to pull the trigger, maybe I'll be the one to pull the trigger myself."

Make it as angsty as possible please and thank you in advance!

Warning: Mentions of murder.

...

Prison life was hell. Try as she might, MC couldn’t endure it as well as she thought she could. There was an enemy in every shadow, in every corner. There was no one to lean against, no support.

The days dragged on and on, virtually endless, no help in sight.

MC remembered the warmth of the Poppy, their joyous celebrations, the life in their eyes as they planned a heist that would ultimately unveil in failure. No one had known then that it would go wrong, and MC couldn’t help but wonder if they would have cared. If they would have changed anything in the plan.

There wasn’t a moment in this damn place where people didn’t shove it in her face—no doubt it was on purpose, why the heck would they want to drag a failure like you around? —and scoffed at her when they saw her, not believing for a second that this scared little kid could belong to such a famous group.

Two weeks in, MC had abandoned any hope that she would be rescued. She was stuck for fifteen years in this place. Investigators would come in periodically, their eyes stone cold as they probed her for answers, but MC kept her mouth shut and looked away. They would get physical sometimes, intent on getting answers, but MC say nothing.

The memory of a place she truly belonged in was still fresh in her mind. She had always been an emotional person… it was no surprise she had no desire to sell them out. At least not yet. Give her a couple of months, and maybe she’d be bitter enough to do it.

Three weeks in, a blast had knocked the whole prison into chaos. The sheer relief that flooded her was only slightly evaporated by the spark of anger and indignation in her chest, but she still hurried out, thirsty for freedom.

She expected to see Vivienne’s impish smirk, hand extended in her direction, no remorse in her eyes, but was surprised by golden hair and a tight, crisp suit that had once been white, now marred by dirt and smoke and blood.

“Oh good, I was wondering how much target practice I would have before you showed up,” the woman said, her grin as sharp as a knife’s edge even though she was standing so casually, as if they weren’t standing at the edge of a broken prison wall but in a café.

MC froze, caught off guard. Someone—another inmate—ran behind her, intent on reaching freedom, and the woman whipped a gun in his direction so fast he didn’t even have time to react. His body joined the pile of bodies by the side, momentum making it flop like a sad, broken doll. The woman hums to herself as she reloads the gun.

“Hurry up, MC, I don’t have all day.”

“Wha—? But you just shot—”

She shrugs, nonchalant. “Yeah, well, since they are no use to me… I might as well practice my aim, no?”

“…I—”

“Hurry up and come here, MC,” the woman says, impatience making her voice firmer and deadlier. Her arm snaps up, the sound of a gunshot making the air vibrate, and MC covers her ears and flinches. Someone lets out a pained gurgle and the thump right behind her makes MC shiver. A swift glance reveals it’s a guard. “The cavalry has arrived—next shot is at your feet if you don’t move. Right. Now.”

MC has never run so fast in her entire life. The woman’s grin returns, pleased, and after one last shot, she guides MC out into a waiting helicopter. They are out of the prison without much trouble. Still a bit anxious, MC takes one of the seats, stiffly. In contrast, the woman lets herself drop in the seat in front of her and all but beams at her.

“Sorry about that—I like to make things dramatic. Name’s Nadia.”

“That was… a tad more dramatic than I would have liked…”

“You’ll get used to it in no time,” she replies, waving her hand as if it’s no big deal. She smirks and lets the gun drop on MC’s lap, who goes very still, staring at the device in horror. “Safety’s on, chill. I’d never do anything to you, MC.”

“You literally threatened me like three seconds ago.”

“Because we were going to get caught otherwise! I wouldn’t have acted on it, promise.”

MC chances a look at her eyes—there’s a dangerous amusement dancing in them, like the light blue of a river that doesn’t seem to have a very strong current until you are swept off into a certain death. There are no second chances with this woman, no false appearances. MC doesn’t realize how reliving this raw honesty is until it washes over her, and she wonders if right now she’s at the edge of the river. One wrong move…

“Thank you for getting me out of there.”

“No big deal. I heard what happened with the Poppy—figures they aren’t as noble as they make everyone believe.”

Those words cut into MC like a frosty knife.

“I… I thought they sent you to break me out…”

Nadia scoffs. “Me, working with stuck-ups like them? Now that’s a good laugh.”

“Why did you bail me out, then?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She leans forward. “The Poppy threw away some very valuable talent. As any proper thief would do, I claimed it for myself.”

“…threw away, huh?”

“They were quite satisfied with themselves, too. Imagine the fit they’ll have when they know you’re with Flashpoint now.”

It’s hard to believe her words. The image of a joyous Poppy is still fresh in MC’s mind, but Nadia’s words tint it a dull reddish-brown, just like a faded photograph. She thinks about Vivienne’s words, about her promise to break her out, and frowns.

“You speak as though I’ve already joined your little group.”

“There’s no other option, MC. I’m not letting a talent like you slip away… plus, don’t you want to get back at them? Show them what a horrible mistake they did?”

“…”

“Or just let them seethe silently in rage, sure. Can’t say I love your approach, but eh.”

Her fingers curl around the grip of the gun. “What happens if I don’t want to work for you?”

Nadia looks at her with keen interest, still with a lazy smirk. “Then you’d be volunteering for target practice.”

“I thought you say you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I don’t hurt my coworkers, no, but if you cross me—whoever you are—then you seal your fate.”

MC hums, looking at the firearm in her lap, moving her thumb over the safety. After a small pause, in which she glances over at the pilot, she moves her hand away.

“Fine. I’ll join.”

“Great!”

Flashpoint, true to its name, prefers more flashy heists.

MC wasn’t too comfortable with their modus operandi at first, but got used to it soon enough.

Nadia was a strict leader. Every conversation with her was intense and dangerous, especially when she was in a bad mood, but she was thorough.

She didn’t mince her words. She was as honest as could be, and after months caught in Vivienne’s game, Nadia was a breath of fresh air. MC couldn’t be really blamed for falling in love with her, right? In the end, Nadia was the only one willing to support her.

That’s why it had been such a surprise when, in the middle of their latest heist, the Poppy had intervened.

They had been as organized as always—Flashpoint was completely caught off guard, the communication lost. MC could deal with not knowing what happened to the rest, so long as she had Nadia with her.

Nadia had been strangely amused when the Poppy crashed their heist, not worried at all, gripping her knife without a care in the world. That was reassuring… at least during this forced encounter, MC would have her by her side.

And it was comforting to see that Nadia hadn’t taken out her gun yet.

Vivienne is the one who speaks, voice as demanding as firewood smoke, and MC goes deadly still when the seductress goes straight to the point instead of dancing around the subject as she usually does. “Nadia prevented us from breaking you out.”

Her words ring hollow. Now that MC has been out of her influence long enough, it’s easy to ignore her words. They are fake, anyway. They must be.

Nadia scoffs, wolfish grin still in place. “Blaming me now, huh? That’s low. I thought you would have come up with a better excuse.”

Remy instantly starts to explain the foiled attempts, and their most recent efforts to find Flashpoint now that MC was with them, but MC can’t look at him without remembering her time in prison—dark, dark, not an ally in sight, contempt in every corner—and it’s enough to make her bristle.

How dare they? How dare they spill these lies after leaving her to rot in jail? After lying to her for months, making her believe she was one of them?

The fact that they had left her to take the fall was insulting. If it had been Nadia, she would have stayed with her. They would have gone down together, guns blazing. Nadia was the type of person that gave everything or nothing at all.

Vivienne tries to speak again, a desperation in her eyes MC had never seen before, but the sight is oddly satisfying.

Nadia catches it, because of course she does, her smirk softening as she reaches for her gun and aims casually. “Better beg for your lives now.”

And Nadia’s also a very dramatic person, that’s for sure. MC almost wants to laugh at their faces, eyes trained on the gun, expression tainted with disbelief, but MC sees no point in killing them. Not like this, at least.

“What? You still don’t want to get back at them?” But even then, even with how much she’s itching to pull the trigger, Nadia lowers the weapon and scowls. “Fine.”

“Don’t come back to me with this bullshit. Next time I won’t hesitate to tell Nadia to pull the trigger. Maybe I’ll even pull the trigger myself.”

Vivienne sets her jaw and stands still, and MC gives her a small, triumphant smile before she follows Nadia out of the museum.

[cherrybracelets]

Freefall

aaron hotchner x fem!reader

word count: 15.3k | warnings: smut!!!! alcohol mention, murder mention, rape mention, lots of typical cm violence! 

inspired by: its called freefall by rainbow kitten surprise (i highly recommend listening to this song before or during reading!)

Anyway, you say you’re too busy saving everybody else to save yourself / And you don’t want no help, oh well / That’s the story to tell

ok i have put my blood sweat and tears in this lamfkndksjfj this has been my wip for almost 3 weeks this is my entry for @veraiconcos​ fic challenge!! her prompt fit so perfectly with this fic so i am so excited to share it with you guys. this is by far my most challenging piece and the one i worked the longest on. i really hope you all love it, feedback is much appreciate. i am tagging some moots to signal boost this, i hope u dont mind 

Aaron- 

This woman killed my dad. They said you’d be able to help. Please find her. 

Aaron ran his fingertips over the letter one more time, feeling the depth of the pen, the engravement of each letter into the crisp stationary. He reread the words for a thousandth time, wondering if this time he could discover who actually sent the letter. But unfortunately, just like the past times, there was nothing to indicate who the sender was. The only other thing in the picture was a photograph of a young woman, the person Aaron believed was the murderer. Her face was mostly covered, and he was almost certain the short black bob that sat on her head was a wig. There was nothing about the photo that would help identify her, but on the back of the photo was a date- May 7th 2020, and a city, Sante Fe, NM.

He continued to stare at it, hoping some new information would pop out at him this time. But there was nothing, and he knew if he wanted to find whoever was responsible for this crime, he would need to involve the team. Whoever sent this clearly only wanted Aaron involved, even addressing him personally as Aaron and not Agent Hotchner.. Who could this person be? And who sent him Aaron’s way? 

“You’re here early,” JJ hesitated, walking through the doors of the BAU to begin her day.

“Yeah… I’ve got kind of a… thing?” Aaron stammered over his words, trying to decide how he should go about this. 

“What’s going on, Hotch?” 

“Come take a look at this. It was on my desk yesterday.” Hotch waved JJ over to him, holding the letter tightly in hands. He handed it to her hesitantly, still not feeling comfortable sharing with the rest of the team. It could be a prank, a practical joke, somebody just trying to waste his time. But how did it find it’s way onto his desk? Who would be messing with him like this? 

“Was there an envelope?” JJ asked, staring at the words on the paper. 

“Yes, addressed to me, but no return address. It seems like it was hand delivered.” 

“The handwriting looks like a teenagers, how would he have made it all the way from New Mexico?”

“Maybe somebody else delivered it?”

