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seokmingiggles · 4 years ago

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peonies.

Prompt: "Going somewhere?"

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x gender neutral reader

Genre: fluff, established relationship, quarantine!au (if that’s what you’d call it?), non-idol!au (this isn’t a typical tag of mine, but I want to make it clear!).

2.36k words

No warnings.

Being cooped up inside for the protection of others can become a redundant routine. Today, your boyfriend breaks that cycle and goes on an unexpected outing—safely, of course.

Alternatively, Taehyung decides that he wants to remind you of his love with the surprise of little gifts. Not that he needs to, but he wants to.

A/N: Here’s a little something I wrote in the span of a couple of hours tonight to separate my Seventeen teacup drabbles. By ‘quarantine!au,’ I mean this one-shot takes place in our current situation with Covid-19 :/ I truly hope all of you are able to stay safe and healthy. Please wear a mask when you go out! We will fight this pandemic!! ♡

•• The distinct metal clinking of keys jingling by the front door catches your attention.

"Going somewhere?"

Taehyung looks up from his feet after slipping on a pair of brown boots. He's got his keys in one hand, along with a slightly crumpled list of something illegible to you from your spot on the couch. A black medical mask is hung haphazardly to the side off of one of his ears.

He stands up tall, "Just got a couple of errands to run. I'll be right back." Your boyfriend flashes you a smile, rounding his cheeks into rolls of puffy dough.

You hum out, "Okay," and return his small wave as he leaves your shared apartment.

There's a slight crisp to the air outside today. It nips on the tips of Taehyung's cheeks exposed from his mask. The boy considers if he should have put on a scarf, too, overtop his jacket. Overtop his mask? It's too late now, he muses. At least his hands are warm inside his fleece-lined pockets, and his round nose is sheltered from the late-winter air. He clutches the piece of paper tightly in his right hand. Writing lists may be obsolete now in the digital age, but Taehyung can't deny how he likes the feel of pen on paper, even if he can recite each written line from memory; crossing off his to-do lists makes him feel accomplished.

His shoes gently click on the sidewalk. The streets are emptier than he's used to seeing. The light snowfall from a few days ago has already melted. Instead, some dead leaves rustle across the dry ground. Someone is walking on the same sidewalk, heading in Taehyung's direction. She's wearing a similar medical-grade mask with hands stuffed deeply into her pockets too. Her hair blows violently in the head-on wind. She looks up from her footsteps, and Taehyung swears he can see what might be a polite smile beneath her mask. The boy's eyes crinkle slightly at the corners in response, continuing on his way.

His first stop is the used bookstore. The smell of old paper and the slight dryness from the dust make their way through Taehyung's mask, into his nose. He doesn't have anything specific in mind. He does, however, know the types of books you like to read. Shelf after shelf, he scans the spines one by one, in search of a title that stands out to him. Stardust, he ruminates, eyes inspecting the plain royal blue cover. It seems simple enough, and if you don't like it, he may consider reading it.

Taehyung weaves through the maze of piled books laid out on the floor; there are far too many for the small shop to accommodate. The owner of the store is sat behind the desk at the side, likewise surrounded by stacks upon stacks of books. Some are dustier than others; some look newer than others.

"Just this one today?" the bookkeeper ponders, face half-masked.

"Yes, please."

The blue-bound book finds a place in the crook of the boy's elbow, pressed to his chest as he returns on his walk. This time, someone is on a run with their dog, jogging on the opposite side of the street. Taehyung never sees his face, only the back of his head as he moves ahead. But he does notice the little elastics of his mask tucked around his ears once he passes by. Muscular, yet lean calves push him to run further; the brown spotted dog seems to skip happily along the sidewalk next to its owner.

The aroma of the bakery is mildly evident before he crosses the street. Located as the first shop on the corner of a new avenue, the little store contains your favourite treats, Taehyung's too. A family-owned business, the boy wants to support their shop during this time of limited sales. Frankly, the boy wishes he could do the same for all of the little stores lining the streets here downtown.

The bell above the door chimes when Taehyung enters the store; the sound resonates in the single room. A rush of hot air smacks his face.

With the sound of footsteps coming down from the upstairs attachment, the shop owner appears in a blue mask. "Welcome!" her voice is jolly, eyes in crescents. "Is it the usual for today, Taehyung?"

The boy in question nods with a smile, fluffy bangs bouncing with the movement, "Please."

The patissier moves to the windowed counter displaying significantly fewer treats than what would have been a year ago.

"Is it a special occasion?"

"No," Taehyung admits. "Just because."

There's a twinkle in the baker's eye. "They're a lucky one."

Taehyung doesn't say anything, and instead, he thinks how he's the lucky one out of the two of you.

He pays with cash, rounding up as an extra tip. The two exchange thanks and other pleasantries, and Taehyung sets back out in the cool air on his way. The paper gift bag holds the two cardboard containers with mouth-watering snacks inside. He slips the novel carefully into the bag, making sure it doesn't rip.

The florist is his final stop on today's little journey.

Blooming buds of each and every colour of the rainbow and then some invade Taehyung's vision. He's sure the fragrant floral scent would be more potent without wearing his mask. He tries to sniff one of the bunches of tulips near the entryway. No, it's mostly neutral with a hint of dust leftover from the bookstore.

"For any reason in particular? Birthday? Anniversary?"

Taehyung is brought from his flower-sniffing, seeing the florist behind the counter bearing what might be an amused grin. The boy hides his frustration at being unable to read people's expressions properly when concealed by the masks.

"Ah, no," his face flushes slightly, "not today. Could I still get some flowers, though?"

"Of course," she beams. "Anything specific?"

The boy ponders, examining each prearranged bouquet laying about. They all look beautiful to him, but Taehyung also doesn't know much about flowers. What's more important to him is how much you like them; that's all he needs to know.

"Surprise me," is his answer, confident in the florist's abilities.

Taehyung ends up leaving the store with a combination of delicate daffodils, carnations, roses, and two large peonies in the center. The bright yellows of the daffodils compliment the ivory carnations and ruby-red roses. The pastel pink peonies, Taehyung thinks, might be his favourite from the bunch. Maybe the two of you are peonies? You're certainly pretty like a flower, yes, so why not a peony?

Taehyung heads in the opposite direction from his travels, starting the walk back to the apartment. The paper bag containing the pastries and the book is still clutched tightly in one hand, while the colourful, decorative flowers are held with significantly more care in his other hand.

The sky is grey today, filled with an abundance of dense clouds. Taehyung swears it had been blue when he had left the house earlier, although now, it looks like there may be another snowfall. More leaves scatter with the wind, blowing in Taehyung's direction. They dance in the breeze, scraping the cemented road and landing in the crook of an alleyway between two shops, both with their lights off and variations of 'Closed' signs decorating the doors.

Sure enough, what can barely be classified as snow begins to fall from the heavens. Tiny flakes of white flutter down, instantly melting as they hit the sidewalk. The only evidence of their existence is when they land on Taehyung's black woollen jacket, but even then, they don't last for very long.

The distinct metal clinking of keys signals your boyfriend's return home. Taehyung takes in your appearance, now off the couch and facing the stove with your back to him. You've changed out of your trusty pair of sweatpants you've been housed in for the past months, opting for something slightly more form-fitting, but comfortable still, nonetheless. Your hair looks washed. Maybe you took a shower in the time Taehyung had been out. You're boiling some water in a pot, from what the boy can tell. Yes, upon moving closer, some pasta swirls around in the churning bubbles, steam escaping only to be swept up in the oven range above.

"You're done with your errands?" you call out over your shoulder, returning your gaze to the cooking pasta as you listen to your boyfriend removing his outerwear by the front door. "How was it out there?"

Taehyung moves his sock-clad feet to where you stand. After washing his hands, a pair of warm arms tenderly wraps around your torso from behind, followed by a brisk peck to your cheek.

"It was quiet out there, as you'd expect," the boy mulls over as he traces some unknown shape onto your hipbone. "Do you want to see what I got?"

You comply with his request, turning the stove's burner down before moving in his embrace as he shifts the two of you to the kitchen island. There, the array of treats are splayed out.

Your eyes immediately land on the flowers: the colours nearly take your breath away. It's been so long since you've seen something so alive. You don't fail to notice the brown paper bag with your favourite bakery's emblem stamped on the side. Something else is peeking out of the bag, something blue that you can't distinguish.

"Why?" you can't help but ask Taehyung. "What's the reason for all of this?" Still held in his arms, you slightly twist so you can glance upwards at your boyfriend.

He's already looking at you with his big brown eyes. Little droplets of melted snow rest daintily in his hair. You reach upwards to brush some aside, also smoothing down some of the astray strands displaced from the wind.

"The reason is that I love you."

"You're too good, Tae," you whisper, hugging the boy properly and burying your face into him. "I love you too."

Another kiss finds your head before you pull away, but only to move closer once again to place your lips on Taehyung's. His nose is cold, but his mouth is hot as you move together with years of practice. You're the first one to part, but staying close enough for noses to brush. Taehyung has a hand cupping the side of your face, thumbing over the roundest part of your cheek from your smile: a shape comparable to a soft bread bun.

Being stuck inside has its downfalls; you and Taehyung are no exception. You've had more arguments in the span of the past ten months than all of the years in your relationship combined. Considering them as arguments may be putting it harshly, disagreements or miscommunication are more accurate depictions of your quarrels. Perhaps the fatigue of being confined indoors is to blame. The worst dispute was a couple of months ago, where you and Taehyung grimly doubted the status of your relationship—if any of it was worth it anymore.

Clearly, you managed to work things out as here you sit on the sofa now, biting into one of the flaky, buttery croissants—one of the few treats adorning the inside of the paper bag. The raspberry preserves on the inside burst across your tongue in a pleasant tartness, complementing the sweet pastry. The pasta on the stove now forgotten, moved to the side and off the burner for another time. You offer Taehyung a bit of the croissant to which he complies, taking a large bite from it. Little flecks of gold decorate the corners of his mouth; one finds a spot on his upper lip beside the dimple of his cupid's bow.

