#the case was solved shortly later. he had absolutely nothing to do with it. this man lost his wife and child and was deemed guilty

[yamcha-thelonewolf]

🫀The Heart's Savior.

Hello everyone, wolfpack! As I promised, here is part two on Yamcha's key role in the Androids and Cell saga. For those of you who have not yet read part one, you can catch up with my analysis of Yamcha and Goku's relationship by clicking here.

PART 2: The Present.

This time, as I anticipated in the previous post, I will deal with the present. This means that just as Yamcha took care of his past, in this case represented by Goku, he also went out of his way to take care of what was happening around him. So I am referring to those moments when there was no time to stop and think, or those moments when there was nothing else to do but give comfort or any kind of help.

Before we get into that, I want to point out an aspect of Yamcha that I think is curiously impossible to eradicate. Let's face it, Akira Toriyama did not treat him very well. Or rather, he didn't make the most of him. Although I'm sorry to say it, I think all of Yamcha's potential came up not because Toriyama really wanted it, but because in his mind he needed someone to sentence those exact words. So Yamcha was always a tool, and as long as he expressed himself to give support to his friends it could have been fine. The problem arises when at some point (precisely upon Trunks' arrival) Yamcha changes dramatically, becoming a wimp who prefers to run away instead of a daredevil who is willing to do anything to help. I would like to recall that long ago, despite having a broken leg, he had ignored this disability of his to go and help Goku and Tenshinhan against the Great Demon King Piccolo. Or even, it was always Yamcha who had motivated his friends to join Goku and face the Red Ribbon army together with him.

So it is strongly logical that the "new Yamcha" we see is not the result of a sensible character change but simply the result of a stupid and awkward narrative necessity. When Trunks arrives in the past and shortly thereafter reveals himself, Akira Toriyama could not afford to put Bulma on the wrong side. She was still the second main character in Dragon Ball, and besides that her relationship with Yamcha, despite its ups and downs, was loved by many. I mean, even the original voice actors of the two were convinced that sooner or later they would really get married, so their breakup had to look like something that made sense; moreover, the breakup had to justify Bulma's final decision and especially redeem the figure of Vegeta, who from then on would officially take Tenshinhan's place as Goku's historical rival. How to do this, then? Simple: Yamcha is a stupid good-for-nothing cheating womanizer who is afraid of everything. Problem solved! Well… Not really, but still it must be admitted that Toriyama has succeeded to some extent since many Dragon Ball fans are really convinced of this. I will discuss this on another occasion. Now it is important to point out that in this arc it is absolutely evident that there is an attempt to scuttle the character in every way possible, but as I said before, it almost seems as if Yamcha himself tried to take over and go beyond the wishes of his author. Simply put: it got out of their control. Majin Yamcha cannot exist!

I mean, it's as if he wants to say, "Okay jerks, you wanna make me useless? Fine, but I'll be in my own way!"

Here you can see Yamcha lashing out at the Toei Animation people of making him look useless.

Of course, these are just impressions. We will never know how much they realized Yamcha's value, but let us say that even though they represented him in this saga as a mere sidekick or driver or nurse, they unintentionally made him greater than he already was. And it's nice to be able to see that even though Yamcha was backed into a corner, he still managed to make a difference. This shows how even for Toei Animation and Toriyama it is impossible to distort this character. That's why I say that it is Yamcha himself who is rebelling against his unfair fate: his way of doing things, which we have come to know from the beginning of Dragon Ball, cannot be changed. He may be an adorable clown, he may be afraid of new enemies and he may even be weaker than others, but that does not mean that he is ridiculous, cheater and especially useless.

Keep all this in mind: on the one hand we have Toriyama's willingness to destroy the character, and on the other hand we have Yamcha whose few "superfluous" lines disproves it all. It is a sneaky battle that I urge you to notice better, especially since it is from these seemingly unnecessary moments of his that Yamcha's heroism is best delineated.

Well, now we can really start.

Buckle up because this is going to be a looooong read.

In this chapter we will see how Yamcha not only took care of Goku and Chichi, but also of many other people. We are in the present, that is the time when absolutely no misstep is allowed. Any wrong attitude could change the fate of the world, and Yamcha knows this well because Trunks told of a disastrous future in which there is nothing left but hope. Here is the key word. Hope. It is said to be the last to die, and that is absolutely true, but in order for it to endure over time, even when everything falls apart, it is important that it be fueled by love. Yamcha is the absolute personification of this. Throughout Dragon Ball he has always been the first to hope and believe that all is not lost. Moreover, he has always been the one who has consoled and helped the characters not to break down. As I have already said, this attitude is essential for a fighter. Being emotionally prepared for a battle can change things, and we have seen this many times. So that Yamcha is a real motivational coach should not go so unnoticed, especially in a context where even Goku's strength is doubted.

In short: Yamcha is the one who saves the mood.

So, dear friends, we will now explore together those little details that could rehabilitate our beloved Yamcha and make him essential in a context that does not seem to have considered him enough.

...No, wait. May I begin by saying that Yamcha saved even the Kame House?

Come on, I'm kidding. Let's start with a rather simple scene. In this case, the character called upon is Tenshinhan.

The friendship between Yamcha and Tien is crazy. Their rivalry during the 22nd Tournament was stronger than that between Goku and Tien himself, which made their reconciliation even more exciting.

We are at the moment when Tenshinhan tries to stop Cell from absorbing Android 18. His strength is dwindling out of all proportion; at Kame House Chiaotzu and Yamcha sense that their friend is doomed. Therefore Yamcha proposes to rush to his rescue. Although it is nothing new that Yamcha wants to take action to save his friends in danger, this is a small scene that shows how incongruent Dragon Ball has become at some point. Okay, I can also accept that Yamcha is a guy who feels he has to act only when the situation is particularly close to him and his heart is tickled, but I absolutely do not accept that his will to do is always stopped by a force superior to him: the plot.

In this case, Muten stops Yamcha's determination by telling him that going to help Tien wouldn't be smart because they would risk death as well. All right, it may be true, but Yamcha certainly didn't want to stop Cell. Yamcha only wanted to save his friend, also because we all know the lethal effects of the (Shin) Kikoho. It means Yamcha would have picked up Tien and carried him away, or at best it means he would have helped him by using his Sokidan to distract the enemy, or even the kamehameha. I want to emphasize it again: not to kill Cell, but just to distract him and buy time. Well, for reasons unknown to us, the saying "unity makes strength" does not apply if you are an earthling. At least at this time, since at the end of the Cell Saga everyone will seriously join forces to help Gohan. And may I have my say? It is the highest moment in all of Dragon Ball Z, because for the first and only time all the Z-Fighters unite to defeat the enemy and win.

Whatever. Let's ignore what to me is a big plot mistake and focus again on Yamcha: as you can see, he would have wanted to do much more than what he was given and the fact that he wants to intervene against Cell, who is even stronger than the Androids 19 and 20 who almost took him out, confirms how Yamcha was thwarted by the narrative and not by his supposed weakness.

It is quite funny that all these contradictions and all the attempts to make him a good-for-nothing, if seen from the right perspective, can seriously save Yamcha's reputation. You just have to be a little more careful. Be that as it may, once again we can see how Yamcha's heart is big enough to put his own life on the line in order to save his close friend. If only Toriyama Muten had not stopped him…

Now it is Gohan's turn.

If taking care of Goku and Tien is more obvious because they are two friends he has loved for so long, taking care of Gohan is quite different. Well, let's say that what Yamcha feels for anyone is unconditional love. He loves and it is by loving that he is able to feel stronger. It is a feeling that goes even beyond hatred, but we will talk about that another time. In Gohan's case, Yamcha's love takes on an even symbolic role.

At this point you might think that I am abusing the word "love", but…. Did you read that correctly? It is Yamcha himself who uses it. What's more, he is the only one who uses it. After all, Yamcha is the only one who explicitly admits his desire to love. Bulma's first wish was to find a boyfriend, while Yamcha's dream was to get married and consequently love someone for the rest of his life. He is the most romantic character of all, and it is a pity that this peculiarity of his is seen as one more reason to think him weak. Instead, I believe that confessing certain feelings makes him even stronger than all those who hide them. So I'm really glad that at such an important moment Yamcha has spoken words that are absolutely in line with his character. At least in this he has not been distorted.

Although it is evident that the boy's second father is Piccolo, we can also speculate that he was not the only one. Especially after Goku's death, I like to think that someone like Yamcha visited Chichi and her son often so that they would not be lonely. After all, Chichi is also pregnant, which further supports the hypothesis that Yamcha may have been there for them in some way. Uncle Yamcha, right? Sounds good! But let me tell you our dear bachelor dude has the makings of a good father. I mean, maybe during these years he was actually the one who taught Gohan how to play baseball? Who knows...

As I told you in the previous chapter, Goku has been like a little brother to protect for Yamcha. Even if Goku was definitely stronger than Yamcha and could defend himself, the little saiyan possessed a great weakness: he was naive. How many times was he teased by villains because he had trusted them? And how many times was he taken by surprise by enemies because he had no idea who they were? Well, Yamcha helped him open his eyes many times. He has watched over him where Goku's innocence was not enough, and using his own bandit-like nose in his favor, Yamcha has gotten him out of little and big trouble. The only reason I don't call him paternal is only because the age difference is minimal, but certainly the drawings from long ago help to better convey the idea of how much Yamcha's stature shielded Goku's pudgy little body.

I always found this moment tender because Bulma, Yamcha and Goku look just like mommy, daddy and son. Therefore, it is not at all strange to imagine that all this kind of love felt for Goku has also projected toward his son. However, this time the fatherhood is definitely evident, both because the age difference between Yamcha and Gohan is greater and because it could only be otherwise. We said that Yamcha's mission is to take care of everyone, right? So do you think he could have ever backed down from helping the son of the man who led him to the path of good?

It is the most natural thing Yamcha can do. As he loved Goku when he was small and innocent now he loves his son. He owes it to him. Personally, I do not consider it an accident that it is Yamcha himself who takes Gohan in his arms. He could have taken care of Trunks' body, but since Yamcha is Goku's guardian he could only take care of his child. Ultimately we can say that Yamcha, in this saga, has taken care of the complete Son family. He cared for Goku during his illness, consoled and comforted Chichi, and finally helped Gohan when the evil had been defeated. I find it emotional that Gohan says thank you to him. It seems like a small thing, but considering Yamcha's treatment in recent years, it is nice to be able to see that characters once respected him for what he did.

As evidence of his value, there is also this brief exchange of words between Yamcha and Tien in which Yamcha's good heart is emphasized even more. Despite suffering from the fight against the Cell Juniors, one of whom even broke his arm, Yamcha ignores these painful wounds and equally takes the boy in his arms as if nothing happened. It really seems that his desire to protect Gohan is stronger than the suffering he is experiencing physically. Seriously, at this point I really cannot believe how it is possible for such a pure character to be brutally hated or mocked.

Guys, we are almost finished. Actually I would have gone on even longer than that, but I don't want to bore you so much. I just think Yamcha deserves all this attention, and since we possess few moments of him I feel that dwelling on his seemingly tiny actions is essential to redeem the character. When I say make Yamcha great again I really mean that he was once great in earnest, and I hope that this will be noticed someday even by those who did not understand him enough. Also by reading all of this or other people reflections in the web.

Now let's go back and address an equally historic friendship, that between Yamcha and Krillin.

Yamcha and Krillin share a deeper bond than people think. For example, many people do not remember that the two of them trained together under Muten's supervision, just as Goku and Krillin did long before; also always together they experienced the Fortuneteller Baba adventure, climbed Karin's tower, and finally trained at the same time in Kami's palace. We can safely say that Yamcha and Krillin share many more moments together than Krillin experienced with Goku, and while this does not necessarily make them best friends, it does not mean that the love they have for each other is any less.

The result of this important relationship is found once again in the Cell Arc. I told you, this is where Yamcha plays all his cards and shows that he has done everything for everyone.

The scenes between Yamcha and Krillin are also the simplest in this entire analysis, but I still would not take them for granted. For example, here we witness a psychologically devastating moment for Krillin. His guilt over not pressing the remote control button that would have destroyed Android 18 grips him to the point where he makes the decision to confront Cell and thus repair the damage done, but once again Toriyama Muten stops him because it is not his place to fight. So we see him distressed, angry with himself and in the throes of an impending nervous breakdown, but suddenly a hand rests on his shoulder and with that simple warmth tries to sweep away all his frustration.

Yeah, it is Yamcha again. Once again he steps in to lift someone's spirits, and while it may not necessarily make Krillin really feel better, it is still to be appreciated that Yamcha did not make him feel alone and guilty at an absolutely sensitive time. I mean, the world was also falling apart because of that fatal decision by Krillin. It is normal that he felt wrong, but Yamcha immediately puts himself in his friend's shoes and without a second thought rescues him as much as he can, because he cannot accept Krillin's collapse. Controlling every single emotion continues to be crucial.

Be that as it may, I find this scene as touching as it is sad. It is touching because once again Yamcha is there for his friends, but it is sad because if we go back over and review the scene where Yamcha feels impotent in helping Tien, no one rests a hand on his shoulder to make him feel better. Toriyama Muten remains quite impassive and this only increases the sense of uselessness that is intended to be given to Yamcha. I swear to you, writing all this makes me really sick. It's like I see myself in this kind of unfair loneliness that never seems to want to let him go.

Well, however, this is not the end of the story. Actually I would say that now the most depressing part of the topic begins. When I say that Yamcha was destroyed in every possible way, I really mean in every possible way. Although this saga indeed contains so many good moments of him, it is also the arc that definitively marks his death. In fact, from this moment on, Yamcha is deprived even of his only purpose, which is to get married, because he is given over to Krillin himself. The decision to tie him to Android 18 is as beautiful as it is sadistic, if we see the whole situation from Yamcha's point of view. Krillin has never expressed a desire to marry and fall in love. From the beginning, he has always seen martial arts as an excuse to impress girls, and while this does not mean that he should not find a woman for life, it is quite unfair that once again Yamcha's wish has gone unheeded. This would have been the perfect opportunity to fulfill his dream, but for who knows what reason (come on, we know why by now…) they decided that it should be Krillin who should get married. Mind you, I am absolutely happy for him. The Krillin/18 couple is one of the most beautiful. All I am saying is that it is not fair to a character who has ALWAYS sought love. His misfortune in love is no longer funny. Being a positive character, I think it is fair to give him at least a win, but as we will see somehow Yamcha will make his case in other ways. He is not the type to be so easily put down, and that is why his many facets make him one of the most interesting characters in Dragon Ball.

This is one of the most tender moments in Dragon Ball but also one of the most misunderstood. Yamcha comes off as a bit of a fool in this scene because he is the only one who is afraid of Android 18, but I defy anyone not to have smiled a little at his comedy. After so many episodes where we have been with dread in our eyes because of Cell, Yamcha's lightheartedness is a breath of fresh air. In a way, it is as if he takes us back in time, when in Dragon Ball we rejoiced over little. He is the fighter who keeps the soul of OG Dragon Ball alive.

But Yamcha doesn't just make us laugh. Yamcha shows us that after all the hatred felt for Cell it is love that is what remains. Love and hope. Although Goku is gone, the world keeps turning and it is absolutely necessary to continue to have faith and live life even more than before. Therefore Yamcha does not hesitate and, as a good friend, does everything to help Krillin hope. If it were not for his encouraging words, Krillin would have left the palace disappointed to have missed an important opportunity. Instead, Yamcha instills in him a small chance, helps him notice that Android 18's does not feel like a farewell, and most importantly, he does not make him feel unworthy. A similar thing happens in the videogame FighterZ, where Yamcha and Krillin have a conversation about women and it turns out that Krillin has an attraction to female androids. He seems ashamed of this, but Yamcha doesn't mind. On the contrary, he reassures his friend to never make him feel wrong, because at the end of the day, love has no limits and he knows well that. He supports him. He supports everybody, but unfortunately nobody supports him. That's why we have to do it!

I have always found this lovely. Yamcha always cheered for his friends, even when they managed to get married. He was never envious, never tried to stand in the way of their happiness, always smiled for them. This is the most beautiful characteristic of Yamcha, especially when we consider that it is highly likely that this disproportionate love he feels for others goes hand in hand with his sense of loneliness. It is as if helping others distracts him from the sense of failure he feels for himself.

Like here. It almost seems as if Krillin is apologizing for stealing his chance to get married. As if he's trying to say "hey man, sorry I'm the one who found love and not you. I am so sorry that your fate in this story is so bad. You don't deserve it, friend". It's just a figure of speech, because obviously there is no connection between Yamcha and Android 18, but I think you get my point.

Yamcha even calls him silly. Not only because one should never apologize when it comes to love, but especially because it is not his style to stand in the way of the feeling that most represents him. Oh please, let's ignore that Yamcha has to give an expensive necklace to his "girlfriend." I gather from these few words that she is definitely not the kind of woman he deserves, but we will talk about that another time. Regardless, it is good to see Krillin smiling thanks to Yamcha, since until recently he was sad about losing Android 18 and especially his close friend Goku. He would have returned to the Kame House in the wrong mood, and we all know how a bad day can be fatal. Who knows, maybe it is because of this nudge from Yamcha that Krillin and Android 18 got together.

We end this long journey in the present with this beautiful frame of Krillin saying thank you to Yamcha, just as Gohan had done. I think this is the saga where he is finally given the gratitude he deserves, and all in all it's okay. It's just too bad that this is the last time Yamcha will be respected. And as I have already reiterated, it is unfortunate that few people have noticed this. We will see a little something in the Buu Arc, but it certainly won't be enough.

I want to conclude this analysis with a simple reflection. I hope everyone is aware that the main theme of the Androids and Cell saga is hope. Hope is what drove Mirai Trunks to the past, and as I have already said, hope is the only thing that remains in his future.

If we focus on this word, doesn't it seem to you that Yamcha is the total reincarnation of this feeling? Think about it. He is the only one who has never stopped hoping. He has hoped for Goku and because of his trust he has reassured Chichi as well; he has hoped for Gohan, for Tien, for Kuririn and finally for other characters that we will analyze in the last chapter.

In short, Yamcha is the bearer of hope in the present. He is the one who kept it alive so that the world would not fall apart as it did in the future. Yamcha is hope itself. So... If hope is absolutely indispensable in Trunks' horrendous future, why shouldn't we think Yamcha is indispensable for Dragon Ball?

Well, thank you for getting here.

See you for the last chapter: The Future.

[boldlyvoid]

touch me

spencer reid x reader

Summary: Spencer is incredibly touch-starved and hard on himself since coming home from prison. Luckily, the medical examiner in this small town is really good at reading people, and exactly what he needs.

warnings: mentions of cases, insecurity issues, female reader, smut, blowjobs, riding, praise, emotional hurt/comfort. emotional sex, strangers to lovers, hook-ups,

word count: 5.8k

They had been in New Mexico for almost a week, solving a series of murders that seemed to have no end in sight. There was nothing they could do but go back to their hotels to sleep, hoping there’d be a connection in the morning.

Spencer and JJ were sharing a room as the small town hotel didn’t have accommodations for everyone that was visiting to help with the case. They didn’t mind, it was like a long sleep-over.

They did their own thing, kept their space and Spencer really did enjoy overhearing her on FaceTime with her kids. It was refreshing happiness in the middle of the madness murder sadness and despair they were swallowed by.

When his phone rang at 6 am, just shortly after he returned to his room for a quick rest, he sighed deeply, “Dr. Reid.”

“I’m so sorry to do this to you, but another body dropped and I need you to go to the ME,” Prentiss explained softly down the line. “It’s weirder than the other’s and you’re the only person who would be able to work it out with the examiner.”

“I’m on it,” he replied with a tightlipped smile. He hung up and looked over at JJ, already peacefully asleep on her bed. He closed the door softly on his way out, not wanting to disturb her any further.

At the other end of the hallway, Spencer stood and waited for the elevator. It seemed to be taking forever, everything he was doing lately dragged on and on with no end in sight. He was exhausted, still struggling with his PTSS, just all around not having the best time.

He was in the middle of rubbing the sleep out of his eyes when the elevator opened with an equally tired woman waiting inside. “Hi,” she said before covering her mouth to yawn, “sorry.”

“I get it,” he smiled as he stepped inside. “Lobby?”

“Yes please,” she smiled. “Are you here for the case too?”

“Uh, yes,” he answered softly, “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, with the FBI.”

“Oh, hi! I’m Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, the medical examiner,” her face lit right up. “Agent Prentiss said you’d be joining me I just didn’t think this quickly.”

She was adorable, bubbly and happy in a way he envied. He missed the feeling of random giddiness, smiling at her as he felt the butterflies swirl in his stomach. “Do you need a ride? I have an SUV from the bureau.”

“Yeah,” her smiled got bigger. “That would be really nice.”

They walked closely together through the lobby and towards the parking structure, he hit the unlock button a few times while trying to figure out which SUV his keys matched to. Finally getting in and watching her climb in the passenger seat.

“Do you know anything yet about the body?” Spencer asked as he turned on the ignition.

“Yeah hold on,” she pulled her iPad out of her bag and started sliding through emails.

“Your tech girl sent me the initial police reports, witness statements and overview,” she began to explain. “Like the others, she’s a 25-year-old female, blond, blue-eyed, athletic.”

“Prentiss said it was a weird one?” Spencer added.

“They think she was embalmed before the unsub staged her,” Y/N added with a tone of disgust on her voice. “Do you have your tech girl’s number?”

“Yeah, hold on,” Spencer dug his phone from his pocket and dialled the number.

“Penelope Garcia, the 8th wonder of the world at your service,” she answered after just one ring. “How are you doing on this fine morning, my fine furry friend?”

“Not so hot,” Spencer replied. “I’m with the ME right now on the way to the body, she has a question for you.”

“Oh hello, ask away.”

Y/N was smiling on the front seat, enjoying the show they put on for her. “Um, hi I was wondering if you could look into anyone in this town buying embalming equipment, or if any has been stolen from the funeral home? This town is so under-resourced already, I don’t know where this guy could get this stuff.”

“Absolutely, I’ll add that to my parameters,” Garcia’s voice was lovely and soft. “I’ll call you back if I find anything!”

“She’s lovely,” Y/N exclaimed as Spencer place his phone back in his pocket.

“Yeah, she is.”

Spencer pulled into the morgue’s parking lot, the lights were all on and the Coroners van was parked by the loading doors. Inside there was just 1 officer, waiting beside a body bag as Spencer and Y/N walked in.

The officer gave them both a quick rundown of the crime scene findings, as well as information about where all the equipment was before leaving them to their work.

“Have you ever examined a body?” Y/N asked Spencer.

He nodded, “I’ve been present during a few, held some organs, but I’ve never done one myself.”

“They’re pretty gnarly,” She scrunched her face and giggled. “Let’s get you all geared up.”

She handed him a hairnet, a white plastic suit, goggles and a mask. “Gloves are on the wall, pick your size.”

He felt like a lunch lady standing beside her, taller than her by almost a foot, dressed in all white with a hairnet. He could tell she was smiling at him under her mask, her eyes gleamed up at him in a way that made his heart melt.

He had to remind himself multiple times that this was nowhere close to the time appropriate to want to flirt with someone. They were about to examine a dead body, and potentially solve a case. There would be time to flirt later.

But he was just so amazed by how she worked, being able to tell everything that was going on by just looking at the body. Making notes on her own and only occasionally explaining things to Spencer. In her own little world, solving the puzzle with expertise.

“The other 4 vics were just strangled and staged, dressed up and left in different areas around town,” she ran the case down more for herself, needing to hear the words to make a connection.

“Yes,” Spencer followed her train of thought, tilting his head as he listened.

“She was murdered, embalmed, staged and sexually assaulted. His MO is completely different and it’s only been 2 days since the last body dropped. I think he’s found his signature,” She explained her thoughts. “His sexual aspect comes out only when they’re dead and cold, we’re dealing with a necrophile.”

“While most serial killers start with small animals before moving on to humans, he started with women and then eventually grew to what he really wanted. That’s what we were missing,” Spencer’s eyes lit up.

“He’s a lot younger than you hypothesized in the original profile,” She added.

“You read it?”

She nodded, “yeah I like to know what you’re looking at to see if I have answers.”

“This is really going to help us,” Spencer smiled, his eyes mimicking hers now.

“I can finish up here if you want to go back to your team? I can get a cab,” She offered. “Go catch this guy.”

“Okay,” Spencer said, backing up from the table and taking his equipment off. Placing them in the hazmat garbage. “Are you sure?”

“Yes Dr. Reid, I’ll be fine,” She laughed. “Can I call you if anything comes up?”

He smiled again, “call me even if something doesn’t.” He dug a contact card out of his pocket and placed it on top of her purse. Waving as he walked out of the room.

—

He thought about her smile for the rest of the afternoon, leaving his findings with Prentiss before heading back to his room to sleep for a few hours.

He finally found his way back into the police department 5 hours later, coffee in hand as he tried to absorb all the new information. They had a lead, stolen embalming equipment from a funeral home a few towns over was reported 4 days ago.

He stayed back during the apprehension of the suspect. Simmons, Lewis and Rossi were closer and they didn’t think the unsub would be dangerous. No one was missing and he wasn’t expecting them, should be easy to get him to come in for some questions.

Much like the rest of this case, it didn’t go to plan. They found another woman in his home, having to shoot him in the process. Ending the spree, ridding the world of a necrophile. It just didn’t feel like justice was served when another person had to die.

Spencer sat on his bed, calming down slightly from the end of the case. Saving a woman, killing a murderer, it was all a lot to process in such a short time.