Aaron and JJ’s attention was quickly taken away when Spencer and Derek walked through the doors, their loud voices cracking through the quiet air of the BAU. They were arguing about something pointless, as they usually did. Aaron felt his head throbbing as the day started to begin, unsure of how much longer he’d be able to make it without some strong coffee. 

“JJ, keep this between us for now. I’ll bring it to Garcia, see if she can find anything worth investigating. I don’t want to bring it to the team unless I’m sure we have a case.” 

“Understood.” JJ smiled kindly at him, a look he was all too familiar with. Ever since Haley died, it felt like everyone was constantly walking on eggshells around him. Everyone felt bad, and they did whatever he asked without complaint. From a boss standpoint, it was nice, not having to argue your decisions to your team. But, they were more than his team. They were his friends, and he felt he lost them the same day he lost Haley. 

Aaron greeted Spencer and Derek quickly, not wanting to get pulled into whatever discussion they were having. He was holding onto the letter tightly, afraid of losing it. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he just had a feeling about it. Like he had stumbled onto something huge, and whatever Garcia could find out would lead them to something unbelievable. 

“Hey, Garcia. Any chance I could have you work on something… private, for now?” Aaron stood in the doorway of her office, all of the bright screens making him wince. His headache was only getting worse as the day went on. 

“Of course, sir. Is everything okay?” She looked worried, for sure hoping that whatever secret task she was performing for him had nothing to do with Haley. Although he knew she would never say anything, he could tell she was worried about him. 

“I need you to check deaths in Santa Fe, NM from May 5th - May 9th. Specifically look for men with teenage sons.”

“Just homicides?” 

“No, any deaths. And see if you find anything suspicious.”

“Alright…” Penelope said, furrowing her brows in confusion. “It might take a bit. Santa Fe’s a big city.”

“Just get back to me when you can, Garcia.” Aaron smiled slightly at the technical analyst, before leaving quietly. His head was begging him for caffeine, or Advil, or a drink, even though it was barely 9 in the morning. 

He walked quietly back to his office, not talking to any of his team, closing the door behind him as he got inside. There was a sick feeling in his stomach, most likely caused by the cigarette he snuck this morning on an empty stomach. He paced uncomfortably, dry swallowing an Advil he found in the back of his desk drawer. He knew it would take Garcia a while

to get his information, but he was feeling exceptionally frustrated and impatient. He started to walk towards the door, feeling the need to to pester his analyst to work quicker, but as he opened it, JJ stood pleasantly in the door. 

“We got a case, boss,” she smiled, waving an envelope in the air. 

“Alright, let’s get to the conference room.” Aaron closed the door to office, following his Agent into the annex. He felt sick as he took his seat, not ready for whatever horror was about to be presented. Some days he felt like giving up, like throwing in the towel. He has given this job everything he had, and what did he get in return? 

+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-+:-+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+

Aaron and the team left an hour later for their newest destination, solving the case within 3 days. They were headed back to DC on the jet when he got a call from Garcia. It was rare she would call him personally if they were not working a case, so he knew it must’ve been about the letter. He waited a moment before answering, anxious about what her news could be. What if she found nothing, and this was the end of the line? 

“Hello, sir. I wanted to call as soon as I could.” She sounded nervous, a tone of confusion in her voice. 

“What’s going on, Garcia?” 

“Well, it’s about the letter. I found something… interesting.” 

“Do you think we could have a case?”

“It’s a high possibility, sir.” 

“Alright. Can you patch into the computer and share with the team. I’d like to bring them in on this as well.”

“Sounds good, see you in a moment.”

Aaron hung the phone up, walking back to the main part of the jet and back to the rest of the team. They were spread out, all enjoying the calming feeling of a solved case. Spencer and JJ were sleeping, Emily and Derek both with headphones in and Rossi reading a book. He hated to bother them, hated to disturb their peace they all deserved. But that was the job- there was no peace. They all had to endure constant chaos so that innocent people didn’t have to. 

Aaron turned on the lights of the jet, alarming his team and causing several groans of frustration. 

“What’s going on, Hotch?” Emily asked in desperation, her eyes squinting as they adjusted to the light. 

“I’m sorry to bother everyone, but I think we might have a new case.” Aaron looked around the room, slowly watching the faces of his friends change from their relaxed state to the intensity of a profiler. 

“Is this about… the thing from a few days ago?” JJ asked quietly, not wanting to bring it up if it wasn’t the case. 

“The letter, yes.” 

“Hello, my sleepy friends. I am sorry to bother you, but I have stumbled across something interesting that I believe requires your attention. Uh, Hotch… would you like to…” she trailed off, looking around for her superior to explain how they ended up here. 

“I received a letter a few days ago… someone asking us to look into the death of their father. It was anonymous, there was a picture along with it but it still wasn’t enough to do much on my own. So, I handed over what I had to Garcia and…” Aaron trailed off, realizing now he hadn’t even asked Penelope what she got before bringing the rest of the team in. 

“I guess that’s where I come in. So, as per our humble leader, I searched for deaths of men on the given dates with teenage sons, and as I expected, that list was quite large.” 

“Why teenage sons?” Derek asked, still trying to fill in the gaps of information. 

“The letter was clearly written by a young boy, no older than 16 was my guess,” JJ added, explaining her conclusion to the team. 

“Garcia, were you able to narrow down the list?” Aaron asked, desperately wanting to know what she found. 

“Well, I got rid of anyone whose death was expected. People who were sick or in the hospital, with underlying medical conditions, et cetera et cetera. Once we narrowed it down to deaths that were true accidents, I had a list of three.” 

“How do we know this isn’t just a prank?” Rossi asked. It was a fair question, a question he frequently asked himself as well. 

“Ah, well, if it was a prank I wouldn’t have found out what I did…” 

“That looks like the face of someone who’s about to tell me I’m not going home tonight,” Derek laughed, turning to Emily, who rolled her eyes. 

“Unfortunately it does seem like there’s a case here. One of the men that I flagged as ‘Could Be A Murder Victim’ has a… bad past.” One thing that Aaron always admired about Penelope is how she always managed to speak with such lightness, no matter how heavy the content of her words. “42-year old Derek Hood was killed on May 7th, ruled as an accidental drug overdose. There was some chatter that it may have been suicide, but there was no note and the family insisted he wouldn’t have killed himself.” 

“So what makes you think it was murder?” Spencer asked.

“Alright, get this. Our man Jason was on trial two years ago for the rape of three different 16 year old girls. It was declared a mistrial, unfortunately, after all three of the girls refused to testify at his trial.”

“Is it possible he threatened them? This could be a revenge killing, if that was the case,” Emily added. 

“Ah, I thought that too, my friend. But all three of the girls are now in college and far, far away from Sante Fe. So, that was kind of a dead end.”

“What about the parents?” Aaron questioned. 

“We think alike, sir. All three of their families still reside in Santa Fe, and three weeks before Jason’s death, all three couples withdrew $15,000 cash from their banks. One family stated it was for a pool, the other for a car, and the last family stated it was for bathroom renovations.” 

“Were any of those projects completed, Garcia?” 

“To the best of my knowledge, no.” 

“So this is what I think it is, then,” Rossi asked, looking up towards Aaron for confirmation. 

“It’s most likely a hitman, yes.” Aaron looked around at his team, a feeling of worry drowning him. Hitmen were exceptionally dangerous, and so were the routes to get to them. It was an extremely well protected underground business, and the chances of catching one successfully, with no one hurt, were very slim. 

“Wait, but our unsub is a woman. The photo very clearly showed a female, and even in the letter, the boy addresses her as ‘This woman.’” 

“Could we see the picture, Garcia?” Aaron asked, staring at the monitor as he awaited the photo. 

“Maybe they’re dressing as a woman to distract any possible witnesses?” Rossi added. The photo then popped up on the monitor, the same hidden person that was ingrained in Aaron’s brain. He couldn’t forget her, her shielded face, cheap wig, perfect body… 

“That is definitely a woman, guys. You can’t fake that body…” Derek laughed, causing a wave of eye rolls and a slight shove of disgust from Emily. 

“A female hitman… that is exceptionally rare.” 

“Maybe she’s killing for justice? I mean, Jason was a piece of shit. And he somehow got away with his crimes, maybe this is punishment,” Derek added, always the first to try to come up with some sort of explanation. 

“Why would she charge the parents almost fifty grand, though? That clearly makes it about money,” Emily rebutted. 

“Garcia, is there any way we can find out who they gave that money too?” Aaron asked, hoping for a quick and easy answer, but he knew nothing was easy at this job. 

“Since they took it out in cash, there’s no way to trace it, sir.” 

“We’ll need to talk to the parents.” 

“They won’t say anything, you know how that goes,” JJ said. 

“We’ll target one of them, whichever is the most unstable. Promise them immunity. That usually works in situations like this.” Aaron looked at the team, noticing how tired they were. He knew how bad they needed to go home, sleep in their own beds, wash their hair with something other than hotel shampoo. But this was big, he could feel it. And they probably did, as well. It was their life, they were all aware of how crazy this career path could be. But, just because he knew that, it didn't make it any easier on Aaron when he had to push them to their limit.  “We need to turn the plane around to Santa Fe. If this person is local, it’s best that we’re on the scene.” 

“Can we at least stop home so I can get some new clothes?” JJ groaned, looking at the team in desperation for support. 

“Fine. Can we be back in the air in two hours?” 

“We can make that work,” Spencer agreed. 

“Alright. Thanks, guys.” 

+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-+:-+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+

Santa Fe was hot. The kind of hot that made it impossible to breathe, and your clothes felt like they had melted into your skin. Aaron could feel his skin on fire, burning hotter and hotter as he stood under the desert sun. Emily stood next to him, glistening in a thin layer of sweat. The two of them stared closely at a house across the street, taking in every detail. 

“You ready?” Emily asked, her voice cracking through the quiet air like a whip. 

“Uh… yeah,” Aaron stuttered, his brain feeling off. He had a feeling whoever this person was, she wasn’t in Sante Fe. This was a big operation that they had stumbled upon, and he had a bad feeling about the way it would end up. 

Aaron followed Emily to the door, feeling exceptionally guilty as they entered the front yard of a family whose lives had been destroyed- and all they were there to do was destroy them further. He knew they only did what they did to avenge their daughter- and he understood. Sometimes he wondered if he should’ve done the same thing with Foyet.

“Are you alright, Hotch? I don’t mean to overstep, but you don’t seem like yourself,” Emily questioned, stopping in her tracks before they made their presence  known to the family. 

“Just have a bad feeling about this one, I guess,” he responded, rubbing his head with his thumb and forefinger. “Let’s get this over with…” 

“Aye aye, sir.” 

The two of them walked to the front door of the small house, knocking slightly quietly on the white painted wood of the door. An older man opened the door, immediately tensing up as he saw the two of them. They looked like Agents- or at the very least, local detectives, and the man was pretty quick to understand why they were there. 