"You're cute," you mumble, gently removing the crumbs from his mouth.

Taehyung disagrees, a voice so soft you'd nearly miss it if he weren't in such proximity, "Not as cute as you, my love." He takes your hand in his, pressing a string of little pecks onto your fingers. Your hand stays in his even after the kisses placed, digits now laced comfortably.

You take another bite of the raspberry croissant until there's one mouthful left. You wordlessly offer it to your boyfriend.

The floral bouquet occupies the center of the kitchen table. It's a fluorescent sight between the dulled walls of the apartment. Like a little piece of sunshine, the flowers provide you with a sense of warmth or energy that you no longer experience trapped in your confined space day after day.

The snow has picked up outside. The clouds have only gotten denser since Taehyung's return home. The sky is gradually growing darker with the hour; streetlamps flicker on one-by-one, lining the streets in glowing amber and putting spotlights on the colourless, falling flakes. Rooftops and tree branches gradually become covered in a dusting of white.

"I love you," Taehyung repeats out of the blue, causing you to remove your gaze from the winter landscape forming outside.

You examine his face as his eyes flutter between yours. A pretty shade of pink blossoms on his cheeks while his mouth lifts into the smallest of smiles.

"I love you too," you say with all earnest. "Thank you for everything today."

"Of course," he nuzzles into the top of your head, pulling you close against him. "I'm sorry we have to stay indoors most of the time."

"It's not your fault, Tae."

The boy hums in acknowledgement. "Sometimes I wish I could solve it all, you know? Like if I wish or pray, or maybe if I believe hard enough, everything will be fixed. Everything will be normal again."

"Things will be normal again," you return. Your thumb strokes over Taehyung's on the hand you're still holding. Your head finds his shoulder.

Taehyung is warm and familiar and possibly the only constant in your life right now. Your eyes reach the flowers in the vase on the dining table once more—vibrant and attractive yellows, reds, and pastel pinks.

You squeeze your boyfriend's hand: a silent thank you; an unsaid I love you.

Taehyung squeezes your hand back.

To do:

live for today

and cherish (Y/N)

••

#kim taehyung #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung fluff #kim taehyung imagines #kim taehyung scenario #taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #taehyung imagines #taehyung scenario #bts #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts imagine #bts scenario #bts taehyung #bts v #bts taehyung x reader #bts v x reader

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dontshootmespence · 4 years ago

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Through It All

Part 26

Summary: Now married, Spencer & Y/N navigate the D/s lifestyle. How will their relationship change?

Words: 1,083

Warnings: None

A/N: Fluffffff

Now she wants all the control. It feels like you and Spencer are doing twice the laundry because she wants to feed herself, but she’s a total mess. At first, the mess bothered Spencer - he likes his things neat and tidy and in the right place - but eventually he just let it go and even started joining in messy eating just for the fun of it.

Charlotte even wants to pick her own clothes and help herself get dressed, which is difficult when you’re in a rush and just need her to put her legs in the leg holes and fucking move, but you let her do as much as she can anyway. You want to foster an independent little girl who’ll ask for help when she needs it. Thankfully, today is a slow day. It’s a Saturday and your only plans are to go get her some new clothes because she’s growing out of her 18-month clothes already.

When Spencer brings her outside, you hide your laugh. She’s chosen a pair of bright blue sweatpants and an orange shirt with pink shoes and a purple hat. “Ready to go, Charlie?”

You and Spencer gulp down the rest of your morning coffees, which are now cold and grab a banana for the trip to the store. “You want one?” Spencer asks her.

“Nanner!”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he laughs, scooping her into his arms. “Away we go!”

----

In the store, Charlotte takes the lead, bringing you in all different directions. Sometimes it’s toys. Sometimes it’s bikes. Sometimes it’s food. Eventually, after saying hello to everyone she passes with a tiny little wave, you find yourselves in the clothing sections. First, she drifts toward the ‘boys’ section and grabs a shirt with Mario and Yoshi on it because ‘dino,’ before quickly grabbing a shirt with Captain America’s shield on it, probably because she recognizes the one you wear at home.

After sauntering through the boys’ section and trying (with varying degrees of success) to instill in her that she couldn’t buy everything in the store, Spencer runs with her to the girls’ section, careening the shopping cart in and out of aisles like a madman. But she’s loving it, so you just shout at them to be careful, stopping long the way to get her a new pair of sneakers and a pair of slippers that look a lot like Spencer’s that she loves to try and steal.

When you finally catch up, you see Spencer holding up two different dresses, telling her to pick one. “I figure every two things she picks up she can choose one.”

“Sounds good,” you reply. “Probably more comprehensible for a 20-month-old to choose between two things rather than ‘you can’t have everything.’”

“Exactly.”

With Spencer’s method, she makes a few choices of her own - a rainbow pastel dress, light green sweatpants, a pink sweatshirt and a sparkly green dress with Ariel on it - and then chooses between some outfits that you and Spencer pick out. You make it a game to see which one of you can put together the best outfit, best in this case meaning Charlotte picks it over the other. Spencer wins twice and you win once. Then Spencer sticks his tongue out.

“Is she the 20-month-old or are you?” You laugh.

He sing-songs that he won as he carts her out of the aisle and toward the food section for the few staples you need to pick up. Charlotte asks for Daddy to ‘race’ again, and Spencer’s more than happy to oblige, using a few empty aisles to just run the cart in circles for a few minutes while you answer your phone.

Minnie’s warm voice floats over you. “Hello, dear. How are you and Spencer doing?”

“We’re doing okay. Just taking Charlotte for some new clothes.”

“Well, I have some news for you. You’ve been chosen again.”

“Really?” Your hearts races a mile a minute as you flag Spencer down and beckon him to come over. “Who is she? How far along is she?”

Spencer’s mouth drops open, his breath hitching in his throat. You’re both afraid of getting your hopes up again, but you also can’t help the excitement. Charlotte’s too busy with a sparkly heart wand she found to care, plus you and Spencer made an agreement not to say anything until you were reasonably sure your birth mother was in this for the long haul.

“Well, she’s 19. She and her boyfriend are both in agreement on this and they both love your profile. They’re on their way to prestigious universities and they don’t think they can be great parents and great students at the same time. You and Spencer could meet them both. She’s been with us since she found out at just five weeks. She’s 10 weeks along now. But there’s a catch.” Her voice trails off and your heart sinks and rises in quick succession. You can hear her smile.

“What’s the catch?” You ask.

Spencer quirks an eyebrow and he’s white-knuckling the handle of the shopping cart.

“She’s having twins. And she insists they be adopted together.”

“Twins?!”

The mixture of excitement and undeniable fear makes you want to vomit. Two at once? “Now, I know this is a big commitment. Two at once is no joke, but I wanted to let you know so that you and Spencer could talk it over. Do you think it’s something you’re interested in?”

You spoke softly, trying to still the quiver in your voice. “I think so. Spence and I need to talk things over. We can call you back in a couple of days?”

“Absolutely. If you have any questions let me know.”

A quick goodbye and she disconnects the call, leaving you to stare in amazement at your husband. “Twins. Spence, two of them? Can we do that?”

“Why not?” His smile is a mile wide. As he tousles Charlotte’s hair, tears well in his eyes. “I mean there would be an increased financial burden, but I think we could handle it, especially with the flexibility in my work schedule. I could add online classes too. I’m sure your parents could help us those first few months. And I know Penelope and Luke, Emily, JJ and Will, they’d all help us with babysitting.”

“Are we gonna have twins?” You ask, a sob bubbling up from your toes.

Spencer pulls you close and kisses the top of your head. “I think we’re having twins.”

@heycasbutt @ultrarebelheart @katherineisagubler @proud-slytherin-ghost @randomwriter23 @fandom-queen67 @sixx-sic-sixx @xqueenofthecraziesx @aofay02 @groovyreid @criesinreid @jdougl-love @xreider @cringeemospntrashassbutt @prettyboyeffect @prettyboyreid @themanip @spencerreidsthings @augustgraceful @whollytaciturn @prisonreid @factualfic @jasmine-negron @snitchthewitch @ellabobella051419 @crazyforsstuff @kaatelyyynn @jane-dough @dreatine @bitter-post-millennial @adlerorzel-blog @hallieedrew @psychedelephantt @krisymccall996 @4ueijos @mclaujac @ray-likes-starwars @nurseemilyblog @slightlyvicked @she4567 @guesswhosback129 @princessdolan @happycreatorfangirl @fallwhisper @nyemadowell @sammy-jo1977 @sin-bin-and-tragedies @imsuperawkward @ahhahahaheehee @crispygiantsaladgarden @reputay-swift @pizzarollsfordayz @andiebeaword @timey-wimey-lovi @garbagecanfics @friedparadisetale @dereksbetaa @idontevenknow2 @holyfishloverfarm @nohemi2500 @typeshitbih @sadgirlhan @kmc217 @bigbuttsowhatuniverse @charmedfandomgal @im--blushing @dangerouspersonllamabagel @fichoe21 @yes-sir-hotchner @thefandomallrounder @mrsenos08 @walkerchick007 @letsdisneythings @winchesterqueenie @specialagentleigh @spn-wheresthepie @haileymew @bitchyoulied @geniusgub @urdicksmol @6lack6erry @slutlanna976 @downondilaudid @baileysb1tch @la-vie-en-amour1 @letsdoit-tomorrow @eideticprettyboydrreid @lazynoodledragon @shybaby231 @aimzonicles97 @grace-superpowers @softestlavender @ssa-dr-ladylock @drprettyboy @patricks-fabulous-face @tearosaria @shxdowofdarkness @marvels-gurl @gublergirls

#through it all #the most natural thing in the world #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #dontshootmespence

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tinisprout · 3 years ago

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get to know the blog!

Thanks for the tag this was fun to do @timextoxhajima

Rules: answer questions and tag another blog you would like to get to know better.

Tagging: @hvae @suzy-rainbow @moonieric @stealerz only if you want to.