JJ was in her bed on the other side of the room, scrolling through Facebook as she looked at photos of her kids. It was a much easier way for her to calm down, remembering that she could go home to pure, unadulterated happiness at the end of a case.

They heard a small knock on the door, Spencer volunteered to answer, opening it only a small amount as he looked out.

“Oh, hi,” surprised to see Y/N behind the door.

“Would you like to come and drink with me?” She asked, holding up a bottle in her hand. “In my room,” she added.

“Yeah, yes um, hold on,” he closed the door on her softly.

“Who’s that?” JJ smirked at him.

“My friend,” he replied quickly, running to the bathroom to look at his hair and fix his shirt. “I’ll be back later.”

He grabbed his wallet, making sure he had a condom first, before opening the door only a small amount to slip out into the hall. Hiding Y/N from JJ as she tried to look out the door.

“Sorry, my co-worker and I are sharing,” he explained.

“It’s okay,” she smiled, heading towards the stairs. “I’m just a floor up, and the elevator takes a million years.”

Spencer held the door for her, watching her head up the stairs as he noticed the bottle in one of her hands and her shoes in the other. She walked up the steps in her socks, exhausted from the day.

“Did you get any sleep?” She asked him softly as she kept climbing the steps.

“A few hours, did you?”

“Yeah,” she laughed, “I woke up just before they called about the body this morning.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to just go to bed? You’ve been working for 12 hours,” Spencer worried for her.

She reached the door for floor 3, pulling it open with the hand she held her shoes in, “Sleep is the for weak.”

He laughed lightly, “do you want me to hold anything?”

“Here,” she handed him the bottle, “thanks.”

She dug the keycard from her pocket as he followed her towards the right door. Excitement bubbled in his chest as she opened the door and welcomed him inside.

It was exactly like his room downstairs, only there was just 1 queen bed and a few couches by the window. She set her things down on the bed, sighing deeply as she sat on the edge.

“Do you have any cups or mugs?” Spencer asked, reminding her that he was holding the alcohol still.

“Yeah, on the bar table over there,” she pointed. “I’m just going to change in the bathroom quickly, you can pour yourself a drink.”

“Okay,” he smiled awkwardly as he crossed the room.

She dug through her suitcase quickly. Spencer saw from the corner of his eye as she took out some shorts and a shirt, not even slightly worried about being so casual in front of a complete stranger.

He inspected the bottle, it was just a cheap scotch, nothing too special. He poured about an inch of the golden liquid into two cups, not a big fan of drinking but tonight he felt a little risky.

She came back looking more refreshed, very cozy, and still breathtakingly beautiful. He hadn’t felt this way about someone in a long time, the tightening in his chest as he wondered where the night was going to go.

Not to mention the longing he felt.

Even before prison, he wasn’t one to spend a lot of nights alone with a beautiful stranger. The added isolation in his life changed him on a fundamental level, he realized just how much he craved contact, and just how much he’s deprived himself over the years from both men and women. He just wanted to be loved properly.

He silently handed her one of the cups, smiling at each other softly as they tapped cups. Taking the whole drink, “oh, yep that was exactly what I needed.” Y/N’s eyes watered as her face scrunched up, coughing a bit.

Spencer felt the same, only being able to hide it a bit better. The burn was nice on his throat, it made him feel alive. “Did you want to order some food or anything or?”

She laughed, “that would be the smart and responsible thing to do.”

“Are you okay?” He asked softly.

She looked up at him, her shoulders dropping as she released the tension in her body. Looking into his eyes with care, it was so different from the way his co-workers looked at him. She didn’t think he was broken, she had to reason to believe he was even damaged.

“Yeah,” she smiled, placing her hand on his chest as she stepped in closer to him. “Do you like mushrooms on pizza?” She giggled, even this close to him with every opportunity to kiss him, she chose to just make him smile. Something that didn’t happen too often lately.

“I do, it’s my favourite topping actually.”

She took his tie in her hands and dragged him to the couch, “I enjoy topping sometimes too.”

She sat down on the couch and looked up at him, waiting for him to sit beside her. Patting the cushion beside herself while he swallowed sharply, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, making her smirk.

“I won’t bite Spencer,” she laughed finally. “I’m sorry if that was too much?”

“No,” he said, sitting down beside her quickly. “No, it’s fine honestly, I’m just not used to it.”

“Too busy with the FBI to find anyone to hit on you?”

He shook his head softly, pushing his hair out of his face. “I uh, I was framed for murder and in prison for 3 months. I haven’t really had a conversation with anyone I don’t work with in a while.”

“Oh,” she didn’t look surprised or scared. “That makes sense.”

“What does?”

“You’re soft,” she leaned in to press her hand against his chest once more, eye level with him now. Seeing his eyes dart from her lips to her eyes every few seconds as he licked his lips. “You don’t look like you want to hurt anyone, but something about your aura is changing. You know how to protect yourself now, and you’re stuck thinking you’re still in danger.”

“How can you tell all that just from looking at me?” He asked softly.

“If I showed up at any other man’s door with a bottle of alcohol and the offer of a night alone, I would have been pushed against that door the second we got here,” she explained. “You respect me, almost a little too much.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” His face was soft and curious and proving her point.

“You see me as a person, but I can tell you’re touch starved. Every time I get close to you, it’s like you don’t want me to move away,” her voice was barely a whisper as she leaned in even closer to him.

She could feel his breath on her face, her nose was close enough to brush against his as she stared at his lips, “but you won’t make the first move. You want to protect me from you.”

He nodded his head lightly before rubbing the tip of his nose against hers and making her smile. He let out a sigh, relaxing his shoulders as she straddled his lap, leaning him back against the couch. He bit the bullet and let his hands rest on her hips, looking at her softly in the hopes it was okay.

“Tell me?” She begged, holding his tie in her hands, running it through her fingers as she waited. “What do you want? What you miss? Let me be that for you,” she begged.

“Anything,” he finally tells her. “Just touch me.”

She loosened his tie, freeing his neck finally. She slowly undoes every single button on his shirt, untucking the hem from his pants as she opens it up.

Her fingers are warm on his skin, but he still gasps at the touch. Her fingers were so soft, like angel kisses as the pads of her fingers traced the skin. Gliding over every freckle, raking through his chest hair, bumping along the barely-there abs.

His thumbs rubbed against her bare thighs, where he held her lightly. “You can touch me too,” she whispered.

His hands travelled up to her waist, he gently pulled her in closer. No longer resting on his legs, but pressed close to his chest. Her hands landed on his shoulders, looking down at him with nothing but pure lust as her breathing hitched.

She cupped his face, gliding her thumbs along his cheeks softly as she stared at his lips. He opened his mouth to breathe, his bottom lip was plump and beautiful and she couldn’t help herself from rubbing her thumb over it.

He kissed her thumbprint before taking it in his mouth, sucking on it softly making her hips buck into his lightly. The suction on her thumb was more erotic than she expected, the feel of his hot mouth, his wet tongue swirling around it before he let her go with a pop.

She accidentally let out a moan that excited him, “like that?”

She immediately felt her heartbeat in her clit, she nodded feverishly. Suddenly at a loss for words, wondering where this Spencer suddenly came from.

“How far are we taking this?” He asked softly. “We can stop and order that pizza at any time?”

There he was, the soft and sweet man that she brought here in the first place. “Pizza is even better after sex,” she couldn’t stop the giggle from erupting from her, even as she bit her lip.

He smiled at her like she was the world. A complete stranger making him feel more than anyone had in the last year. “I’m going to need longer than it takes to deliver a pizza,” he admitted.

“Luckily they’re open late,” she compromised, leaning in and finally kissing him.

It was soft at first, then he pulled her in even closer. She was chest to chest with him as he breathed her in deeply. She melted into his grasp as if he had just stolen her soul right out of her body.

She was his now.

She kept his face in her hands, holding him as he broke the kiss to explore her jaw. Kissing every inch of her neck and chest as she gripped his hair, making him moan as she used her nails to comb through the long locks.

“Does that feel nice?” She cooed, running her nails along his scalp as he tilted his head back.

“My favourite thing,” he explained as he closed his eyes, letting her repeat the same motion again and again.

He looked so peaceful, running his hands over her back and sides softly as she massaged him. She leaned in and kissed his cheeks, the tip of his nose, both eyelids and his forehead.

He wanted her to touch him everywhere, her delicate touch made him feel worthy for once. Every self-hatred of his washed from his body as she explored him with care, care only one would receive if they were a most prized possession.

He felt loved.

It was overwhelming, he didn’t realize a tear had slipped down his cheek until she was wiping it from his skin. Shushing him softly before kissing him quickly on the lips.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, embarrassed.

“It’s okay, what’s on your mind beautiful?” She asked softly as she brushed through his hair once more.

“I just,” he looked in her eyes ever so innocently. “I’m not used to feeling cared for, no one pays attention to me this way.”

“That’s shameful,” she looked utterly perplexed. “Look at you? You’re gorgeous, you’re smart, you’re powerful. You’re kind and lovely and soft?”

“But I’m also weird and too much to handle,” he interjected.

“Not to me,” she corrected him. “this morning you could have said nothing in the elevator, you could have driven by yourself and awkwardly waited till I was finished my work. But you didn’t, you had a conversation with me, you helped me many times, you cared about me making it back here safely and you didn’t even know me. You’re a special kind of person Doctor Reid, and anyone who doesn’t see it is an idiot.”

He pressed his lips together in an awkward smile and furrowed his brow, “do you ever give out parts of yourself to everyone because you know how hard it is to feel appreciated?”

“All the time,” she laughed softly. “But not now.”

“Me either,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“I’ll make you a deal, you tell me the worst thing you’ve ever done and I’ll tell you mine,” she offered. “Even the playing field.”

“How so?”

“Right now you think I’m super nice and kind right? And I just told you how I feel about you, but you hate yourself and outside of here I hate myself too. Share a secret, we can be fucked up together,” she smiled.

“In order to keep myself safe in prison, I poisoned a batch of heroin and almost killed a lot of people,” he responded without thinking.

“Okay,” she was a little shocked that he gave in so fast. “One time I stabbed a guy who tried to touch me after I pushed him off me twice already. He didn’t die, it barely even went in.”

“Both are technically self-defence,” he shrugged.

“See?” She smiled. “You’re not as bad and scary as you think you are. You’re smart and cunning.”

“Are you sure you’re not a therapist?” He teased her, “because this has been better for me than any therapy appointment I’ve ever gone to.”

She laughed again, kissing him softly. “I think it would be against the rules for your therapist to do this, I guess that’s why some men cheat.”

“How so?” He just liked listening to her speak.

“It’s easier to be open with someone you’ll never see again than it is with your therapist or wife because there are no consequences. They can’t judge you or hold anything against you, they do what you paid them for and they leave,” she explained herself.

“I’d like to see you again,” his voice barely a whisper. “If you’d like that?”

She nodded softly, “maybe I’ll move back to Virginia, finally.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

“Born and raised. I moved to Albuquerque with my girlfriend 5 years ago, and she left me about 2 years ago now,” Y/N explained. “I liked my job too much to move all the way back there and start over.”

“I can put in a good word for you where ever you want,” he offered before he could stop himself from looking too desperate.

“I’ll look into it,” she smiled.

He kissed the centre of her chest again before pulling her into a hug. Hearing her heart beating in her chest softly as she pressed her cheek to the top of his head and rubbed her hand over his back. Soothing him so completely, he felt beyond amazing.

And then she was gone, pulling back from him and standing up. “Wh-?” Before he could even ask, she was lifting her shirt off.

He stared at her breasts, eyes wide and jaw dropped. She walked over to the bar, taking another shot before she pushed her shorts down and climbed onto the bed. Completely naked in under a minute.

He stood then, pushing the opened shirt off his shoulders and immediately undoing his belt. He took a condom from his wallet before kicking off his shoes, dropping his pants and underwear to the floor and stepping out of them.

She was laying back against the pillows when he crawled over her, resting his naked body against hers ever so slightly. She just smirked as she looked up at him, “hi.”

“Hello,” he whispered.

“What do you want?” She asked.

“You.”

He kissed her softly on the lips, or at least he planned to. Y/N wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him down against her. Swiping her tongue across his bottom lip, begging to make out with him, finally.

Grabbing and tugging at each other as everything started to heat up, she could feel his erection against her leg as he ground down on her. Sucking on his tongue, lightly making him moan into her mouth.

His hair kept tickling her face, every time she’d push it away it would just fall right back against her skin. She pulled him off by his hair, gasping for air as they stared at each other again.

“Can I be on top?” She asked lightly.

He wrapped his arms under her, holding her close as he rolled over. Watching her settle more onto her knees as she sat on his hips. “Better?”

“Much,” she said as she sat up, taking a hairband off her wrist and putting her hair up. Raising her arms in a way that made her tits perk up. He reached up and cupped them, rubbing his thumb lightly across her nipples before giving them a squeeze.

She just laughed as she finished her ponytail, “having fun?”

“Absolutely,” he smiled up at her.

His hands followed the curve of her body, from her boobs to her waist and down over her hips. She was stunning, confident, everything he ever wanted and more.

She found the condom in the sheets, the bright purple packaging making it easy to see. She played with it in her hands, seeing how long it would take before he got desperate, but he never did.

“How long have you had this?” She asked, trying to tease him.

“Not long,” he was honest. “I just got out of prison, remember?”

“So you haven’t had sex since before you went in?” She looked excited.

“No, why?”

She smiled, “so I’m taking your free man’s virginity.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing?”

“It is now,” she giggled before leaning down to kiss him once more.

Trailing kisses down his neck, stopping only to suck a mark near his Adam’s apple. Hearing the sweet little gasps he made every time her tongue came in contact with his skin. She kissed his clavicle, his shoulder and down his chest. Making her way across his abs and over his lower tummy.

He gripped the sheets, not knowing what she had planned or where she was going. Spreading his legs, she kissed his groin, his right hip bone and the inside of his thighs. He couldn’t believe it, the way she explored him so delicately.

She ignored his cock for a while, kissing and sucking at any and all the visible skin she could find. He felt her smile against his thigh then, getting closer and closer before she took his cock in her hand and kissed the base.

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in, settling into the bed like water filling a glass, he was liquid in her hands. Her mouth was a blessing and she chose him to worship.

“Fuck,” he moaned as she took all of him as far as she could. Dragging her tongue along the shaft as she pulled back up. Swirling her tongue around the tip before taking him all the way in once more.

She pulled off with a pop, sitting up now with his dick still in her hands. She tore the condom open with her teeth, taking the package off and rolling it over him.

His dick bounced back against his stomach when she let go of it, hard enough that it had a mind of its own now. She bit her lip as she lifted herself over him more, setting herself down softly where it laid against him.

The head of his cock brushed her clit as she ground down on him, his hands found her hips once more as he instinctively helped her find a rhythm.

He could feel how wet she was, the way she glided over him so easily. Her breath hitching every time her hips bucked, she was enjoying herself. It made him even more excited. She leaned back down then, kissing his neck once more as she continued to push down on him.

“I need you,” Spencer gasped.

She smiled against his skin, lifting her hips enough for him to line up with her before she started to sink down on it. He watched himself disappear inside of her, feeling the way she took him in like he was always meant to be there.

“Fuck,” she gasped as she sat down fully, her hands resting on Spencer’s stomach as she tried to get used to it all. Listing herself up and down little by little to get the rhythm going again.

Spencer pulled her back in again, arching her back so she could bounce easier. She held him close, tucking her face into the crook of his neck as she started to move faster and faster on him. Hearing his breathing pick up as his grip tightened on her asscheeks.

She kept one hand in his hair as her other hand reached for her clit, pleasuring herself slightly the way she knew she liked it. “Jesus Christ,” she whispered against his skin as she fucked him.

It had never felt like this before, it was so personal for the first time. They worked together perfectly, not having to communicate at all, following the other person’s rhythm like a well-oiled machine with a task.

He felt her everywhere. Her hands in his hair, her lips on his neck. The way her hot breath tickled right under his ear as she tried to catch her breath against him. The way she pulled off him and sucked him back in, again and again, her breasts against his chest and her ass in his hands.

He couldn’t believe it. That a real human being cared about and appreciated him, even after learning his worst secret. She was special and different and everything he needed.

He could feel himself getting closer, wanting to savour every moment with her that he could. His hands roamed her back, over her shoulders and arms. He wanted to touch every single inch of her while he had the chance.

“I’m so close,” she whispered in his ear, kissing his cheek and resting her open mouth against his.

They weren’t kissing, they were panting over each other with their foreheads resting together. Euphoria filling the empty spaces between them as she came, gasping and shaking violently over him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, bending his knees and driving into her a few more times before he finished.

She tugged on his hair then, biting his bottom lip as she felt him twitch inside of her. Letting out the smallest gasps and whimpers as she pulled her hand out from between them and pushed herself off him.

Dropping her body against his, resting her head on his chest as they caught their breath.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her in a hug as he repeatedly kissed the top of her head. “Thank you,” he was still out of breath as he said it.

She smiled, laughing against his skin again as she hugged him back.

—

He woke up to the sun in his eyes and the feeling of lips against his skin. He blinked as gained consciousness, finding Y/N laying against his chest again. Her face in his heck where she was placing lazy kisses, trying to wake him up nicely.

“Good morning?” His voice was groggy and deep, it made her smile against his skin. A feeling he didn’t realize he missed so much during the night.

“What time is your flight back?”

“10:30, why?” He asked softly, rubbing his hand over her back softly.

She held him tighter, breathing him in deeply as she did so. Not wanting to let him go any time soon, “it’s 9:45.”

“Is it bad I’m hoping there’s a secret serial killer in Albuquerque?”

She laughed again, sitting up this time so she could look at him again. “Maybe I’ll come to visit my parents soon a find a reason to stay in Virginia?”

“I’d like that,” he smiled, pulling her into a kiss. Never wanting it to be the last one.

He waited till the last possible moment to finally peel himself out of her grasp, trying to find all his clothes and belongings from the night before

He kissed her quickly at the door before taking off down the steps and back to the room he was supposed to be sharing with JJ. He knocked on their door lightly, hoping to every god on earth she hadn’t left yet.

She opened the door and just stared at him with her mouth open, “oh my god?” She laughed.

“What?” He asked, completely oblivious to how he looked.

JJ dragged him inside, pulling him towards a mirror and pointing at his reflection. “What happened to you?”

His hair was a mess, he had hickeys all over his neck. His shirt was barely buttoned, definitely not untucked and he didn’t even have his shoes on. “oh.”

“Oh?” JJ couldn’t believe it. “Who is she?”

“Um, the ME from this case,” he explained, scratching the back of his head as he squinted.

JJ just laughed then, “hurry up and look somewhat presentable, pretty boy, the team is going to eat you alive for this.”

Sure enough, when he finally sat in his little corner of the plane with his glasses on and a hickey still visible above his collar, all eyes were on him. No one wanted to ask, they all just made it abundantly clear that they were curious.

Alvez even took a photo to send to Penelope, who sent it to Derek, who texted Reid only 20 minutes into the flight asking who she was. He rolled his eyes and put his phone back in his pocket. About to get really pissed when a second text came in.

555-0623: if you’re still serious about that recommendation, there is a spot available at the DC medical examiner’s office… I’d probably be closer to you than your therapist’s office 💋

He smiled then, saving her number and starting his letter.

[buckys-little-hoe]

The Bet | Jake Peralta x Reader

Pairing: Jake Peralta x Reader

Summary: You and Jake make a bet. Who can last longer without Sex.

Warnings: Implied Smut, my non existent knowledge of police work, sexyness lmao, mentions of drugs and murder

A/N: There is not much to say. I just wanted to try writing about someone else. The next thing that i have planned is something for our fav fast guy Pietro (who owns my heart btw)

---

It all started about a year ago. You were new to the station and immediately attracted everyone's attention. Not only were you beautiful, no, you were a real badass too. You solve one case after the other without any complications. And while you sometimes had to be physical, you looked hot too. Amy had asked several times if you could teach her how to look good while you had blood on your uniform, but you just shrugged your shoulders. In all honesty, you just did it without even thinking about it. Holt was incredibly proud to have hired someone so talented. You lived for your work, but your private life suffered as a result. 

You spent your nights researching and in the morning you just came out of bed. And so after about a week you were at your desk. Rosa came in with her blank expression and sat across from you. You gave her a smile, which she didn't return, but she gave you coffee. You accepted it gratefully and immediately felt better. "Hey, Y/N! Could you bring me the new file? It's on Peralta's desk.” Terry asked you as you sat closer and you nodded. With your coffee cup in hand, you got up and went to his desk. What a mess. Sighing, you rummaged around with one hand. Was that a crushed granola bar? Disgusted, you took your hand out of the mess and took a sip. At about the same time, Jake strutted in and was immediately involved in a conversation with Charles. So he ran backwards towards his desk. You didn't even notice your surrounding anymore, you were too focused on finding the files without your hand touching anything rotten. And so Jake ran against you. Startled, you tightened your grip on the cup, which caused the lid to fly up from the pressure and some coffee spilled onto your blouse. You whimpered softly because the shit was really hot. "Fuck ..." Carefully you lifted the blouse a little so that it doesn't stick to your skin. Jake immediately walked away from you and spoke to you. "Shit, I'm so sorry! Are you okay, Y/L/N?” He asked with a guilty conscience and you turned around. With gritted teeth you nodded and walked slowly towards the washroom. "If you want, I'll help you take it off!" He called after you and you had to pull yourself together not to beat him up. This was his first attempt at flirting, and it wasn't his last. About a month later, you were sitting across from Rosa again, but your eyes were on Holt. He was talking to Jake again, but you couldn't see what kind of conversation. Was it praise? Or maybe scolding? You were bored with no case to resolve. Besides, you were kind on a sex withdrawal. After all, you were new to this neighborhood and didn't really know anyone. You hadn't even gotten to masturbation in the past few weeks. Annoyed, you let your head drop on your crossed arms. It could be that the withdrawal made you a little pissed. "What's going on?" Rosa asked and Amy perked up her ears. And since Charles didn't really have anything to do either and was a self-proclaimed consolation giver, he came straight to it. A kind of meeting came into being. "I'm just not in a good mood," you said and looked up. "Why?" Amy asked immediately. Even Gina was now at your table. "Is it because we don't have any cases right now?" Charles asked, but you denied it. A bit of free time was actually good, but you were in the wrong place to satisfy yourself. "Stress with the partner?", Amy guessed. "I don't have anyone.", You grumbled. "Aha!" Gina shouted. "You haven't had sex in a long time!" With red cheeks you buried your head in your arms again. Satisfied, she nodded as she hit the nail right on the head. Terry came along now. "I know some nice men," he said and you rolled your eyes. Great, now everyone knew. "I know some great girls too," Rosa suggested. “That's enough, guys. If I want then I'll surely find someone. ", You grumbled and looked up again. By now everyone had a sympathetic smile on their faces. You groaned annoyed. Gina pushed Charles aside and showed you a couple of Instagram accounts with some guys. Somehow you wanted meaningless sex, but not with someone strange. Jake stepped out of the office again and noticed everyone standing at your table. "What's going on here?" He asked aloud and walked to your desk. "We're looking for someone to lay Y/N.", Gina answered without looking up. Embarrassed you avoided his gaze. Did everyone finally know? "I'll volunteer.", He grinned and everyone started laughing, including you. "Why are you laughing?" Confused, he looked at his colleagues. Charles put a hand on his shoulder. "Not bad for Jake, but Y/N is way out of your league.", He replied with pity in his voice. Jake looked at him indignantly. “Thanks, Boyle! It doesn't matter now. Y/N, take your bag or whatever, we have a little drug case in a gelateria.”Peralta said, avoiding Boyle's hurt expression. A gelateria and he didn't take his best friend with him? Excitedly, you grabbed your service weapon and your jacket. “I’m ready!"

-

"I think the owner is the dealer," you said quietly to yourself. Jake nodded in agreement. "Now we just have to catch him red-handed," he added. He turned to you and put both of his hands on your shoulders. You looked at him with a raised brow. "Flirt with him," he ordered and shook you. "What! Why? ”You hissed softly and glanced over at the guy. "You distract him and I'll go back through the door," he explained and you sighed. "Okay." So you stepped inside slowly, purposefully towards the counter and looked at the many different types of ice cream. "Hi!", You smiled shyly, and he took the bite immediately. "Hello beautiful woman, what can I do for you?" He asked charmingly with his heavy Italian accent. Your heart went soft with all the ice cream. "What can you recommend?" "It depends on what you like," grinned the man. "I like it extraordinary, maybe something Mediterranean.", You said and suppressed your gag reflex. "I should have- Hey!", He interrupted himself and looked past you. Inwardly, you just gave yourself a facepalm. He couldn’t be serious. "What are you doing back there, huh?" Slowly you turned around and saw Peralta with a mustache stuck on. You sighed softly to yourself and just mimicked your fate. "Well, searching the drugs.", He replied as if it were the most normal thing in the world. You took your badge in your hand ready to turn around when the swanky Italian slapped it out of your hand, jumped over the counter and hit you on the floor. With a thud, you landed on the floor. Jake was about to walk towards you, but you waved in the direction of the door. He bit his lip and hesitantly ran after him. Slowly you got up and cracked your fingers. Why did he have to bite his lip so badly? Now you ran after them too, it didn't take long for the Italian to land in a dead end. Jake seemed to have everything under control, so you stood to one side to take a deep breath. But when he handcuffed him, you couldn't prevent your dirty thoughts. How would the handcuffs feel on your hands? You rubbed your thighs together to release some friction. You realized one thing. Jake was the one who had to fuck you. You just had to make him do it.