“Are you Bradley Mathis?” Emily asked, standing a few inches in front of Aaron, clearly trying to take the lead on this. It was probably for the best, since his head was not on right today. In all honesty, his head hadn’t been on right since Foyet. 

“Who are you?” Bradley asked defensively, crossing his arms across his chest and backing away from the door. 

“Mr. Mathis, I want to assure you that if you cooperate with us, there will be no trouble. We understand you did everything to protect your daughter, and we aren’t looking for trouble. We just want to find the person who did this for you.” As Aaron spoke, he realized how scary this must be for him. His daughter was brutally attacked, they found the man that hurt her, and then he threatened her into silence so he could walk free. If it had happened to Aaron’s kid, he would’ve killed the son of a bitch with his own bare hands. 

“You promise me nothing will happen to me?” He asked defensively, his eyes darting nervously across the room.

“I never met her, okay. I swear,” he responded in relief, as if he’d been waiting for the moment he could finally tell somebody. It was exhausting caring around those kinds of secrets. “I got her info from a friend. You go to the website, submit your claim, and she’ll send an assistant out to decide if she’ll take you on as a client. If she decides to help you, you’ll give half the money up front, and half upon proof of… death,” he whispered, closing his eyes as he spoke the words.

“That’s pretty standard practice for what she is…” Emily added. 

“How did you find her website?” Aaron asked, wanting to leave this man in peace as quickly as possible. 

“There’s some… tricks to finding her. Give me one second,” he said, turning around quickly and darting to another room. Emily reached for her gun defensively, but Aaron put a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. 

“He won’t run.” 

“How do you know? He has every reason to dart.” 

“I just know. He’ll be back. Trust me.” Aaron looked to his Agent, kindly suggesting but also ordering her to relax. She nodded, crossing her arms as the pair waited for Bradley. As Aaron suspected, he came back a few minutes later with a beat up piece of paper. 

“Someone I know from the support group gave me this. It’s how to contact her.” He handed them a brochure that was in pretty bad shape, but still legible enough to understand where to go. From the outside, it looked like a brochure for a dental surgery. But there were certain words highlighted, most likely by whoever gave Bradley this in the first place. It mapped out clear instructions on how to contact this mystery vigilante. 

“That’s all I know. I swear.” 

“I believe you,” Aaron responded, noticining the calmness flooding over Bradley’s face as Aaron spoke. “You can never tell anybody this, do you understand?”��

Bradley nodded, his mouth glued shut as the reality of the situation finally weighed on him. He noticed the guns holstered to Emily and Aaron’s hips, and quickly shut the door, no goodbye’s needed. 

“If she’s sending people to meet potential clients before she meets them, she isn’t local,” Emily put together, shaking her head in shock as the pair walked back to their car. 

“No, she’s not. Which means we need to get back on the plane ASAP. Send this over to Garcia, I’ll call the team and tell them to meet us back at the jet.” 

“Sounds good.” 

+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-+:-+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+

“Hello, angels. Are you ready for all the answers to your prayers?” Garcia’s voice popped through the stiff air of the jet, breaking through the harsh waters like a ray of sunshine. 

“Were you able to find her, Garcia?” 

“Of course, sir. Our girl is fancy. You need five grand upfront just to meet with her. Her website looks like it was designed for a five star hotel. She is legit.” 

“Can we actually find her, Penelope?” Aaron had raised his voice slightly, frustration starting to set in. He just wanted this to be over, he wanted to bring her in and end this. 

“Yes, yes. Sorry. Our girl goes by the name Ananke.” 

“That’s not very intimidating,” Derek laughed, shaking his head as he sat back in his chair. 

“Well, kind of. Ananke is a greek goddess, specifically known as one of the most powerful deity’s to control fate and circumstance. It’s pretty fitting, giving what she does.” 

“The only way to meet her is to submit an appointment request, which is easier said than done. She has a legit system, requires a birth certificate, social security number, and a license or passport.”

“And five G’s,” JJ added. 

“Can we create fake documents and submit them? Maybe have someone undercover go meet her.” 

“I’ll do it. This has been my case from the beginning, I’d like to end it as well,” Aaron said, assuring his team he would finish this. 

“I can get everything made up and submitted before you land.” 

“Is there any way to figure out where she’s located?” 

“Unfortunately not at the moment. I am still digging though, it’s possible I missed something.” 

“Thanks, Garcia. We’ll see you soon.” 

The team made some more small talk after that, realizing there wasn’t much they could do unless they had a location. Aaron’s head was beginning to throb again, absolute exhaustion overcoming him as he sat down and let himself relax for the first time in days. He missed Jack, he missed the comfort of his own bed, the smell of his cheap laundry detergent. He realized he was digging his nails into his palms, his flesh barely intact as he released his tension. 

The rest of his team had broken up into their own conversations, ignoring the crumbling mess that was Aaron Hotchner. He walked to the bathroom quietly, snooping through the cabinets and finding a small bottle of vodka. He downed it quickly, letting the liquor burn the back of his throat and take his mind off of everything else. Even if it was for a moment, the distraction was welcomed, and almost necessary for him to keep going. 

+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-+:-+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+

It was two full days- almost forty eight hours exactly- when they finally heard back from Ananke. She had agreed to meet with ‘Zachary Wilson’ who was looking for revenge against the drunk driver that killed his wife. And to the whole team’s surprise, it appeared that she was located in DC. Ananke herself said she would meet him, stating that she was ‘in the area’. 

The address she gave them appeared to be a popular nightclub in college town, one that Aaron had unfortunately been dragged to on multiple occasions. The team agreed that Aaron should meet her alone, the team standing outside to come in if necessary. She wanted to meet him on a Friday night, which meant the place would be flooded with innocent civilians. It was safest if they stayed out of it, at first. 

By the time Friday rolled around, Aaron had barely eaten in days. He was staying alive on coffee, tylenol, and mini bottles of vodka he could keep in his pockets. Oh, and the occasional cigarette was a necessity as well. He had waited anxiously for what felt like weeks to meet her. This case had been weighing on him since the moment he received that letter, and he wanted it to be over. He wanted the anxiety and the chaos to be over. But, once they solved this one, there would just be another after, and the cycle of chaos and anxiety begins all over again. 

“I hope you know you can't dress like that,” JJ said, teasing Aaron with a light shove as she walked past him. 

“Why?” 

“It’s… a business suit, Hotch. And you're going to a nightclub. It screams Fed.” 

Aaron looked down at himself, realizing JJ was right. His vibes screamed ‘Cop’, and that was exactly what he did not want. 

“Don’t worry, sir. I have something you can borrow from my go bag,” Derek suggested. 

“Hotch in Derek’s clothes? That’s something I’ll pay good money to see,” Emily laughed, JJ giggling alongside her as Derek rolled his eyes and threw clothes at the two of them. 

“You think these will work?” Derek asked the girls, not bothering with Aaron’s opinion. 

“Oh, it’s perfect. Hotch will love these,” they laughed, neatly folding the clothes and handing them to Aaron. He walked away in silence, heading towards his office so he could change. The clothes weren’t a perfect fit, but they were better than his suit. The shirt was way too tight, with a v-neck that was way too deep. His arms felt like they would rip right through the cheap cotton, and his ass felt like it was going to bust straight out of the denim. 

He began to walk out of the office quietly, hoping that the rest of the team wouldn’t be waiting for his fashion show. But as he figured, they were standing by patiently for him to show off in Derek’s way too tight clothes. As soon as he opened the door, a riot of laughs and cat calls surrounded him. He felt himself blushing, which was something he hadn’t done in a long time. 

“Damn, Hotch. Where have you been hiding those arms?” Derek laughed, his voice echoing through Aarons head. 

“I think we need to start casual Friday,” Spencer added, staring in awe at his boss. 

“Alright, enough guys. This is a serious case, and I need everyone to be on their best behavior.” 

“I’m not sure I can act right with you walking around like that,” Rossi joked, causing the rest of the team to burst out with laughter. Aaron just rolled his eyes, secretly appreciating the light that they all brought to his life. 

“Alright, you guys ready to go?” 

“All set. Let’s go catch a killer, sir.” 

The ride to the club was a bit of a hike, a little over thirty minutes by the time they parked. They were split in two cars, seperated to cover both entrances. The plan was for him to go in and assess the situation, hoping he can get her out without harming any bystanders. If he needed backup, he had an alarm he could trigger that would alert the rest of the team to come in. It was a simple plan, one they had executed a thousand times in the past. But despite that, he felt extremely anxious. 

“Are you ready, Aaron?” Rossi asked, raising his eyebrows in concern. 

“Yeah, let’s get this over with. Stay alert, guys.” Aaron walked out of the car and to the entrance of the club, staring directly at the large bouncer standing in front of the door. He was given very specific instructions on what to see when he approached the man, ones that would deliver him directly to Ananke and avoid having to deal with the actual club. 

“You on the list?” The bouncer asked as Aaron approached, not even bothering to look up from his clipboard. 

“I’m here to see… A,” he whispered, looking around frantically to see if anyone else heard. 

“You got your ID and confirmation number?” He asked, setting his clipboard down and staring intensely at Aaron. 

“Uh, yeah. It’s 73491. And here’s my drivers license,” he responded, handing him the forged Virginia license of one Zachary Wilson. 

“Zachary Wilson…” the man whispered, making Aaron sick to his stomach as he awaited the man to deny him and send him away, ruining his chances of finding her forever. “You’re gonna go in this door, right here,” he said, pointing towards a hidden and seemingly locked door to his right. “Take the stairs all the way up, knock on the door twice. She’ll be right with you.” 

“Thank you,” he responded, relieved as he began to walk past the guard and towards his end goal. 

“Oh, and Zachary,” the man added, causing Aaron to turn around in confusion. 

“Remember: lei è dalla nostra parte,” he said, a smile creeping on his face as he spoke. Aaron recognized the language as Italian, but he couldn’t translate what he was saying. The bouncer turned around before Aaron had the chance to ask what he meant, but he figured it would just be better to move on and go directly to her. 

He slowly opened the door, unsure of what he would find on the other side. To his surprise, it was only an exceptionally narrow staircase in a small hallway, leading directly to another gray door. The sound of fluorescent lights buzzed in the air, making Aaron dizzy as he walked up the steep steps. He remembered what the man said- knock twice. He also remembered the phrase in Italian, lei è dalla nostra parte. And when he finally got to the door, he began to unravel the words in his head. He knocked twice, replaying the words over and over. And when he finally heard the door click open, he understood what the man had meant. She is on our side. 

“Zachary?” A man asked, opening the door slightly, only enough to peak out at him. 

“Yes. I’m here to see-” 

“Ananke. Of course,” he interrupted, swinging the door open and revealing an exceptionally beautiful and ornate room. Aaron walked in slowly, in a daze, his eyes not sure where to look as every piece of the room exceptionally thought out. There was a beautiful chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the light reflecting rainbows from the crystals. 