.. .. .. ..

what day is your birthday? August 17

what’s your favorite color? I can't pick, colors are too pretty, so it always changes. tho i often choose between red, green, and pink

what’s your lucky number? 3, 4, 7, 17

do you have any pets? i used to have a cat named Touka :'(

how tall are you? 5' 2 & 1/2'' about 158cm?

how many pairs of shoes do you have? 9 but I only wear a few during certain times.

favorite song? how can I choose?!

favorite movie? Megamind (that's not a joke I really love that movie!), The Prince of Egypt

what would your ideal partner be like? I think a person that puts as much into the relationship as much as I do. I don't think I want someone exactly like me but maybe half like me and the other half completely different. I tend to be the caretaker so I would like someone that takes care of me.

do you want children? Yes

have you gotten in trouble with the law? No

bath or shower? Shower

what color socks are you wearing? I'm not wearing socks rn

favorite type of music? I listen to all kinds of music, my fav changes with my mood. If I had to pick what I like more, r&b, hip hop, and rap I feel with those kinds of songs you can find lots that give off different vibes for different moods. ugh, there are so many more I want to name tho!

how many pillows do you sleep with? Hold up let me count real quick...8-10 depending on how fucked up my back is feeling.

what position do you sleep in? On the side curled up but if my sides hurt then I sleep on my back like a dead person or with my legs in a criss-cross

what you don’t like when you’re sleeping? Being too hot or too cold I guess??

what do you have for breakfast? I didn't have breakfast, usually don't wake up early enough to or I just don't eat.

have you ever tried archery? Uh, im not sure. My sister has a bow and arrow but I can't remember if I shot it or not.

favorite fruit? Mangos! I like golden apples too. I like pineapples but I haven't had a really good one since I lived in Hawaii so idk if cause my taste changed.

favorite swear word? I say Fuck a lot. I don't say it myself but I like seeing the curse, Fuck your ancestors to the 18th generation. I just think that's the funniest thing ever.

do you have any scars? I have 3 big ones all from stitches. I also have a lot of faded ones mainly on my legs from me just randomly hurting myself, I am very accident-prone.

are you a good liar? Idk if im good at it or people just trust me a lot.

what’s your personality type? INFP

what’s your favorite type of girl? BIBI case in point. Also girls like Hwasa and Sunmi. they are just so fun and free! (just found out they all have similar personality types only off by a letter)

innie or outie? innie

left or right-handed? right

favorite food? Japanese curry!

favorite foreign food? ...but I already... if I have to put something different then my fav food is rice and beans, and then curry can go here.

are you clean or messy? im an organized mess...

most used phrase? Well...fuck it.

how long does it take you to get ready? depends

do you talk to yourself? yeah

do you sing to yourself? yup

are you a good singer? naw

biggest fear? Being truly alone, fucking up my future cause idk what im doing

are you a gossip? no, I don't think so?

do you like long or short hair? On me, I like short hair, but I think long hair is nice.

favorite school subject? Science, even tho I really sucked at it, English (really just the creative or academic writing parts), History (as long as it wasn't US history, talk about bad and borning)

introvert or extrovert? introvert

what makes you nervous? being angry and others being angry at me

who was your first real crush? a boy from kindergarten, I can still remember his name lol

how fast can you run? ...no

what color is your hair? I say black, but it's really off black, so a very dark brown. only really looks brown in direct sunlight or sometimes yellow lights

do you like your own name? uhhh there is a lot of confusion around my own name and I don't even know why my parents named me the way they did. When I was younger I did like one part of my name but it was legally taken out of my name a long time ago. For a long time, I didn't like my name, I have been learning to like it in recent years.

what makes you angry? sigh don't make me turn in an 11-page report.

do you want a boy or a girl as a child? I would prefer a girl but I want more than one. Keep my children humble ya know lmao

what are your strengths? I'm very observant so I'm good at reading people. People tend to put a lot of trust in me.

what are your weaknesses? I already mentioned it earlier, I put too much of myself into relationships when obviously the other person doesn't care as much. I'm working on it tho so I stop hurting myself. I'm also an emotional sponge (empath) which sounds really cool to some people and descriptions often romanticize it, but it really fucking sucks >:'(

what’s the color of your bedspread? Pastel green, blue, and yellow with white. I think it's cute.

what’s the color of your room? white

#tag game #tag games #this really was fun

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cmagines · 5 years ago

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Halloween

Summary: A murder at Halloween brings Y/N Hotchner into her father’s world.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 7,660

The time had come. After years of being sheltered, you were finally going to enter the FBI offices as a full-fledged adult in need of full-fledged protective custody. You could’ve lived without the latter, but if anyone was going to hold your safety within their hands, you felt your dad and his team were the best possible choice. You followed behind him, taking advantage of his height to duck down and keep your eyes on the backs of his shoes while he led you out of the elevator and down a short hallway to the double doors in front of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. A visitor’s badge was clipped to your cardigan, a backpack was over one of your shoulders, and you held possessively to your phone in your left hand.

You were still wearing the black dress you had donned for her funeral.

��It all started a week ago. Since the Reaper had killed Haley, you’d decided to take a gap year between high school and college so that you could stay home and help raise Jack, permitting Hotch to continue to take cases and stick killers behind bars. As much as you hated that you’d lost your mother, and as well as you knew how much she had grown to detest Hotch’s career, you also realized that the Reaper could have just as easily killed someone else to taunt Hotch and left that woman’s daughter in the same state that you’d been in. Hotch had an important cause to work for and you supported it, so in turn, he financially supported you while you worked a part-time job during Jack’s school days and played the role of his guardian the rest of the time. Just this year, you had decided that, since Hotch had Beth helping your small family out, you could afford to start taking a few classes at the nearby college. While there, you met Olivia. You hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone, but Liv refused to take your silence as an answer. The two of you could have been sisters; it was a little bit strange at first to look at her and first wonder what was wrong with the mirror. You had the same color of hair and eyes, the same thick hair and easy, slightly messy hairstyle, were only a fraction of an inch apart in height, and similar skin tones. There was ten pounds of a weight difference at most. What was crazier? She had a twin.

There were three people who looked like you on campus, and it drove the professors nuts in the two classes that you and Liv shared.

It was the Halloween party that probably sealed the fate. Everyone acted like a freak on Halloween, but someone had decided to take it a step two far. Twisting Dr. Seuss, you, Liv, and her sister had all gone dressed in skirts and red shirts as Things One, Two, and Three, wearing thick white face paint and heavy pink eyeshadow to further obscure the differences between you. When they’d picked you up from home, Jack had run to Marie and started excitedly telling his “sister” about his day at school, and Hotch had given Liv a list of chores that he wanted done by the end of the week. Then you’d come down the stairs, Jack and Marie had emerged from another room, and both males looked as though they’d seen ghosts.

“Too many of you,” Jack complained, tugging on Marie’s long red sleeve. She giggled and patted his hair and told you that your brother was cute.

You’d had more fun than you would have thought. The twins had taken you to a frat house and you’d become the center of attention of a handsome boy who came on way too strong. Luckily, he turned out not to be a complete jerk – once Liv saw you were in trouble and intervened, politely asking the young man to back off and informing him that you weren’t comfortable with all of the attention, he had apologized profusely, given you a crooked smile, and told you that he was around for help if you needed it. His name was Seth, and he was a sophomore. You didn’t see him again that night.

You didn’t see much of anything else that night, either, because the party was broken up by the police being called when Liv found her sister’s body in a huge puddle of blood in one of the bathrooms. She had screamed. You were normally uncomfortable talking to large groups of people, but adrenaline and concern had pushed you to power through, and you cited your father’s profession and shoved your way through. The few frat boys who had thought it was a prank hadn’t even bothered to check Marie’s pulse, just assuming she was having them on. You felt her throat and as soon as you felt the very real, and unfortunately very familiar texture of blood, you knew you weren’t going to find a heartbeat. If she wasn’t wearing face paint, you would have known she was dead instantly, the same way you had known when you saw Haley’s body on the floor of your old house.

A murder had transpired, and you did the first thing you could think of and called your dad. Why wouldn’t you? Beth was called to stay with Jack while Hotch came and got you, and after you gave your statement to the police, he took you to your favorite restaurant and didn’t comment when all you did was pick at your food, stomach rolling.

That morning, you were contacted immediately by the police and brought in for a series of questions. You weren’t a suspect, but they thought you might be in danger, because Liv’s parents had gotten back from a meeting with a funeral director and found Liv changed into her Halloween costume, murdered just like her sister, with her body splayed out over the kitchen table. The police thought that having forced her into the same outfit the previous victim had worn might be a little bit significant, and yeah, you agreed. Even you saw the danger in it, so as soon as you told Beth that you couldn’t pick up Jack from school, you called Hotch. The stress finally caught up with you and you told him through tears where you were and that you needed protection.

The BAU was on the case before it had even been sent up through the right government channels, and your father assured you that you would stay with only the agents he trusted most, and you would never be left alone. If you weren’t going to be in a secure room with the technical analyst he considered family, then you were going to be with Rossi, Reid, JJ, Blake, or Morgan (the names meant nothing to you), who were all armed and wouldn’t let anyone touch you.

Hotch glanced behind him to look at you and see your face. You were still nervous about meeting his coworkers. He assured you that they were all people he trusted with his very life, but you had always been timid about meeting new people. You’d been introverted for as long as you could remember, and only grown more so after Foyet.

“You’ll be okay,” he promised, reaching for you. Without moving, you let him hold his hand to your lower back and guide you in through doors that he held open with his other arm. Crossing your own over your chest, you rubbed your arms and kept your head down, looking around but careful not to make eye contact with anyone.

The bullpen didn’t seem like it was loud, but it became very hushed when you and your dad were noticed. Most of the agents towards the wall by the doors and mezzanine looked straight to Hotch before they checked you out, but no one seemed anything but sympathetic and curious, until a woman came up to you both, leaving the desk of a black man with a gun at his hip, which you noticed with a slight grimace. Guns were not your favorite. You’d like them for as long as they kept you safe, but after being threatened with one by the Reaper, you’d be happy if you never saw anyone with a firearm again. Yet, if Dad said that he trusted these people, then you supposed you would, too.