-

A few days later, you were leaning your arms on Gina's desk, your bum up. In the reflection you could see his eyes on it while he was talking to Amy. Even your blouse had one button open today. At least time was running and you were getting more and more impatient. Gina told you something about a dance group and normally you'd like to listen, but this time it was more difficult. When you turned around he was no longer there. Instead, Amy gave you a friendly wave. You returned her gestures with a smile. Suddenly you smelled his perfume in your nose. He was right next to you. Your breathing became a little more irregular, as did your heartbeats. Oh God. His sleeves were rolled up and he was smiling slyly. “We're going to Shaw’s after work today. Would you like to come with us?” He wanted to know and you didn't miss how his eyes briefly wandered to your breasts. “Oh yes, Y/N! You absolutely have to go.", Gina agreed, so you nodded."I'll be happy to come, Peralta. "

-

That evening, you sat in a corner with your drink in hand. If he stopped giving you any more signs, you would look for someone else, which you would find a shame. Time passed and slowly the troop broke up. Until there was only Jake left, who sat down next to you with a new drink. "Here." Smiling, he pushed the glass towards you. You took the straw slowly in your mouth and didn't break eye contact. If he didn't get that hint now, you'd probably freak out. Instead, the detective put his hand dangerously close to your clothed core. You gasped loudly. "Could it be that you want me to fuck you?" He asks quietly and your heart almost popped out of your chest. You opened your mouth, but not a word came out. So you just nodded. “Unfortunately that's not enough, babygirl. Use words. ”Jake said. Slowly he tilted your head to one side and kissed the back of your neck. "Please, fuck me," you breathed. He removed his head and grinned. "I will, but just because you asked so nicely." Shortly afterwards you landed in his apartment. And at three in the morning you woke up and left like nothing happened. And it went on and on. Some days he would hold you against the shelves in the evidence room. On others it was in his car. And you liked the dominance he exuded. You liked how he took what he wanted from you, while still not forgetting your satisfaction. But after the sex you were always the first to go.

-

After a year it was still just sex and nothing more. So you were all the more surprised when he suddenly showed up on a date. You apologized to the nice man and pulled Jake on his ear out. He followed you gasping. When you finally stood in the parking lot, you crossed your arms. “What's this crap, Peralta?” You wanted to know, annoyed. "I ... I just wanted to make sure the guy was decent," he lied, which you could clearly see. “Bullshit. You are jealous. ", You replied." No, I am not. " "Yes you are." "No." "Yes." "No." "Yes." “Okay! Our sex is fantastic okay? But what am I talking about here anyway? You wouldn't even go a day without it.” The cop defended himself. "Oh yes? I think you're confused, darling. You can't last a day without it.” You replied angrily. “Then let's bet. Whoever gives up first loses,” he suggested. “What do I get if I win?” You asked suspiciously. Betting with Jake always goes wrong and ends in chaos, you've been aware of that since Halloween. "I'll give you the murder case." "Okay, and you?" "I want one waking up." Confused you pulled your eyebrows together. "What do you mean?", You said. "I want you to wake up with me once. No escaping," he explained with ruddy cheeks. You examined him briefly and finally nodded. "Deal."

-

It started very easily. Here and there he brushed your hips, of course quite unobtrusively. Sometimes your file fell down, so you had to bend down very low. But he didn't jump on it. So you had to get more extreme. Bananas were eaten and he was flirting with Amy. And somehow your heart got heavier. So you had to act differently. Shortly before the end of the day you accidentally spilled your water on your white blouse. While your red lace bra became visible, you apologized with red cheeks and promised to come back. You didn't miss Jake's eyes, but you had other plans. From your closet you pulled a top with a deep neckline and tight jeans that made your bum stick out. You pulled the hair elastic out of your hair and freed your voluminous mane. You even forced yourself into high shoes and for once you leave your underwear off. "Show Time.", You mumbled and drove to the bar. And as soon as you stepped in, everyone's eyes were on you. Rosa whistled loudly and grinned honestly. Flattered you gave her a hug. "I thought I could dress up a bit." You explained your outfit to her. "Good girl," she winked. She’s the only one who knew about you and Jake since she caught you in the evidence room. With a swing of your hips that could only drive someone crazy, you strutted towards the bar. The bartender leaned down to you. "What will it be, my lady?" He grinned charmingly and you laughed out loud. still focused on getting what you wanted. “A shot would be a start,” you answered. He pushed one over to you pretty quickly. "It’s on the house.", He smiled. You nodded as a thank you and drank it. The warmth spread through your body and you let your shoulders circle. And so you flirted with the bartender for an estimated two minutes, when a well-known body was already pressing against yours. And with it his erection too. Your grin grew bigger. "What do you think you're doing?" He whispered in your ear. Goosebumps graced your body. He let his hand slide gently under your top. "You don't even wear a bra," Jake said, breathing irregularly. Inconspicuously, you rubbed your bum against his reaction. "That's enough," he whispered through clenched teeth. And so he pulled your wrist towards his apartment. And for the first time you didn't care what your colleagues thought about you.

-

Tired you opened your eyes and looked directly at the alarm clock next to you. Three o'clock at night. But this time you didn't get up. Instead, you turned around, put your arms around his body, and closed your eyes again. And Jake's smile grew bigger.

[vannybarber]

The Prenup: Part Three

Summary: After four years of being together and finally being engaged, Chris wants you to sign a prenup.

Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, chris getting his ass handed to him, a lot of pain.

Part One Part Two

After Chris' little sob moment, he got his shit together and went back to where his family was. There was no way he was going to get you back crying like a baby when he was at fault. He needed to fix this, but you had to be on board in order first

He sits back on the couch, his mother and siblings not even realizing he entered the room, for they were having their own squabble. Scott's voice being the loudest out of everyone of course.

He sees his phone and goes to grab it. Carly notices him and speaks up.

"Chris is there anywhere you think she could be? Any place you guys have gone that's sentimental or something?" She's trying her best, but it wasn't enough. For all Chris knew, you could've been in numerous places. Everywhere you went was special.

When you both aren't working, you're on an adventure after another. You both loved to explore and were the perfect partners for each other to do it. You guys had traveled everywhere.

"I have no idea. I really fucked up and I don't even know where to begin to fix this" he breathes out, voice wavering gradually at every word. "Why do I always do this?"

It's Lisa's turn to speak up. "Do what?"

"Why do I always sabotage everything good in my life? Specifically love. It's like whenever it gets too good to be true, I back away. This time, I decided to wait four years to mess this up."

"Chris," Shanna calls. "You have a good woman." She pauses. "A great woman. She has put up with your shit and gave up so much to be with you. That's exactly what you wanted. Someone to really prove their love for you and she did that. You cannot go back on that now."

"Look how that's going." Scott doesn't fail to add a snarky remark.

"Scott I'm not going to tell you again. Quit it." Lisa barks and pops the back of his head. Scott goes silent.

"Okay but what if I messed up for good this time?" He looks up and straight at Shanna. "I have never seen her like this. I don't think anyone has ever hurt her this bad before." And he was right. You'd never experienced this much emotional pain before and the love of your life is to blame.

"Well you don't know that unless you find out. You can't just sit around here and feel sorry for yourself because believe it or not, you have no reason to." Shanna is completely right. Now it was up to Chris. But first he needed to figure out where you were.

He grabs his phone and goes to your contact. He finds you and clicks. All your info pops up and he debates on whether he should call or message. As he's deciding, his eyes wander lower to the location box. He sees your icon on the map.

His mouth opens, but nothing leaves it. Your location was on. It had been on the entire freaking time.

"Chris what's wrong?" Lisa walks over and the kids perk up.

"Y/N's location has been on all this time. I can see where she is now!" He clicks your icon and waits for it to load. A little hope has risen inside of him. One step closer.

"Well this is good. Now you can go to her. I just hope she doesn't want to kill you when she sees you." Shanna scratches the back of her neck because she knows what you're capable of.

Last year, your sister's boyfriend was messing around with your cousin's girlfriend and it got exposed at the dinner table infront of everyone.

Chris and his family had been invited and everything was going great. But then one of your other cousins decided to start some mess and pointed out how it was so strange that they were so close and always hung out together. They weren't wrong either.

Turns out they've been hooking up behind their backs for a while and all hell broke loose. Your sister and cousin are both very sensitive people. Their feelings get hurt fast and this absolutely tore them to pieces. That pissed you off and you went straight for the girlfriend. Then you went for the boyfriend but only got a kick to the spleen before Chris snatched you up.

She went to the hospital with a broken nose and dislocated jaw. The boyfriend had pain in his spleen for weeks on end. You apologized to the Evans' for your riveting hospitality, but Scott backed you up and stated that 'you did what you had to do'.

From that day forward, they did not get on your bad side. But you'd never hurt them. You had a great relationship with all of them. Something rare with in-laws. But not the Evans'.

Your location finally loaded and you were pinned at the Liberty, almost an hour from where you guys lived. Chris didn't even need to ask himself why you were so far away. He knew why.

"Okay I found her. She's at a hotel about about an hour away. Who knows what she'll do next, so I need to go right now." He moves to get his jacket and shoes. Slipping them on he grabs his keys and heads out the door, yelling an 'I'll be back soon' just before closing it.

Pregnant, tired, once again and alone. This should not be the case. You should be at home with your fianceé discussing how you'd break the news to your families about your new addition. But instead, there you are eating Domino's and binge watching the first and only season of a new show you found to get your mind off of things.

Its about a district attorney who's son had been found as a suspect for the murder of his schoolmate. What didn't help was the fact that the father, Andy Barber, looked almost identical to Chris. And the way Andy would interact with his son had you thinking about how he would react to your little surprise.

Would he be happy? Would it be too much for him? Seeing that you guys had just now got engaged after 4 years, you didn't see him too excited to add a baby in just yet. You hadn't even gotten married. Not to mention you just pushed that off the table.

You got your mind racing again, so you turned off the show and just sat quietly, succumbing to your thoughts. First, you guys needed to solve your problem before you tell him anything of the current events. Should you call him and tell him to come over? How were you gonna approach him?

Staying mad was off the table as soon as you saw the pregnancy results. You had to be mature for your new family. That meant pushing aside your anger and solving this prenup issue. Then you'd tell him about the baby. You just needed the chance.

And your chance had arrived when Chris pulled up to the parking lot of the hotel. Your icon was still at the location. He rushed to get out and inside, heading to the front desk.

"Hi! Is a Y/N Y/LN checked in here?" His fingers tap the counter in anticipation. The clerk is taken aback but checks the computer infront of him anyway.

"Uh, no sir there isn't anyone here by that name." The clerk shook his head and looked back up at him. Chris sighs and thinks. An idea comes to his head. It doesn't sound reasonable, but he had to at least try it.

"Okay um..how about a Y/N Evans?" The clerk looks back at the computer and types.

"Yes! There's a Y/N Evans in room 263 on the 3rd floor." Chris' heart leaped. You used his last name. After all that went down, you still went by his last name. He was gaining hope by the minute.

"She's my fianceé. Is there a way I could have a key to her room? It's super important" he begged.

"Well we're not allowed to give room keys out randomly. It's policy. But I could call up to confirm with Ms. Evans, if you'd like?" Chris accepted the offer, but not before correctly the clerk to calling you Mrs. Evans.

You jump slightly when you hear the phone ring. You stretch your arm and pick it up from the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Hi Mrs Evans! I have a-"

There was a pause before he continued,

"Mr. Evans down here at the lobby that wants to see you. Should I send him up?"

You swear in that exact moment all the saliva in your mouth dried up and your mouth was sealed shut. He had found you and and wanted to see you. But how? Anyways, you had to face him sooner or later. You freaking live together and you can't stay at that hotel forever.

"Mrs. Evans? Are you alright?" You snap out of your immobile state and clear your throat.

"Um..yes. You can send him up." You scold yourself for not putting up a bigger fight. But what for? It would only make shit worse than it already was.

"Alright ma'am. He'll be up shortly."

"Okay thank you." You quickly slam the phone on the receiver and let your body hit the mattress. Well, there's no turning back now.

You don't know how long you were laying there, but it couldn't have been long because you heard a knock at the door. You shoot up and stare at it.

Another knock.

"Y/N?"

You move your body towards the door taking a deep breath. You can do this Y/N. Get it together. This is Chris for goodness sake.

You turn the knob and pull the door back, Chris coming into view staring right back at you.

"Hi baby."

pls- this dramatic ass ending 😭 this was gonna be the last part, but dialogue/ just kept coming at me as I was writing 🥴.

tags:

@flattykawa1 @mayafatimakhan @attitude-times @shawn-youth @traceyaudette @fantasticinternetpizza @kyraroseficreblogs33 @radi0active-thoughts @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl @ohbarracuda @katelyneannxo @jennamarieee623 @nicochantez @craycraycraic @ilikeurdad @ppal3 @captainson-of-coul @joanne-stan @ilovetheeagles @cristinagronk16 @kelbabyblue @onyourgoddamnleft @jessycatth @misz-adrii @geminievans1 @saltyflowermakertaco @a-moment-captured @harrysthiccthighss @greatbatprofessordragon @dauntless2022 @f12sfm @allboutdatmarvel @ineedpineapple @illyrianprincess @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss @rubyztimetobeme @marianas-studyblr @icycheerleader @obliviatevamps @thevelvetseries @coffeebooksandfandom @shamelessfangirl-3 @quietmyfearswith @jennmurawaski13 @kissme-hs @lvgllre @secretmysteriousperson @arabescapr

[qqueenofhades]

For the spooky prompts, "Violent Thunderstorms" for Fivan perhaps? 😳

Anonymous asked: Heyyy 2 Vampire for fivan (how to ask for the chapter 2 witout asking for chap 2)

Anonymous asked: Fivan and #2 🧛‍♂️🧛‍♂️

Very well, I see what the people want, and that is a sequel to this one-shot. I have thus combined these prompts for reasons.

Fedyor spends the next fortnight attempting – with notably indifferent success – not to think about Ivan Sakharov. The Conclave was less than pleased to hear that Fedyor came back empty-handed, having not even secured a promise for Ivan and the rest of the Black Hand to leave off their mischief-making, and in fact has empowered them in their belief that there is nothing the law can do to them. Considering the earful that Fedyor got on that accord, he saw nothing to be gained from mentioning that not only did Ivan blow him off completely, he did it after he had fed on him. It’s entirely possible that Ivan accessed sensitive thoughts, memories, or plans, any scrap of useful intelligence that Fedyor did not carefully hide away in his mind before that too-distracting bite. In short, he has comprehensively botched the entire situation, the Conclave is well within their rights to be very angry with him, and to demonstrate the extent of their displeasure, they have temporarily revoked Fedyor’s right to enter their territory and feed on their drones – willing humans kept for the purpose, who are hoping to be selected for the transformation in exchange for their service. That means if Fedyor wants to eat, he has to go out and hunt an animal, or bamboozle and beguile an unwitting passerby to let him chomp on their neck. Truly, being a vampire can be such a terrible drag.

Fedyor figures that if he keeps his head down, meekly accepts his punishment, and doesn’t make any trouble, the Conclave will get over their anger and reinstate him sooner rather than later. It’s not like he has many other options. If he wants to stay in Belgrade, he will remain in their good graces, and he has no desire to get mixed up with the Black Hand. The rumor is that they were founded by the Black Heretic himself, who has remained out of sight for many decades but is now said to be active again, and the Black Heretic is the scion of the Conclave’s greatest enemy, the vampire that all other vampires fear. Absolutely no good can come of throwing one’s lot in with that crowd, and Fedyor wonders if he is going to have to find a new home. If a stupid supernatural war blows up this city, he’s out.

Most of the fortnight passes without incident, but the flaw in the plan is the unfortunate fact that Fedyor is very hungry. He’s still a young enough vampire that he can’t go two weeks without feeding, and he really hates the messy business of corralling an unwitting human. Besides, the Conclave’s headquarters and chief place of business are on Knez Mihailova Ulica, the most fashionable downtown district right in the middle of Belgrade, and what with Fedyor’s current banishment from the premises, he can’t go there anyway. Hunting it has to be.

Fedyor waits until it is dark, a soft summer rain pattering on the steep-roofed eaves and glowing streetlamps, and then, having changed into clothing more suitable for getting a lot of bloodstains, he slips out. He moves silently in the shadows, past the well-dressed gentlemen and evening-gowned ladies out at the ball or the opera or the latest society supper-party, and escapes the precincts of Belgrade proper for the low green hills that surround it. This is on the Sava side of the river confluence, to the west, and once Fedyor is out of the city, the trees close in thickly. They are only broken by the occasional tiny village: small churches with square steeples and double-branched Orthodox crosses, red-tiled cottages crowded together along narrow dirt lanes, a lantern burning here and there to keep the monsters away. Fedyor can hear human voices, sense the shadows of people moving around behind the shutters, and it gives him a pang. No wonder he is clinging so closely to the prospect of timely reinstatement to the Conclave. Without them, he would truly be entirely alone.

The rain starts to come down harder as Fedyor climbs through the thick green underbrush, and by the time he reaches the top of the hill, it is slicing into his face with a vehemence that even a vampire finds intensely disagreeable. Squinting and swearing under his breath, Fedyor shields his eyes and takes a deep whiff, searching for the scent of a prey animal. He could always hop a fence and grab a cow, but cows can kick surprisingly hard, a poor farmer doesn’t need the hassle of his one beast of burden keeling over, and maybe it is just the city-boy aesthete in Fedyor, but crouching in a muddy farmyard, doing your damndest not to get murdered by a large and angry bovine while you valiantly attempt to suck its blood, is just fucking terrible. There’s nothing to recommend it. Now that he’s out of the fledgling bloodlust, Fedyor has no intention of ever going back.

Thunder booms overhead, making him jump, and a jagged spear of lightning sears the horizon from sky to ground. A tree not that far away lights up in blinding white, and a scorched scent of ozone drifts through the pounding rain. Fedyor flinches, as he has no desire to be set on fire, and decides that either he raids a farm or he heads back home and waits for better weather. But he can catch another scent just ahead, and he’s hungry enough to risk it. He breaks into a run, almost loses his footing, dodges around an enormous dripping tree, and spots a thin crescent of lights high on the bluff ahead. Wait, is that a house? Some Serbian royal bureaucrat’s elegant country retreat, or – something else? Fedyor doesn’t recall that he has seen it before, although he has not spent much time out here alone. That, or –

He has only a split second of warning, his supernatural senses screaming at him to get the fuck out of here right now, before he realizes two things at once: first, that the scent is very definitely hostile, and second, that something is dive-bombing directly toward him, on the strength of a ferocious leap that is remarkable even for a vampire. The next second, it – he – hits Fedyor like a ton of bricks, and they go crashing down the slope, kicking and thrashing and biting at each other in a flurry of blows too fast for a human eye to see. Another enormous clap of thunder rattles Fedyor’s fangs in his head, he slams down on his back hard enough to break his bones if he was human, and then, in the flash of the succeeding lightning bolt, his eyes confirm what his nose has already told him. Of all the stupid, stupid things, he appears to have unwittingly trespassed onto Black Hand territory and tried to hunt their game, and the angry supernatural soldier determined to beat the unholy tarnation out of him is therefore none other than the one and only –

“Stop!” Fedyor wheezes, although he has no idea why he expects it to make any difference. “It’s me! Fedyor Kaminsky! From Terazije!”

The rain stings his eyes hard enough to make him grimace, just as a third incandescent bolt of lightning rattles across the sky. From what Fedyor can see, which is not very much, Ivan looks almost as startled as he feels. They remain staring at each other, their faces barely an inch apart, Ivan’s fangs bared in a way that it is really not the time to find disturbingly attractive. Then Ivan springs off and barks, “What the fuck are you doing out here, Conclave whore?”

“Sorry.” Fedyor sits up. His dark hair is plastered to his head and getting in his eyes, there is mud all over his clothes, and even for an immortal who technically does not need to breathe, he is winded. Ivan, to nobody’s surprise, really packs a punch. “I was just… hungry.”

“You have your own arrangements.” Ivan eyes him suspiciously, arms folded, rainwater running down that magnificently disdainful Slavic nose as if from a statue in the public square. “If anyone besides me had caught you out here, you would be dead.”

Well, that is (not) encouraging. It does, however, point out the fact that Ivan has already had the chance to murder him and held back, and Fedyor is not about to speculate on why exactly that might be. It’s not a good idea, but he’s wet, hungry, has just had to unexpectedly fight like the dickens, and irritated at Ivan for being the one who got him into this mess in the first place. “The Conclave demanded that I return their visiting card,” he says shortly. “I’m not allowed to feed on their drones for some unspecified length of time – which is, I might add, entirely thanks to you.”

“What? Why is that my fault?”

“In case you’ve forgotten our last meeting,” Fedyor snaps, “it was at the Golden Cross, on the Lumière brothers’ film night. I relayed the Conclave’s warning to stop your illegal behavior and associations, and you completely ignored it. As a result – ”

“What, they cut off your feeding access?” Ivan interrupts. He looks utterly incredulous. “That’s charitable of them. A good way to build loyalty among your people. Besides, what the fuck did they expect? That you would walk up and ask me nicely, and that would solve it?”

He does, Fedyor has to loathingly admit, have a point. The best he can muster is, “The Conclave is accustomed to being obeyed.”

Ivan eyes him up, with an expression on his face as if that riposte is so pathetic, he isn’t going to dignify it with the effort of a reply. He is poised on edge, as if he doesn’t consider this matter to be entirely settled by the previous bout of violence, and Fedyor is equally tense. He very much does not want to scuffle with a Black Hand hardman who looks like that and fights like that, especially in the throes of encroaching frenzy, and the attendant loss of control. His fangs dig into his lower lip, seeking out the nearest blood – his own – and Fedyor clenches his fists. “Do you have an animal I can borrow?” he asks, as politely as he can. “I’ll – pay for it.”

Ivan surveys him up and down, dripping like an undead drowned rat and otherwise looking as miserable as Fedyor generally tries not to look (after all, presentation is everything). Then he jerks up an impatient fist. “Follow me.”

Fedyor is unsure what this might entail, but shamefully – whether it is due to his increasingly desperate hunger, or something else – he is not altogether opposed to it. He trails after Ivan, trying not to slip in the wet grass or fixate on Ivan’s scent; he will just get another smackdown for his trouble, like a horse flicking aside a fly, and he is not in the mood for it. After a climb of a few minutes, they reach the top of the hill and cross a deserted lawn to a manor house, scattered lights flickering in steep gables and pointed turrets. It is otherwise entirely dark, even to Fedyor’s vampire senses, as Ivan unlatches the heavy front door and drags it open with a screech. “In.”

Well aware that this is an even stupider idea than the polite request to knock it off – he is putting himself voluntarily in the power of a Black Hand operative, on enemy territory, where nobody knows where he is or what Ivan intends to do with him. If Fedyor’s drained corpse turns up floating in the Danube tomorrow, a warning to the Conclave never to interfere in their business again, he can’t say that he didn’t expect it. He hesitates at the threshold a moment longer, and then, given permission – it’s not essential, but it does help – steps inside.

The hall looks almost exactly as you would expect a secret vampire mansion to look: dusty suits of armor, glowering paintings, a sweeping grand staircase with a gothic balcony, and a chandelier which struggles to illuminate the cracked black-and-white chessboard flagstones. Still dripping, the thunder dulling to a muted rumble, Fedyor looks warily from side to side. There doesn’t seem to be anyone here except the two of them – or at least, he certainly hopes that there are no unwitting humans asleep upstairs. In the state that he’s in right now, he isn’t sure that he could control himself. Unless Ivan is trying to make some tiresome point about the inherent monstrosity of vampires, the sort that certain factions like to use in order to argue against the Conclave’s attempts to civilize them and make them follow human-like rules and laws. Fedyor hopes not, because that would be deeply irritating, but he’s so hungry that he’s about to bite his own wrist, and it would not be his finest hour.

However, Ivan does not lead them upstairs, but through a dim warren of corridors to a small, curtained study in the back of the house. Sullen embers glimmer in the hearth; vampires don’t need fires for heat, or to see by, but the human habit is hard to break, even if it’s one of the few things that can hurt them. Then Ivan shuts the door behind them and says crisply, “I’ll make you a deal. Give me useful information on the Conclave, and I will let you feed.”

“What?” Fedyor gapes at him. That was clearly a starvation-induced hallucination. “On – on you?”

“No,” Ivan snaps. “On the davenport, you idiot. Yes, obviously on me. Or I can throw you out and send you to try your luck in the nearest village. Yes or no?”

Fedyor continues to gape at him. Obviously he does not want to go and rip some screaming innocent villager out of their bed, like the very worst of the strigoi horror stories, but he is not in a hurry to jeopardize his ticket back to the Conclave’s good graces by informing on them to Ivan bloody Sakharov. (Indeed, literally.) Did Ivan make that offer because he knows that Fedyor wants it, and remembers how much of a reaction Fedyor had to Ivan feeding on him back at the Golden Cross? It was impossible to hide it entirely, blast him, and Ivan is too canny not to take advantage of an adversary’s weakness. He’s caught Fedyor dead to rights, trespassing on Black Hand territory, and as he himself said, Fedyor is lucky to escape with his skin. It’s Ivan’s right to exploit that fact, nothing more. If Fedyor refuses, what in the hell is he going to do?