“She will be with you shortly. Feel free to have a seat somewhere. Can I get you anything to drink?” 

Aaron felt like he was at a hotel, the service impeccable as he sat down on the incredibly comfortable and probably very expensive couch. Most hit men he had met with did not present themselves like this. Whoever she was, she had a lot of money. In that moment, he wondered how many lives she had taken- how many people finally got what they deserved. And for a brief and frightening moment, he wondered if she was doing things right? 

His thoughts were interrupted when she walked out. Not only did he lose his train of thought, but his breath was literally ripped from his chest. She was no longer covering her face, or wearing a wig. She had finally revealed herself to him, and he was in awe. She was absolutely stunning- beautiful to a level that made his head spin and his heart cramp up. He stood up instinctively, feeling the need to stand and greet her face to face. As she walked closer, he felt his throat getting tighter and tighter. 

“Hello,” she spoke, her words floating through the air like a flower in the spring wind. “I’m Ananke.” 

“Mhmm, he,” he stuttered, sticking his hand out to shake hers. “I’m…” he choked, unable to get his words out. 

“Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, right?” She smiled, and Aaron instinctively reached for his gun. 

“Put your weapon away, Aaron. I’m no threat to you,” she instructed, and he complied. For some reason, he believed her. She had no intention of hurting him or anyone else in this building. He didn’t need his weapon. 

“How do you know who I am?” 

“The FBI has a list of Social Security numbers they regularly use for fake documents. It’s… a hard list to get your hands on. I’m lucky I have friends in high places.” 

“So you knew who I was from the minute I submitted my application?” He was shocked, a sick feeling washing over him. Who was she? How was she consistently one step ahead of them? 

“I’m sorry to break your sense of superiority, agent. It hurts when someone is smarter than you, doesn't it?” She tilted her head at him, a devilish grin pasted across her face. He wanted to hate her, he wanted to be angry, but all he could focus on was the fire burning inside of him and the hunger building itself, the craving overcoming her. Her skirt revealed a little too much of her thigh and her shirt was a little too low cut and the thought of her flesh on his rippled its way through his body. 

“Well, we found you and I’m going to arrest you, so it doesn’t seem like you came out on top here,” he responded, avoiding eye contact as he tried to get his impure thoughts out of his head. 

“Agent Hotchner, something you will quickly learn is that I only come on top.” She winked at him, pursuing her lips slightly and smiling. She held her wrists out to him, walking towards him until she was only inches away. “Are you going to arrest me, Agent?” 

Aaron reached for the cuffs in his back pocket, pulling them out slowly and staring directly at her. She didn't take his eyes off of him, standing tall as he began to cuff her. Her hands were soft, almost comical as they brushed against his rough and untouched skin. He didn’t speak, and neither did she. He just closed the cuffs on her, her large eyes staring up at him like a doe. He felt dizzy again, the intoxicating smell of her perfume, the subtle hints of berries and vanilla surrounding him in a whirlwind. 

He slowly grabbed his phone from his pocket, trying to dial Rossi’s number, feeling drunk as he pressed the button. What was wrong with him? And what was wrong with her? Why would she willingly let herself get arrested so easily? That was the problem. This was exceptionally easy. Nothing was ever this easy. 

“Hey, Rossi. I got her. We’re coming down now.” 

+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-+:-+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+

Aaron wasn’t surprised that she remained silent the entire car ride back to Quantico. What he was surprised by is that she didn’t appear nervous or angry. She sat calmly, staring out the window, her body relaxed and her lips forming the slightest smile. It made him angry- he didn’t understand her nonchalance. 

They tried to talk to her, ask her for her real name, about her crimes- but she would just look at them, tilting her head and smiling before bringing her gaze back outside. When they finally arrived back at the Bureau, she turned towards Aaron and Rossi, slowly speaking her first words in over thirty minutes. 

“Am I allowed a phone call?” She asked, staring directly at Aaron, as if it was only the two of them in the car. For a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the entire world. 

“Who exactly would you like to call?” Rossi smirked, rolling his eyes, trying to get Aaron to look at him. But he couldn’t take his eyes away from her. He was drawn to her like a sailor at sea, listening to the sweet song of the siren. He understood, now, why the sailors always swam to their death. It was because it was so damn beautiful. 

“I’d like to speak with the Director,” she insisted, her eyes finally releasing Aaron from his hypnosis as she looked in disgust at Rossi. He could sense the shift in her tone as she looked at the agent- she had built up a terrifying exterior that she had on display for most people. But when she looked at Aaron, the wall somehow didn’t exist. Why would she show her true self to a stranger? What was it about him that she was drawn too? Could she sense his pain? Did she know that he understood why she did what she did? That he, too, had felt the rush of ending evil with his own two hands? 

“The Director? Of the FBI?” Rossi asked, shocked at her absurd request. “What exactly would you like to speak to him about?” 

“I just think he’d be interested to know I’m here,” she spoke, calmly, sitting back in the seat of the car and looking out the window again. 

“This girl is nuts…” Rossi whispered to Aaron before getting out of the car and grabbing ‘Ananke’ from the back seat. Aaron followed closely behind, his eyes locked on Rossi’s tight grip around her flesh. He could see the marks his agent was leaving behind, his fingertips dug into her arm. It made him sick. The thought of anyone harming her made him sick. But she was the bad guy- he was supposed to hate her, to send her away and avenge all of the lives she took. Why did he want to save her so bad? Grab her from Rossi, hop in the car and take her away from all of this. It didn’t make sense, the way he felt. And Aaron hated it- he hated feeling out of control of his own thoughts- his own desires. 

As they brought her into the BAU, the rest of the team following behind, he immediately noticed something was off when he walked through the doors. The rest of the team must have noticed as well, because they all kind of stopped in their tracks as they walked in. 

Derek noticed her first, pacing back and forth in Aaron’s office. 

“Strauss,” he groaned, rolling his eyes at the sight of her. 

“What is she doing here?” JJ asked, crossing her arms and tensing up. 

“I’m not sure. I’ll go find out. Rossi, can you bring her into the interrogation room? Spencer, try and get something out of her,” Aaron instructed his team, watching them seperate and do their assigned tasks as he walked up to his office. When he got closer, he noticed the Director was also there as well. He got a sick feeling in his stomach, remembering his immediate thoughts when he first arrested Ananke. It’s never this easy. 

He opened his office door with shaking hands, immediately slapped in the face with tension clinging to the air. The Director stood up as he entered, and Strauss stopped pacing. 

“Aaron,” she whispered, her eyes darting nervously around the room. 

“Erin,” he smirked, not sure why his brain was choosing this moment to crack jokes. 

“It’s good to see you, Agent Hotchner. It’s been a while,” the Director said. 

“Chris. It’s good to see you as well. Can I ask what you’re doing in my office?” 

The two of them looked nervously at each other, as if deciding who had to tell him the unspoken secret. The first thought in his brain was that Foyet was back. He killed him, though. He remembered the life draining out of him. He couldn’t be back. He felt his body get hot, his breathing picking up as he remembered Foyet’s face… 

“Aaron… unfortunately, we’re going to need you to let (Y/N) go.” 

“Who?” He asked bluntly, confused at the name he was sure he had never heard before. Although his brain was still spinning, he was feeling calmer knowing whatever this was, it wasn’t about Foyet. 

“Ananke. You need to release her,” Strauss clarified, her voice equally annoyed and apologetic. 

“I’m sorry… I’m confused.” Aaron was realizing now how much easier it was to hate Ananke - or (Y/N) - when she wasn't right in front of him. He couldn’t see her, she couldn’t lure him in. Her spell had broken. “I know for a fact she killed at least one person. I’m not releasing her.” 

“Aaron, this goes beyond you. She is no longer a person of interest.” Chris had raised his voice, clearly frustrated at whatever was happening. 

“You can’t just take away my unsub and not tell me why. Do you think my team will be okay with that? Do you think I’ll be okay with that?” Aaron was angry, the thought of them taking her away with no reason making him crazy. 

“Agent Hotchner, there are some secrets within the Bureau that even you don’t know about.” 

“I don’t accept that.” 

Chris and Strauss looked defeated, both accepting that they won’t win this battle. Chris shook his head slightly and closed his eyes, contemplating his words. 

“What is going on, Strauss?” Aaron begged, the room beginning to spin again, his body craving the sweet release of nicotine and the bitter taste of vodka. 

“Your unsubs real name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N). She is a government protected assassin.” 

“What?” Aaron’s head was spinning, the room around him dancing in circles as the words floated through his mind. That couldn’t be real. There was no way the place he worked, that he believed upheld justice, would do something so… unjust. So immoral. They had to be lying. “It’s not possible. We met the man that paid her to kill someone. She was paid by a civilian to kill a civilian.” 

“She sometimes takes on… side projects,” Chris muttered, clearly knowing his words would upset Aaron. 

“And you allow that?” He yelled, his body fuming with anger as he paced around his office. It didn't make sense. Everything he had ever believed in was crumbling right before his eyes- all because of her. 

“With the things she has done for us, Aaron, there is a little bit of lenience. Besides, Jason was a bad person, anyways.” 

“That doesn’t make it okay. We have a justice system in place for a reason.” He felt sick, the realization that a system he protected for so long was seeping with corruption. 

“Did Foyet get his chance for trial? Or did the justice system not count for him?” Strauss looked at him sternly, frustration written on her face. Aaron realized she was right. He took justice into his own hands with Foyet, and he didn’t regret it. How was she doing anything different? For a moment, nothing made sense to Aaron. His entire belief system had shattered right in front of him. He was speechless, his brain splashing around trying to find the right words to express his disbelief. But he was coming up empty, drawing blanks. There was truly nothing he could say that could capture how he felt. He just thought of her, the sweet smell of berries that lingered in her hair, the softness of her skin, the enticing aura that surrounded her when she looked at him. 

“What am I supposed to tell my team?” He thought out loud. 

“We’ll handle it. Let’s go out and talk to them now,” Chris instructed, walking out of the office and down towards the annex. Rossi noticed the three of them and quickly walked up to Chris, greeting him. 

“Could you gather your team for me?” The director asked, Aaron still unsure of how he would explain this to them. Rossi grabbed everyone pretty quickly, dragging Spencer from the interrogation room, which Aaron could only imagine was going very poorly. 

“Hello everyone, I’m sorry to bother you all, but the unsub you brought in today is a person of interest in several international crimes. She’s been on our watch list for a while, now, and we’re going to have to hand her over to interpol.” The Directors words were quick and precise, leaving no room for anyone to second guess him. Even Aaron was convinced they weren’t going to release her the minute they were alone. 

“What has she done?” JJ questioned, intrigued at the mystery international criminal they brought in. 

“It’s classified, Agent. And if you don’t mind, we’d like to get out of here rather quickly. If someone could grab her, please,” he ordered, causing Spencer to quickly walk to the room she was in and bring her back out to them. 