This woman in particular looked out of place in the bureau. You looked at her clothes rather than her face and hoped that she wouldn’t take offense. Other than noticing the frames of glasses and streaks of a coral-pink color in her blonde hair, all you saw were gold bangles on her wrists, manicured fingernails, and bright-colored clothes, including pastel tights, purple pumps, and a dress with swirls and polka dots splashed with a rainbow.

“Is this her?” She asked Hotch with a note of wonder in her voice. Your dad nodded. You nodded a little bit, too, interested to know who she was. Hopefully, she would take it upon herself to explain so that you didn’t have to ask. “Oh, chica,” she sighed, holding her hands out. She reached halfway between you and stopped, giving you the power to decide whether or not she touched you. You lifted your hand to shake hers and she had a tight, motherly grip. “I’m so sorry, darling, but I promise you, you’re gonna be so safe here that if you get a papercut, we’ll arrest the printing machine.”

You giggled a little bit.

“Y/N, this is Penelope Garcia. She’s our technical analyst. If you have any homework for your computer programming class, she’s the person to ask,” Hotch chuckled warmly at both of you. “Garcia, this is my daughter, Y/N. She’s majoring in computer sciences.”

“Gosh, have you come to the right place!” The analyst was kind and worked herself into optimistic excitement, pulling you gently by the hand away from Hotch’s side. She started leading you away from the other desks. Over your shoulder, you looked at Hotch in alarm. “You’re gonna love my lair. Well, it’s not actually a lair, it’s an office, but I call it my lair because it’s not as drab. What’s the fun in going to an office? But a lair, no one says no to going to a lair.”

“Don’t you think she should meet the rest of the team first?” Dad called after you both, making Garcia halt in her tracks. One of her hands stayed on your wrist, which you didn’t mind too much. You didn’t not like people, you just weren’t a big fan of socializing. Having friends was fun. Making them was intimidating.

“Right! Yes!” Garcia gasped and pulled you back towards your father. Your head was going to spin if your entire stay consisted of being commandeered and driven around the FBI. You had a lot to deal with already, and you just hoped that this team was as good as you thought they were and could catch the killer. You wanted justice for your friends’ wrongful deaths. “Yes, Chickadee, come on. I’ll show you to your honor guard. I promise they won’t bite.”

My honor guard? Well, at least she was taking the “protective custody” thing seriously.

First, she took you to the desk that she had been at before she noticed your entrance. Several agents were all looking at you and watching the proceedings, but the one Garcia had been standing with rotated his chair around so his feet were out from under the desk and had covered up his sidearm with his jacket since you’d seen it. Maybe there was an advantage to being looked after by profilers; he must’ve noted your negative reaction. Other than appearing athletic and well-built, he seemed friendly and exuded warmth and hospitality.

Garcia was excited to introduce you to him. If you had to guess, you’d say she had a clear favorite. “Y/N, this is Special Agent Derek Morgan, and he will defend you heroically because he is my, and now your, knight in shining FBI-issue Kevlar.”

You smiled shyly at Agent Morgan, who didn’t reach for your hands, so you didn’t offer. “Hi,” you said quietly.

“Hey, sweetness,” Morgan returned kindly. Unlike the frat kids who would’ve sounded lecherous, drunk, or flirty, Morgan managed to make the endearment sound like an actual endearment, the same way that Beth sometimes called you “honey” or Hotch called you by your nickname. “This computer over here is Reid.” He pointed over his desk to the one behind it, to a young guy with dark brown hair and a lanky, tall figure, even when sitting down.

“Reid Dr.,” Reid told you, standing up hurriedly and rubbing his palms over his thighs. He realized what he’d said and frowned. “Dr. Reid,” he corrected himself, switching the words back around. Instead of relaxing, his frown just intensified. “Dr. Spencer Reid.” Finally, he seemed satisfied, smiled at you a little awkwardly, and sat back down, scratching the back of his neck.

Sure, the introduction was a little bit comedic, but you knew better than probably anyone else in the room how mean it could be to tease someone for a little difficulty with presenting themselves or mixing up their words, what with being sensitive to it yourself, so you ignored the mistakes and nodded, getting out a ‘nice to meet you.’ “Why did he call you a computer?” You asked. Garcia had let go of your hand, so you wrung your fingers in front of you to control the urge to shut up and go back to your father’s side. College wasn’t so bad when you were soft spoken, but the FBI was much more intimidating. Not only were they federal agents with guns, but you were there because of a killer, which made it ten times more stressful.

“Watch this,” Morgan grinned. “Reid, what’s thirty-six to the power of four divided by seventeen squared?”

Reid looked up to the ceiling, but only for a couple of seconds before he had done all of the mental math on his own. “Five thousand, eight hundred eleven, point eighty-two… when rounded to the nearest thousandth.”

“Wow,” you commented, blushing along with Reid, who seemed pleased but unused to being complimented. Both of you looked away from each other when Garcia cooed.

“And this is Alex Blake!” She turned around and indicated for you to come with her, going to the next row. On the outer desk was an older woman, maybe in her forties, with brunette hair and a black blazer over her long-sleeved shirt. Blake smiled at you and held out a hand. You shook her hand with a loose grip and ended it when she did. “She can scare off a bad guy in four languages,” Garcia cheerily bragged.

“I have a PhD in linguistics and I’m a licensed translator,” Blake supplied in explanation.

The next person that Garcia dragged you over to was your father again. “There’s also Rossi and JJ, but JJ’s not here right now and Rossi’s been locked in his office like a recluse for the last two hours,” the techie told you conversationally. She didn’t seem to mind being the one doing most of the talking, instead being compassionate to that you weren’t the most outgoing person in the world. “You can always meet them later. No, really, you definitely will. Rossi’s been bugging the G-Man about you ever since he told us he had a daughter, and JJ’s excited to meet you, too. Is that all you brought?”

It took you a minute to realize she’d changed topics and was now asking about your backpack. “Yes,” you answered, looking down to your hand as you fisted the strap over your front.

Garcia smiled. “That’s okay, sweetie, I’ve got lots we can do that can’t fit in a backpack and I’m sure we can convince someone to get you to a laundromat if you need one.” Personally, you’d been banking on the investigation being closed pretty quickly. You weren’t looking for something just a step short of Witness Protection; a day or two sleeping in the FBI, and then you could go back to your normal life before you got too far behind in your courses. Garcia moved on breezily. “On to the Batcave, Robin, where magical worlds of computer software await. If you’re a computer geek, you’re gonna do a backflip when you see everything I got. Would you believe the FBI gives me thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment when they only actually hired me so they could stop hunting me?”

It had been maybe five minutes, and your head was already spinning. You hoped Garcia elaborated on that last part.

~ ~ ~ Halloween ~ ~ ~

You had never taken to anyone as quickly as you took to Garcia. Maybe it was her kind and loving nature, or maybe it was just how she was so wild and outgoing that you didn’t feel like you could be judged for being your normal, quiet self. All you knew, or really cared to know about it, was that she made you feel comfortable, especially once you were a little bit more used to her. You started to speak a little bit more, didn’t worry about muffling your laughter when you were amused. With her huge monitors, Garcia pulled up your favorite movie franchise and the two of you watched as much as you could before you were yawning, even with the assistance of coffee.

The next morning, you changed clothes and took care of your hygiene in the bathroom. Garcia had fallen asleep after you had, so you didn’t know how long she’d actually been resting, and hadn’t wanted to wake her up. The FBI in general had to be a pretty safe place. Transferring your visitor’s badge onto your new outfit, you pushed back your hair and ventured back into the bureau. Your dad had had to go home – he did have another child to care for, after all – but maybe it was late enough in the morning for him to be back. You weren’t sure what you’d do if he wasn’t.

Six in the morning was not, as it turned out, late enough. No wonder you were so tired… if you’d thought to check the time before changing, you’d have just gone back to sleep. The bullpen was practically empty. But was that – yes! It was! There was a light on under the doorway of one of the offices up on the mezzanine. Your dad had told you that his office was up there. Being the unit chief, he had the seniority and the authority to have a specially-large office instead of just desks on the floor level.

Keeping your head down, you went up the mezzanine steps to the raised walkway along the wall and followed it past a dark office to the one with the light on it. You knocked to be courteous, but one of the few agents that was in was looking at you. Being up higher than the desks made you more noticeable. Eager to get into a smaller space where you didn’t feel like you’d be in trouble for no reason, you walked inside without being invited… and regretted it, because the man at the desk was not your father.

A tiny, anguished squeak made its way out of your mouth. How embarrassing…

“Um.”

“Well, hi,” the man said behind the desk, swiping reading glasses off of his face. He wasn’t that tall. Even sitting, he seemed less intimidating than your dad. He was European, maybe Italian or Spanish, and older than your dad, at least fifty, with the beginnings of a salt-and-peppered beard. He was dressed business casual, with a comfortable black blazer, and a piping mug of hot coffee with the steam still rising sat near his right hand. “I didn’t know I was expecting company.”

There was no reassuring hand at your back or preppy analyst to help you out. Shifting to your other foot and swallowing hard, you took a deep breath. You were here in protective custody, not in interrogative custody. No one was going to hurt you, and the guy seemed amused, not angry. “Well, um, you weren’t… I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

You held your breath then. Your wardrobe was pretty typical for a college student, and while you owned a few nice things for practical reasons, dressing professionally hadn’t been your biggest concern when you packed your things for your field trip to the BAU. So, while you tried to present yourself as an innocent and insignificant individual who made a mistake with no ill intent, you stood there in your jeans and t-shirt with the band name emblazoned on the front. You did not fit in.

“Don’t tell me,” he said dryly, picking up his coffee and taking a sip. Obediently, you shut your mouth and looked down. If he didn’t want you to tell him something, well, by God, you were not going to tell him something. “Hotch’s little girl, right? Though, I guess, you’re not all that little.” Grimacing, you nod. He put his mug down and leaned over the desk, rolling his shoulders and crossing his forearms on the table. “SSA David Rossi. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Thank you, Agent Rossi,” you murmured.