“I don’t know,” he stalls. “I’m not sure that I can – ”

Ivan shrugs, then lifts his own wrist to his mouth and bites the back of it. Slow, rich, dark blood beads up, and he wafts it temptingly in Fedyor’s direction. “So, you don’t want this, then?”

Yes, Fedyor wants it. Fedyor, in fact, wants a few other things while he’s at it, and there is no way that Ivan, with hearing and senses and smell as acute as his own, doesn’t know it. He takes a step forward, but Ivan dances aside. “Information first,” he orders. “Then you may have your reward. Come now, Conclave whore. Why is it any different from last time?”

“Don’t call me that.” Fedyor is seeing red – which, at this point, could be due to just about anything. “I have a name, remember? Fedyor – Mikhailovich – Kaminsky.”

He stumbles a little over the patronymic, as it is an ongoing debate whether proper etiquette for Slavic vampires entails the use of the birth father’s name, or that of the vampire sire. Opinion generally comes down on the side of the latter, since it represents proper respect for one’s new immortal status and supernatural bloodline; you’re supposed to let go of your human family, since pining to go back complicates the already-difficult adjustment period and is impossible anyway. But since Fedyor isn’t entirely reconciled to it, and tries to hold onto his humanity, he tends to introduce himself as Fedyor Mikhailovich, not Fedyor Dmitrievich, and the flicker in Ivan’s eyes means that he has taken note of that struggle. Then he shrugs, crooking a taunting finger at him. “Fine then, Fedyor Mikhailovich. It is your choice.”

“What do you – ” Fedyor is having trouble seeing straight. “Want to know?”

“Anything that might be useful.” If he is worried about being shut in a small room with another vampire on the verge of total frenzy, Ivan doesn’t show it. Indeed, in this paramount confidence and command, Fedyor realizes that Ivan is much older than he initially thought. He took him for one of Catherine the Great’s courtiers, from the late eighteenth century or so, but the well-worn shadow of violence that sits on Ivan’s shoulders is of considerably longer use than that. It’s something else to puzzle out when Fedyor regains the use of his higher critical faculties, which is definitely not the case at the moment. “That is, if you can bring yourself to actually – ”

At that moment, he is cut off as Fedyor, deciding that two can play this game and he is tired of being jerked around by this arrogant bastard, lunges at him. Ivan jumps six feet straight up, hissing, and they end up somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling, only to crash back down to the floor. Even vampires are not immune to the laws of gravity, and they roll around in a second deeply undignified flurry of kicking and biting, as Fedyor finally gets hold of Ivan’s wrists and tries to get his mouth as close as possible to that maddeningly enticing trickle. Then, for a crucial instant, he hesitates. He is very far gone, but there’s enough of his brain left to remember that feeding without permission is regarded quite dimly, and he is trying to prove that he is not a total savage. He gulps and gasps, fangs cutting into his lip, struggling and thrashing, not even able to properly articulate his request, as Ivan still looks – bafflingly – as if he is rather enjoying this. Then he smirks and says, “Very well, Fedyor Mikhailovich. Take it if you can.”

Now that is a challenge, and while it would be very enjoyable to throw it back in Ivan’s face in another fashion, Fedyor has only one concern at the moment. He presses his mouth to Ivan’s wrist, sinks his fangs, and sucks and licks like a man dying of thirst in the desert. Ivan utters a contented purring sound, his head falling back on the carpet, and certainly does not bother to keep struggling while Fedyor is otherwise occupied. Silence falls across the drawing room, except for the soft sounds of Fedyor feeding. He is half on top of Ivan, between his legs, and Ivan does not appear to be objecting in the least. Well. That was… unexpected.

When Fedyor has drunk enough to feel sane again, he pulls back with a jerk, remembers where he is, and fights the wash of embarrassment that floods through him. He wipes his mouth with the cuff of his shirt, then bends down and licks the bite wound closed, which is common vampire practice even if Ivan failed to do it with him. (After all, some supernaturals have manners.) Then they look at each other, and Fedyor doesn’t think it’s his imagination that Ivan’s breath is coming short, a flush visible in his pale cheeks, an enjoyment bearing a remarkable resemblance to Fedyor’s own. The silence persists a moment longer. Then Ivan groans, his legs sprawl further apart, and he orders, doing his utmost to sound gruff and commanding, “You will give me information on the Conclave now, yes?”

It is extremely tempting to tell him to take a long walk off a short pier, to pay him back for that underhanded trick at the Golden Cross, but that requires more command of his verbal processes than Fedyor currently possesses – or indeed, expects to possess in the near-to-medium future. He leans down instead, his nose brushing the hollow of Ivan’s cheek and his mouth ghosting against Ivan’s neck, his fangs tracing the line of the vein as if he might bite there too. Ivan’s hips buck, and his big hands settle heavily on the small of Fedyor’s back. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rasp in his throat. “You are wasted on those idiots.”

“Mmm.” Fedyor nips Ivan’s lower lip, with just a hint of fang. Then – although it’s the most difficult thing he has had to do in his life or his afterlife – he rolls off and gets to his feet, leaving the fearsome Black Hand anarchist vampire flat on his back on the drawing room floor. “It has,” he says, “been a lovely evening. But I will be taking my leave now. Good night.”

And with that, in the somewhat shameful epitome of quitting while he is ahead, but wanting to make absolutely sure that the point has been felt, Fedyor turns around and books it. He doesn’t dare to look back as he bursts out of the dark house, pelts across the lawn, and skids down the hill, in the thick and slippery knots of mud and moss. He doesn’t slow down until he spies the lights of Belgrade, and in a few minutes more, he’s thundering into his flat, clothes disheveled and hair a mess and mouth and head and heart still full of the taste and smell and feel of Ivan Sakharov. It’s intoxicating. It’s unbearable. But it can only be once. It will be only once.

The Conclave, Fedyor reminds himself. You’re doing this to get back to them, and you managed to get out of there without saying anything. They’ll appreciate it. They will. And it’s what you want. Keep your head down and don’t do anything else stupid, and it will work.

It’s what he wants.

It’s what he wants.

It’s what he –

Ah, fuck.

[isamijoo]

Can You See Me

Written for @amortentiaboys (again! lol). Betaed by @fw00shy! Also many thanks to @orange-peony & @vukovich.

Features Unspeakable!Draco in a Soulmate AU.

WC: ~2.6k.

Rating: Teen and Up

A/N: The fic takes place in another realm where they are 'souls' while their physical bodies remain in the 'real world'. Some lines are inspired by Doctor Who.

READ ON AO3

~~~

If Auror Harry Potter had to describe his relationship with Unspeakable Draco Malfoy, seven years after the war, he would use the phrase "in limbo": neither here nor there. Frustratingly stuck somewhere between nothing and everything. Friends? Yes, but not really. Boyfriends? Maybe, but not quite. Perplexing? Absolutely.

Hermione, an Unspeakable herself, had a theory that the problem lied in their inability to communicate effectively. Harry was notoriously bad with words while Draco became quiet and subdued after the trials and induction into the Department of Mysteries.

Except when Draco was drunk.

The first time Harry and Draco kissed, they had just solved their first case together. Harry dragged Draco to a pub, and after several rounds of drinks in a booth, the alcohol loosened Draco's tongue and reduced his inhibitions. Before they knew it, they were making out right in the booth, unhidden, out in the open for anyone to see.

One week later, Harry chanced upon Draco at the Auror Office when the blond came to submit a report. Harry caught his eye and shortly afterwards, found himself slammed against the wall in a broom cupboard by a charming Unspeakable, who was crafty with a Silencing Charm.

They fell into a pattern. They kissed, bit, and groped each other. Although inappropriate, Harry loved these private moments with Draco. He often glimpsed Draco smiling dreamily between their kisses, grey eyes gazing at him with an adoration that never failed to make Harry's heart beat faster.

They never brought each other home. They never went on dates. They never addressed what they did, but not due to any lack of effort from Harry. Whenever he tried to talk about it, Draco would stare at him in trepidation and despair, as though Harry was going to curse him or strike him with a sword. Then he would use whatever Unspeakable skills he had to escape and disappear.

Did Harry find Draco infuriating as hell? Yes, very much so.

Did he also love the git to death? Utterly and completely.

So when Hermione barged into the Auror Office and hurried to his desk as though chased by lightning, screaming "Malfoy is in trouble!", what would you expect Harry to do?

~~~

Harry landed on two feet in a shallow puddle of mud.

He quickly surveyed his surroundings. He was standing in a clearing in the middle of a vast field of yellow wheat. Earthy brown mountains lined the horizon, and a strong breeze chilled him down to his bones, despite his thick Auror uniform and robes. As he looked down to inspect his boots, he realised that his glasses had vanished, but his vision was perfectly clear.

Harry brought his hands to his face, just to make sure. A finger graced his forehead and — his breath hitched — touched the smooth skin over the spot where his lightning bolt scar should have been.

The scars at the back of his left hand were gone too.

He hastily patted his chest, stomach, arms, and thighs. Aside from his eyesight and scars, his physique was unchanged. He still wore the same uniform he had on at St Mungo’s before he blacked out.

As he got his bearing, he felt the air chill and the wind blow stronger. He heard footsteps approaching and immediately grabbed his wand by his hip.

About five metres from where Harry stood, a tall wall of wheat parted and out walked Draco Malfoy, decked in his elegant navy blue Unspeakable uniform. His skin was pale and there were dark circles below his eyes, but he appeared unharmed. His usually immaculate blonde hair was slightly tousled, thanks to the breeze.

“Potter?” Draco yelled, a hand shielding his squinted eyes from the harsh wind. His dark robes billowed out around his knees “What are you doing here?”

With a grunt, Harry tucked away his wand and trudged across the muddy soil until he reached more solid ground, taking note that Draco was also moving in his direction. “Saving your arse, obviously. What the fuck were you thinking? Sending your soul to another dimension?” Harry shrieked. “Where the hell are we, anyway?”

“A place where souls transit between life and death,” Draco replied, not having to shout now that they were within arm's length. “Some people call this place Bardo.”

Anger burned in the pit of Harry’s stomach, yearning to burst. Didn’t Draco have any idea how worried he made Harry?

But his desire to scold vanished when Draco asked, “Why did the Department of Mysteries send you, an Auror? Why not another Unspeakable?”

Harry breathed heavily. The wind was picking up and he figured they should get moving, but he couldn’t move, not when Draco was gazing at him curiously. “They couldn’t locate your soul. They needed me to find you.”

Pale eyebrows rose quizzically. “Why you?”

Harry gazed into his cool grey eyes. “You know why,” he muttered. “Apparently I’m your soulmate.”

Draco’s jaw went slack; no words came out as he stared unblinkingly at Harry’s face.

“Were you planning on telling me at some point?” Harry asked softly.

“Do you have a way to get us back?” Draco enquired instead.

Harry reached inside his shirt and pulled out a silver medallion that fit nicely in his palm. At the centre of the medallion rested a small piece of jade stone, which now glowed red. Hermione had told him to wait until the stone turned green before attempting any more dimension-hopping.

With a small squeak of excitement and relief, Draco grabbed the medallion with both hands. It was still connected to a chain around Harry’s neck, so Draco stood close to the Auror as he ran his fingers over the jade stone.

“A Dimension Transporter, perfected by Granger herself. This is powered by your magic,” Draco said almost reverently. “I can feel it.”

Unable to help himself, Harry took the other wizard’s hand and held it to his chest. “I'm glad you're alright. Don't scare me like this.”

“I’m not here by choice, Potter,” Draco clarified, rolling his eyes as he slowly pulled his hand out of Harry’s grasp. “I suppose now that you’re involved, I can explain how I got here, while we wait for the Transporter to recharge.”

Suddenly a strong gust of wind blasted around them. Draco grabbed Harry’s wrist and pulled him towards the direction he came from. Harry followed Draco into the wheat field, but as soon as he stepped between the tall stalks, his surroundings changed. Gone were the yellow scenery, replaced by a vast landscape of a snowy mountain valley.

Draco appeared unperturbed by the sudden change in climate. The wind was still strong here, though, so Harry obediently followed Draco as the latter trekked up a small hill.

At the top of the hill was a small hut, in which they took shelter from the harsh elements. Inside, Draco had arranged several flat stones to masquerade as a stool and a table. On the table sat an emerald green sphere the size of a Remembrall. A small key-shaped trinket suspended inside the misty orb. Numerous narrow cracks ran around the surface of the sphere.

Harry had seen the sphere before, minus the cracks. He was the one who found the sphere a few months ago during a raid. The sphere was unimportant to the case at hand, but Harry had a suspicious feeling about it, and after blasting it with every curse-detection spell he knew, he wanted to destroy it. But Robards stopped him and sent it to the Mysterious Artifacts Division, more colloquially known as MAD.

The idea of the sphere falling into Draco’s hands and potentially harming him made Harry angry again.

“Why do you have that?” Harry’s voice trembled with barely disguised fury as he kept his eyes on the orb.

With a sigh, Draco went to a corner of the hut and kicked a large rock the size of Quaffle to Harry’s feet. “Do you have a wand?”

Nodding, Harry transfigured the rock into a proper stool, complete with a cushion. He then did the same to Draco’s stone-stool. Draco muttered his gratitude as they both settled down around the table, the sphere glowing ominously.

“The people at MAD sent this to my department last month,” Draco explained. “My senior colleagues knew right away that this sphere was previously used by Dark Wizards in the seventh century to extract a person’s soul from their body, basically leaving behind an empty shell.”

Any talk about souls — extracting, separating, severing — always reminded Harry of Horcruxes. Even when Hermione was explaining to him the plan to save Draco by sending Harry’s soul after him, Harry had been uneasy. Their real bodies — both his and Draco’s — were lying in a ward in St Mungo’s, lifeless and dependent on magic to keep them alive. “Sounds like something you should stay away from.”

Draco’s eyes flickered over Harry’s face for a second before he dropped his gaze. “It’s my job to figure out how it works. I managed to dismantle it. See these cracks?” He pointed at the lines over the sphere, careful not to touch it. “I was able to decode the spell inside it, layer by layer, until I reached the key inside. When I touched it with my magic, I blacked out and woke up here.”

“And that thing followed you here?” Harry raised an unbelieving eyebrow, but it explained why nobody mentioned finding any cursed objects around Draco’s unconscious body.

“I suppose,” Draco replied, uncertain. “Maybe it’s pissed at me for taking it apart, and wants to make sure no one in the physical world can use it to rescue me.”

Harry leaped to his feet and pointed his wand at the sphere. “Reducto! Evanesco!”

The sphere exploded into a hundred pieces before vanishing into thin air.

“There," Harry said contently, dropping back onto the stool. "I should have done that as soon as I found it.”

“Good job, Potter,” Draco said sarcastically, grimacing. “Please remember next time you destroy my projects, that I’m the one who has to write the paperwork.”

“It could have killed you!” Harry protested.

Draco shrugged flippantly and rested his elbows on the now-empty table, purposely avoiding looking at Harry.

A few minutes passed where no one spoke. The wind outside grew more violent, transforming into a full-on blizzard.

Harry glanced at the red glow of the medallion around his neck and pulled his stool closer to the other man. "Draco, we need to talk."

Draco's nimble fingers tapped the surface of the stone absentmindedly. "If you say so. It's not like I can go anywhere."

Now being given the chance to address their relationship, Harry didn't know where to start. So he started with the most recent development. "Did you know we're soulmates?"

"Yes. I'm a member of the Soul Squad. We study anything related to the human soul. The Soulmate Detection spell is a simple spell, created by the Unspeakables themselves.” Draco paused before adding. “Of course, I've tried it on myself."

"When did you find out?" was the next question, loaded.

Draco studied Harry's face silently for a few seconds before answering, "After our kiss at the pub." He tucked strands of blond hair behind his ears and cleared his throat. "I was just curious. There is no benefit in knowing your soulmate, after all. It's old magic; interesting to study, but practically, it isn't useful."

"Now, hang on." Harry's own throat constricted. "Not useful? Your colleagues spent 48 hours going round in circles, no idea how to find you, until one of them suggested the soulmate route. They taught me a spell to make me aware of the soulmate connection, and then I could locate you easily." He gestured at the medallion around his neck, pointedly ignoring the green glow of the jade. "I only needed one jump."

Draco gazed forlornly at the device resting against Harry's chest. "Well, it's not typical to find oneself in a limbo world and needing to be rescued, is it?”

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"What would that change, Potter?" Draco snapped as his hands started gesturing wildly. "I know how your childhood and teenage years were influenced by a madman's response to a prophecy that was out of your control. Isn't this similar? An ancient, poorly understood magical force dictates who is compatible with your magic and soul. It's not even comprehensive! It doesn't take into account your emotions, your minds, or your physical compatibility. Why do you think the Department of Mysteries never shared this knowledge with the public? It's useless and even harmful in some instances. It gives false hope and robs people of their agency. Not all soulmates end up getting along. They can even be enemies."

Harry tasted bitterness in his mouth. "We're not enemies."

Draco rubbed his forehead exasperatedly. "Then what are we?"

"That's exactly what we should talk about."

Draco's lips twisted in displeasure as he glared at the table, arms firmly crossed over his chest. "I know what you want, but it's not going to work. You'll get sick of me very quickly. You hate when people keep secrets from you. My whole career is a secret."

"Sure, you can't talk about your job. But you're more than that."

"If I'm not an Unspeakable, what am I?" Draco demanded, the unspoken implication hung in the air.

"Draco, you're not defined by your job. You're brilliant and intelligent. I like you for you." There, Harry had said it. He could not backtrack now. “Hermione and Ron can make it work. They even have a baby together.”

"Weasley and Granger survived a war together."

"Didn't we survive a war too?" Harry quipped, earning a frustrated growl from the other wizard. "Draco, please look at me."

After an excruciating wait, Draco turned on his stool until his body faced Harry, though his arms remained crossed. He lifted his chin and locked eyes with Harry, flinching when the Auror tenderly touched his jaw but neither broke eye contact.

"You can't see me, can you?" Harry murmured bleakly. "No, you refuse to. You always work hard for people to acknowledge your work and that's fine but I'm also right here. I'm right in front of you and I'm in love with you. But you don't want to see that. You don't see me. Have you any idea what that's like?"

Draco’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. "I see you, but... Potter, if I do this with you but we don't work out," he whispered, "I won't be able to handle it. I'm not… strong enough."

Harry felt an invisible weight lift off his shoulders while another, newer and more hopeful, sensation settled in his stomach. "Then let's make sure we make this work," he said resolutely. "It takes effort from both of us. We have to try."

Draco closed his eyes, another protest ready on the tip of his tongue, but he pressed his lips shut together, visibly holding himself back. He was already making an effort.

When he opened his eyes again, he reached out and cupped Harry's cheeks. Draco turned Harry's head from side to side, studying the latter's face. "You're pretty handsome without those ugly glasses."

Harry chuckled. Draco smiled before they both leaned forward and their mouths met in a chaste kiss.

"Thank you," Draco said after they separated, "for coming for me."