She was smirking widely as she walked out, clearly knowing her freedom was inevitable. He had so many questions for her, so much he needed to know, but he had to keep his mouth shut. She was slipping right through his fingers, and he had only just begun to know her. 

“I’m so sorry, Aaron. I know how much you enjoyed seeing me in handcuffs,” she whispered to him as she passed by, winking seductively before being taken away by the Director and Strauss. 

Aaron felt miserable as she walked away, the three of them heading into the elevator and away from him forever. She now felt only like a ghost, a distant memory fading away as more time went by without her. The team moved on from the loss in a matter of minutes, but Aaron stood there, frozen in place, waiting desperately for her to come back. 

+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-+:-+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+

Five days. He was able to wait five days before he went to see her. He tried so desperately to forget about her- it seemed everyone else had. But she seeped into his dreams, tossing and turning as he tried to sleep, her voice, her face, her body, calling to him. He needed to see her again, just to ask her why. He wouldn’t sleep ever again if he didn’t. 

So, five days after she walked away, he waited until Jack was asleep, explained to Jessica that he had some paperwork to take care of, and headed to see her. His brain continuously tried to tell him it was a bad idea. He should turn around, go home, and forget her. But he knew it was easier said than done. This was the only way. 

When he got to the club, he noticed the same bouncer from before was sitting outside the door. Aaron felt a bit relieved, hoping the man would recognize him and he could lie his way up to (Y/N)’ door. 

“Hey, man,” he said casually, trying to sound as calm and not suspicious as possible. 

“Can I help you?” The man grunted, clearly not amused by Aaron’s attempt to be friendly. 

“I’m here to see A. We met a few days ago, I need to drop my money off,” he whispered, praying to whatever God was listening that this guy would believe his story. 

“A isn’t supposed to be meeting anyone tonight,” he groaned, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Aaron could tell it was a long shot, but he had to do whatever he could to see her. 

“Call her. She’ll tell you,” he stuttered, looking anxiously at the large man standing between him and (Y/N). It was possible he could take him down if he had to, Aaron thought. It would be a hell of a fight, but he’d brought down bigger men. He shifted instinctively, trying to casually feel his hip and make sure he was still armed. 

The man pulled out a small phone that appeared to be very old- most likely a burner they used to communicate. He dialed a number quickly and stared at Aaron, as if hoping his boss would give him the go ahead to kick Aaron’s ass. 

“Hey, it’s me. Some guy is here to see you. Said you talked earlier today. Can you check the cams,” he asked, trying to speak quietly, but Aaron was still able to hear every word. He waited patiently for her response, trying to keep his face calm. 

“Alright, thanks A.” He hung the call up and placed the phone in his pocket, taking as long as possible to give Aaron his answer. It felt like hours, excruciating pain as he waited for his fate. 

“You’re clear to go.”

Aaron was almost positive she would send him away. If she had cameras, she knew it was him. Why would she allow him to come up? Did she want to see him, too? 

He knew if he stood there any longer contemplating the situation, he would look suspicious. So despite all of his common sense warning him that something was wrong, he walked through the secret door and up the narrow staircase, knocking twice at her door and awaiting to enter her world. 

He was greeted by the same man from earlier, who was smiling brightly as he opened the door and let him in. He offered him another drink, which Aaron politely declined, finding a seat on one of the couches and unable to sit still as he waited for her. 

She left him waiting for quite a while. Although it felt like hours of agony for Aaron, his watch assured him he had only been waiting around twenty minutes by the time she finally greeted him. She was wearing a short red dress, golden heels wrapped around her feet as she floated towards him, smiling devilishly as she poured herself a drink. 

“It’s nice to see you again, Agent,” she teased, taking a sip of her liquor of choice and taking a seat across from him. 

“I needed to talk to you.” 

“About what?” She tilted her head, soft lips creating a pout of confusion as she stared at him. 

“You knew I was going to arrest you the minute you got my application to meet… if you knew you couldn’t get in trouble, why would you let all of that happen? You could’ve called the Director the minute you knew who I was. Why didn’t you?” Aaron needed to know why she went through the trouble of setting up a meeting with him, allowing herself to be arrested and brought to the Bureau. It didn’t make sense, allowing herself to take such a big risk.

“It seemed… fun. Sometimes my life can be quite boring.” She smiled at him, her flirtatious grin that she seemed to save just for Aaron. 

“Wasting my time, my team's time… that's fun to you?” Aaron was getting angry again, his body fuming as he looked at her. 

“Well, maybe a part of me wanted to meet you. I mean, we’re not so different, Aaron.” 

“Hah,” he laughed, rolling his eyes at her. “You think you and I have anything in common?” 

“Oh, are you not the same SSA Aaron Hotchner who killed George Foyet with his own hands?” 

“How the hell do you know that?” Aaron had stood up at this point, his anger and frustration causing his body to become restless. 

“It’s on your record, Agent. It’s not too hard to find…” She took another sip of her drink, finishing the last of the cups content and standing up to face him. For a moment, they were inches apart, the air between them stock full of tension, anger and attraction swimming around the two. But as he prayed he could control his compulsion to touch her, she walked away, over to another corner of the room, grabbing a cigarette and lighting it. 

The smell of smoke intoxicated him, making his knees shake as he craved the burn of nicotine in his throat. She floated back towards him, taking her place back on the couch and burning quickly through her cigarette. 

“You seem so angry, Aaron.” 

“Because you’re killing people, and somehow the people I look up to to maintain law and order don’t care.” 

“Have you ever thought that you’re more angry at yourself than at me? I mean, a part of you gets it, right? You understand what I do, why I do it… and that makes you sick, doesn’t it?” 

“I would never justify what you do.” 

“Mm,” she hummed, standing up and walking towards him again. She placed a soft hand on his face, Aaron realizing her touch was the first he’d felt since Haley died. The feel of his flesh being caressed by someone, being held by someone- it made him melt. 

“Maybe it’s not that, though. Maybe you really do hate me, hate what I do. But a part of you can’t stop thinking about touching me, feeling me… fucking me.” She moved her hand down his body, trailing her fingers down his chest and stopping at the base of his groin. He felt chills down his body, blood rushing to his cock at the slightest touch. 

“That’s not- it’s not that,” he stuttered, trying to back away, knowing how dangerous it would be for him to get roped into something like this. 

“Right, of course,” she whispered, taking her hand away from him and turning around, walking away. He watched her body as she floated across the room, his eyes glued to her ass that was begging to be touched by him. 

“(Y/N)...” Aaron whispered, calling for her, unable to stand the feeling of her being away from him. She turned towards him, walking back slowly, taking her time and letting him simmer in anticipation as she made her way back to the center of the room. When she made her way back to him, he grabbed her chin with his hand, tilting her face up towards him, her lips inches from his. 

“I would never want somebody like you. You are a bad person, no matter what you try to say to me.” 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Agent,” she smirked, her lips almost brushing against his as she formed them into a smile. 

At that moment, it felt like any self control Aaron had flew directly out the window. He wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her body into his and kissing her. It was a kiss that was draped in desperation, anger, lust. His tongue made no attempt to be gentle, selfishly exploring her small mouth and he picked her up and sat her on a table. He tore his shirt off, his desire to be touched, to touch her, overcoming any restraint he had before. 

He picked her up, her small frame easy for his trained body to carry swifty to the couch. He threw her down on her back, her body writhing under his, moaning his name so loud that he was sure the club goers downstairs could hear. He wrapped his hands around her neck, gripping gently, listening to her gasp for air as he slid up her dress to reveal nothing underneath. 

“You’re just begging for me, aren’t you,” he teased, pulling his hard cock out from his boxers and teasing her entrance with his tip. She nodded slowly at him, unable to speak as he still had his hand gripped around her throat. He was aching to hear her voice again, so he released his hand, getting turned on at the mark he left on her. 

He slipped into her slowly, no time to waste on foreplay. He knew he needed her now, that their time was limited and it was only a matter of time before his common sense kicked in and he got out of there. But for the moment, he was sloppily pounding into her, not caring who saw or heard, desperately needing to be as close to her as possible. 

He came quickly, the euphoria of feeling another woman for the first time in months too much for him to control. She came too, though. He could tell she wasn’t faking- he could feel it. After they finished, he quickly put his clothes back on, (Y/N) continuing to lay breathlessly on the couch. He watched her for a moment, waiting for her to say something- ask him to stay, kiss him goodbye. But she just pulled herself up and walked towards the other side of the room, grabbing and lighting another cigarette.

“You should go.” (Y/N) instructed, not even bothering to look up at the man who just came inside her moments ago. 

“You shouldn’t smoke those, you know. They’ll kill you.” Aaron’s mouth was dry, watching the trail of smoke that followed her as she floated around the room, refusing to give him even a second of her time. 

“What do I have to live for?” She asked, finally dragging her tired eyes to his and smiling, one of the first real, and saddest, smiles he had seen from her. 

Aaron tried to think of something else to say, racking his brain for the correct words to say. But he continuously came up empty, and he realized he was starting to look more and more suspicious the longer he stood there. He decided to walk away, ignore the part of him that refused to tear away from her. 

He walked soberly down the stairs, out onto the street and to his car. As he sat in his drivers seat and started the engine, feeling his face get hot, the rare feeling of wet eyes as he began to cry. And then he started to laugh. An uncontrollable cackle that spilled out of him like a waterfall. It was comical, to look back over the past few months and relive all of the bullshit he had been through. He didn’t even recognize the person in the mirror anymore. And maybe that was a good thing, because the person he used to be was the same person that let Haley die. 

+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-+:-+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+

Aaron tried to pretend he didn’t spend every day over the next week thinking about her. The way her soft skin felt when he touched her, the way her lips tasted like bubblegum and her hair smelled like cherries. When he imagined her in his head, everything felt so distant, like he was barely holding on to a dream of her. He could feel her memory slipping away every second, and he couldn’t let that happen. 

He had to see her again, and soon. He wondered if she was thinking about him as well, if she remembered the mint chapstick he was wearing, or the Dolce cologne he was wearing. It made him sick, thinking that she forgot him. (Y/N) had slowly become everything to him, what if he was just a passing thought for her? 

The team had landed back in DC an hour ago, solving a case in Miami that was one of the easier ones they had had this year. Aaron was grateful for the slight break, his brain not completely in the right headspace. 

He rushed to finish up the closing paperwork, scribbling his words sloppily and without much care for grammar. He knew as soon as Strauss read his, she would call him and question his mental state. But he didn’t care. He just needed to get the hell out of here tonight, and if that meant sitting through another of Strauss’s evaluations, it was worth it. 

As he was signing the last of the documents, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He grabbed it with caution, not sure who would be calling him this late at night. The call was coming from an unknown number, and Aaron immediately worried something had happened to Jack. He was away at his grandparents this week, planning on staying a few more days. He answered the phone nervously, preparing for whatever horror was to come. 