“Dave.”

“Okay.”

He studied you intently. “How is it that you escaped the clutches of the Good Witch?”

“Galinda’s asleep over her computer, so I popped on out of Oz via yellow bricks,” you quipped, leaping without thought onto the references. Then your eyes widened, blood rushed to your face, and you wished you could just disappear.

Rossi seemed to think you were funny, though, because he chuckled heartily. “I like you, kid,” he said in what was clearly supposed to be a praising way. “Have you had anything to eat?” You shook your head. He stood up. “Well, I’ve been staring at this one page for twenty minutes, so I could use a break. C’mon. It’s not DiGiorno, but there is a place downstairs where we can pilfer some food. What do you say?”

Dad wasn’t in, Garcia was unconscious, and none of the three agents she had introduced you to were around yet. Rossi was the only person you knew. As nervous as you were that you might do something wrong or make some horrible social faux pas that existed only between federal agents that you didn’t know about, you would prefer being with someone you barely knew to being completely alone… especially since two of your friends had died and the Halloween costume that you had all worn seemed to be pivotal to the murders.

~ ~ ~ Halloween ~ ~ ~

You spent nearly an entire forty minutes in the cafeteria with Rossi before his phone rang with a notification alert, and he announced that you both needed to go back to the BAU – yourself as proof of life and Rossi as brain trust to work the case. Hotch was a little aggravated that you weren’t within sight when he went to try to find you, but relaxed and gave you a hug when you said that you were fine and that Rossi had just been helping you. You hadn’t even realized you were hungry until the profiler had suggested it.

In the meantime, you went back to Garcia’s lair, expecting just to find the techie you’d grown to tentatively like. Only, when you got there, Garcia wasn’t alone. She was accompanied by a tall, slim blonde, who introduced herself as JJ, the media liaison-turned-profiler. She was beautiful and kind, and had a child at home with her husband. You were warmed to her before she’d even opened her mouth, and she quickly became one of the first people you went to talk to in the next few days.

You had to stay longer than you had thought. When the un-sub didn’t find his third victim – AKA, you – he seemed to go to ground for a while. You wanted to be optimistic and say he had never intended to target you, but Beth had taken Jack home after dinner two nights into your protective custody only to find that the house had been broken into, your bedroom door broken in, and a broken vase on the floor that you used to hold a bouquet of flowers in. When he hadn’t found you, he’d thrown a temper tantrum and made your bedroom look terrible. Dad didn’t let you see the pictures, but Garcia had wrapped you up in a short hug and promised that she would take you shopping for some new things.

Three days, and you were content with staying right where you were. If you had fought with Hotch on whether or not you needed protecting, you very well may have lost your life.

Four days, and you were starting to feel a little bit of cabin fever, but overall, you were still content with staying where your safety was ensured.

Six days going on a week, and all you wanted was to shoot the killer yourself so that you could go sleep in your own familiar bed, and maybe read your brother a bedtime story. You always read Jack a bedtime story, unfailingly, until someone had decided they wanted to plunge a knife through your back.

You played with the hem of your nightgown when you ventured out of the little cavern of Garcia’s office that you had been holed up in for the majority of most days. It was barely past one in the morning and most of the sane people had gone home, even Hotch. After the break-in, you felt immensely guilty that the un-sub might’ve encountered Jack or Beth, and believed it to be nothing short of dumb luck that they had decided to go out to a restaurant. Hotch refused to concede that you were in any way to blame, but, just to be safe, he and Beth had both agreed that it was better if the three of them stayed at a hotel until the case was solved.

If you wanted anything, you had a technical analyst who had all but cried several times just from trying to imagine how you felt and several agents in the building at any given time to respond to your distress call. However, you couldn’t remember a time you had felt more alone – isolated in a building full of people who didn’t really know you, with someone wanting to murder you in a Halloween costume you had swiftly grown to loathe, and without the chance to partake in any of the normal activities you enjoyed. Sure, you were learning a lot from Garcia, and your professors had been appraised of the bare necessities of the situation and had given you projects in lieu of classes, but you still had so much time to be lonely that it was hard to keep your chin up much longer.

Part of your assignment involved making your own website, so, with a sigh of your shoulders and a gentle roll of your head around on your neck, you took your laptop and travelled out to the kitchenette. Hotch usually locked his office door when he left, but he’d been leaving it open for you if you needed to be alone. You’d not really been given a chance to mourn for your friends before you got swept up in everything else. The logic you used was that you could get some of the cheap bureau coffee and get some homework done in his office. You felt terrible and your heart wouldn’t be in it, but you could always touch up on it later.

At this rate, it seemed like you wouldn’t be going back to school for weeks.

Your plan was derailed halfway through making your coffee. Someone cleared their throat and coughed, startling you, and with wide eyes, impulsively feeling guilty for using coffee that belonged to an organization you weren’t really a part of, you started to apologize.

Reid held up his hand, a mug in the other, and with a gentle smile, he quieted your apologies and calmed your nervousness. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that. I thought you would still be asleep.”

“Nightmares,” you mumbled, sinking back against the counter and out of the way. Reid slipped past you, going to make his own coffee refill, while you moved your filled mug out of the way and sought out the milk in the little fridge. You were acutely aware of his presence, but tried not to act like you were on edge by it. He didn’t make you feel threatened, just a little awkward. What were you supposed to talk about?

“I used to have those,” he responded empathetically while his coffee brewed.

You looked up to him curiously. You’d seen one of your friends’ corpses, touched her dead body while looking for a pulse that wasn’t there, felt her blood on your hands. “How did you make them go away?”

Reid’s smile became a little crooked. “I didn’t, not at first.” He, too, leaned against the counter, hands behind him and pressing on the edge. “And sometimes, they still come back. But I manage them, because I remember that I may have memories that my brain can scare me with, but I’ve also shored up a list of things that make me feel better, too. Safer. Less lonely.” He paused. “Gideon – an agent who used to work here – he helped me by giving me a photograph of a little girl we saved, not long after I joined the team. Maybe you could ask Hotch to bring you a photo of your brother.”

“I have plenty on my phone,” you replied.

He shook his head. “It’s not the same as having a physical picture to touch,” he disagreed, and you had to hand it to him – his calm tone was soothing you, his quiet voice making you feel like you weren’t quite as abandoned and hopeless as you had thought.

You swallowed. Most of the time, you didn’t want to talk. You still didn’t, but you thought maybe it would be worth speaking up a little if it meant that you got to have a little more of Reid’s time and his relaxing attention. “What are you still doing in? I thought everyone would have wanted to go home.”

Reid’s smile turned confused, yet remained polite. “I don’t think anyone would be going home if they could help it,” he told you earnestly. “But everyone has someone to go back home to. Even Rossi – one of his ex-wives is in town. Hotch has, well, Jack, and Garcia has a cat she has to feed. Blake’s husband is visiting, Morgan has a girlfriend, and JJ has a son. If they didn’t have responsibilities at home, I don’t think they would’ve left you here on your own.”

“So what about you?” You questioned, unable to let your curiosity rest. The notion that a bunch of adults who didn’t personally know you would give up the comforts of their homes for your sake if not for other personal obligations seemed weird and abstract when applied to anyone but your father, and maybe Beth. Why was Reid still there, talking with you, when he could’ve been with someone he cared about? “Why stay when you have someone else?”

“Well, my mom lives in Las Vegas, so I can’t really visit her every day,” he said, aiming to make a joke. You giggled a little bit and he smiled, pleased to have lessened some of the tension. The bumbling, awkward doctor you’d been introduced to seemed much more at ease when it was just the two of you. “And… I don’t know, Y/N. The thought of you being here on your own, when you might need to talk… when you apparently do need to talk,” he amended, looking at you meaningfully, because that was what you were doing right then. “I didn’t want that to happen if I could prevent it, so here I am.”

~ ~ ~ Halloween ~ ~ ~

You and Reid quickly became friends, to the point where you interacted with him as much as you did with Garcia. Your late-night chats became the norm for the pair of you. Reid tended to come in later in the morning, but because Hotch knew that he was keeping you company long after the sun had gone down, he pretended not to notice. In your head, you stopped thinking of him as Reid and instead as Spencer, your friend, and although you hadn’t had enough time together to talk about everything, you did seem to talk about anything.

Your nightmares persisted, but you felt like you had more control over them. Spencer didn’t ask you to talk about them, but he didn’t say not to, either. Instead, you talked a little bit about his life growing up, and a bit about the funny misadventures he had when he and the team were off the clock. You were amazed by Spencer’s intelligence. Three PhD’s by the time he was twenty-one, and finishing up high school before he was even old enough to have a driver’s permit. Spencer tried to pick up some of your language skills from you, since you’d taken four years of a foreign language in high school, but you’d found out that he was great at memorization while terrible at pronunciation. You told him about a boy you’d dated during your senior year of high school, and added a detail you hadn’t even told Hotch: he had broken up with you because he thought you were spending more time with your family than with him, and this was while you were practically raising Jack, because your mother had been murdered. He had known what had happened, and he’d still cited your prioritizations of taking care of your baby brother as a reason to break up with you. You grew sullen while you talked about it, but it felt good to get it off your chest for the first time. Obviously you couldn’t tell Jack, and you hadn’t known Beth at the time, and you hadn’t wanted Hotch to feel bad about the responsibilities you were taking on as well as being a student, so you made up a lie about how you broke up with him peacefully so you’d both have more time to focus on school and SATs.

You talked about lighter things than your lives, too. The two of you bonded over shared interests in science fiction and “geek” movies. Spencer had developed a healthy appreciation for Marvel after you talked him into bringing a box of popcorn so that you could watch the Iron Man movies together one night. Your unofficial plan was to watch all of the movies with the individual superheroes and lead up to The Avengers. There was a convention coming up in the next few months that Spencer invited you to go to with him. He wanted to dress as Tom Baker’s incarnation of the Doctor, his personal favorite, and you theorized that maybe you could go as Tegan or Sarah Jane.