After a few more kisses, Harry decided he had held Draco hostage long enough. Harry lengthened the chain around his neck so that it could loop around Draco's neck as well as his own. With Draco's help, he rotated the jade stone a few times before pressing it firmly.

~~~

If Harry had to describe his relationship with Draco Malfoy, five years after they exited the realm of limbo, he would fiddle with the silver wedding band on his left ring finger and grin happily, no words necessary.

~fin~

LINK TO AO3

[sooibian]

Twist of Fate

image credits: @/exoxoxoid (twitter)

Pairing: Criminal Psychologist Kyungsoo x Crime Reporter OC (Miss Jung) ft. Minseok, Jongin

Description: Much against your wishes, you are back in your hometown to write about the murders of two young women - your only ticket out is the criminal psychologist who has been assisting Superintendent Kim Minseok with offender profiling.

Inspired by: Sharp Objects, The Fall and this moodboard by @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt​ 

Tags/Warnings: Serial killer AU - angst, grief, loss, murders, descriptions of anxiety, reactive and attentive immobility, asphyxiation, indicative of humiliation, explicit and graphic situations. Please do not read onward if any of this triggers or upsets you!!!!

Word count: +3.7k

A/N: ...i need to stop watching crime dramas. 

@leewalberg​ @his-mochi-cheeks​ @changshapatrol​ 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

When you left Cheongsong, you’d left for good. Or so you’d thought.

Ten years later what brought you back was not your family, for you had none left, but the murders of two young women that had left the quaint little town, surrounded by hills artistically contoured by apple orchards, shaken and distraught.

Everyone knew each other in Cheongsong which should have made Superintendent Kim Minseok’s job easier, but he was caught in an ugly snare of emotions which seemed to have clouded his critical thinking faculties. These were people he knew closely, people he’d grown up with. For him, pointing fingers at any of them meant carving permanent cracks in relationships that were stronger than most familial ties.

“Off the record, then”, you shoved your scratchpad back into your purse, turned off the recorder with a click and looked at Minseok square in the eyes, only to find the amiable, portly, catlike footballer you went to school with hidden in their farthest, darkest depths - reduced to a mere whimsy. The memories of the man who sat before you, now seemed abysmally distorted by the colossal burden of the unknown.

“It never is.” He chuckled darkly, took a measured sip of his bourbon and rolled it around his tongue before swallowing. “Never thought I’d see you here again.”

“That makes two of us. Write about killings in your hometown...it makes an impact because it’s personal, my boss says. We’re to...exploit the fact that nobody substantial is covering this.” You recited, eyes trained on the sliver of grime on the coaster.

Minseok clicked his tongue in disapproval and enquired, “Where have you been staying?” 

“A guest house by the Country Club.”

“So, not the Mansion”, he remarked callously.

Wounds that had barely healed came undone at the mention of your family home. Your throat tightened and you felt as if you had been shanked with a broken bottle in the stomach. The ill fated house reeked of misfortune, grief and loss. Its inhabitants had fallen one by one like lined up dominoes. This curse had forced you out to start a new life in Seoul.

“It’s still quite well kept, you know.” Minseok stated matter-of-factly.

Taking a deep swig of your bourbon, you explained earnestly as the burn of the liquid blazed down your throat, “Minseok, I want nothing more than to get out of here. So, please, give me something. A nugget.” 

“I don’t want to be quoted on this. Or misquoted. This is all new to me as well. Two bodies in three months? Can you imagine?” Overcome with emotion, he ran a hand through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut.

You put a comforting hand on his and offered in a voice laced with empathy, “Listen, from where I stand, all you need is a new line of inquiry and linking these two murders would give you one. I’ve seen the pictures.” 

You swiped through images of two dark haired women on your phone - Park Soojin and Seo Jinri. Both of them were in their late twenties. They lay in their own beds as if soundly asleep, modesty protected only by sheer white blankets, crimson tinted lips parted ever so slightly, freshly painted nails shining in dim lighting. And roses. There were a couple of red roses placed by their side as if in condolence. The blood curdling strangulation marks around their necks made them look like dreadfully divine paintings. 

“They could be sisters”, you observed with moist eyes, voice hushed to a whisper.

Contemplating on the images with pursed lips, Minseok responded with a tight nod and waved a 50,000 bill in the waitress’ general direction.

“Where’d you find these?” He asked in a threateningly calm voice, averting his eyes from your apparently disagreeable gaze.

“You know that’s confidential”, you replied, half-shrugging, nonchalant.

“I’ll drop you home”, he muttered, and shoved his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. 

With a defeated sigh you grabbed your purse and phone and proceeded to follow Minseok out of the only bar in Cheongsong, “No, it’s fine. I could use a walk.”

Suddenly, he turned around, searched your eyes for a fleeting second before admitting begrudgingly, “Kim Jongin. He’s the prime suspect in the first case. The murder of Park Soojin.”  

Your legs froze. “What?! Why?”

You knew Kim Jongin, like you knew everyone else in this town. His family owned one of the biggest apple orchards in Cheongsong but Kim Jongin never manifested that in his behaviour. He was known to be friendly, kind, sensitive. Almost too sensitive some would say.

“That’s it. That’s your nugget. Here.” He handed you a business card bearing the name ‘Dr. Doh Kyungsoo’. “He’s been informally assisting with offender profiling. He’ll talk to you. Seems like he’ll talk to anyone, really. Now get in the car, it’s freezing out here.” 

.

.

.

“Dr. Doh, thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”

Dr. Doh Kyungsoo’s home office was a detached unit with a separate entrance, distanced from his main residence. It was exactly the way you’d imagined a psychologist’s office to be - light coloured walls, comfortable chairs, soft pillows, insipid artwork. Neat and clean, fostering a sense of comfort for visitors. 

The Doh family had moved into Cheongsong shortly after you’d left for Seoul. Coming from old money in search of some peace and quiet, they invested in agricultural distribution, Cheongyang Pepper farms and assumed one of the more significant estates to live in while their only son, Doh Kyungsoo, was sent abroad to pursue higher education.   

“Please, call me Kyungsoo.” He took your hand in his, gave it a good, firm shake and gestured you to take the chair opposite his.

“I think ‘Dr. Doh’ should be fine”, you stated plainly and he acknowledged with a curt nod.

“What brings you here?” Asked Kyungsoo, holding your gaze, hands folded in his lap as he leaned back into his chair with a soft sigh. 

Grimacing, you waved your recorder at him, “They say you’re my ticket out of this godforsaken place.”

Minseok had helped you set up the meeting so you thought it proper to waive cumbersome introductions and niceties and Kyungsoo seemed very much in sync with your line of thought. 

He smiled, “I’m merely a bystander, Miss Jung, with slightly more informed opinions, maybe.”

“Informed opinions are what I’m here for, Dr. Doh.” You smiled back, “Superintendent Kim Minseok doesn’t seem to like you very much.”

“He’s a man shackled by bureaucracy and I’m a constant reminder of his team’s staggering incompetence, If I were him, I wouldn’t like me very much either.”

“Do you think there’s a link between the two murders?” 

He nods. “I’m fairly certain there is.” 

“But the police won’t look into it? Why is that?”

“Nobody likes a serial, Miss Jung. Besides, there’s no way the team could cope with the increased workload of linked inquiries. There are over a hundred statements, documents, officers’ reports waiting to be read and actioned. And the case of Park Soojin is a peculiar one.”

“Kim Jongin’s girlfriend? How so?”

“She was the ex-wife of a member of the parliament. This case does absolutely no favours to his image so he needs it solved immediately.” 

The word solved was treated to air quotes.

“So, they’ve ruled him out as a suspect?”

“His alibi checks out. They suspect Kim Jongin.”

“Why? Just because Kim Jongin fled immediately after her body was found? How did the police react to that?”

“Because Jongin fled, his brother was asked to provide DNA which turned out to be a familial match to the DNA gathered at the crime scene. But that does not necessarily mean it’s the killer’s DNA. Miss Park was in a relationship with him. There’s no surprise his semen was found in her esophagus.”

“Do you rule him out as a suspect then?”

“I prefer to reserve my comment.”

“Why do you think he fled?”

“Grief drives us to do irrational things, Miss Jung. Maybe he just needed a breather from everything that was going on here. Can’t say for sure.”

“You’re certain the perpetrator is male?”

“Yes, I am. The perpetrator is male and an athletic one at that. Probably in his late twenties or early thirties. While the strangulation marks may be different, the pathologists reports suggest petechial haemorrhage in both cases which means he strangled and released and then strangled again, over and over. He’s either a sadist, or his hand lacks strength. You try it, grab my wrist.”

He extended his arm towards you and you politely declined. So he wrapped his right hand over his left wrist and held firmly for a few moments. 

“Forty seconds. It’s amazing how quickly the hand tires!” He exclaimed as if awestruck. It was the maximum emotion the inscrutable Dr. Doh had displayed during the course of this interview.

“Victims of strangulation are known to make a mess of themselves. They defecate and / or urinate..”

“That is correct. The bodies were both found posed and clean. Which means he spent hours after, washing them and cleaning the sheets, even. There could be a religious angle to this. Washing away their sins...maybe his own, considering he probably gets into the bath with them.”

He pushed a cup of long gone cold tea towards you, but you shook your head. As a crime reporter, you thought you’d seen it all but the possibility of this being the work of a serial killer was a first for you. Also the fact that it was happening in the place you grew up in was starting to gnaw at you a little more aggressively than you’d liked. 

“I’m not going to lie, Dr. Doh, this gives me pause for concern. Do you think there is a sexual angle to these killings? As far as I know, the victims have shown no signs of any such abuse.”

Kyungsoo sipped on his tea and worried at his lower lip briefly before responding. “I believe he’s the kind to take pictures, momentos from the scene. They sustain him between killings.”

“And the roses? There were..”

“Three next to Park Soojin’s corpse and two next to Seo Jinri’s.”

“Does it indicate -”

“- a countdown? Perhaps.” He studied your face intently and offered you tea again. This time you complied and then proceeded with the interview.

“There was no sign of forced entry in either cases. The police think the perpetrator was known to the victims.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. You see, Miss Jung, the problem is that these cases were treated as self solvers from the get go and that’s where it all went wrong.”

His smile at the end of that sentence was one of finality, somehow indicative that you’d overstayed your welcome. To be able to milk him for all he was worth, you were going to let him loose for the time being.

Clicking your recorder off, you tilted your head to the side, smiled politely, “Well, thank you for your time, Dr. Doh.”

“It’s been a pleasure.” 

While he was walking you to the front door, you couldn’t help but ask, “Dr. Doh, if I may, were the victims known to each other? Were they friends? Acquaintances?”

“That’s for the police to investigate. They were both in their late twenties, highly qualified -  one was a solicitor the other a botanist, both tan with double eyelids, a little over 5 feet”, He took a step closer to you, instinctively you took an uncomfortable step back but found yourself trapped between him and the front door. His burgundy turtleneck smelt like warm, sweet gingerbread mixed with the contrastive redolence of something woody. He put his hand on the clip that held your hair in a bun, an elusive smile dancing on his lips as he allowed your hair to freely ripple down to your waist. “...and they both had dark, waist length hair”, he whispered into your ear, sending a frisson of fear down your spine.

You looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights as he slowly retracted. Eyes locked with yours and face contorted in a fierce frown, he concluded grimly, “You fit his profile.”

.

.

.

Unable to sleep well that night, you went for an early morning run the next day and took a detour to Minseok’s residence. After discussing your findings with him, he offered you a close protection officer who’d moonlight to provide you security just until they’d made an arrest. Which meant you’d have one uniformed officer standing guard outside your guest house all day. You knew that they wouldn’t have done this for you if your family name wasn’t Jung.

“Kim Jongin’s back in town.” Relief seemed to have smoothened the lines on Minseok’s forehead and there was a boost of confidence in his voice when he broke the news to you.

“Are you planning to take him in?” you asked, sipping on coffee in Minseok’s kitchen while he made you some eggs.

He looked victorious and his brows shot up to his hairline as he explained animatedly, “We have enough evidence to put him on trial. I’ll get the warrant in two days.” 

“Hand to your heart, do you think he did it?”

“Yah, I’d never be able to make an arrest like that. If you promise not to quote me, I will say that -” 

He peered at you questioningly and you eased him with a reassuring nod, “Go on.”

“This looks like the work of an outsider.”

.

.

.

Later that evening, you found Jongin seated alone at a table in the bar. Beaten, as if overcome with exhaustion he was crouched over a glass of scotch, a silent tear sliding down his cheek. You sat next to him and ordered him another drink.

“I killed her.” He stated simply, eyes trained on the empty glass in front of him. To see a man whose taste buds didn’t even agree with coffee back in the day downing hard liquor effortlessly, broke your heart.

“What?” you enquired, sparing no effort to lay the edge off of your voice.

“That evening, we’d had a huge argument. She- she’d been wanting to move out of here for the longest time and I never agreed. It was as if she knew!” Burying his face in his hands, he broke into full blown sobs. It was a while before he composed himself and spoke again, “Here, you have your story. Following a trivial spat, a small town chaebol kills his girlfriend.”

Shaking your head furiously in disagreement, you held him tightly by his shoulders, “This is your chance, Jongin. Speak your truth. Tell them that you didn’t do it. They’ll need to hear it from you!”

Jongin looked you in the eyes, his own brimming with tears, “I was twelve when my puppy died and I couldn’t seem to get over it. My mother gave me this book which said the only way men can get over grief is by showing indifference, I tried that with Soojin.”

Brows furrowed, you asked, “And?”

“It worked for an hour.” He chuckled darkly, “I loved her and I always will. At this point I just don’t care. I should’ve listened to her. Maybe I even deserve this. I see the way people look at me, I- I feel written off, ostracized. A goddamn parliamentarian wants me in. My truth won’t survive their might.” 

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you started to talk him out of potential suicide, “Jongin -” 

But he raised his forefinger to silence you. Trembling, he asked, “I just find myself wondering, can you die from a broken heart?”

.

.

.

Kim Jongin had turned himself in.

Acquiescent to the slow wheels of justice, moderately satisfied with the first draft of your article, and concerned about your safety, your boss agreed to call you back to the Seoul office, at least until there were further developments in the case.

During the course of your stay in Cheongsong, you drove past the little street leading up to the Mansion several times but not once did you glance in its direction. Before your flight the next morning, you decided to pay the house a little visit to say a final goodbye. The first snow had laid a fleecy white blanket on the ceramic roof that gleamed from the light of the astral light of the night sky. You were flooded with memories of chasing butterflies in spring, climbing the only mango tree in town which still stood proud in your backyard, the stories of monsters and ghosts your parents would read to you in the blanket forts you’d build together… blissfully unaware that in a not so far future this was all your life would entail - monsters and ghosts.

The great oakwood front door turned on its hinges and a familiar aroma of caramel apple hotteok invited you in. They say every house has a peculiar smell and yours smelt of caramel apple hotteok, even after all this time. Your lips curled upward at the strangeness of your sentiments. The demons you tried so hard to escape all your life seemed like bad dreams and what was left of this place within you was just the good. The pure, unadulterated joy that was once your childhood. 

You proceeded to the kitchen to fetch yourself a cup of hot water, and that’s when you heard a knock on the front door. You ignored it at first thinking it was just the wind but the knock came again. Louder, this time. You left the kitchen to answer the door.

“Dr. Doh!” you exclaimed, utterly surprised to see him here at this hour.

“Miss Jung”, he smiled sheepishly, “I went by the guest house but the guard said you were at the Mansion. I just wanted to say goodbye, I’m leaving for Gyeonggi in the a.m.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Uh - I’m sorry, please, come in.” 

He followed you to the kitchen and said apologetically, “I hope I’m not imposing.”

“No, not at all! Never quite realised just how massive this house actually is - It was starting to eat me up. Gyeonggi, you say?”

“Oh, it’s a cursed life as an independent consultant, Miss Jung. I’m mostly living out of a suitcase..”

“I wish I could say differently. So your presence here was requested by Minseok’s team?” You asked as he took a seat at the kitchen table.

“No, I arrived just about a month before the first murder. My parents passed in a car crash three years ago. So I decided to sell the estate and the pepper farms.” He explained, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“Would you like some tea? I brought some tea bags with me. I don’t know which tea it is, though.” You offered, mindlessly pouring hot water into two cups. 

“Sure” , he nodded.

“So did you?”

“What?”

“Manage to sell everything? And I’m sorry - uh about your parents.” 

You didn’t feel sorry. What you felt was an inexplicable weight in your chest rendering you breathless. Your heart started pounding erratically and your mind clouded over with a sense of impending doom as you went about the mundane task of making tea. 

“You seem a little out of it, Miss Jung. Is something bothering you?” He got off his chair and guided you to yours as your legs threatened to give away.

You sipped on some warm tea to steady yourself and said to Kyungsoo, “Oh, no it’s … It’s just this house. Maybe you were right, Dr. Doh. This isn’t a good time. I’m sorry but I might have to ask you to leave.”

Kyungsoo didn’t react. At all. He stood still, eyes fixed on your trembling frame.

“Park Soojin wasn’t his first kill”, he whispered.

“What?” you asked feebly, still trying to get a hold of yourself.

Kyungsoo sauntered over to the kitchen counter and brought you a glass of water. “Pay attention, Miss Jung. Park Soojin wasn’t his first kill. He was sloppy with the first one and it was only by a stroke of luck that he managed to get away. So he planned better with Soojin. Got even better with Jinri.”

Startled, you looked him in the eyes and he gave you a smile that raised goosebumps on your skin. 

Unperturbed Kyungsoo continued, pacing leisurely in the kitchen, a spine-chilling hint of exhilaration in his voice. “His criminal sophistication indicates that he understands criminology and knows police work. Unfortunately, Miss Jung,”, his voice dropped and you suddenly felt shackled to your seat. Squirming, but unable to make any big movement like reaching out for something that was heavy or sharp or both, “The tragedy is that he’s always believed he’s inferior to these women. But -” 

Kyungsoo levelled his face with yours and grinned with a glimmer of victory in his eyes, “for every tragedy, there is a happy ending.”

It took all you could muster to hold it together and dash for your purse to retrieve your cell phone. But you didn’t find it in there. 

“Is this what you’re looking for?” asked Kyungsoo, teasing as he pulled your phone from the inside pocket of his overcoat and handed it to you. 

You tried to turn it on to no avail. Voice as steady as could be, you said to him, “Please, please just leave!”

He took two easy steps towards you and you found yourself encased between his body and the wall. “Well then you shouldn’t have let me in! Tell me something, how could the close protection officer have given me your whereabouts if you dismissed him immediately after Jongin’s arrest? Haven’t you learnt since you were a little girl - always keep your guard up. Think before you speak. Did you think you were invincible?”

He took your hand in his and guided you back to the kitchen table. Eyes brimming tears, body trembling, and mind overcome with dread you followed him as if he were the pied piper. The familiar scent of gingerbread wafted up your nostrils making you nauseous.

As soon as you took a seat at the table, he put on his gloves, and lay a bottle of red nail polish and a red rose before you.

“Just think about how you can be with them again, Miss Jung. And don’t worry...I’ll be gentle.”

***

A/N: YES! you’re absolutely right! i just wanted to write turtleneck murderer Soo -_-

[mariamermaid]

I put a spell on you

Sherlock Holmes (19th century) x fem dancer Reader

Summary: After his brother´s persuasion, Sherlock agrees to go to the Ballet with him and is mesmerized by the dancer…

Words: 1.9k

A/N: This is more for the movies/ enola holmes movie, since it´ll take place in the late 19th century. I´m not too familiar with the ballet, so let´s ignore the accuracy.

 Halloween Masterlist

 Théophile Gautier´s ballet “Giselle” was an absolute success. Even years after the ballet was first performed in Paris, the London theater decided to bring the play back. An act that brought Mycroft Holmes into liberating excitement, much to his brother´s concern. The fog these days laid thick in London and Sherlock, who had just solved an exhausting case, that ended with a dangerous pursuit, in which he broke his arm, wasn´t practically excited. But the younger brother wasn´t left with many options. “God, Sherlock, what happened this time?”

Mycroft pointed towards his arm, hanging in a sling to his side, above his shirt. The jacket was loosely thrown on top of his shoulders, Sherlock shrugged not paying much attention to Mycroft´s needless worries. Around him were a few men gathered and Sherlock found himself falling for simple, but plain and boring small talk. Sighing, he followed his brother into the hall and braced himself for boring hours. But then, the classical music started, Sherlock expected it to be the best part, until he saw you entering the stage. It was the first act and you played the Giselle in the village. Giselle was portrayed as a young, innocent but endearing girl. The white long tutu graced your figure perfectly and throughout the act, you danced across the stage with ease. The forester Hilarion and the prince Albrecht are both in love with Giselle, but after Hilarion unmasks Albrecht´s disguise as a farmer, the girl is led into a disaster. Heartbroken after finding out about Albrecht’s true identity, she falls into his sword and dies. In that scene, Sherlock found himself clinging onto the seat and when the light went out to announce the break, he realized how hard he had grabbed the armrests. His tongue slid across his lips, trying to relax his jaw. He then joined his brother and his entourage outside at the bar for a drink, but the picture of you in the white tutu floating across the stage as if it was nothing, didn´t left his mind. “She´s stunning”, he admitted and the men around him nodded.

“Who? Y/n, she´s a natural”, Mycroft added slightly smiling. “You know her?” Sherlock asked interested and the men echoed in laughter. William Grey, a friend of Mycroft and well-known man in London, grinned. “Your brother, Mr. Holmes, is one of the many men running after Miss Y/L/N.”

Mycroft cleared his throat, he hated admitting that he failed. “I never ran after her.” To Sherlock´s despise, the topic was then dropped. He wanted, no he needed more information about you. While the men gathered for a second round of whiskey, Sherlock did what he did best; research and investigate. He unobtrusively glided through the doors leading to the rooms behind the stage. And there you stood, one hand against the wooden bar and practicing your posture. You had changed costumes, after Giselle´s death, you now wore a blood red tutu and your lips were painted in the same color. Sherlock felt goosebumps raising on his skin, in the soft light of the mere headlights behind the stage, the dry dust floating in the air, you did indeed like a ghost. But a stunning ghost, so beautiful, Sherlock just stopped in his tracks to stare at you.

A man, who worked behind the scenes and was just arranging a background piece, bumped against Sherlock. “Man, don´t stand around!” He eyed Sherlock suspiciously. “No spectators behind the stage”, he added and his low went low. “I…” He didn´t know what to answer, his eyes were still glued onto you. A man, as far as Sherlock guessed he was the regisseur, came to talk you and you nodded to whatever he was saying. You then turned to get your hair checked again, but you noticed the unknown man standing around. His tall figure with his neat clothes, his eyes meeting yours. For a second, you stood still, admiring his dark locks and his angular features. But then you remembered the work and disappeared within the crowd of people running around. “Didn´t you hear what I just said?” Sherlock jerked, as the man spoke up again, louder and clearly angry.

“Sorry, I must´ve taken a wrong door somewhere.”

As quick as he appeared behind the stage, he vanished again. Sherlock found his seat next to his brother, who eyed him confused. “Where have you been?” Luckily, the lights went out before he could think of an excuse.

 The second act started, the forester Hilarion waits at Giselle´s death bed, until the nature ghosts and their queen Myrtha appear to welcome Giselle in their realm. Sherlock couldn´t tear his eyes of you, you were pale with powder and your once white gown, was now black as the night. Albrecht finds the ghost as well and follows Giselle into the woods. Myrtha and her wilas, dance around Hilarion until he drops with exhaustion and dies. Myrtha shortly after finds Albrecht, but he is protected by Giselle´s love. At dawn, the queen loses her power and Giselle forgives Albrecht, before she vanishes.

The whole act was preposterous, the dance of the dead ghosts and in between them; you. Sherlock saw the light of life in your eyes glistening. You looked magical to him; he couldn’t describe any other way. The hall echoed with applause and Sherlock even joined in the standing ovation, your performance was outstanding. He then waited outside with his brother again; some men with wife´s went home, but Sherlock waited with anticipation. It was almost an hour later, when he finally saw you. The stage make-up was gone and you looked exhausted, but happy. You had a coat thrown over your shoulder and a dark red, rather simple dress. Your hair was loosened, but remained closed. People quickly approached you, congratulating on the success and praising your abilities and talent. But you had spotted Mycroft within the crowd, and with him the man who had caught your attention earlier. You slipped away and made your way to them. “Mycroft.” You smiled as he greeted you, leaning down and placing a delicate kiss on your hand. “Y/N, extraordinary and perfect as always.” A faint blush was on your cheeks, but then your glance wandered to Sherlock.

“Who is your companion, Mycroft?” It was almost awkward, how Sherlock couldn´t do anything but stand around and stare at you, his brother chuckled. The sight was rare, but welcomed for him. “You´ve heard of him, my brother Sherlock!” A grin crept on your rosy lips and you put out your hand to greet him as well. Sherlock could´ve punched himself, a lady like you holding her hand out first; what kind of gentleman he was! He took it softly and did his brother equal, placing a kiss on your hand. “Mr. Holmes, are you working on a case right now?” Sherlock stopped, raising his eyebrow confused.

“It seemed like you nosed around behind the stage in the break, are you looking for a thief?” The assumption you made was perfectly fine, but your tone stated differently. You knew he wasn´t there for a case and Mycroft snickered. “You have to excuse my brother, Y/n. Snooping around runs in his veins.” Sherlock breathed out, a slight annoyance rising. He didn´t like the way his brother was able to interact with you, not unless he was able to do so as well.

Mycroft changed the subject; “My birthday, Y/n, next week, I hoped you would come?” Your eyes left Sherlock and jealousy rose in him, a feeling he wasn´t very familiar with. “I have a performance, but I will try to sneak away afterwards.”

William Grey interrupted your group, saying his goodbye´s for the evening and you cleared your throat. “I´m going home as well, training and rehearsals are getting the better of me.” For once this night, Sherlock was quicker than his brother. “Can I walk you home, Miss Y/L/N?”

You grabbed your bag a little tighter, hanging over your shoulder and he noted how hard to read your expression was. “I don´t need a man to protect me, Mr. Holmes. But I´m willing to let you accompany me in exchange for some details about your solved cases, I´m quite a fan if you will.” Sherlock smiled and tilted his head proudly.

“So, you recognized the murderer due to his shoes?” You asked interested as the two of you walked through the dark streets of London. The light from the lanterns fell softly to the ground, but the air laid silent. It was late, barely any light left in most houses. Sherlock nodded, lurking down to you. “That´s fascinating, Mr. Holmes.” “You can call me Sherlock.”

For the first time, you actually blushed. “Willing to solve some riddles for me, Sherlock?” A shiver ran down his spine as you called him by his name, but he nodded. “When the water comes down, it rains. I go up, what am I?” Sherlock paused for a second, but a grin spread on his lips. “An umbrella.”

“I can fly but I have no wings. I can cry but I have no eyes.” “A cloud.”

"I dance as the night rises and a wooden pole accompanies me; what am I?” He chuckled confident.

“A ballerina.”

You stopped on the street and behind you laid a park, dark and the silhouettes of trees and bushes rose like giants in the night. “A witch, Mr. Holmes. A witch on her broom.”