“Hello, Agent,” a female voice said, a voice he instantly recognized as (Y/N)’s. Her voice flowed smoothly like silk even over the phone. It was truly hard to believe how she had managed to perfect every aspect of herself. 

“Why- how are you calling me?” He looked around cautiously, making sure no one could secretly hear any part of the phone call. 

“I’m flying to Paris this weekend, a little well deserved vacation. I was calling to see if you’d like to join me.” 

“I… Paris? I can’t just fly to Paris.” Aaron chuckled into the phone, the idea of someone just getting up and deciding to fly halfway across the world with no plan truly comical to him. 

“Oh, I didn’t realize I’d called the Fun Police. I thought this was Aaron Hotchner,” she teased. He could feel her smiling through the phone, a warmth that somehow seemed to wrap him even though he could only see her in his thoughts. 

“I can have fun…” he argued, biting his lip awkwardly, not wanting to seem inferior to her. 

“When was the last time you did something for yourself, Agent? Have you ever just… been spontaneous?” 

“(Y/N), you don’t understand-” 

“Call me A on the phone. It’s safer,” she instructed, her voice losing its soft luster as her professional side kicked in. 

“A… my job, my life… it doesn't leave room for spontaneity.” 

“No, Agent. That’s your choice. I’ll be at the jet runway at Dulles in two hours. Think about it. I’ll wait for you.” She hung the phone up, not giving him room to protest. He set the phone down on his desk, instantly missing her even more than he did before. Jack was going to be with his grandparents for three more days, and he did have some saved up vacation time. But what would he tell the team? What would he tell Strauss? 

His phone vibrated again, this time only a single buzz to indicate a text message. He flipped his phone over and saw a new message from an Unknown number. 

Life doesn’t have to be so complicated, Agent. It is much too short to spend this much time suffering. Learn to enjoy your days. 

A

He reread the message a thousand times, knowing the words would still reign true no matter how much he tried to convince himself she was in the wrong. He had spent his whole life serving others, and he was okay with it, until now. Maybe if he had lived without complication, and enjoyed his days, his life would be completely different… 

He ran home and quickly packed a bag, letting Strauss and Rossi know he needed some ‘alone time’ for a few days. They didn’t question it- one nice thing about having a recent trauma, he thought. He took an Uber to the airport, praying that (Y/N) kept her promise and waited for him. 

When he finally arrived on the runway, he noticed her immediately. It was as if even being near her set an alarm off inside of him, like every part of his brain was awake, feeling her energy from a hundred feet away. 

He thanked the Uber driver and ran to her, bag in hand. As he got to her, he noticed her face. She wasn’t surprised or shocked in the slightest- she knew he’d come. She somehow knew every move he would make. Was he that predictable… or was it something special between them?

“I have to be home in three days,” he said, breathlessly, overjoyed at the sight of his girl. 

“We can do a lot in three days,” she responded, smiling wickedly. She walked towards him, wrapping her arms around his torso and embracing him. It was such a nice feeling to be held, comforted. He felt like he could stay there in her arms for years. But she broke the hug pretty quickly, motioning for one of her men to take care of the bags and began walking towards the jet. 

As he followed her up the stairs and into their own private world, he started to remember everything he was leaving behind. The realization of just how impulsive this was dawned on him as he looked back at the city behind him. He felt dizzy, leaning on the railing for support as he shakily walked up. 

“You alright?” (Y/N) asked, placing a hand on his arm to steady him. 

“This is crazy, (Y/N). I just can’t believe I’m doing this.” 

They continued to walk into the jet, her hand intertwined in his as they sat down and the door closed behind them. A man came out from behind the curtain, who Aaron immediately recognized as the same man who greeted him both times he met her. 

“Aaron, this is my… well, assistant, I guess. Jay, this is my new friend, Aaron.” She waved to Jay slightly, instructing him to come closer. 

“It’s good to meet you sir. Can I get the two of you anything to drink?” Jay was a short boy, couldn't have been more than 25. He clearly worshipped the ground she walked on, which seemed to be par for the course with men she knew. 

“Oh, hmm,” she thought, closing her eyes for a moment as she racked her brain for a decision. “Whiskey sour. What would you like?” She turned towards Aaron, the subtle tilt of her head reminding him of how pretty her neck looked with his hands around it. 

“I’ll do a Scotch, neat,” he ordered, something so enticing about ordering a drink on a private jet to Paris. 

“I’ll grab those for you now. Matt is ready to take off, A, are you all set?” Jay turned back towards his boss, his eyes widening like a puppy as he waited for her words. 

“I’m ready to go Jay, thank you,” she smiled, looking at him quickly before bringing her attention back to Aaron. Jay took her disinterest as a sign to leave and make their drinks, so he shuffled away quickly after she looked away. 

He came back with their drinks a moment later, leaving quickly after and closing himself in the cockpit. The jet began to take off shortly after, and Aaron took a long sip of his drink, hoping the alcohol would calm any nerves he had left. He started at (Y/N) dreamily, as she shuffled through her phone and a pile on various paperwork on her lap. 

“Sorry, Agent, just finishing up some work,” she whispered, her eyes still staring down. 

“Mmm, it’s okay,” he responded, just happy to be in the same place as her again. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure,” she smiled, setting her work aside and bringing her attention to Aaron. 

“Why did you kick me out the other night? After…” His voice trailed off, shifting awkwardly in his seat. 

“I figured it be best for you. I didn’t want to wrap you up with my life… with me. But in all honesty, I can’t stop thinking about you. I called you tonight, and told myself if you didn’t show, I’d move on. But… you’re here.” 

“I’m here,” he whispered back, his eyes tracing down her body, craving her once again. 

“I feel like we have something special, Agent,” she whispered seductively, climbing out of her seat and walking towards him. 

“I missed you… I couldn’t stop thinking about you…” he moaned as she bent towards him, her lips kissing down his neck and playing with the collar of his shirt. She unbuttoned the top buttons, kissing his chest and moving her hand to his inner thigh. She trailed her fingers up his thigh, teasing his cock with the slightest touch. His hips bucked uncontrollably, blood flowing down to him as his desire took over his body. 

She got down on her knees, toying with his belt buckle. She was clearly trying to make him wait, the suffering and craving all a part of her game. But he was impatient, so he ripped his belt off himself, undoing his pants and pulling his erect penis out. 

(Y/N) licked her lips in anticipation, wanting to pleasure him as much as he wanted to be pleasured. She played with his tip slowly, toying her tongue around him as he moved underneath her. He wrapped his fingers in her hair, slowly pushing her mouth down around him. He wanted her to take all of him, to feel the back of her throat as he shoved his length in her mouth. She moaned quietly as she took him, bobbing her head up and down quickly and sloppily. 

Aaron couldn’t remember the last time he got a blow job- let alone the last time someone enjoyed giving him one. (Y/N) was toying with him, clearly enjoying the pleasure she was able to give him just with her tongue. She looked up at him as he was about to cum, winking as she dragged her tongue up his shaft. The eye contact sent him over the edge, causing him to release himself in her mouth. She swallowed his cum happily, kissing him on the cheek and sitting back down on her chair. 

He wanted to go to her, give her what she needed now. But he was exhausted, the exhilaration of her taking away all of his energy. He took another hefty sip of his drink, leaning back in his chair and wiping the sweat off his forehead. He buckled his pants back up and readjusted himself in the seat. 

“Don’t hate me, handsome, but I do have to get some work done. Feel free to sleep on the couch, or watch a movie. I’ll let you know when we get there.” She blew him a kiss, teasing him with a wink before losing herself in her work. He wondered what part of her job she could possibly be doing from the seat of a plane. There was truly so much he didn’t know about her, which made it so much more exciting. 

He finished his drink, watching her work in awe as the plane soared over the Atlantic. He felt himself drifting off and didn’t try to stop it, wanting to be fully rested so he could make the most of his time with her. 

+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-+:-+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+

Paris was unarguably Aaron’s favorite place on Earth. Whenever he told people that, they always kind of chuckled. It was kind of a feminine city, at least that’s what everyone told him. But god, he loved it here. The food, the architecture, the people… but most importantly, it was her. 

She had made every second of his life magical. When they landed, she brought him to a small bakery near the Louvre, where they sipped wine and ate the sweetest fruit he’d ever tasted. It was only 10 AM when they got there, but nobody seemed to pay them any attention as they drunkenly strolled down the Parisian streets, giggling and kissing and living. 

When they finally sobered up, they made their way to a gorgeous hotel, where (Y/N) got the nicest suite available. They ordered a few bottles of champagne, popping them open as soon as they got inside and helping themselves to many glasses. They drank out on the balcony, overlooking the whole city as they downed more alcohol. 

The suite came equipped with a jacuzzi tub in the bathroom, which (Y/N) was begging him to take advantage of. She stripped down in front of him, lighting candles and drawing a tub of steaming water. She took a bottle of champagne into the bathroom and soaked herself in the tub, lavender scented bubbles surrounding her. Aaron couldn’t resist the temptation of her body, so he quickly followed after her, stripping down and slipping in the bubbles with her. 

She sat on his lap, he kissed down the back of her neck and nibbled on her flesh. She moved her butt into him, the softness of her flesh pushing into his cock. 

“I told you, sometimes it’s fun to be adventurous.” 

“I never doubted that. I just think this is all… crazy…” 

“Are you not enjoying yourself?” She giggled, pushing bubbles towards him and splashing around the water. 

“Oh do not play games with me,” he laughed, splashing water towards her. She squealed when the water hit her face, scrunching her nose as she wiped the bubbles from her cheeks. 

“Let’s go,” she smirked, standing up and carefully stepping out of the bath. Her skin was glistening from the water, bubbles dripping down her flesh. He stared in awe at her, obsessed with every curve, every inch of her more perfect than the last. She walked slowly out of the bathroom, her butt wiggling with every step. She was clearly calling for him, begging for him to follow her wherever she went. And he would. He did.

He ran after her carefully, finding her naked body wrapped in the fluffy comforter of the bed. She smiled when she saw him, sitting up and wrapping her hands around his neck. She brought his face towards her, kissing him slowly, allowing their lips to enjoy every second they had with each other. 

Aaron’s hands were gripped on her hips, his naked body grinding into hers. He hadn’t known this feeling for a long time- the feeling of complete and total calm. For the first time in an absurd amount of time, he wasn’t worried. He wasn’t thinking of every terrible thing that was happening around him. He was only thinking about her- the way her lips felt on his, the way her body moved… his whole life had so suddenly become wrapped up in her. 

But, the trouble was, nothing good in his life stayed. And it was only a matter of time before the universe took her away, too. 

+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-+:-+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+

The rest of their time in Paris went by in a daze. Most of their time they were either drinking or fucking, taking breaks to walk aimlessly around the Louvre and stroll down the Seine. He was heartbroken when he had to go back, but he did miss his son, and was sure the team was falling apart without him. When they landed back in DC, (Y/N) had a car ready to take Aaron home. 