“If I even live that long…” You’d muttered under your breath, hit by a wave of pessimism. At nearing two weeks of bureau captivity, it was getting harder to believe that the un-sub would be caught. You’d seen enough horror movies to know that the minute your guard was let down, you’d be murdered in your bed. The problem was that not letting your guard down meant staying in the FBI for the foreseeable future.

Spencer had set down a mug of fresh coffee that he seemed to live off of and touched your knee with his hand, rubbing his thumb over your thigh and leaning forwards to meet your eyes. Spencer wasn’t much of one for a lot of touching, and he was rather conscientious of everyone’s personal space, so it was shocking enough that he’d touched you, much less when he locked eyes with you in an intensity that made your stomach flutter.

“We will catch him,” he stated simply, and then went on to tell you everything they’d gotten. Partial (unidentified) fingerprints from the house break. A profile (white male around your age, disorganized, with a fixation that revolved around the identical nature of your and your friends’ costumes). They had reason to believe that he lived nearby, and knew he’d been at the party to kill Marie, and suspected that he may even be one of the frat kids in order to commit the crime without standing out. “So, Y/N, I promise you, you won’t be here forever.”

~ ~ ~ Halloween ~ ~ ~

The next night, you came to Spencer reasonably early. You were sure that the rest of the team, Hotch included, had gone, because you wanted the privacy to be uninterrupted and the security that came with having someone you trusted to be honest yet sensitive leading you. Then you approached Spencer’s desk with a mug full of his favorite flavor of coffee and approximately four tablespoons of pure sugar dumped in, delivered it to his desk, and locked your hands behind your back.

“So, I was thinking about something, and I realize it may not be fun, but I’d rather be a little upset for a while than let this continue.”

The genius finished what he was doing on the computer in a few seconds, saved the document using the control shortcut, and then pushed the chair away from the desk, swiveling it around to face you. He planted both shoes on the floor and leaned over, hands in his lap, and met your eyes, giving you his full attention.

“You said that you think the killer was at the frat party,” you reminded, grimacing even as you said it. You couldn’t believe you’d been talked into going to a frat party. “And I picked up somewhere that serial killers like to see the results of their actions. So maybe it’s possible that he was there when Marie-“ You flinched, took a breath, and started again, trying to depersonalize. “-When the body was found?” Spencer nodded slowly, encouraging you to continue. “I want you to do a cognitive interview on me,” you announced, looking down to your toes. “When I heard Liv scream, I took over. I pushed everyone away and instructed someone to call the cops. I even blocked people from the bathroom to preserve the evidence. If there was someone trying to nose their way in, I probably would’ve seen them.”

~ ~ ~ Halloween ~ ~ ~

You breathed a little bit faster. Liv’s scream echoed in your ears, just as loud and heart-wrenching as it had been when you’d heard it for real. Although you kept your eyes screwed shut as Spencer had instructed, you had a hard time seeing the black of your eyelids when what you were thinking back to was full of colors and movement. The only grounding sensation you felt was Spencer’s larger hand in yours, gently squeezing your palm in reassurance.

“You’re doing so well,” he praised, half-cooing in comfort. “You have to push a group away from the door. What happened next? Do you recognize any of them?” His thumb brushed over your knuckles.

While you were reasonably sure you were supposed to be focusing on your memory, you instead paid more attention to his hand, swallowing hard and squeezing. You were sure your grip was too tight to be nice, and possibly a little sweaty from nervousness and apprehension, but Spencer didn’t move or comment, for which you were grateful.

“I recognize some of them,” you said, imagining yourself in the shoes you’d worn three weeks ago. Some of the colors were unclear, faces distorted, but the ones that stood out weren’t always the ones that had just been closest to you at the time. Flashes of features through the door of a frat boy you shared a calculus class with, although you’d only glimpsed the side of his face in passing over the shoulder of a blurry zombie costume. “Mostly from around campus, but a few are in sports teams. Oh, and Seth,” you added as an afterthought, scoring your eyes across the doorway, refusing to move your eyes to the right. You knew you’d see the blood-filled bathtub in your flashback if you did.

“Who’s Seth?” Spencer asked, pressing calmly for more details.

You didn’t think it was that important, but you went along with it. He was the profiler. “Just some guy that we met earlier that night. He came onto me, Liv asked him to back off, he said he was sorry for being too forward, and he left. I didn’t speak to him again.” In your recollection, you could vaguely place his voice, maybe saying something. Maybe saying your name. At the time all you could hear were Liv’s screeches, alternating between heartbroken and furious. “He’s taller than me. Shorter than you, though. I… he had a cup in his hand. Probably something alcoholic, because he didn’t look completely with it. Drinking messed with his red face paint.”

“What was he?” Spencer pushed his fingers into your palm, pressing on the back of your hand with his thumb, the pressure relaxing your grip. “Who did he dress as?”

“Tate Langdon,” you answered with a slight grin, remembering how you’d initially jumped when he’d come and tapped your shoulder. Then you’d hid behind a bottle of water and laughed, recognizing the cosmetics and the black hoodie.

“Who?”

“Oh. He was a character from American Horror Story,” you explained. “He wore the outfit from when Tate shot up his school. Um, dark black and oversized sweater with a hood up, and black, white, and grey paint to draw a skull on his face.” You faltered as you explained. That was right. When you’d recognized him from his face paint, he had been dressed just like Tate. And later, he’d had red face paint. “Oh…”

“Oh?” Spencer drew you out before you got too far wrapped up in your realization. You realized your hands were trembling. Spencer covered your hand in both of his and held on, silently promising that he wasn’t going anywhere. “What is it? What do you see?”

You swallowed. “He wasn’t supposed to be wearing red face paint,” you said dryly. “And it was on his hoodie, too.”

~ ~ ~ Halloween ~ ~ ~

October 31st. Your least favorite holiday.

“Are you okay by yourself, Chickadee?” Garcia, respectfully wearing a dull-colored outfit, touched your shoulder while you stared down at the two headstones side-by-side.

Wordless, you nodded, clutching a bouquet of black-painted roses in your hands, with a silk ribbon wrapped around the flowers in your murdered friends’ favorite color. Garcia left you alone in the cemetery, finding the path and going back to your car. It was the anniversary of Marie’s death. Soon it would be the anniversary of Liv’s. In mere days, you would be standing in the same spot, a bouquet of the same flowers in hand, the same dress on your body, the dress you’d worn to their funerals.

Seth was nailed on all charges – first-degree homicide, stalking (to find your and Liv’s addresses), breaking and entering, and trespassing with malicious intent. He would never get parole, but after several appeals by a lawyer his high-income father had hired onto his retainer, it seemed as though he might be declared mentally unfit and taken off of consideration for a life sentence. You personally hoped that would never happen, and in the upcoming weeks, you would be called into court to testify against the decision.

“I won’t let him walk from what he did to you both,” you whispered to their graves. A gentle rush of wind acted up and teased your hair, lifting it over your shoulders, strands curling against your cold cheeks. Kneeling down, you deposited the bouquet gently on Marie’s grave, the flower petals a gentle cushion against the granite headstone.

On your way out of the cemetery, you were met by Spencer, who took one look at your face and then reached for your hand. He held onto your hand and entwined your fingers loosely, pulling you to walk by his side as he led you to the car. Tiredly, you rocked your head onto his shoulder. “Thank you for coming with me,” you whispered to the man who had become your best friend in the last year, tying with Garcia in the role.

Halloween sucked for you, but Spencer loved it. You thought it was time you got some closure. The holiday was never going to be your favorite, but if Spencer adored it, then you would learn to be okay. You were determined not to see any real corpses that night. Spencer was going to go to the opening night of a horror film and follow it up by attending the Safe Treat event that you, JJ, and Garcia were all taking Jack and Henry to. The Safe Treat was hosted by your college, and it was the first annual event of its kind, founded in honor of the two students who had died the year before. Faculty and students alike were attending to game, candy, and pumpkin-carving booths, there were going to be photograph opportunities, a costume contest was arranged, and campus security had enlisted their full staff, as well as volunteers from the local police, to make sure that everyone was safe and secure while they had their spooky fun.