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, behind you walked a black cat and the coincidence let him shiver. He usually wasn´t a superstitious type, but you were not to be underestimated; he was sure of it. He swallowed realizing how you had been able to distract him from the logical solution. “As far as I´m concerned, I have bewitched your mind, Sherlock.” From your coat you pulled out a notepad, his notepad. All notes on previous cases and current observations were written down. “How-“

“For a detective, you´re not very good at sneaking around, behind the stage.” You fell into his word, before he was able to ask questions. He wondered how on earth you had stolen his notepad, maybe due to his lack of movement with the broken arm? You were absolutely right however; you did drive him insane. Laughing, you held his notepad still up. “Don´t worry, you´ll get your notes back, if you solve my last riddle.”

His tongue glided over his lips. “A party, but the ballerina doesn´t want to dance.”

He anticipated more, but you closed your mouth, grinning. “I´ll see you next week, Sherlock.”

Sherlock hadn´t realized that you had reached your destination and you turned to leave him standing in the middle of the street. “How did you steal my notes?”

You laughed out loud as you hurried into a dark alley, he guessed that the entrance to your apartment laid there.

“I put a spell on you, Sherlock Holmes.”

He hurried after you, but as he entered the alley, a dead end as he realized, you were gone. There was no door and no windows at the wall surrounding him, you had basically vanished into thin air. Sherlock smiled in excitement; the evening turned out so much better than he ever imagined. He lit himself a pipe and strolled to his own home. A party, but the ballerina doesn´t want to dance, your words repeated in his mind. I´ll see you next week. Mycroft´s birthday party and you don´t want to dance. What does a lady do, that gets invited by someone, who she doesn´t want to dance with? She arrives accompanied by a different man.

[kurowrites]

Inuyasha au with wangxian? YP dies thinking LWJ betrayed him when coming to give him the stygian iron. Reincarnates in the future with cangse saren as his mum. And then falls into the past and investigates and solves the mystery like canon... only with no kikiyo arc because too sad.

Seriously guys, are you all gluttons for punishment?

Anyway, I’m not sure if this is entirely as hoped for, but:

Wei Ying grows up as a relatively normal, happy child. Only sometimes, he has strange nightmares that wake him up in the middle of the night and that make no sense to him at all. Zombies, blood, death, and endlessly barking dogs. He’s had them ever since he can remember, and though his mother makes a worried face whenever it happens, there’s really nothing that can be done about it.

One day after university classes, a dog barks at WWX on the street, and he ends up running away in a panic. WWX finds himself in a strange, unknown place, an old house slowly falling to pieces. Curious, he wanders around on the premises. In one of the courtyards, he comes across an old, dried out well. And as he peeks into it... something comes out of the well and attacks him. Scared for his life, he tries to fight off whatever this strange creature is, and ends up falling down the well.

Once he finally manages to climb out of it, he finds himself in a world that looks very different from the place he’s just been in before. The dilapitated house is suddenly a beautiful mansion full of people, and everyone is in an uproar. He’s not sure what’s happening, but he hears people saying something about cultivators and supernatural creatures.

He carefully tries to sneak out of the mansion, but the next thing he knows, he is standing face to face with a man all dressed in flowing white robes who looks at him as if he’s the freak here, somehow. He tries to slow-mo out of there, but the man grabs his arm. “Wei Ying,” he says. And WY is like... how the fuck do you know my name???

The man in white looks at him with a strange expression on his face and is like, “You were dead.” And WY is getting really confused here, because he’s definitely been alive for ~25 years now. He doesn’t remember dying.

Wait.

He does remember pain, and screaming, and being very afraid. He remembers blood and death. He remembers feeling anger, and betrayal, and - He wrenches his hand out of the man’s hold. Could it be this man is somehow connected to his recurring nightmares?

Because of the uproar in the mansion, LWJ gets distracted by someone else for a moment, and WY uses the chancce to slip out. He sneaks away, determined to find the quickest way back to where came from.

He doesn’t get very far, though. Shortly after he’s left the mansion, he’s attacked by people who call him a demon and try to kill him with no mercy whatsoever.

The man in white arrives just at the nick of time, and saves him from the attack. And well. WY still doesn’t know if he can trust this man, but he’s also not actively trying to kill him. He guesses he might be safer with him than without.

“How do you know me?” he asks the man who goes by the name Lan Wangji. And LWJ looks at him and says, “We know each other. [strong intimacy implied here]” There’s absolutely no hesitation in his voice. WY’s hair stands up; he’s not sure if this man is the most extreme romantic he’s ever met, or a complete lunatic. Or maybe both.

LWJ brings him back to a place called Cloud Recesses. But no matter where they go, people keep staring at WY as if he’s a two-headed monster. At first, he thinks it’s because he’s dressed very differently from anyone else. But he realises quickly that’s not the case when LWJ dresses him in suitable red-and black robes. It’s his face that makes people stare at him. Which is just plain rude.

The first time someone calls him Wei Wuxian, he’s like... that’s not my name, though. But, he realises quickly, there apparently used to be a person called WWX that wore his very face, and that everybody was terrified of. Extremely terrified, judging from the reaction. The only person that doesn’t seem to be terrified is LWJ. But the way he sometimes looks at WY makes him come to the uncomfortable conclusion that LWJ must have been in love with this WWX, enough to defy his own sect. That makes WY feel... he’s not sure what it makes him feel, or how he’s supposed to think about that. It’s terryifing, somehow.

Before long, other powerful and influential cultivators arrive at Cloud Recesses and demand the extradition of WWX because he’s apparently also a war criminal? But LWJ only frowns severely and beats any opponent into submission simply by sheer stubborn silence.

That’s until Jin Guangyao shows up. He somehow manages to sneak around and corner WY in a desterd corner of Cloud Recesses, far away from LWJ, and before WY knows what’s happening to him, JGY pulls... something out of his chest. JGY’s eyes shine with both madness and desire, and WY immediately knows that whatever this things is that just came out of his body, it can’t get into JGY’s hands. So he fights him for it, as well as he can. In the struggle, he breaks the things into pieces, and the pieces of the broken amulet scatter all over China.

This starts operation “Finding all the pieces of the amulet before JGY can get a hold of them, and also restore WWX’s reputation in the process.” LWJ & WY travel around, while WY learns to use the cultivation powers that have been dormant in him all along apparently, and tries very hard not to fall in love with LWJ, who is still in love with a man that just happens to have the same face as him. It can’t be. And WY will have to return to his own time at some point. Sooner rather than later, really.

Maybe the timelines is also shifted, and the entire thing happens only ~3 years after WWX’s death. LWJ’s wounds are barely healed, and A-Yuan is still small, a child only beginning his own study of cultivation. He still remembers Wei-gege, and gets very attached to WY VERY quickly. WY is faced with the quiet trauma of a still-grieving father and son, and the shadow of a man that’s so much like him and yet so different that he can never hope to stand in the same place that he did. He knows he should stay away from the two. But the way A-Yuan smiles at him, and calls him Wei-gege breaks his heart. And the way LWJ sometimes looks at him, and quietly seeks his physical presence... it would need a stronger man than him to resist that.

[bonesandpoemsandflowers]

I’ve been thinking lately about the people in my past I’ve wronged--not in any kind of grand betrayal sense, but the people I was cruel to who didn’t deserve it.

This is, of course, different from the people I was cruel to who, to this day, I think ABSOLUTELY deserved it, but I digress. Self defense, emotional or otherwise, is one thing. Cruelty just for the sake of it is another.

The pattern I can most easily identify is that young me, like high school era and shortly beyond me, was much meaner to girls than to anyone else, and always, always, girls who I thought were very pretty. In retrospect this wasn’t a competition thing, as media tells us girls being catty to girls is, but definitely an internalized biphobia thing, and a sort of late blooming oblivious take on it. Like, it was much easier, for me, much earlier, to recognize “he’s so hot it makes me ANGRY” as a kind of joking not entirely joking mood, which therefore robs the internal conflict and frustration of its power. But if you haven’t quite admitted to yourself yet that you wanna suck face with pretty girls, it’s harder to verbalize this already kind of emotionally messed up manifestation of attraction. I had a shitty upbringing and was improperly socialized as a child, like a monkey in a Harlow experiment, so my attraction and aggression wires are, perhaps, closer than they should be, and more easily crossed. My emotional reaction to attraction is, fairly often, something like: “NO! INCONVENIENT! HOW DARE YOU!”

as if my feelings are something being done to me, as opposed to something from within me.

And as long as I’m aware of that, boys and gals, we’re mostly fine. This is what the years of therapy are for.

But again, if you haven’t admitted to yourself that you’re attracted, to, say, girls, or even if you HAVE, in your present--you don’t always back fill that information like you logistically should.

Which is all a long winded introduction to how my met in middle school, stayed in contact until 19 or so BFF/frenemy/overly intense female friendship person has a very distinctive name, so that when I started to question why I had always been so cruel and mean and catty and judgmental of her in particular, I could just find her on Instagram by scrolling for a bit, even though we’re well into adulthood now.

and my DUDES

(gender neutral use of dude, obviously)

let me tell you

SHE’S REALLY FRIGGIN PRETTY

Which I always sort of knew, right, but adult me glanced at a particularly flattering selfie of this babe and it clicked--here is the facial structure common to the first three girls I ever kissed, at least, boy howdy, do I ever have a type.

And then I was like: ooooh. oooh. THAT’s why I was such a bitch! That makes sense!

Like, that doesn’t make it right, obviously. Not even remotely. Not even a little bit. But I’m not exactly concerned with right and wrong during my quest to understand behavior, mine own and otherwise. I’m concerned with sense, and if the pieces logically follow.

So yeah, mystery solved! Great.

But what do you DO with that? You can’t just pop into someone’s life over a decade later to be like, “hi! in case you’ve ever wondered why someone who you trusted was cruel to you for NO GOOD REASON, I figured it out! I really liked you, like, like like, you know? and therefore I was a tremendous cunt who made fun of your sex life and weight behind your back which you inevitably found out about and I never apologized for anything.”

like how fucking self absorbed IS that shit, even if you add the important things: you didn’t deserve that, you deserved better, and I’m sorry?

anyway, sometimes the toxic person is you, sometimes the toxic person was you, the end.

I realize this is particularly a companion post to ‘why didn’t I go to prom with that nice Brazilian boy I was friends with?’ I am 95% joking when I say: I’m going through a Saturn return right now, y’all, and reflecting on your past is what that is ALL ABOUT.

But really, I think it’s just that I’m finally, finally, in a safe and stable home environment when the emotions are good! and also nothing is on metaphorical fire or in LITERAL flood, so, like. I have the ability--the opportunity--for introspection.

And growth. Hopefully growth. 

[korra-the-red-lion]

Unnatural Affairs. Chapter 16: Are You Crazy?

(Ally + Lyn + Michael)

Michael.

The text I received that morning was the most wonderful thing in the world.

The test results were in.

I got out of bed quickly, making sure to text the group chat before heading out the door. If I was being honest, I wasn’t actually that excited to know what the results were, but at least we might a confirmation of some sorts that will help us with the case! I threw on my heavy jacket and dashed out the door, not even caring about how early it was.

Making my way across campus towards the lab, I wondered what it was that we would find. Would the slime sample actually be human DNA? What if there was nothing at all? What if this had all been for nothing. I really hoped it wasn’t the last one. I still had really wicked headaches every now and then, and I’m pretty sure Lyn’s arm was going to scar from those nasty claw wounds. Not that I had the guts to tell her that.

I quickly unlocked the door to the lab and walked in, smiling when I saw Lamar already waiting for me. Lamar was the 3rd year who I had mentioned liked me who would probably help us out, and I was glad that I was right about that. I clapped him on the back and leaned against the counter, practically vibrating with energy.

“What’s the news, bud?” I asked.

“Like I texted you, the results came back,” he said as he reached for the tablet. “Something that I found interesting, however, was this.” He pointed to one of the results on the screen.

I looked at them with interest, instantly noticing that there was more than one DNA result. Now, that wouldn’t be totally unusual had this been a normal situation, because only God knows what could be on the wall of a locker room, but the fact that I had pulled the sample from a very small and specific site should have meant that there was very little to no contamination. However, I could see that there were at least 3 different results.

The first one wasn’t too surprising, belonging to one Jackie Park. That was the girl who got attacked by that freaky monster. The second one belonged to someone named Fredrik Moore, which wasn’t too surprising because Ally just told us about him the other day. It was the third result that was startling to me, because I didn’t recognize it at all. The DNA belong to someone named Jerimiah Kinkly. It was only after staring at the name for several minutes that it clicked. Kinkly. Like Professor Kinkly?!

“Thanks for this, Lamar,” I said, not taking my eyes off the screen. “Can you email this to me?”

“Absolutely,” he said, quickly doing just that.

I was just about to bolt to go tell Ally about this in person, when he reached over to grab my wrist. I looked over to him in question.

“What is this all about?” he asked, hand waving at the tablet. “I agreed to help, but this seems a lot deeper than a simple science project.”

“If I could tell you, I would,” I gently removed his hand from my wrist. “Unfortunately, there is nothing I could say that could make this make sense.”

Concern crossed over his face. “Is this dangerous, Michael? Is that how you ended up with that horrible concussion?”

I tried to go for an easy smile, but I think it came out more like a grimace. “Seriously, man, don’t worry about it. Everything is under control.” I hated lying to anyone, but especially my friends. The look of disbelief on Lamar’s face was almost enough to make me spill the beans, but I couldn’t do that to Ally.

“If you say so…” he looked extremely unsure as he stepped away, crossing his arms together. “Just be careful, Michael. No one here wants to see you get hurt again.”

“I’ll do my best,” I promised. I left after that, feeling like a weight just got added to my chest. I honestly couldn’t believe how deep this whole thing had gone. It started as wanting to help figure out who attacked an innocent student to evolving into solving the murders of several different people at this school.

The sad part was thinking of how no one looked into the mysterious circumstances of their deaths. Each time they agreed it was just suicide. Did no one think to ask why a student who just finished his exams would jump to his death? No one questioned the graphic nature of another student’s death? It was just another example of how terrible our policing system was. They were too willing to take the easy answer.

I looked over to the tree where Dahlia Cressman’s spirit resided. Why were there so many dead people on this campus? The thought of that alone was unsettling. It was almost as unsettling as knowing that the murderer was still on campus, with Ally dropping that bomb on us this morning. I would never tell my mom that she was right for saying that this wasn’t a safe school, but damn was she right. I would have to get her a really nice gift for her birthday to let her know.

I glanced at my phone, wondering if there was enough time for us to meet before class. I knew that my class started at 9:30, and Ally had a class at 9:30 as well. I didn’t know Lyn’s schedule but it was clearly busy so she usually couldn’t meet with us until the evening or on Fridays. At the very least, I could tell Ally before our respective classes.

I managed to catch her at meal hall, where she was working her way through some peanut butter toast. I slid in next to her, and she looked over in mild surprise.

“Hey, Michael,” she said through a mouth full of toast.

“Hey, did you see my text?”

She nodded, covering her mouth with a hand. “I did, yeah. Did you get to see them already?”

“Yes!” I pulled the email up, showing the results to her.

Ally’s brow furrowed in concern as she slowly read it over. Her lip curled inwardly as she looked away, clearly thinking deeply. I gave her a minute to work through her thoughts before asking her what she was thinking about.

“It’s just something…” she pulled open her bag as she muttered under her breath. Ally pulled out the notebook that she’s been writing all the case notes in, reading it over quickly. Finally, she let out a small gasp.

“What is it?” I asked, looking over her shoulder. Her handwriting was so messy in the book, and I wasn’t sure where to look for the shocking note that she jotted down that was causing her reaction.

“Dahlia told me something a while ago, but so much as happened since then,” she explained quickly, flipping through the book, “that I forgot about it. She told me that there was two people in the Athletic Centre, but that one of them had died when the campus had been first built or sometime before it. The other, who I bet money on is Fiona Moore, resided there since she died. Here where it doesn’t make sense, because your results suggest that her brother is one of the spirts there. So why is there another person? Kinkly? Is his related to our Drama prof? And why didn’t Dahlia tell me there were three people there?” She ran her hand through her hair, blowing her breath out in frustration through pursed lips.

“Maybe she didn’t know?” I suggested.

“Maybe…” she mumbled. “Still, I think I’d better check with her.”

“Good idea,” I said. “Why don’t we do that later?”

She nodded firmly. “Sounds like a plan. We can get Lyn, and all go together. Even if you guys can’t see her, I think it’s better if you’re there for this.”

“Okay,” I said. “But make sure this doesn’t consume you all day, yea’?”

“I’ll try my best but make no promises.”

“Good enough for me.”

We left shortly after that, heading to our classes. Though I told her not to overthink it, I ended up mulling it over all throughout Finite Math. There was so much going on, and it was starting to feel like there was no end to this rabbit hole. If this little bit was getting to me, I wondered how Ally was coping with this all?

XXX

Lyn.

I think I was starting to dissociate a bit.

I was sitting at my usual table before practice, my textbook open in front of me but I was staring off into space. My lack of proper sleep was catching up to me, and the weekend just made everything so much worse. I should have just asked Olivia if she wanted to do something alone with me instead, but the choice had been made, so I had to live with the consequences.

I had music playing, but even with my headphones on it sounded far away. I whacked my knee before sitting down, and while I was aware that it should hurt, it didn’t really feel like anything. I only felt like this a couple of times before, so I knew it was pretty bad. Maybe I should try talking to that woman again, the mental health lady. I couldn’t even remember her name.

I saw the texts from Michael and Ally, but I had no energy to answer them. I just had stared blankly at them before putting my phone face down, so I didn’t have to see them anymore. Now here I was, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how much longer it was until practice was. But my brain felt like it was in a fog, I had no real concentration. Finally, I gave up on pretending I was doing work. I packed it all away and headed for the pool.

When I got there, no one else was around just yet. That was okay with me. I changed into my swimsuit and pulled on my sweatpants. I walked to the pool slowly, hoping that the feeling would soon go away. The heat of the pool was there, but it didn’t do much for me. I couldn’t really feel it. I just starting do my warmup exercises when I heard the voices of the others starting to drift in.

Sit up. Hold. Down. Repeat. Going through the motions of the crunches wasn’t doing much for me. It didn’t even feel like I was doing anything. I was looking up at the ceiling of the pool when Loryn’s face appeared over mine, concern etched in her features.

“Hey,” I said dully.

“Hey,” she echoed softly. “Can I sit with you?”

I nodded, not making any effort to move from my spot. I was pretty sure the others were coming over to see what was going on, but Loryn shooed them away.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” Loryn asked gently, her hand hovering over mine. I nodded again and shuddered when the warmth of her hand covered mine. It was the first sensation I had since Ally grabbed my hand yesterday. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” my voice sounded so tired to my own ears.

“What’s going on, Lyn? Can you tell me?”

“You’re being very nice to me,” I noted dryly.

“You’re avoiding the question,” she said firmly.

I sighed heavily, feeling a little bit of tension leave my body. “I’m processing some shit.”

Loryn frowned. She ran her thumb over my hand, her eyes crinkled in thought. “Processing what? Does it have something to do with your weekend home?”

I’m not sure why, because it wasn’t funny at all, but I laughed. I laughed so hard that I couldn’t breathe, my hand covering my face. Loryn’s hand squeezed mine, but she waited until I stopped before saying anything.

“Lyn?” The concern was so obvious in her voice, it made me feel sick to my stomach.

“Yeah, something happened,” I said bitterly. “I fucking hate going home because everything is shit. Leigh and I got into it with one another and mum is a fucking sociopath who gets sick enjoyment watching us all squirm as she bullies us. I shouldn’t have gone but I had this insane notion that maybe, just maybe if I did, I could fix my stupid broken relationships with my sisters at least! But here I am, miserable because I was a bloody optimist, and I got burned for it. I can’t sleep a full night’s sleep and haven’t been able to since before what happened to Jackie and I just want it all to stop!”

My chest was heaving, and my eyes were prickly, but I felt a little bit better after getting it all out. I refused to remove my hand from my eyes, instead opting to lie there with my eyes closed tight.

“What…what do you mean?” Loryn’s voice sounded hesitant. “You want what to all stop?”

“I dunno…” I took a deep breath to stop myself from shaking. “I’m just so fucking exhausted, Loryn. I don’t think I can keep going like this.”

Loryn reached over, taking my hand off my face. I cracked open a single eye, only to shut it again when I saw the look of fear in her eyes. “No, Lyn, please look at me,” she said quietly.

So, I did. I opened my eyes and looked over at my friend, whose face was twisted up with conflicting emotions. Why did I always feel sick when someone looked at me that way? I didn’t need them to pity me more or anything. I know that’s not what Loryn was doing at all, but it felt that way.

“Lyn,” she started softly, “I need you listen to what I’m saying, okay? You have to relax. No more pushing yourself to the limits. I am your friend, and I’m saying this because I care about you so much, but it’s fucking ridiculous how much pressure you’re putting on yourself. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone, not anymore. You’ve shown how bright you are, how caring you are, and how much effort you put into everything. Forget them and focus on you.”

I stared into her eyes and a realization came to me slowly. Loryn cared about me, this I knew. But the reason why I always felt sick when I saw someone looking at me that way was because no one ever looked at me like that while growing up. Someone actually giving a shit about me was so alien to me that I reacted negatively each time I saw it.

“Focus on me…?” I repeated slowly, my own voice unsure. I sat up a little, blinking rapidly. “Loryn, I’m not sure how to do that.”

Loryn smiled at me, with a small shake of her head. “I know, you dumbass. That’s why we’re here for you. You just have to tell us what you need, okay?”

What I need? I looked around, taking in the sights around me for the first time. I saw Andrew standing nearby, twisting his cap in his hands in a fit of nervous energy. Kerry and Matt stood close enough that they could be there right away, both looking worried. Tammy and Emma sat on the blocks, talking to each other but clearly keeping an eye on me. Maddie was making sure that Will didn’t make his way over at all. I shifted to my knees, feeling overwhelmed with feelings. I…how could I be so blind? These idiots were here for me last year, yet I was so wrapped in my own drama that I never noticed it, but I could see it clearly now. We were family, like Coach Jacob said at the start of the season. These people, they were here for me, if I needed it. Just like we were for Gunner. Just like we were for Jackie.

“Loryn…I-” I choked. I was shaking as I reached over, pulling her into a crushing hug. “I need help,” I practically whispered the last part.

She reached up, running her hand through my hair. “I know, Lyn, I know. We’ve got you.”

Next thing I knew, they were all there. The whole thing was so overstimulating, and I felt myself dissociating again, but that was fine. I sat there under their smothering hugs, staring off into space again. Help, that’s what I needed. Someone who I could talk to about everything, all the abuse, all the impossible expectations. I knew deep down it wasn’t going to be easy for me, these kinds of things never were. We were always told that people who needed metal health help were weak, because they were unable to cope with ‘daily stressors’ but I knew this wasn’t true. I saw Ally, how she dealt with all the shit life threw at her, but it didn’t make her weak. If anything, Ally was stronger than I ever could be.

I closed my eyes, resting my head on Loryn’s shoulder. Right now, I felt weak. And that was okay.

XXX

Ally.

Now I promised Michael I wasn’t going to be obsessive all day about this, and I think for the most part I kept that promise. Key word being most.

It’s just that the whole thing was extremely concerning and interesting to me. I truly believed that Dahlia didn’t keep something from me intentionally, which led me to believe that she really wasn’t aware of Fredrik’s presence in the locker room. Which led me wondering how he managed to escape her notice. Like I’ve said before, somehow answers always ended up leading to more questions. It was a wonder how I haven’t torn my hair out yet in frustration.

I looked down at my notebook, filled with all the information that the others and I have gathered so far. The most shocking piece of the puzzle was this Jeremiah Kinkly fellow. There was a very slim chance that he wasn’t related to our dreadful Drama professor. How was Professor Kinkly connected in all of this? Was he even? Was it merely coincidence that this name showed up at all? I was starting to get a headache from all of thoughts buzzing around in my head.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I never even noticed when this guy approached my table. He rapped his knuckles against the hardwood, causing me to jump in surprise. I looked up at him, blinking in confusion.

“Yes?”

He smirked at me, making my stomach flipped uncomfortably. “Hey, babe, I was wondering if I could sit with you? There’s no available seats.”

Babe? Excuse me? I looked around and noticed there were several empty seats. I turned back to him, raising an eyebrow in question. “Actually, I’m pretty sure there are a bunch around. Maybe take a second look?”

“Well,” he drawled, leaning down into my space, “I just wanted to sit with a hot girl like you. Is that okay?”

I shook my head, really taking this guy in. He had dark hair that was combed back and hawkish features. He was good looking, but I couldn’t shake the predatory feeling I was getting off of him. It was making me uneasy.

“Sorry?” He looked shocked. “Are you actually saying no to me? You know there’s nothing stopping me from sitting here if I wanted to, right? Stop being a bitch.”

“Stop being a bitch?!” I stood up, glaring at him fiercely. “I’m not being a bitch because I don’t what some asshole sitting with me!”

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off when someone angrily said, “Derek, get the fuck away from her, you creep.”

I looked behind me to see Lyn and Loryn standing behind me, anger in their eyes. I have to admit, while I felt I had this under control, seeing Lyn glaring at this guy and protecting me had a certain sexiness to it.

“Lyn!” He went from annoyed to smarmy in a flash. “How have you been doing, sexy?”

“None of your business,” she snarled at him, fury in her eyes. “I’m pretty sure I made it clear I didn’t want to have anything to do with you anymore. Now, don’t you have someone else to bother? Where’s Poppy at?”

The guy, Derek, shrugged lazily. “Dumped her a while back. She was fun for awhile, but she was looking for something more committed. I wasn’t about to do that for her. Anyway, I’m not sure why you give a damn who I talk to, so I’m pretty sure this chick here is free game.”

“I’m not a piece of property!” I snapped.

When Derek didn’t step away, both Lyn and Loryn stepped closer so they were beside me. Derek sized us all up, and maybe after seeing how much more fit the two swimmers were, decided it wasn’t worth the fight. He shrugged away, running a hand through his hair.

“Whatever,” he grumbled. “Forgot what a cunt you could be, Lyn.”

Lyn’s face coloured with anger, but it was Loryn who shoved a hand into his chest. “I never fucking want to hear you speak to Lyn or any other girl like that again, you bastard,” she growled menacingly. “If I do, you’ll regret ever making an enemy of Loryn Frasier.”

He rolled his eyes and finally walked away, clearly making the right decision in not saying anything else. After he was fully out of our sights, Loryn looked over her shoulder at me.

“You okay?” she asked.

I nodded. “Thanks. I think I had it under control, but the help was appreciated.”