He had a good hour before Jack would be back, so he used his time to take a long shower and brew a strong pot of coffee. It was almost 7 at night, but his body was still messed up from the change in time zones, and he knew he wouldn’t get much sleep that night. He was already missing her, checking his phone every five minutes to see if she would whisk him away on another adventure. 

But, as he quickly learned, she was the type of person to disappear for a while. Aaron didn’t hear from her for seven full days after Paris. Seven full agonizing days of wondering where she was, who she was with, and most importantly- what she was doing. 

Being away from her made it easier for him to realize the reality of their situation. She was a killer; and yeah, maybe she only killed ‘bad’ people, but did that really make it any better? At least, that was the question he was asking himself. Surprisingly, as more time went on, the harder time he had convincing himself she was a villain. Maybe it was because he was falling in love with her, maybe it was because he understood the anger of watching guilty people walk away from things completely unscathed. 

They didn’t speak about work once during their time together, although it was clear Aaron had a lot of questions. He couldn’t even begin to comprehend what she could be doing for Strauss and the Director. Who was she killing that they couldn’t get to the normal way? He wanted to know her life, understand the secrets she spent her existence protecting- but it wasn't for him. And maybe that was for the best. The mystery of it all made it… hotter. 

So when he finally heard from her, seven full days later, he felt like a kid on Christmas. He recognized the ‘unknown’ number as it popped up on the screen, stepping into his office so he could speak with her privately. 

“Hi, Agent,” (Y/N) spoke, her voice singing to him. He loved the way she called him Agent. He loved everything about her. 

“I’ve missed you. Where have you been?” 

“Oh, working. You know.” He could tell she didn’t want to speak any more about work, so he changed the subject. 

“Are you back in DC?” 

“For a bit.”

“Can I see you? Let’s get dinner somewhere. Anywhere.” 

“I… we probably shouldn’t be out together like that… if we saw anyone we knew… your team…” She spoke her words carefully, not sure how to tell him that their relationship wasn’t exactly approved of. Aaron had never really thought about it, but the reality made him sick. Would he never be able to love her publicly? Hold her hand at the park, take her to eat at his favorite restaurant, introduce her to his friends? 

But the adrenaline, the euphoria of being with her- it was worth any negatives. He would eat in the dark with her, hide her in his house, runaway with her… 

“Come over to my place, then. We’ll order pizza, watch a movie.” 

“Hah,” she giggled, her laugh airy and full of light just as he remembered. Hearing it made him smile. “I can’t remember the last time I ordered pizza and watched movies with a boy…” 

“Well, given the circumstances, I have to get creative A.” 

“What about Jack?” 

“Oh,” Aaron responded, forgetting for a moment that she had yet to meet his son. He didn’t think twice about it, wanting his son to know the woman that was bringing him so much joy. But was it safe? And did she want to know him? 

“I don’t want to put you in an awkward situation.” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” 

“What is happening between us? Are we just messing around… Is there feelings?” He hated to ask her such a loaded question over the phone, but he needed to know the answer- he had to know if she was just as head over heels as she was. 

“Agent, no man I’ve ever ‘messed around’ with has this number.” 

Aaron chuckled, the nervousness in his chest subsiding. 

“Come over tonight, please,” he begged, craving the way her lips felt on his. 

“Okay, I’ll see you tonight, Agent.” 

“I’ll see you tonight, A.” 

+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-+:-+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+

Aaron didn’t expect just how wonderful (Y/N) would be with Jack. He had never really seen a maternal side to her before, but she was incredible. Jack took a liking to her as well, even falling asleep between the both of them as they watched Finding Nemo. After they were sure he was asleep, Aaron carried his son to his room and put him to bed, (Y/N) following close behind, in awe of the way Aaron cared for his son. 

“You want a glass of wine?” Aaron whispered to her, the two of them hand in hand as they walked back to the living room. 

“Please!” 

He poured the two of them overly generous glasses of Riesling, snuggling up on the couch next to her and kissing her on the forehead. They tried to find a movie for a bit, scrolling through endless channels before giving up. 

“Can you stay the night?” 

“I wish, but I have to catch an early flight tomorrow,” she frowned, her pout showcasing her perfect lips that he couldn’t get out of his head. 

“Where are you going?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back. Her face turned pale and emotionless as she thought of a response, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. 

“You know I can’t tell you that,” she responded. 

“I’m sorry.” He felt uncomfortable, not sure exactly what to say to her. They had never had an awkward silence before, and it made him sick as he waited in the quiet for her to respond. 

“I probably should get going,” she finally said, setting her almost empty glass of wine down on the coffee table. 

“Oh, c’mon, we just got some time alone…” he pleaded, but he could tell by the look on her face he had already lost her. 

“I’m sorry, love. I just have a lot to prepare for this case.” 

“I understand. Will I see you soon?” 

“I’ll do my best, Agent.” 

+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-+:-+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+

California was a popular hot spot for serial killers. It seemed like Aaron and the team were there every other week. This time, San Francisco was the lucky city. He had already been there for two days, stuck on an incredibly weird case, when he got the call. 

“Good morning, Agent,” (Y/N) spoke. 

“A… it’s good to hear from you.” He was relieved at the sound of her voice, the dark energy of this specific case seeping into him, choking any optimism out of him. 

“How are things?” 

“I’m working on a tough case, to be honest. It’s taking a lot out of me.” 

“Would it be better if I was there?” 

“How is that possible?” 

“I was… in the area. Set some time aside to stop by.” 

“I’m going to be really busy…” he frowned, realizing now how difficult it would be to actually see her. 

“Oh, Agent, I sure hope you can make time to see me,” she teased, giggling through the phone, her laugh wrapping him in warmth and shielding him from the darkness of reality for a moment. 

“Well, I have to sleep at some point,” he responded, laughing himself. 

“Call me when you get back to your hotel. I’ll be waiting.” 

Aaron hung the phone up quickly, peeking around the corner of the SFPD office they were currently set up in. Luckily, everyone was too busy to listen in on his personal conversations. He wondered what his team would think if they knew what was going on behind closed doors. Would they still stand around and trust the system they were working so hard to uphold? Because Aaron could barely stomach it. 

“Hey, we’ve got a problem,” Derek said, coming around the corner lookingfor his superior. 

“What’s going on?” 

“C’mon into the conference room. Garcia will explain everything.”

+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-+:-+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+

He didn’t make it back to his hotel for another 12 hours. It was nearing 11 PM by the time he finally closed the door and could be done for the day. Although with his job, he was never really off the clock. 

He called (Y/N), pushing aside any exhaustion he had for a moment with her. She was there within twenty minutes, sneaking through the door, giggling and kissing quietly, trying to be secretive. It was risky, extremely risky for them to be together with his team just on the other side of a thin hotel wall. But he couldn’t help himself. A part of him wanted to get caught, be exposed, so they could stop sneaking around. He wanted to love her in front of everyone. 

He forgot about the case briefly as he lost himself in her flesh, kissing her soft skin and making love to her - twice. When the exhaustion finally overcame him, he crawled into her arms and let the horrors of his job overcome him. 

“It’s a bad one, this case,” he divulged, knowing he shouldn’t be telling her the details, but needed a release. He needed to scream, and she was the only one around to hear. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Some CEO’s kid has been going all around the country killing teenage girls. Eevrytime the police get close to him, he just runs. Five different cities, and he’s escaped them all. Thirty six bodies that we can find. Probably more. And he’s going to get away, here, too. Garcia found out he sold his house a few days ago and bought one in Miami.” 

“Well if you know it’s him, why aren’t you arresting him?” (Y/N) had a confused look on her face, her eyes wide and her lips forming a slight pout as she waited for him to respond. 

“We don’t have enough physical evidence. He fits the profile perfectly, and we are able to trace bodies to him in every city he’s lived in. But that’s not good enough for the courts. He’s just going to keep getting away…” Aaron felt his heart pounding, the face of Foyet flashing over and over in his head. 

“Sometimes… the system doesn’t help everybody.” She wasn’t looking at him, her eyes darting nervously around the room. 

“That’s why people like you exist, right? To serve justice to those who escape it.” 

“That’s one way of looking at it.” 

Aaron looked at her, her cheeks flushed and her breathing sporadic. They were thinking the same thing, it was only a guessing game on who would break the silence first. He didn’t think it would be here, she was too nervous. 

“(Y/N)...” he whispered, placing a hand on hers. 

“What are you asking me to do, Agent?” She finally looked up at him, her face flat and emotionless, a side of her she had never shown him before. It was her work face, her business face. 

“I want you to do your job, A.” 

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” 

“It’s the only way to stop him.” 

“Okay. I’ll take care of it.” She got up out of the bed and started putting her clothes back on, slowly redressing herself as she prepared to go back to work. She grabbed one of the three phones she carried, hastily dialing a number and putting the old cell to her ear. 

“Hey, it’s me. I need the car here ASAP, and the bag... Yeah, it’s a change of plans. … I’ll tell you in the car.” She hung the call up and put the phone back in her bag, refusing the look at Aaron the entire time she was preparing herself. 

“You’re doing this now?” He laughed, getting up and trying to stop her from leaving. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her towards him, her body struggling to get away. She felt tense, tired. Her body was no longer surrounded by it’s usual warm glow. She was cold, and dark. She wasn’t her.

“Agent, if this is what you want, I need to handle it my way. Please let me go.” 

“Will you… can I see you after?” 

“I need to leave the city immediately after it’s done. And it’s best we don't talk for a bit. I can call you when I think things are safe.” 

“How long is a bit? I mean, I don’t want to give you up.” 

“You can’t have both, Aaron. Either I’m (Y/N) or I’m Ananke. Do you want more girls to die? Or do you want a girlfriend?” She was yelling, her voice a loud and intense version of itself that he was unfamiliar with. It made him dizzy. He sat down clumsily on the bed and put his face in his hands. 

“Kill him,” he mumbled. She was quiet for a few seconds, and so was he. And awkward silence. Something they had never had. He felt like she was staring at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

“I’ll call you when I can, Agent. It’s been wonderful working with you.” 

Aaron swore as she walked out the door he could hear her cry. Maybe he was making it up to make himself feel better. There was no way she could walk away that easily and not … hurt. He hurt, so terribly bad. How long was a bit? A few weeks, months? Would he ever see her again? 

+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-+:-+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+

Aaron awoke to a loud banging on his door and his phone buzzing like crazy. The ringer was on, but not loud enough to awaken him from his alcohol assisted slumber. He shouldn’t be drinking on the job, he knew that rule better than anyone. But he had to shut his mind up. 

He opened the door to a rattled Derek Morgan, his forehead sweating and hands shaking. 

“You are not going to believe this,” Derek said, chuckling slightly. 