“Of course I came,” Spencer responded back to you softly, turning his head to rest his cheek over your hair. While you slowly walked together down the block towards your car, he pressed his lips against the top of your head. “I love you.”

~~~

A/N: Happy Halloween everyone! I wrote this a couple of years ago, took it down, and am now reposting it here.

If you liked this oneshot and how I write, please consider commissioning me through Ko-Fi! A oneshot of this length is about $14 ($1/500 words + 500 words FREE), but shorter stories start at only $4, and for just $1, I’ll take prompts for preferences, would-includes, and imagines. My Ko-Fi handle is /writingsofstardust . If you have any questions, please send me an ask or a message and I’ll reply as soon as I see it. :)

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willowcreekrun · 4 years ago

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question: you talk abt the crew's fashion choices in their intro posts a bit, but what are their comfort outfits that they wear the most? i'm so excited for this game i literally can't stop talking abt it to my friends xD

Okay first of all this is like the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me <3 Second of all these got kind of long but your answers are under the cut! (I also know nothing about fashion so bear with me)

King: He has wrangler jeans for every day of the week but the pair that used to have a hole worn into the back right pocket is his favorite because his mom sewed a colored patch to fix them and now he gets warm and fuzzy every time he sees it. His brown leather Ariat boots are well-worn but also well taken care of. (Side note: his moms have a collection of all the boots he’s grown out of that they keep to coo over occasionally because they’re utterly sappy and filled with ooey-gooey love for their baby boy!) His favorite shirt is a navy collared button-down with white zig-zag patterns. He has a bunch of other printed shirts in fun colors that he shows in, but this one is extra soft and he wears it to school his horse/work cattle all the time. He also has a favorite cowboy hat!! It’s white and pristine and he wears it to shows and for special occasions ONLY because his grandma gave it to him so it’s very special.

Charlotte: If she’s not at the barn she’s wearing her favorite pair of pants: pastel green high-waisted corduroy shorts. She usually pairs these with a loose neutral-colored tank top and a long chunky tan cardigan with large faux-wood buttons. She wears ankle-high gardening shoes that are comfortable and cute with little flower designs covering them and spends most of her day in the garden. Unless, of course, she’s working on Jolene. In that case she’ll wear what she calls her grease-monkey outfit, which is a white tee under denim coveralls complete with steel-toed boots. She and King are tied for the most fashionable but her outfits are more diverse, for sure.

Kit: As a working student she’s in riding clothes 99% of the time so her go-to outfit is her favorite shirt (an off-white tee with a faded rainbow design on the front) tucked into grey breeches with a black leather belt that used to belong to her dad. If she’s riding she’s in her tall boots, but when she’s just running around doing errands you can see her Kermit the frog socks that go up to her mid-calf and are paired with worn converse that have all sorts of doodles on the canvas. If given the option her attire would be much wackier but the Mannors are strict about what they consider to be ‘barn-appropriate attire’ and she cuts it close as it is.

Santiago: His soft, fleece-lined denim jacket is a must-have as soon as the weather starts to turn. Otherwise he keeps it pretty casual with a nice pair of working jeans and a comfortable cream-colored henley-type shirt (comfy and harder to notice all the wood shavings on!) He and Kit are the least fashionable but where he takes that as a cue to keep things simple and functional, she’d go all-out camp in a heartbeat.

#how does it feel to hold my life in your hands anon?#also sorry i realize i got away from the question a bit in some places #asks #king jones-smith #charlotte nguyen #kit kelley #santiago vargas

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hiddenclawsof · 4 years ago

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aesthetic tag game

tagged by @yutopiada (one of my fav ptg writers out there still notices me to this day im emo--)

rules: bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold.

@yunwoo, @wookikun , @hojinhoe (hi no pressure in doing this but if you want to do this you are welcome to do so ((: )

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yungidreamer · 4 years ago

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Aesthetic tag game

tagged by @seoultraveller

rules: bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold.

i’m tagging @uncommoncold @twancingyunhoe @luthenia and whoever else wants to do it. if you like this, i think you should just totally jump in and do it!! (NO OBLIGATION TO DO THIS!)

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sleepless-in-starbucks · 5 years ago

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okay so I’ve been working on three different things, all of which are in various stages of being finished, but none of them are going to get posted nearly as soon as I’d like so have this little thing that makes me feel productive-

pastel punk hippie Remy

Inspired by @blinksinbewilderment during her stream

Note- I mean hippie as in, like, artistic hippie. Not 60′s-70′s flower power hippies

First things first- what he looks like

His aesthetic’s a mess but a good one

He’s got three leather jackets, all of them paint stained

He’s got even more plaids, and the majority of them are also paint stained

Lots of tank tops and crop tops, normal plain white ones that are ALSO paint stained (he’s a messy boi) and ones that are bright flashy colours

He’s got two pairs of sunglasses- both heart shaped, one pink and one black

Plenty of piercings- lots in his ears and a lip one- but most of the earrings he wears are self-made

Ripped up jeans with roses on the pockets

Skirts ranging super short to super long in various pastel shades, the bottoms of which are normally torn up or messy in some way

Scuffed up white shoes that he’s doodled all over

Half his hair’s shaved off, he’s got an undercut of swirling flower designs, and he dyes it at least twice a month

Has a few beanies, mostly cool colour ones, that he’s sometimes wearing and sometimes isn’t

He’s got tattoos, too- roses that look like they’re dripping crimson red with plenty of thorns wrap around his wrists and up his arms, a swirl of stars around his left ankle, a flurry of birds and butterflies running up his back

He paints his nails a lot, too, light rainbow colours that are overlaid with sparkles and little designs

He doesn’t actually wear much make-up; sometimes when he really wants his look to POP he will, but that’s not often

He’s gender-queer- fuck the system, including the binary one- and changes his pronouns at the drop of the hat (he/him’s just the set he defaults to the most) and some mesh of sexuality and romance- he’s really not sure what mesh and to be honest he doesn’t care much

Most people don’t know how he can be a punk, into pastels, AND a hippie, but it’s pretty simple- he hates the government, loves pastels, and he’s an artist. that’s that.

When it comes to artist, he’s two-handed: both a drawing artist and a musical one

He plays guitar + writes his own songs. most of the time he doesn’t sing, but when he does, it’s good- he’s got the range to sing hauntingly melancholy, loudly upbeat, and everything in between

He always draws and paints- sketches on pretty much everything he can touch, paints much less but much more messy

He’s a loner pretty much every where he goes- he’s an odd one, and people don’t like odd ones- but Remy’s of the firm opinion that animals and nature are better than humans any day of the week, so he doesn’t mind much

It does make him pretty bad at socializing, of course, but he finds filling the awkward gaps with petnames that throw the other members of the conversation for a loop makes him look fairly competent

No one’s really sure how he made it through college given he often preferred to skip class to go explore the wilderness, but he did, and he came out of it with a masters in computer science and a minor in marine biology- a class he seems to have taken more for the fun than the employment opportunities

Remy also learned a lot from all his class skips to explore the woods nearby his university- he’s very good at climbing trees, and he can easily convince a good amount of the wildlife to trust him

When he was at school, you could often find him perched in one of the trees or on top of a rock, playing his guitar and singing for the birds

You can still find him like that now, it’s just harder to guess which forest he’ll be camped out in

Remy’s job is mostly at home, done electronically, so he has a lot of free time in between his tasks

A lot of that free time is spent doing less legal programming... namely hacking

Sometimes rebellion is electronically stealing from the rich and dispersing their funds to various charities that deserve them, alright?

He also bikes everywhere!

And I do mean a normal bike- not a motorbike

He also keeps five different flip-knives on him- he is a punk, after all, and rarely a rational one- all of which are bejeweled

No one knows where Remy keeps all five but he always has all five on him

Anddddddd... yeah. pastel punk hippie Remy. I love him

#ts remy #ts sleep #didn't talk ships or anything because it's just a character casting #but if any of y'all want to use pastel punk hippie remy in a fic.... tag me so I can read t :)#anyways I hope you like him bdsjhdsf #blink #the cryptid speaks #long post

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milkybonya · 4 years ago

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aesthetic tag game

tagged by my dear @thelilyshope <3 <3 (taking a break from studying to do this!)

rules: bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold.

@tomoonine, @jfc-max, @hiddenclawsof, @yuthoe i tag youuu ! (but there is no obligation to do this :”) )

#no fics just kicks

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unpack-my-heart · 5 years ago

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IT Fandom Prompt Week - Day 7 - Famous / Band AU

@constantreaderfool @xandertheundead @tinyarmedtrex

Final Prompt for IT Prompt week 2019.

Read on AO3 HERE

Like many people, the first metal band that Eddie listened to was Metallica. He was 16, and had spent the day at Bev’s house, the balmy evening sun hanging heavy and bloated in the sky. They’d sat at the bottom of her garden, legs bare and grass between their toes. Bev’s old cassette tape player was balanced precariously on a rickety wooden chair, the tapes lay scattered around the grass, like plastic flowers. Eye’s half-closed, Eddie was listening to Bev tell him about the book she’d been reading, and how he should read it before they start their college degrees in the fall. Bev’s voice, pitchy and animated, fought with Morrissey’s crooning voice, and Eddie let himself swim in the noise. That was, until Bev changed the tape, and an unrelenting guitar riff came booming out of the tinny speakers. Eddie’s eyes snapped open.

“Who’s this?” Eddie asked, shifting so he was propped up against the fence.

“Huh? Oh, Metallica. They’re pretty good, right!”

“Yeah,” Eddie mused, bobbing his head slightly along with the rhythmic chugging of the guitar, “yeah they’re pretty good”

That night, Eddie had practically skipped home, fanny-pack stuffed with as many cassette tapes as Bev could wedge in there without breaking the zip. The bands are those he has never heard of before, Black Sabbath, Judas Priest, Nine Inch Nails. Bev promised that he’ll love them, and he trusted her.

A few days later, Eddie escaped the stifling confines of his mother’s house to join Bev on a trip to the local record store. Bev immediately tugged him over to the ‘rock and metal’ section, where they spent ages flicking through the tapes, Bev filling Eddie’s hands with tapes in a matter of minutes. Eddie, who had felt out of place in a dingy record store in his pressed khakis and pastel yellow polo shirt, had immediately struck up a conversation with the friendly guy behind the counter, who couldn’t have been any older than he was.

“First time?” The guy asked, picking through the tapes that Eddie had dumped on the counter, looking for the price stickers.