“Yeah, sorry,” said Lyn, looking bashful. “I figured you were okay, but Derek is awful. Even looking at him makes my skin crawl. We saw what was happening and just reacted.” She tugged at her ear, staring down at her shoes.

“Who was he anyway?”

“My ex,” sighed Lyn. “One of them, anyhow.”

“Seriously one of the worst decisions you’ve ever made in your entire life,” commented Loryn.

“Shut up, I know.”

That was Lyn’s ex? Ugh, he was a piece of work. I scowled in his direction one last time before moving on. It was one bad conversation, hopefully it wouldn’t happen again. Shaking my head, I looked over to the two of them. Loryn caught my eye and patted Lyn on the shoulder, pulling her close. She whispered something, which Lyn nodded to. Sparing her friend one last thoughtful look, Loryn waved goodbye to us as she left us alone.

We stood there silently for a few seconds as Lyn continued to look down at her shoes. She seemed a little less tense than she did yesterday, but she looked even more tired. I tapped my shoe against hers, knocking her out of her thoughts.

She looked up, our eyes meeting. I smiled at her, and eventually she smiled back. Not one of those fake smiles that she’s been using, but a real one. It was small, but it was there. And, there was a brightness to her eyes that hadn’t been there in a while.

“Sorry I didn’t answer your text,” she said almost shyly. “I was processing some stuff. I’m feeling a little better, so I wanted to see what you wanted in person.”

“Only if you’re feeling better,” I said.

“Honestly, I still feel like shit,” she snorted. “But I made a breakthrough. I’m not feeling fantastic, but I’m feeling well enough that I could come and be here for you tonight.”

“If you’re sure,” I nodded. “I just wanted you and Michael to be here when I spoke to Dahlia Cressman tonight. I’m hopeful we’ll get some answers.”

We started walking out of the library. Lyn had a thoughtful look on her face, but I was hesitant to push her for her thoughts, so I didn’t ask what was on her mind. We walked over to the tree where Michael was already waiting for us, shivering from the cold. He perked up when he recognized us in the dark.

“Thank God you’re here,” he said to me as we approached. “People kept staring at me.”

“Welcome to my world,” I laughed.

“Soooo, what’s the plan?” he asked, looking over at the tree. Lyn and I looked over as well.

“I’m hopefully going to get some answers,” I declared.

“Answers for what, Ally?”

The air pressure changed as Dahlia appeared in front of me, her arms crossed with a disinterested look. Instinctively, Michael stepped closer to me, hand going to my shoulder. For his comfort or mine, I wasn’t sure. If Lyn noticed the difference in the air, she didn’t show it. She was staring at the tree with curiosity, rocking on the balls of her feet.

“Hi, Dahlia,” I said cheerfully.

“I hope for both of our sake’s you’re not trying to press more answers out of me that I cannot give,” she said coolly.

Using my free arm that wasn’t currently being used as a crutch, I pulled out my notebook. I flipped to the page I was looking forward, with the information with Fiona and Fredrik Moore. I held it up so she could read it clearly. Her eyes skimmed the page, the curiosity lighting up in her eyes. She looked at me when she was finished, tilting her head.

“What’s this all about?”

“See, that’s where it gets interesting,” I said, flipping to the page with what she told me about the Athletic Centre. “See here? This is what you told me after we got back from the hospital. You told me that there were two spirits currently lingering there. However, these recent DNA results,” I pulled out the printed results, “suggest to us that there are three lingering attachments. I was hoping you would know anything about that.”

Dahlia stared at me for a couple of minutes, her face carefully controlled to show nothing. Then she broke out in a mischievous grin, amusement twinkling in her eyes.

“Doesn’t it feel better once the pieces start to fit together nicely?” Dahlia looked at all three of us, the grin still in place. “When I told you that there were two spirits haunting the Athletic Centre, I wasn’t being dishonest. Technically, there are only two lingering attachments. But see, there is where it gets a little tricky, Ally. Tell me, what are the names you have?”

“Uh, Fiona and Fredrik Moore, and Jeremiah Kinkly.”

Dahlia nodded. She stepped back, leaning against the tree. “Fiona is correct. I remember the day she died, very tragic. Jeremiah as well, though I wasn’t there for his death. He died during the construction of the campus. You can look into that, darling, but according to the others he fell from the building when the windows were being put in. Fredrik, on the other hand, is not a lingering spirit.”

“Huh?” I was confused. How did that make any sense? The other two looked over, and Michael squeezed my shoulder.

“What did she say? I can hear whispers on the wind but I’m not picking up any words,” he whispered, eyes darting around the area.

I quickly recapped what she told me. Michael rubbed his chin in thought, while Lyn glanced over to where Dahlia was. I looked over too, noticing for the first time Dahlia was staring at Lyn intently. That was strange. Dahlia must have realized I caught her staring, because she looked away, her face giving nothing away. I made a mental note of that.

“What does that mean?” Lyn asked, turning her attention to me.

“I’m not sure,” I replied honestly. “Can you tell me what that means, Dahlia?”

Dahlia’s eyes flickered to me as she nodded. “He was brought here against his will. He made peace with his death, but something brought him back. That monster was in fact him, transformed by the person who forced him back into the world of the living.”

I covered my mouth in horror. I read about that recently. Someone could try to bring a spirit back, but unless they had the proper training to do it safely, the results could be disastrous. Is that what happened? Who would do that? My stomach was churning with discomfort even at the thought of someone doing something so irresponsible. Taking a deep breath, I recalled what she just told me to the others.

“That’s…that’s so horrible!” Michael squeaked out, fear constricting his throat. Lyn pressed her hands to her ears, just shaking her head.

“We have to go back…” I whispered, staring at Dahlia, who nodded when I said that.

“Go back where?” Lyn asked, giving me a skeptical look.

I hesitated before swallowing my fear. “The locker room, we have to go back.”

“Are you crazy!” Lyn shook her head in disbelief. “Remember what happened last time we went there? I fucking do, that’s for sure.”

“Yea’, is that really the best idea, Ally?” Michael added, his face pale with fear.

I nodded slowly, “Yes, I’m sure. We need to talk to Fiona, for real this time. I understand if you guys don’t want to go with me, I really do. I can go alone.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” snapped Lyn, flicking my forehead. I rubbed the spot as she crossed her arms. “Of course, I’ll go with you. Just know I think this is incredibly idiotic.”

I smiled at her, and she smiled back. I looked over at Michael, who gave me a heaving sigh. “I’m going too, obviously. I just get to complain the whole time. Also, I’m calling dibs on being the one who doesn’t get concussed this time.”

“Deal,” I laughed, reaching over to give him a hug.

I have to admit, this is a great relief. I really didn’t want to go into this alone, and it meant the world to me that they were willing to come with me, even with what happened last time. It was nice, this feeling. The feeling of no longer being alone. It was enough to make me tear up, but I quickly swiped at my eyes so they didn’t notice. Obviously I wasn’t sneaky enough, because Lyn silently reached down and took my hand into hers, rubbing her thumbs against my knuckles in comfort.

“Is that everything, then?” Dahlia asked, boredom lacing her words.

“For now, it is,” I smiled at her. “Thanks, really. You’ve been a great help tonight.”

If a ghost could blush, I’m pretty sure she just did. She twirled her hair around her finger, looking away from me. “You’re welcome, glad to be of service. Stay safe out there, Ally. Tell your friends the same thing.”

I watched as she disappeared from view. The air pressure changed back to normal, and Michael gasped beside me, but Lyn didn’t, basically confirming to me that she can’t sense anything that went on. That must be a lovely feeling. She did, however, look over where Dahlia had last been standing.

“Did she leave?”

“Yeah, she did.”

“Good. I felt like I was being watched.”

Huh, interesting. I made a mental note of that too. Actually, since I was thinking about it, I decided to bite the bullet. “Lyn?”

“Hm?”

“I was wondering something. You looked like there was something on your mind earlier before we got here. What were you thinking about?”

Michael looked curious as Lyn mulled over her answer. Finally, she just shrugged. “My dad’s last name is Cressman.”

“Your dad? Michael and I said at the same time. He grinned at me, and I smiled back.

Lyn nodded, as she starting to walk away from the tree. I followed with no choice, since our hands were still together, and Michael followed not wanting to be left behind. “Yeah, my dad. Hart is my mum’s last name,” a dark look crossed over her face for a second before settling back to neutral. “It’s probably just a coincidence though. It’s a common surname from Ontario, you know?”

A coincidence, huh? I glanced over my shoulder as we walked away, only to see Dahlia sitting up in the branches, watching us as we left. I wonder if that’s all it was.

[eleven-times-lively]

The Wedding

In which you and Fred finally tie the knot, but not before some nerves get in the way.💕

Summary: Fred Weasley x Reader get married Word Count: 2908 Note: I was reluctant to post this as Chapter 1 didn’t seem too well received. I welcome feedback and constructive advice!

You stirred as you started to wake up. Your head on your fiance’s chest, limbs entangled. You breathed in Fred’s scent: musky but fresh, like an open field. You were still for a moment, smiling to yourself. Engaged, you thought. None of it seemed real yet. It had been two days, and while you knew you were now betrothed, the realisation of “holy crap I’m going to be married to this man” hadn’t quite fully set in. As if hearing your thoughts, Fred stirred.

“Morning beautiful.”

“Hi Freddie”, you grinned ear to ear.

He leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “What’s got you so excited this morning love?”

“Nothing in particular, Freddie. Just waking up with you is all.”

He brushed a hair from your ear, sitting up in the small bed in the small flat you shared. You both hoped to move to something more suitable for marriage in the future. “I love you so much, doll.”

You straddled his lap to adjust to him sitting, not in a peculiar way, just becoming comfortable. “I love you, Freddie.” You leaned forward to kiss him. He kissed back, humming into your lips, the moment could have lasted forever.

*5 months later*

You and Fred had been planning for months, with some assistance from Ginny, Molly,

and Fleur. It was Christmastime, and you were set to be wed on Valentines Day. You had chosen

France as the location. The wedding would still be small, but it felt more special than something you’d do at home in England. And besides, Fleur knew all the best spots and you trusted her, she was your Matron of Honour after all. Fred had predictably selected George as his best man.

“What’s it matter if the flowers are peach rose or beach rose?” Fred asked with a groan. It had been a long day.

“Elegance!” Fleur exclaimed, seemingly floating across the room with her clipboard.

going between various boards with information around the room.

“That… and, Freddie, you of all people should know that the pinkist, peachiest roses are my favorite.”

“I do, love. This is all just stressful.”

“That it is.” chimed Ginny, who had married Harry just two years earlier. “How much is left to do?”

“Well I think-” you had started to say when Fleur piped up from her clipboard.

“Finalising the flower arrangements, the seating chart, and arranging for a photographer… oh and the cake!” she paused before the last piece, as if it had slipped her mind, but of course nothing could when every little detail was plastered somewhere around the room.

It was getting late, and everyone was growing tired. Harry and Bill came to fetch their brides as you turned to Fred. “Ready for bed, love?”

“Absolutely!” Fred exclaimed, giving you a quick kiss before practically dragging you upstairs.

*2 months later*

It was February 13, the night before your wedding. You were staying with Fleur in the Delacour family home with Ginny, Molly, Hermione, and Angelina. Fred, along with George, Harry, Ron, Bill, Charlie, and Arthur were off in another cottage. It was late and you were up with Fleur and Hermione.

“Are you nervous?” Hermione asked from above her teacup, perched on the couch across from you in the living room.

“I’m nervous that something may go wrong, but as for the whole marriage part of it, not at all. Fred is the love of my life. I’ve known him for ten years, and there’s no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.”

You thought Fleur was just about to fall out of her chair. “Mon dieu! Nothing goes wrong at a wedding I plan....” she trailed off, remembering her own wedding. “Do you think anything will change between you two, in the relationship?” She had collected herself and was gazing into her tea, as if the leaves had just told her some terrible news.

“I mean, I don’t believe so. Are we meant to just change our whole dynamic with the flip of a switch just because our names are together on a piece of paper? Or perhaps expect things to go awry the moment we say ‘I do’?” you chuckled at your own remark. “Freddie and I love each other, and I don’t think our almost ten year relationship can get any stronger. We can be married with no trouble at all.”

“Exactly. It’s been just over a year for me and Ron, and if anything, we are more in love than before.” Hermione added.

Fleur huffed so low you almost didn’t hear it. “Just be careful.”

With that the three of you retreated to your rooms, ready for the day ahead.

                                                              ***

The next day you woke up extra early. The ceremony was set for one, but Fleur insisted you wake up at seven to have enough time for “preparations”. It was now eight and everyone was getting ready. Fleur (and Bill) insisted on paying for hair and makeup services for the six of you. Hours later, you had put on your dress and were just about ready to leave for the venue. Your dress was simple, yet stunning. Fitting and flattering on top, full length and expanded outward past the waist, donned with long, lace sleeves and dipped neckline, you looked like a princess. Being in France and being spoiled by Fleur certainly made you feel like one. Fleur was your only bridesmaid, as you and Fred had agreed to keep it to one each to avoid any hurt feelings, thus avoiding a wedding party of over twenty. Fleur wore a gown similar to yours. I was baby blue and strapless, but featured the same lace bodice and a less flared skirt.. The wedding colors were decided to be peach and baby blue, something you and Fred came up with without assistance. 

                                                              ***

Fred and the others hadn’t woken up until around nine, as there wasn’t much to do. Ron, Harry, Bill, Charlie and Mr. Weasley all put on their suits of choice for the occasion. Meanwhile Fred was in the fanciest suit either of you had seen, picked out by Fleur. He sported a peach bowtie that surprisingly complemented his complexion. His boutineer was made of a trimmed peach rose and baby blue wildflowers. George matched him to a tee, but in a less flashy suit and a baby blue bowtie. You figured that the guests would need something to tell them apart. Fred and George were in one of the upstairs bedrooms shortly before having to leave.

“I’m bloody terrified, mate.” Fred had tears in his eyes, seated at the end of the bed.

George stood above him, consoling yet almost unsure of what to do, as he’d never seen emotions like this from Fred. “You aren’t having second thoughts are you? I can’t imagine you are.”

“What? Bloody hell George of course not. But what if I’m not good enough.”

“What in the world do you mean Fred?”

“I mean sure we were cute in Hogwarts, and even past that, but what if that’s all we are? Some teen romance that’s living on borrowed time? What if we get a month into this and realise we’ve been living some kind of pipe dream and we aren’t equipped for marriage?” Fred was sobbing at this point, something very unusual. Bill, Ron, and Charlie rushed upstairs at the sound, knowing a problem calling for a brother’s understanding needed to be solved.

“Fred, don’t talk like that. Look at any of us and you’ll see none of that is true. Ron and Hermione, George and Angelina, even me and Fleur, we knew our wives since Hogwarts, and none of us could be happier.” Bill chimed in from the back.

“I can’t exactly relate here, but even I know you sound crazy… more than usual.” Charlie added from next to Bill.

The four of them stared at Fred, who had collected himself. “I know that, and I know I’m being irrational. I just want the best for her… for us.”

“Of course you do, mate.” Ron chimed in. “And you know what? When you start thinking like that, in terms of “us”, that’s how you know you’re ready.” George and Bill gave nods of approval at his remark.

“Alrighty then. Well in that case, we have a wedding to get to!” Fred stood up from the bed, seemingly renewed, as he darted out the door.

                                                               ***

The ceremony hall was immaculate. Rows of perfectly lined chairs to accommodate the Weasleys, friends, and your family. The ceremony had begun, the enchanted organ playing a soft melodic tune. Fred had come down the aisle, and when he did Mrs. Weasley was already in tears. She was in disbelief that her baby was getting married, with all but one now wed. Fred couldn’t stop smiling from ear to ear. Nothing particularly exciting had occurred yet, but as he stood before the crowd, he was full of more glee than ever before. George and Fleur came next, arms linked and Fleur carried her small bouquet. They both looked stunning, and happy to be the only two chosen to be in the wedding party. They took their respective places, with George and Fred exchanging and a small hug. Finally, it was your turn. You had lost your dad in the Battle of Hogwarts, and had no brothers or close male family members. However, the Weasley family had come to feel like your own, with the older children becoming your closest friends.. The doors opened and everyone rose, to see you arm-in-arm with Bill and Charlie. If Fred wasn’t crying as the doors opened, he certainly was as you came down the aisle. A collective, yet soft gasp came over the crowd, stunned at your beauty. You had tears in your eyes you were trying to hold in. Holding your large bouquet and enjoying the moment, you reached the front of the room. You hugged the brothers as they took their seats.

“Hi.” you whispered at Fred, so low that not even the officiant had heard. You handed your bouquet to Fleur and took Fred’s hands.

“Hi yourself, gorgeous.” his trademark smirk came out with his words.

You were both trying to hold back the tears that yearned to flow. Fred caught up in your beauty and grace, and you in the prospect of being connected to the man before you for eternity. 

“Dearly beloved…” the officiant began; you and Fred never leaving each other’s gaze. After a few moments, “it has come to the portion of the ceremony for the couple to recite their vows. Y/n and Fred have chosen to write their own. The miss will begin.”

You took a deep, shaky breath, Fred smiling down at you as you began. “Fred,” you got the one word out when your voice broke and the tears began to fall. You giggled, as it was almost comical. “Fred, my love, my rock, my angel.” now he was crying. “From the moment I first saw you, I knew you were the one for me. Your kindness, wit, and damn... that smile, I’ve loved you since day one. I have loved the same man since I was fourteen, and now I’m here today marrying him. It was said to me by a friend that I’d know I truly wanted to spend forever with you once we’d been through hell and back together. Fred, we’ve been through more than most together, only growing stronger. You’ve been there through the good, the bad, and the ugly, and have still managed to stick around. From our first date, first kiss, first love, you’ve been the most amazing person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. You have an affect on me I can’t explain. Fred, you make me a kinder, gentler person, my equalizing force. Bloody hell, you’ve got me up here pouring my heart out in front of our family, you bloke. We’ve had quite the time together, I can’t wait to continue this wonderful journey. I love you Fred, more than anything, therefore I pledge my faith to thee.” Fred looked down at you as if you held the most beautiful parts of the world in your hands. He had tears streaming down his face and he mouthed an ‘I love you’ at you.

“And now for the vows prepared by Mr. Weasley.”

“Y/n, you are by far the most gorgeous, kind, smart, caring, witty, and did I mention beautiful, person I’ve ever had the grace to know. You, quite literally, came tumbling into my life, and damn if it didn’t make it better by tenfold. You are truly a force of nature, my dear. Through our ups and downs you’ve taken life by the bootstraps and walked through with grace and such conviction that the Earth stops for you, or at least I did. I remember our first kiss, y/n. It was a month after I asked you out, and we were in the astronomy tower. I leaned down, whispered “can I kiss you?” and your reply was a simple “well I’ve been waiting for a month, Fred.” as you pulled me in yourself. It’s that drive, that conviction, and the undying love that stems from it, that has kept me around all these years. It also doesn’t hurt that you’re bloody stunning. George said to me the day after we met, “I have a good feeling about her mate, better keep her around.” and damn if he wasn’t right. You’ve proven to be an amazing person, and even better partner… in life and… other endeavours. I want you to be my Mrs. Weasley forever, y/n, therefore I pledge my faith to thee.” He was grinning, and still crying, as were you. You were impressed with the poignant literary skills your husband had brandished.

“And now for the rings.” The rings floated in, enchanted by one of the Weasleys. “Miss y/n will begin.”

“Fred, I present you this ring as a reminder of my constant, undying love. From this day forward, I vow to love, honour, cherish, and respect you. In sickness and in health, in poverty and wealth, till death do us part. With this ring, I thee wed.” You slipped the ring onto his finger.

“Y/n, I give to you this ring as an object of my love, passion, and faith to you. From this day on, I promise to love, honour, value, and hold you in the highest, as long as we are wed. For sickness or for health, for rich or for poor, till death do us part. With this ring, I thee wed.” He slipped the ring onto your finger, giving your hand a kiss.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mr. Weasley, you may now kiss your bride.”

His arms wrapped around your waist as he dipped you both and brought you into the most loving, meaningful kiss you’d shared. The moment could have lasted a lifetime, neither of you wanted to break. He pulled his lips away slightly. “I love you, y/n”, before you both resumed your standing positions. Fleur returned your bouquet as you and Fred stood forward and clasped hands.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I now present to you, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Fred Weasley!”

Cheers erupted from your audience and you and Fred commenced the recessional, followed by Fleur and George. Everyone streamed out, all ready to enjoy the reception ahead.

                                                               ***

Before heading to photos, you and Fred had snuck away to a hidden bedroom within the reception villa. You wanted a moment alone in each other’s company before your night was focused on the party and your guests.

“We’re married now, love.” Fred was once again fighting back tears as you both sat on the bed. “I’ve wanted to call you mine, officially, since fourth year, and look at us now… Mrs. Weasley.” The word sounded like pure honey coming off his tongue.

“I love you, Freddie, I can’t wait to begin this new chapter with you… Mr. Weasley.” He brought his thumb up to wipe a tear from your cheek that had fallen.

The two of you were silent, enjoying the warmth and company. You stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, the same thoughts seeming to run through your heads. You rested your head on Fred’s chest. He kissed your forehead before setting his chin down on your head. The moment lasted forever, you both finding solace in the other’s steady breathing. Fred sensed you about to fall asleep to the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest. He kissed your forehead and you stirred. You lifted your head up enough for him to kiss you on the lips. The deep kiss evolved as you both sat up and you straddled his lap. You began to kiss down his neck when he had to interrupt.

“Hey, y/n?”

“Hmm?” You said, now fiddling with his bowtie.

“As much as I want to absolutely ravish you, that should wait for tonight. We have a party to attend, you’ll never believe who the guests of honour are.” You huffed, genuinely disappointed. “I knowwww”, you said, dragging out the last letter.

He picked you up bridal-style, carrying you out of the room and outside where the photographer and your family were waiting. You shared in one last  kiss before embarking on your first adventure as a married couple.

[gisachi]

#42 for the shinran kissing prompts maybe? (thank you for the nice tags on my art btw 😉💜)

Thanks for this request! 💞 Ahh, what can I say, your doodles are so funny and so lovely to look at!! I’ve never had the proper chance to thank you for your tags on my posts too so I’ll take this opportunity. It makes me really happy that you like what I write ;;_;; So I remembered reading one of your tags saying that you like Domestic!ShinRan so I’mma give that to you rn. I really hope you like this! 🤗

42. Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead. (1,551 words)

.

.

.

9:00 PM.

It’s automatic, whenever the grandfather clock strikes 9:00 PM. Seconds after the last chime of the bell, he’ll hear the library door open, footsteps lightly approach him, then hundreds of pecks will wordlessly land on his cheek in the midst of his paperwork, disrupting the mind palace he’s put up for hours.

It did surprise him the first time, giving his wife a weirded out ‘What’s with you?’ look, but it doesn’t take a while for Pavlov to prove his theory to him when for the next four or five times, he begins to grow accustomed to this flow of events. He doesn’t even have to look at the clock; he just knows that once the library door clicks, it’s 9 o’clock, and he’s bound to ready his cheeks for the array of kisses that’ll shortly follow.

Though his mind has already been conditioned to this, Shinichi’s yet to admit that that is the most favorite thing he wants from his wife to do. After all, anyone who knows him knows that he must not be disturbed in the middle of his deductions. Well, they can, but at the expense of being ignored, or avoided, or humiliated for feeling like they’re talking to a brick wall.

Thus it has been a universal rule that a working Shinichi is an absolutely-cannot-be-disturbed Shinichi. And his wife knows this for sure.

Yet why? For what purpose is she doing this, persistently giving him something he never asked for? Something she isn’t even sure he wants, or needs?

Tonight is rather a busy night for him. He doesn’t usually bring home extra paperwork from the Department, but this present case - a child kidnapping case - calls for urgency. Since 5 PM, he hasn’t left the Kudo library and has even missed dinner. But hunger is nothing compared to the need for the case to be resolved as soon as possible. Time is the enemy. So for almost three hours, he reads, he closes his eyes, he writes, he thinks. On repeat.

“Yes, Megure-keibu. Yes. Among the suspects only the child’s aunt living in Minato ward can possibly do this. Said she’s never been in touch with the kid for years and- Yes. And yet she knows her routine after school. She’s been spying on her. Right. Please send the Team right away to her house. Be on guard. It’s possible there’s someone with her with a weapon. Mm. Let me know once the suspect is restrained.”

He paces back and forth the library, grave and relentless worry evident in his face. He waits, and waits, and waits. Forty minutes of frantic silence and tension, hunger and thirst unnoticed. For forty minutes his world zeroes in on just him and this case, not in the least mindful of his environment, of any sound other than his nervous heart and seeing nothing other than the flash of memories from back when he - and she - was young.

Finally, the awaited call arrives.

“Shinichi-kun, the culprit has been apprehended. Good job. We’ll hear more details on this tomorrow. You may now retire for the night.”

Thank goodness.

Slumping into his chair, he heaves a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Megure-keibu.”

He checks his phone clock. 8:58 PM. Wow, it took almost four hours. He doesn’t even realize. Oh, the effect of child kidnapping cases on him.

He stays in his chair, unmoving. That’s when it hits. The fatigue. The hunger. Minor unfinished paperwork still lays on his desk but he figures he needs a little breather.

For once he actually seeks for rest.

Ran.

8:59 PM.

How convenient. Now he just has to wait for one more minute. Then the grandfather clock will chime and the door will click and this time, he’s ready to welcome whatever intrusion there’ll be, as long as it’s from her.

Ran.

He closes his eyes, chuckles breathily. Hah.

For the first time, is he really actively waiting for her to come?

He waits, and waits, and waits.

Any time now.

Aaaany time.

9:01 PM.

9:10 PM. 9:15 PM.

9:20 PM.

Maybe it’s the tiredness acting up, and he’s not supposed to be cranky because he has just solved a kidnapping case, but right now, he cannot stop his brows from furrowing and his lips from curving upside down.

Where the hell is she?

Releasing an impatient groan, he decides to just continue with the minor paperwork. Maybe she’s already asleep; doesn’t wait for him anymore since he sure is taking his time with this. He mechanically grabs his pen, flips some pages over, and stares blankly at words.

Man... he’s pretty bummed.

“Done with the case?”

He jerks from his seat, heart leaping a little. Trying to keep a straight expression, he slowly turns to the door, and there she is. The woman he’s secretly waiting for.

Ran.

Shinichi watches her walk his direction before finally realizing how much he’s been staring, and then returns his attention to his paperwork.

“...Late.” He mumbles, so low she barely hears it.

She stops, quirks an eyebrow. “Oh. Were you waiting for me?”

“Wh— N-no. Not at all.”

How childish he might’ve sounded just now.

Trying to push past her teasing stare, he pretends to go over the piles of paper in front of him one by one.

But Ran knows her husband too well. She approaches his desk, and, after a faint giggle, gives a light peck on his visibly flustered cheeks.

“I tucked Sakura and Shinji to bed,” she says, giving an answer to his unspoken question. “Took me quite a while this time.”

He tilts his head, half-facing her. “And? Are they asleep now?”

“Yes.”

“Mm.”