“What’s going on, Morgan?” Aaron knew what he was going to say, but he had to pretend to be surprised. Would Derek know? He was by far the best profiler on the team. How long could Aaron keep up a lie before Derek figured something out? 

“Our unsub died last night. Car accident. He hit a railing and his car just… exploded.” Derek held his tablet out to Hotch, showing him various photos from the scene. His car was completely crushed and torched. You could see his body, but there was absolutely no way to tell what was happening at the time of the accident. The damage of the car was far too elaborate to find any remnants of explosives- if that’s what she used. But whatever she did, it was brilliant. There was no way anyone would think twice about this. She was brilliant. 

He could feel himself smiling, being impressed with her work- but he remembered Derek was still standing there, unknowing of the secrets Aaron held. 

“Well, I guess we can finally get the hell out of San Francisco,” Aaron laughed. 

“You think this is the end? He just dies in a freak accident and it's over? Are we that lucky, Hotch?” Derek’s eyebrows were furrowed in the classic way his face always looked when he was suspicious. 

“He’s not around to hurt anyone else, and that’s the end of it. Our jobs are done here. I want wheels up in an hour.” 

Derek just nodded in agreement with his supervisor, realizing it wasn’t worth the argument. Aaron was right, the bad guy was gone and that was good enough for him. 

Aaron closed the door to his hotel, grabbing his phone and dialing her number. He had assumed she’d already disconnected the line, severing their connection for the time. But it rang, and somebody answered. 

“A…?” he whispered, waiting for her voice. 

“You shouldn’t be calling this number,” a man responded, a voice he recognized as Jays. 

“I know, I know, but please. Please just tell her something for me.” Jay was silent for a moment, deciding what to do. 

“... What?” He asked, quietly. 

“Please just tell her I said thank you. For everything.” 

And then the phone disconnected. The call was over. She was gone. For who knows how long? 

+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-+:-+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+:-:+

One week later, SSA Aaron Hotchner was sitting in his office when Erin Strauss walked through his door. She didn’t knock, which made him jump. She walked right in and sat down on his couch, taking a deep breath. A disappointed sigh. 

“Hello, Erin.” 

“Agent Hotcher.” She looked at him angrily, her lips pursed and eyes tight as she thought of her words. 

“What can I do for you?” 

“In all honesty, Aaron… did you think we wouldn’t find out? You are a federal agent. Your passport is flagged any time you enter a foreign country. You were in Paris at the same time as her. And then San Francisco? She was there on assignment and your uncatchable unsub just happens to turn up dead?” 

“Am I fired?” He asked, his only thought on what they were doing to her. 

“Aaron… what are you doing? You are losing yourself! If this is about Haley…”  

“Just tell me something. What are you going to do to her?” He bit his lip nervously, Erin avoiding his eye contact.

“Right now she’s being relocated, on a six month assignment. We’ll see what happens after that.” 

“Where?” 

“You know I can’t tell you that!” 

Aaron sat for a moment, completely unsure of what to say next. Maybe Erin was right, he had lost himself. He would’ve never imagined himself in this situation. 

“What do I do now?” 

“You move on. And you do your job, the right way. I’ll cut you some slack this time, Aaron. But if this happens again… there will be consequences. Do you understand?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Erin walked out of his office quietly, closing the door as she left. He waited a moment, a long moment, before pulling out his phone. He had to at least try to talk to her. Even if the number didn’t work. He had to try. 

But it rang. And this time he knew it was her who answered. 

“Agent.” She answered sharply. 

“Where are you?” 

“I’m still in DC, as of now.” 

“If I asked you to stay, would you?” 

“You know it doesn’t work like that. Either I go, or they send me to prison. I’m sorry, Aaron. But this… was destined to fail from the beginning.” 

“No, (Y/N). I don’t accept that. I love you.” 

“You can’t. I’m sorry, Agent. This is goodbye.” 

[chronicalchaos]

Wick modern AU: Explained +Some fun facts

Uhm, i was gonna wait until i finish this AU's synopsis and new book cover, but both will be taking a while until they get ready...

And i wanted to post this "overview" for a while now, anyways, here's some fun facts and a summary of the story:

Old book cover:

I'm really proud of Sam's shading, but the twins look weird and Tom looks old...I won't use this cover, 'cus Travis and Duncan are main characters as well and i want to include them on the cover. +My art style changed!

Story summary:

Just a quick thing! I changed quite a few things to fit the narrative and the modern days setting, i hope you understand!

The story of this AU happens in September 2014, a little less than a month until Sam’s birthday, where the Weavers aren't dead– Well, most of them aren't...

The narrative is centered on a curse, that was based on the audio that plays when you pick up Benny's bible, where 7 people are affected by it: Tim, Tom, John, Sam, John's brother/Sam's dad(I won't name him), Mary and James.

Sam's, Travis' and Duncan's side of the story will be more on the investigative side maybe with a bit of comedy(I'm not good with writing that, so it will most likely be just investigation), while Tim and Tom's side will be the more angst and unusual/horror side. Sam will have a bit of horror as well, since he's linked with them by the curse, but the twins will definitely have the spotlight when it comes to horror/unusual stuff.

Fun Facts:

General:

The story happens a week, maybe a bit more, after summer break

Even tho one of the first chapters is set on school, them going to school will probably just be mentioned or implied, Example: Them leaving a school bus

For some reason, i saw a few stories where everyone knew what polio is and how it works, which i felt it wouldn't be realistic, so that won't happen here

It has a lot of paranormal stuff

The summer camp by the Weaver's property is closed and has been like that for a few years now

Just Mary and James call the twins Changelings, the rest of the city knows there are "changelings" walking around, just, not that the twins are them

There's no changelings, they think there is, but in reality it's just a curse(like that's something lighter than a demon switched with a child at birth)

The song that helps me get in the mood of this story when I'm writing is "Far too young to die" by Panic! At the disco

Timas Weaver:

Tim is 12, he'll be 13 in...approximately 3 months

He was born December 30th 2001 and is the oldest between him and Tom

He's almost an inch shorter than Tom

He has a huge burn scar! It goes from a bit more than half of his chest, both his arms, his palms and his whole neck, he got that scar when he was 3 years old

He's does not have asthma, but he does have extreme pyrophobia on it's place

He has flat affect, his face doesn't match his emotions/he looks serious most of the time(I'm so sorry if I don't portrait it right! Please give me constructive criticism if I do something wrong here!)

He's a theater kid and would be quoting a lot of musicals if Mary didn't isolate him and Tom from the world(The theater part only exists because of his and Tom's masks)

The whittling thing exists here, but like, it won't be of much importance to the story, the knife will! But not the whittle part

He despises spiders and it's Tom's fault!

He climbs trees (there's not much I can say here to be honest)

He has this...i don't know if you can call it a quirk, but, he tends to tilt his head to the left, it's kinda random

He's ambidextrous, was left handed, but Mary forced him to learn to use his right hand

He teached himself how to throw knifes...don't mess with him

Paranoia!

Needs therapy

Tomathy Weaver:

Tom is 12 and will be 13 in approximately 3 months

He was born December 30th 2001 and is the youngest between him and Tim

He's almost an inch taller than Tim

He doesn't have Polio now, he did when he was...around 5 years old

His left leg is bigger than his right one, his right feet reaches his left ankle

His left ankle is paralyzed, that's why he uses a leg brace

He's claustrophobic, he developed that on the same day Tim got his scar and pyrophobia

He won first place on a spelling bee before he got Polio and he used to spell when he got anxious, but after John's disappearence he started shuddering, shaking and cracking his joints instead, very similar to how he shudders on the game

He loves spiders!

He is really flexible, but, because of his polio, he can't play around with it anymore

He likes to draw

He has pretty bad scoliosis

Paranoia #2!

Socially awkward baby

Went to therapy when little, needs to go back

Caleb Weaver:

Caleb is 9 years old

He was born August 19th 2005

He's almost the same height as Timas

He was a year old when Tom had polio

He's actually James' kid, not John's

He won first place in 2014's(the year the story happens) county track meet

He dislikes Tim

Lillian Weaver:

Lillian is 5 years old

She was born February 28th 2009

She's a bit tall for her age

She's notorious for making little deals between her and her siblings, like helping them get away with something in exchange of something(getting her out of class during their recess, buying a new plushy, etc.)

She's a really curious and affectionate kid, loves hugs, kisses and especially being picked on someone's lap

She loves bunnies(even tho this isn't a surprise)

Benjamin Weaver:

Benjamin is 14 years old and will be 15 in less then a month

He was born October 24th 1999

He's just really tall compared to the twins (it's kinda funny, Tim and Tom are 4 years older than Caleb, but they are just an inch taller than him)

He's really religious and prays a lot for his siblings' health and safety

He's been trying to take care of Tom after John's disappearence, since Mary doesn't do it, much the opposite, she hides Tom's medicines on purpose

Mary Weaver:

I didn't give her neither an age nor a birthday...i probably need to do that

She had an affair with James, when the twins were 4 and Benny was 6, Caleb was born from this affair

She doesn't hit any of her kids, but she does neglect most of them

On the nights between Saturday and Sunday, she doesn't sleep, she spends this time praying with a candle, then, before they go to church, she writes everything that happened that night on her diary

She has a lot of diaries, she keeps them in the attic

She's a little bitch(i don't know what else to say about her)

Pastor James McAlroy:

James also doesn't have an age nor birthday (i only have the Weaver kids and Sam's birthdays)

He won't appear much, but he does have a big role on the story

He's Caleb's biological dad(i mentioned that like 3 times already)

He tried doing a "honest-to-god exorcism" on the twins, it was just a cover for an attempt of murder

He's a toxic little shit(there's not much I can say about him)

Samuel Burton:

Sam is 12 years old and will be 13 in less than a month

He was born in October 2nd 2001

Him and Travis are Brothers on their mom's part

He's cousin with the Weavers, minus Caleb, they just don't know each other

He can be just as smug as Travis sometimes

He absolutely hates going on ghost hunting, he thinks it's dumb

He has long hair and freckles all over his body

He's just too lazy to tie his own shoes

He's the only one that remembers to bring a backpack when ghost hunting

While Travis is the camera man, he's the flashlight guy

Travis Burton:

Travis is 15 years old and i don't have a birthday for him, well, he would be born in 1999 just like Benny

He doesn't like wearing glasses, but doesn't have other choice, he either doesn't take proper care of his lenses and gets his eyes irritated or he just lost them

He's the face of his and Duncan's channel

He tries to drag Sam to be part of the channel, but he doesn't really want to be part of it

He cusses way too much

He's brave, only because he goes face first into danger without thinking

Duncan:

Duncan is 15 and would also be born in 1999

Big ass coward, sends Travis and Sam to go investigate on his place every fucking time

Entitled as fuck

The "brain" behind his and Travis' channel

He's suspiciously good on researching, he'll find the most unexpected things about you

He's a little shit as well

...i think that's it! Now i can go continue the first chapter and maybe finish it soon