She leans in for another peck and Shinichi instinctively offers his cheek, closing his eyes. Feeling her subtle smile against his skin, he cannot help but smile, too, as she gives him three more. Ran stands straight and sighs.

“You skipped dinner, Shinichi. I’ll heat up your food, okay?” She steps away, only to be abruptly stopped by a stubborn tug of his hand on her wrist.

“Ran, that’s...not enough.”

Swiveling his chair to face her, he opens his arms, catching Ran dumbfounded from where she stands. Then, without any word, she retraces her steps, slowly, until she’s standing between his legs, and his arms wrap around her waist.

“I was.”

“Was what?”

“Waiting.”

Cheeks dusting with red, Shinichi holds her gaze as she stares him down his seat; her eyes wide at the unexpected declaration before narrowing into slits.

“Mmm, really? M’not bothering you with your work?” She nudges her head to his desk.

“Nope.”

“But that’s not what I was getting before.”

“Hmm?”

“You've never reciprocated my kisses then,” she puffs her cheeks.

“Well…”

"You didn’t even notice I checked up on you before 9 o’clock. You were too engrossed with the case, spanning the room back and forth like a madman.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, so I figured it’s probably better not to disturb you until you’re done with it...don’t wanna risk being yelled at.”

“I’m not-“

“Oh, Shinichi. I understand, you don’t want any disturbance when solving cases, not even from your wife—“

He cuts her off with a kiss on the lips, dissolving Ran’s further complaints in his mouth.

“That’s not true,” he declares, then kisses her again, chastely. “Keep on doing that, okay? ‘Disturbing’ me or whatever...Even if I look serious,” another kiss. “Or annoyed.” Kiss. “Or cannot be bothered.” Long kiss. “Just...don’t stop doing that.”

He pauses for a good minute, admiring how she looks with her brows still wrinkled but face and ears now more crimson than his.

Ah. Yes— Now it’s clear.

What a shame for not having realized this sooner.

Breaking off his loving gaze, Ran pinches his cheeks, pulling them like dough. “Who says anything about stopping? Who’s gonna tuck you to bed when that happens?”

“Oh okay,” he chuckles, “so you’re really doing this whole thing to annoy me, huh?”

“Of course. Is there any other reason?”

He kisses her again, smiles fondly against her lips. “Because you love me?”

She returns the kiss, reciprocates the smile he doesn’t even bother hiding. “Now you’re being cocky.”

Hands intertwined, foreheads together, eyes closed, soft giggles lingering, husband and wife drown in each other’s comfort, forgetting about the time and hunger and everything else, his long day ending with her, at last. No one can take away this moment from them this time. Not even the minor unfinished paperwork.

Yes. This woman. His wife. Ran.

The only distraction he’ll ever want, and ever need.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what the case was all about?” He speaks softly, a little above a whisper.

“What is it?”

“Child kidnapping case.”

“Oh no,” Ran separates from him, expression visibly concerned, “and you’ve solved it?”

“Yes. The TMPD already apprehended the culprit.”

“That’s a relief,” she returns her forehead to his. “Though Shinichi, honestly I’ve never seen you so invested in a case before.”

“Yeah. It hits close to home.”

“What do you mean?”

Silence, then he takes a deep breath.

“Did you know that you were almost kidnapped when we were in Kindergarten?”

“I was almost...what?!”

“Let’s save that bedtime story for later. Dinner first?”

.

.

.

[reidimagines]

I knew it was you

Moments series part 3! You don’t have to read the first parts to understand :) (yes, i’m continuing like i didn’t stop for 2-3 years!)

“What do you mean, you’re stuck there?” 

Emily sighed softly, almost at loss for words. “Well, not stuck, but… I’m staying behind a few days. Don’t worry about it, nothing’s wrong-” 

“Emily,” You softly interrupted her. “What’s going on?” You knew when she was lying, she’d never been the best at hiding it. You didn’t need to be a profiler to know your girlfriend was lying, or uncomfortable, or sad, or… shaken? Was that it? 

“Really, it’s fine,” She repeated. “Morgan will stay behind, too, is that better?” 

It only made you worry more, but it meant someone knew what was happening. “Maybe a bit,” It wasn’t a lie, just not the whole truth. “Please call me if anything happens? Or if you want to talk?” 

You could hear her smile when she said; “I always want to talk to you.” 

Without meaning to, she took a bit of your worry away. You chuckled softly, wanting that she was with you. “Then I expect a lot of text messages and calls, agent Prentiss.” 

She laughed softly, before she went quiet for a little while. “I should go, I’ll keep you updated, okay?” 

You hummed non-committedly, it wasn’t like you had much of a choice. 

She sighed lightly, you heard her move, before she said. “I love you,” She said softly, but with force. 

“I know,” You muttered. “I love you too, it’s just… hard, sometimes. I miss you.” You left out the part were you wanted to say: especially when you’re staying longer and keeping me in the dark.

“I miss you too,” She said softly. “I wouldn’t stay if I didn’t feel like I had to.” 

You knew that, you really did, but there was an insecure part, that felt like she was holding something back. “Don’t worry about it,” You said after a little while. You felt childish for feeling the way you did. “I’ll see you in a couple of days?” 

“Of course,” Emily sounded taken aback, even though it was only for a moment. “Bye, Y/n.” 

The phone clicked, and you sighed. Why couldn’t she just be straightforward with you? You’d seen her do it to others, why not you, too?

Not wanting to break your head over it, you went to the kitchen, preparing dinner. You had to do something to take your mind off things. Emily was just a two hour drive away, she’d been much farther, but to you, it had rarely felt like there was so much distance between you. 

It felt childish, you weren’t fifteen anymore, didn’t need constant contact or every move and motive explained. You knew you shouldn’t be as upset about it, but work had been swallowing her lately, she just needed a few days off, and now she was spending them with a case, maybe something else. She spent them worrying, you knew that much for sure. 

Pushing it away for now, you decided that you’d call Derek. The not knowing would drive you crazy if you didn’t at least know something. 

Hours crept by slowly, until it was a little after nine, and you called Derek. You couldn’t stop wondering, and if you didn’t call now, it would be never.

“Y/n? You good?” He sounded surprised, which wasn’t weird. You had his number, but he used it more to keep you updated than you did. 

“Yeah,” You quickly said. “I’m fine, I just wanted to ask you something. You’re staying behind with Emily, right?” 

“Yeah, she couldn’t stay here alone, she needs someone, at least,” He was silent for a moment. “Why?” 

“She’s not telling me anything, please tell me what’s going on, I’m so worried-” 

He chuckled softly, and you hoped he wouldn’t say it was ‘personal’ or ‘not up to him to say’. “She didn’t tell you? It’s really nothing to worry about, she’s looking in to a case connected to the one we solved. It took a hold on her.” 

“Why didn’t she just tell me?” You felt a wave of relief - there was nothing wrong, she was fine. There was no murderer hunting her down. She was absolutely fine. 

“I don’t know, didn’t want you to worry, I guess.” 

You scoffed, dropping down on the couch. “Well, that didn’t work.” 

“Obviously,” He said. “We’re in a hotel called ‘pink paradise’, in case you’re wondering.” He said, before hanging up. 

You were wondering. If it was just that, you could just… drop by. It was a two hour drive, and your work could miss you for a couple of days. It was too late to go now, especially since you needed to pack your bag. You opened your laptop, and sent a mail that you were feeling unwell and wouldn’t be able to come in for the next four days. Then, you went to pack your bag, including some of your cooking, hoping she’d told the truth when she called your lasagna amazing. 

--

“Hi,” You smiled at the clerk, heavy bag at your feet and a little out of breath. “Can you tell me what room Emily Prentiss is in? I’m here to surprise her.” 

“I can’t give you that info,” He said. “Privacy.” 

“Right,” You nodded. “Well, there goes my surprise, can you tell me the room if I call her? Or do I have to wait until she comes back?” 

“Y/n!” You turned around, seeing Derek. “Knew you’d come.” 

You grinned. “Your hint wasn’t that subtle,” You rubbed the back of your neck, stepping away from the desk. “I wanted to come. Do you have her room number?” 

“Twenty four,” He said softly. “I don’t have her key, but we agreed to get lunch, so she’ll be here any minute.” 

“Better wait at her door, then,” You grinned, lifting the bag. Who knew a four-day bag could be so heavy. “Thanks again, really.” 

You took the elevator, ready to go hang with door number twenty four, but at the end of the hallway, there was a turn. You could still surprise her, wait until she was inside, then knock. You wandered around the corner, waiting and waiting. 

It took her longer than Derek made it sound, and you were getting bored and stiff. Walking around in the small hallway helped. With the stiffness, at least. You heard the elevator come up, the doors sliding open. You rushed back to your spot, almost positive that if it was Emily, she’d seen you. 

The footsteps of the person haltered, if only shortly, before you heard them continue. You quickly glanced around the corner when you heard a door. It was Emily. Waiting a few minutes, you made sure you looked okay, dragging the bag to the door. 

You knocked, and she opened the door with a smile mere moments later. “I knew it was you,” She breathed out, pulling you against her. “What are you doing here?” 

You held her tight, not wanting to let go just yet. “I was worried. I called Derek, he told me what was going on. I figured you could use some company during your breaks.” 

She pulled away just a bit. “You didn’t have to,” She tucked some hair behind your ear. 

“I know,” Your hands found rest on her hips. “I wanted to. We both need it.” 

You leaned in to kiss her, it was only shortly, a gentle brush of lips, before both of you were smiling at each other again. “How about you let me in, and we go to grab some lunch?” 

“I only gave myself an hour,” She said, stepping aside to let you in. “We could just stay here-” 

“You need to eat if you’re gonna work,” You chuckled, stepping closer again. “We have time tonight, right?”  She always said being subtle wasn’t your strong suit, so why try to change?

She caught your lips with hers, this one, a kiss in privacy, was warm, needing, long. “I’ll make time.” 

“You’re sweet,” You whispered, Emily still made you lose your breathe when she kissed you like that. “Next time,” You hesitantly began, pressing another short kiss to her lips, hands moving to her cheeks. “Just talk to me, babe, I can’t always help, but I can understand, and listen.” 

She closed her eyes, sighing softly. “I know, I should have, I didn’t want to worry you-” 

“You made me worry more,” You chuckled. “But it made me end up here, so I’m not complaining.” 

She hummed, kissing you again. “Me neither, if you’re training me to talk, this isn’t the way.” 

“Shut up,” You giggled, wrapping your arms around her neck. “I love you. Let’s get lunch.”

[going-dead]

What if..?

Hey back from months of making zero DP content, hyper fixation is back and here for a while. So here’s my entry for Danny phantom angst day as well as Ectober day 1 prompt: What if? (list by @fruitloopghost )  I wrote this in one sitting instead of doing something productive like homework so sorry for any errors, I’ll comb through and edit when I have time. Click the read more to read it.

What if they hate him, try to capture him, or just shoot him? What if he gets thrown out, allowed to live but not around them. That would somehow be worse Danny figured. “Well are you going to say anything?” Danny asked, staring at his parents. He would settle for anything talking, questions, yelling, any type of reaction just not silence. Transformation rings split once more leaving a dark haired boy in their wake. Jazz was nervously looking between their parents. Danny didn’t know what she was nervous about, it was his half-life at stake.

Maddie’s hands were shaking as she lifted them as if to ward off her son. Her face steeled. “No. Jazz take Danny upstairs and make sure he gets to his room. Your father and I are going to work this out, we will solve this Danny don’t worry. You’ll be rid of Phantom soon”

Danny’s face twisted in a mixture of hurt and confusion. “But there’s nothing to get rid of? I’m me still, kinda human still, I just have a bit extra tacked on. But that bit is still me, Phantom is me as much as I am Phantom. It’s not a ‘we’ scenario it’s me.” He tried to explain, turning his hand invisible as if to prove a point. He looked to his father pleadingly who had yet to speak up,

“It will be okay Danny, but we’re scientists. We observe the world with facts. And the fact is that we just found out our son as you put it is ‘half ghost’. This is an unknown and we are going to have to be wary until have the facts.” Jack gave a smile, but it was obviously forced. The man smiles so much it’s easy to tell when it isn’t genuine. He gave Jazz and Danny a shooing motion. Leaving no room for argument as he and Maddie descended into the lab with hushed argument.

Jazz rested her hand on Danny’s shoulder, a gesture of comfort, and led Danny upstairs. “Don’t look so glum Danny. Look on the bright side, they didn’t shoot you or try to take you into the lab!” They stopped outside his bedroom door.

“Honestly I’d rather have them try to attack me, at least that way I’d know how they felt about all of this.” He shrugged. Just because they were tolerant of him at the moment didn’t mean that their attitude won't change at any moment. He didn’t have to alert Jazz of that though she had enough worries.

“I’m sure they just need some time, they’ll see that your ghostly half doesn’t make them any less their son.” She gave him a hug before going to her own room. They had school tomorrow, it would give their parents time to adjust by themselves.

Danny gave a weak smile before retreating into his own room. He fell face first onto his bed and hugged his pillow. No matter the end outcome of this his relationship with his parents would never be the same as before. He let his thoughts fade as he drifted into sleep.

Danny didn’t wake up strapped to a lab table or connected to a bunch of instruments, so that was a plus. Did normal teens have to worry about that? Probably not Danny mused. He threw on some clothes and headed downstairs for breakfast. He was surprised to see the table set and filled with food. His brows knitted in confusion, usually he would have to make himself breakfast, his parents still asleep or already down in the lab. Jazz would cook occasionally if she woke up a bit earlier but nothing like this. 

Jazz herself came down a few seconds later, confusion evident on her face as well. The question of who was answered shortly after when Jack and Maddie stepped into the kitchen. “Ah good you’re both up. I was starting to worry you wouldn’t have time to eat. Your father and I decided it was time we had a family breakfast for once.” Maddie smiled clapping her hands together.

Danny and Jazz looked at each other in suspicion, but sat down all the same. Food was loaded onto everyone's plates, everyone except Danny started to eat. He poked his pancake with his fork, as if he expected it to explode. Jack was already halfway done with his food when he noticed Danny’s plate was still full. “Come on Danny-bo… Danny, the pancakes aren’t going to bite you.”

“Biting isn't what I’m worried about.” He mumbled, though food trying to eat the Fenton family members wasn’t unheard of, ecto-radiation was no joke. All the same he slowly took a bite of his food. He waited a few seconds, not passed out or hunched over in pain, he shrugged and continued to eat. That wasn’t to say he was comfortable, the moment the food passed his lips his parents seemed to watch his every move, studying him. He suddenly felt like an animal in the wild being observed by researchers. 

Not soon enough it was time for Danny and Jazz to head to school. Jack had already excused himself, Danny not sure to as where he went. He shouldered his bag walking with Jazz towards the front door. “Bye mom, I love you.” He called over his shoulder.

“Goodbye Danny.” Danny pretended it didn’t hurt when she didn’t say I love you back, she always said I love you back. But it was fine, teenagers aren’t supposed to tell their parents they love them anyway. Right? It didn’t matter, he had to get to school. At least that way he wouldn’t have to see the disappointment in his parents eyes everytime they looked at him. At least his teachers had a reason to look at him in disappointment.

School was uneventful, other than Sam and Tucker being relieved to see him okay. He was pretty sure the whole school could feel how nervous he was as the school day drew to an end. He didn’t want to go back home and have his parents treat him like something other. His teachers didn’t call him out when he fell asleep in class, even Dash stayed away from him that day. It wasn’t until he was in the car with Jazz did he figure out why. 

“Um Danny are you okay?” His sister asked almost warily.

“You mean other than the fact that our parents could turn on me at any second? Just peachy.”  Danny snapped. He was surprised to see Jazz almost flinch.

“Can you tone whatever you’re doing down a bit? I’d rather not get frostbite and feel an overwhelming sense of terror driving. It’s just not safe. You can talk to me you know that right?” 

Tone it down…? He looked down at his hands and saw his ghostly aura flicker around him, much brighter and far reaching than usual. And while the green and blue mixture was pretty to look at, that isn’t the case if a human comes in contact with it. Of course they can’t see it, but they sure as hell can feel something wrong. He flinched. “Oops sorry Jazz, didn’t even notice I was doing it. It’s probably just because of nerves. I really don’t need to figure out a random new power while mom and dad are watching my every move.” 

Jazz nodded her head in agreement. Shaking the effects of Danny’s aura off her she pulled out of the school parking lot. “If you want, I can spend the day with you. That way you don’t have to be alone in a room with mom and dad.” She offered glancing at Danny out of the corner of her eye.

“Yeah that’d probably help.” Danny answered. Secretly relieved and happy she offered. When they entered the driveway he took a deep breath, scaring his parents with his aura or ‘scary eyes’ would not help his situation.

Entering the house his parents voices immediately called out from the lab “Danny? Could you come down here for a second?” Danny shot a panicked look at Jazz. She motioned for him to breathe, grabbed his hand and walked slowly down the stairs and into the lab.

Jack looked up hearing footsteps descending down the stairs. “Oh hey Jazzy-pants, you don’t need to be down here. Just going to confirm some things with Danny.” Seeing Jazz’s glare he quickly backpedaled. “Not saying you have to leave though! More the merrier right hun?”

“Of course dear. No need to look so worried Danny, we’re your parents we wouldn’t ever hurt you intentionally.” Maddie walked over to her kids. “Nothing bad, we just need a few samples. Hair, saliva, vitals those sort of things. Only blood if you allow it of course.” 

Danny shifted on his feet uncomfortably, he couldn’t really say no now could he. Plus he was a bit curious about what they’d find. They led him to the chair near the computer and sat him down. Jack grabbed the hair, saliva, and blood samples, with Danny’s consent. While Maddie started on taking his vitals. “So what we were thinking was: What if we could find out what is causing your ghostly abilities. Could we remove them? Make you normal again?” 

Danny was about to speak up about being ‘normal’ but Jack interrupted. “Maddie come look at this!” He was leaning over a microscope. Danny took off the blood pressure cuff and followed his mom over to where his father was. Jazz was on her phone looking up occasionally to make sure Danny was fine. “It’s incredible, I haven’t put it through the scanner yet but I’d bet my fudge that is ectoplasm mixed in with his normal red blood cells. There that word was again normal. What if Danny didn’t want to be normal. 

Maddie took the samples and carefully put them into the scanner. She tapped her foot waiting for it to finish. She jumped to attention when the results showed up on screen. “DNA...blah blah blah...fifty percent… Oh no.” Maddie staggered away from the machine, looking absolutely crushed. “Oh Jack!” She pulled her husband into a hug. “There’s ectoplasm directly entangled with his DNA, we can’t fix him. Our boy Jack, he’s never going to be the same baby boy we held in our arms.”

Danny looked at his parents, not in fear or anger, no it was in defeat. “Does that really change the fundamental aspects of who I am? I’m still me still Danny, i’m still a teenage boy who sleeps in class and likes video games. I’m not a broken toy you can just throw out because I'm no longer what you want. I’m your son! You’re supposed to love me and accept me for who I am unconditionally.”

Maddie looked at Danny confused. “Of course we still love you. This is just a hard thing to accept, it’d be one thing if it were something like you and Tucker decided to date, we would support you fully. But you have to understand this from our perspective. We found out that our son who we’ve cared for since he was born, is part ghost.”

Danny shook his head. “I understand just fine. I’m the one who had to come to terms that I pretty much died. That I was the only one actually qualified to fight ghosts without obliterating them. I’m the one who had to figure out ghost powers while still going to school, alone except for Sam and Tucker. I’m the one who had to stitch wounds closed and hide the pain of broken bones, that thankfully only lasted a few days. Injuries I got trying to save people all while the government,  my classmate, and my own parents tried to kill or tourture me.  But no, you're right, finding out your son happens to be different, that has to be so much harder.” He gave a dry laugh. “I’m going to my room. I can figure dinner out myself. Come get me when you’re done mourning, not all that or that you’re the reason I’m like this in the first place, but a son who is still here.”

[peytonains]

The Rosefield Police Department presents: 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔤𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔭𝔢𝔶𝔱𝔬𝔫 𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔥

Though no one knew it, Peyton was no stranger to the interrogation room. As her exposed thighs spread across the cold metal of the folding chair, she winced as the terror of her father’s demise came flooding back. The tears came rushing to her chocolate eyes as she envisioned the last time she saw her father from the stands of a stale, quiet courtroom where handcuffs bound his wrists like boa constrictors. And since that very day, she’d viewed those in authority as nothing more than a species of cold blooded reptile. 

As the door opened, Peyton readjusted the hem of her skirt accordingly. She was taught from a young age it didn’t matter how she felt, it only mattered how she looked. And if her looks were going to plead her innocence, Ms. Ainsworth would certainly be pulling up to the station in louboutin heels. Though she feared authority, she’d be mighty. She’d be fierce. She’d be brave. It was showtime. 

“Miss. Ainsworth, please state your name for the record.” The man in uniform wasted no time, played no games. Something he’d come to know, neither did she. 

“Haven’t you already done that for me?” Peyton quipped back, her hands crossed on the table in front of her.

The officer narrowed his gaze, taking a menacing step towards her. “Full name, age, and occupation please. I will not ask again.”

“Peyton Coralia Ainsworth. Twenty-two years old. I’m an event planner here in Rosefield.” The tension in the room made her submissive, though her body language still very much read confident. Her straightened spine spoke on behalf of her inability to back down, her clenched jaw would only unlatch to speak words that reflected her truth, and her perfectly manicured hands would offer no firm handshakes, no truces or no palms swearing on soiled bibles. In this case, she knew she could trust no one, especially not the police.

“Are you aware that anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law?” The man asked. This was not so much a question as it was a command. He sunk into his seat, adjusting his suit coat as he placed a manilla folder between the two of them. 

“Yes, I’m well aware.” Her reddened lips spoke in a firm voice, one the officer had probably not been expecting. She suspected he’d been in the presence of high school girls, shaking like a leaf in his presence. Their trembling hands shaking the metal table as sadness pulled at their vocal chords like the saddest of violin strings as Nathaniel’s services. Surely their lips quivered as they told their stories but Peyton’s eyes ran dry. 

“How did you know Nathaniel Beauchamp, Miss Ainsworth?”

“Unfortunately, I did not have the pleasure of knowing Nathaniel. We’d only ever met in passing. His family, however, speaks very highly of him. Memorializing him has been a great honor nevertheless.” A politician’s grin painted Peyton’s lips, face barely emoting as she spewed a rehearsed answer and surely he could see that. 

“I understand that’s the story you’re leading everyone to believe, Peyton. But, Nate’s phone records tell a different story.” He opened the folder and rotated the papers in her direction. Although her heart picked up speed in her chest, she refused to show her vulnerability. She wasn’t going to play stupid, or play victim. She’d play a smart and strategic game. “Is that your phone number?”

“Yes.” Peyton admitted, looking over the page. “Nate and I have texted, yes, because as I said we had met in passing. How many acquaintances do you have in your phonebook?”

“You and Nate corresponded text messages late at night in the months leading up to his death. Do you care to tell me that those messages were about?”

“A proper lady doesn’t kiss and tell.” She smirked at the officer, his stoic face did not falter.

“This is not a game, Miss. Ainsworth. A kid died.”

“I never said it was. As you research has probably come to show, Nate was a dog. You can probably use your imagination to figure what Nathaniel was texting me about late at night.” She posed.

“This interrogation is not about leaving things up to the imagination. This is about the facts and you are under oath. Start talking.”

Peyton took a deep breath before speaking again. “I was new in town and Nate and I had seen each other around. I heard about him through the grapevine but avoided him because, well, he was my friend’s ex boyfriend. Cassia Crocetti, you know her, right?” She rested her chin in her palm, elbow prompting itself parallel to the table as she leaned in. “He’d ask me to come over late at night. You know how boys can be. Did I answer? Yes. What girl doesn’t like a little bit of attention? But, did I sleep with him? No, absolutely not.” She affirmed, knowing damn well that their texts were nothing more than him starting their correspondence.

You see, the texts between Peyton and Nate were always vague.

N: You up? 

P: Yes.

N: Come over?

P: Could you be a bit more romantic?

The two’s love affair was pretty paperless. No ‘on my way’ messages or ‘great night’ texts. They moved in silence, they acted in silence. Whatever the police would read in those texts would lead to just that: silence.

“When was the last time you and Nate spoke? What were you two talking about?” The officer asked, a sigh escaping his lips. This investigation must have been a hard one, she thought. The teen had so many enemies, so many angry ex girlfriends, so many people he betrayed. This poor man had to arrive at dead end, after dead end, wondering who was lying and who was telling the truth. She could tell by his body language: the palm against his forehead, the slouching, the sigh... that he was defeated once again.

Peyton leaned in, a bit of cleavage exposing itself as she peered over at the dates scattered across the page. She pointed to the most recent record they had. “June 19th. 11:57pm. He said he wanted to see me and I didn’t answer, as you can see.”

“Why didn’t you answer?” 

“I was with Cassia.” Peyton pursed her lips, crossing her legs beneath the table. “We were busy.”

“Ms. Crocetti said she was in her bed early that morn--”

His words were interrupted by a promiscuous giggle as she wet her lips. “She didn’t say alone, did she?”

“Confidential information.”

“Well, I was in her bed on main street that morning. She teaches dance classes pretty early so we fell asleep.” The lie fell seamlessly off her lips. But in her mouth, on her the tip of her tongue, it tasted like the truth. The investigators were two steps behind as far as Peyton was concerned.  

To tell you the truth, reader, Peyton was with Nate that night. After the party, he showed up at her house, intoxicated with skewed inhibitions. The two had sex and he left shortly after. Was she shocked to discover he was dead a few hours later? Yes, so shocked in fact she swore herself to secrecy, the way her father would have expected her to. The way her family lawyers would have told her to do. The way she needed to.

“Do you know what Nathaniel was doing on a broken road on Cherry Route?”

“No, sir.” Peyton sat back in her chair, arms crossing smugly across her blouse. 

“Do you know anyone who lives near 120 Cherry Route, where the body was found?

“Just his crazy bitch ex-girlfriend.” Peyton said with confidence. Though her and Emma were friends, the girl would never know Peyton threw her under the bus. “Emmaleigh Wood. I’m sure you have her name on file.”

“Do you believe Emma would have any motive to kill Nathaniel?” The officer raised an eyebrow at the redhead.

“They were on and off again. I know she recently found out she was knocked up with his ghost spawn.” Peyton shrugged, giving him just a bit of information, information he had probably already known. The police would draw their own conclusions. Did she think Emma did it? No, the girl had too much love for him. But would someone pull the trigger on her behalf? It was a possibility, anything was. 

“I know you just recently moved here about eight months ago but are you aware that a couple was found dead in the same location as Nathaniel on December 17th of 2019?” 

“I’ve heard the tall tale, yes. Not much happens out here so when something like that happens, the whole scooby gang comes out to speculate.” She ran a hand though her auburn locks.

“Do you think these two cases were related?” He asked, jotting some notes down in his notebook.

“Isn’t it your job to come to that conclusion? If you’re relying on the opinions of others who have no idea what they’re talking about to solve your cases, it’s no wonder why there’s still a killer running through Rosefield.” Peyton rolled her eyes, rising to her feet. The officer mimicked her motion, towering over her. 

“Answer the question, Miss. Ainsworth.”

She swallowed, a chill traveling up her spine. “It’s possible.” She spoke quietly. When they were seated, the playing field seemed level but as his frame dominated hers, she felt powerless. Her demeanor suddenly changed. 

“You’re free to go.” The officer emphasized, taking a few steps back. He must have seen the terror well up in her eyes once more. 

And just like that, Peyton Ainsworth was gone. The only sound in the police station being the unwavering clacking of her graceful heels against the tile floor.