“Pardon?”

“First time somewhere like this? You have the first time kinda look, like you’re afraid the tapes will bite you or something”

“Oh,” Eddie replied, scuffing his feet on the floor, “Yeah, it’s my first time. Bev said she’d been in here loads and it’s cheaper than the store downtown, so…”

The guy laughed, a warm laugh that rang in the quiet store like a bell.

“Yeah, Bev’s in here a lot. Doesn’t spend much money, though !”

“Bite me, Hanlon”

“Ever the charmer, Miss Marsh,” The guy turned back to Eddie, “As rude as she is, Bev has good taste. You’re definitely in safe hands, but you can always come in here and I can help you, if you get sick of her forcing you to listen to Trent Reznor’s entire discography over and over and over again”

“I’m warning you, Michael!” Bev hollered, brandishing a vinyl record like a weapon.

– X –

Soon enough, Eddie fell into a routine. He’d wait until his mother fell into a deep, sleeping-pill induced sleep in front of her soap operas, and shut the lounge room door, painfully slowly to stop it creaking. Then, he’d charge upstairs as fast as his legs would carry him. Whilst Eddie looked everything the picture-perfect poster-boy for “good boys” everywhere, from his perfectly coiffed hair, his crisp, 100% cotton polo shirts, and even down to his sensible, chalk-white sketchers, he had a secret hiding under his bed.

Under his bed, behind the stacks of biology and chemistry textbooks and old shoes that don’t fit him anymore, lurks a small metal box, and a rusty cassette player. The metal box is home to his ever expanding collection of tapes, and he’d take great pleasure in passing his fingers over the spines of the cases, like he was choosing the biggest, most decadent chocolate in the box. His fingers almost always landed on Metallica first, his gate-way drug. He’d disrobe the tape, and place it into the cassette player, but not before he’d plugged his monstrously large headphones into the jack. Cranking up the volume, Eddie would place the cassette player next to him on the bed, and lie back, and drift.

Master of puppets I'm pulling your strings Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams Blinded by me, you can't see a thing

Eddie would spend hours listening to Rob Halford’s demonic screaming if his mother had been particularly taxing that evening, or if his day had been slow and lazy, Ozzy Osborne would sing him to sleep, regaling him with tales of faeries dancing with dwarves. Soon enough, and without any real effort, Eddie became a secret, but die-hard, metal-head.

– X –

A note hit the back of Eddie’s head in chemistry.

Anthrax are playing at oil slick in Bangor! We gotta go. B x

Eddie tries to protest, he really does. He sits under the bleachers with Bev at lunch, and tries to convince her that he’d never be allowed to go to a show in Bangor, that his mother would never let him, that he can’t lie to her, really Bev, I’ve tried, I’m a terrible liar.

She doesn’t take no for an answer, and sure enough, when the night of the show arrives, Eddie is sat in his bedroom at half past six, practically vibrating with nerves. He knew that his mother would be dead to the world in a few minutes, passed out for a whole twelve hours. Eddie thanked the God of Nyquil and prescription medicine. When the familiar rumble of his mother’s snores starts to seep through his floorboards, Eddie throws open his window, takes a deep breath, and leaps like a frog onto the branch of the big tree that stands dormant outside his window.

He runs straight to Bev’s aunts house, and they both clamber in her rickety Sedan, Bev, who had recently turned 17 and was now trusted with her Aunt’s car, at the wheel. Eddie was wearing the black straight-leg jeans he’d begged his mother to buy him, and Beverly Marsh, his lord and saviour, had lent him one of her old leather jackets and her Iron Maiden tour shirt that fit him like a glove. Together with Bev clad in enough leather to upholster a couch, they drove to Bangor.

Eddie had the best night of his life, and crawled back in through his bedroom window at four am the next morning, sweaty and disgusting, but happier than he’d been in years.

– X –

When Bev’s aunt gets a PR job at Iron Horns, the best heavy metal festival this side of the Atlantic, Eddie almost squeezes the life out of Bev when she invites him to go with them. He was eighteen, and on the precipice of adulthood. He’s staring down the crevasse of responsibility, college degrees, mortgages and student loan repayments, and the void is staring straight back at him. He toyed with the idea of telling his mother that her little Eddie-Bear spends his weekends lurking in dive bars listening to boys with longer hair than most girls scream into the microphone, and he plans on getting dirty in a field for a weekend with his best friend.

He, of course, doesn’t do this, and instead told his mother that Bill and Ben have invited him to go camping with them, and he wanted to go. Predictably, she wasn’t happy, and bleated on at him about bears and poison ivy until she was blue in the face and panting, but she couldn’t catch Eddie as he sprinted down the path, backpack bulging on his back, pop-up tent in hand.

Iron Horn’s was huge. The site was a sprawling sea of grass, tents and stages, and as they drove down the make-shift drive-way to the staff car-park, Eddie could feel himself begin to panic. His hand instinctively tried to find the inhaler he has stashed in his fanny-pack, but Bev’s hand caught his hand in hers and squeezed. They held hands until they got out of the car.

Bev’s Aunt Lucy was ‘head of logistics’ for the entire festival, something that makes Eddie gawp with awe, and because she was such an important cog in the machine of the festival, they had arrived one day before the music started. Lucy was also able to throw her weight around a bit and swing them a camping plot in the staff and VIP section of the festival, something that calmed Eddie’s nervous jitters. The staff camping had a regular block of toilets, so he wouldn’t have to venture into alien territory … the dreaded porta-loo.

The staff camping ground is made up of plots of grass for people to pitch tents, but it also had porta-cabins for the musicians. Eddie scanned the names on the doors, finding that he recognises all but one of the bands.

“Bev, who are Crimson Nightmare?” Eddie asked Bev, trying to help her pitch their tent, but mostly just getting in her way.

“Huh. I have no idea, but they’re headlining the second day so I guess they’re probably pretty good” Bev huffed, trying to bash the tent-pegs into the firm ground with the heel of her boot.

Once they (or rather, Bev) had finished pitching their tent, they both clambered inside with their bags, and proceeded to get changed out of their travelling clothes. Most of the clothes that Eddie has brought with him are Bev’s hand-me-downs, or things that she’s bought him for Christmas, or just because. Eddie changes into one of Bev’s ripped Judas Priest shirts, and a pair of her tightest black skinny jeans that just about fit him if he doesn’t breathe too deeply. Luckily, because Bev’s feet are the size of common shrews, Eddie has his own boots that he’d saved up for with money from various birthday’s. Obviously he can’t keep the boots at home because his mother would find them and burn them in a sacrifice to the God’s of easy listening music, so they live in the trunk of Bev’s Aunt’s car for him to change into when they go to shows. They’re beaten up old black Docs that he bought in a thrift shop. He swapped out the characteristic yellow laces for rainbow ones, and he let Bill draw dancing skeletons on them in white sharpie. Eddie treasured those damn boots.

Once they’re changed, Eddie and Bev head over to the VIP tent where they grab some food. The VIP tent was home to a catering service, and a small bar for the staff and the musicians to wind down in the evening. Upon walking through the entrance flap, Eddie was immediately star-struck. There are people from his favourite bands milling around, talking to each other, laughing, shouting, existing. As he looked around, Eddie realised that no-one else looked quite as starstruck as he did, which made him feel all sorts of ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it. He continued to stare at Layne Staley.

Once Eddie and Bev had finished their food, and Eddie was trying not to stare at the lead singer from Steel Martyr too much, he caught the eye of a tall guy with intense dark eyes and a wicked smile leaning nonchalantly against the bar. Eddie doesn’t recognise him, so he assumed that he must be a light tech, or an audio engineer, or maybe even a roadie. He also looks very young, perhaps no older than nineteen. This, accompanied with the fact that he’s wearing sweatpants with an old hoodie, suggested to Eddie that he couldn’t be a member of a metal band. The guy held Eddie’s gaze for a beat too long, and before he glanced back to the bartender, the stranger winked at Eddie.

Against his will, Eddie felt the all too familiar heat in his cheeks – an unfortunate indication that his face was blooming a violent scarlet red. Eddie snapped his head away, eliciting an loud bark of laughter from the stranger at the bar. Bev, who had been too busy trying to surreptitiously roll a joint under the table, looks up when she heard the laugh.

“Eddie, why is that guy over there staring at you?”

“…Wuh-What?,” Eddie stutters, fertilizing the glint in Bev’s eye, “What guy? There’s no guy”

“Uh… Yeah there is, that one” Bev snorts, and turned in her seat to point directly at the stranger, who waved at her.

“Him? What about him? I don’t even know him” Eddie mumbled, staring very intently at an interesting speck of dirt on the floor.

“Well, he’s been staring at you since we got here, he laughed at you about thirty seconds ago, and now he’s coming over here”

“WHAT!”

“Yeah, he’s totally coming over here!” Bev squealed, looking positively gleeful.

Eddie snapped his head up, and sure enough, the stranger in the sweatpants was striding over purposefully, his eyes glued on Eddie.

Eddie stared back at him, eyes owlish and ridiculous.

“I guess I’m gonna have to make the first move, then?” was the first thing the sweatpants-stranger said, as he plonked himself down in the empty seat to Eddie’s right.

“Um” was all Eddie said in response.

Bev was thirty seconds away from howling with laughter judging by the look on her face, and Eddie prayed that embarrassment was a painless way to die.

“Hi! I’m Bev, and this beetroot looking thing here is Eddie”

“Nice to meetcha, Red. The name’s Richie. D’ya have a voice, short-stack?”

“I do as it happens” Eddie replied, snottily.

“Oof. I like ‘em spicy. Come here often?”

“Do you speak only in pick-up lines or are you capable of stringing a coherent sentence together?”

“Get yer coat love, you’ve pulled”

Eddie rolled his eyes, and angled his body away from Richie’s.

He knew what this game was, and he intended to play to win.

“Hey now, I’m just playing with you” Richie cooed, taking Eddie’s bait, “In all seriousness, whatcha doing here? You performing this weekend?”

“Naw, my Aunt is the head of logistics for the fest so we came along for the ride. Couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see Tool for the fifth time!” Bev responded, speaking for Eddie, who raised his eyebrows at her gratefully.

“Ah, of course. Gotta admit, I’m pretty heartbroken I’m not gonna get to see little Eddie Spaghetti losing his shit on that big stage, though. I bet that’s a real pretty sight”

“And what are you doing here, then? Light tech, or something?” Eddie interjected, a feeble attempt to steer the conversation away from himself.

“Something like that. A bitta’ this, a bitta’ that. Jack of all trades, me”

Eddie wasn’t entirely satisfied with that answer, but he didn’t push it any further.

“Can I get you both a drink?” Richie asked, drawing Eddie out of his introspection.

“Are you over twenty-one?” Eddie affirmed, sceptical.

“Nah, but I’ve known Jonsey for a few years now. He’s not worried about silly little things like legal drinking ages”

“Uh ..,” Eddie looked at Bev for confirmation, and much to his chagrin Bev gave him the most ridiculous, and most unsubtle thumbs up ever.

“Okay, sure,” Eddie relents, “just get me whatever you’re having”

“Are you sure you can handle that?” Richard said with a wink. Eddie stared at the floor again, eyes wandering over Richie’s boots. The laces were not proper laces at all, and were instead blue string, frayed and threadbare.

“I’ll have a jack and coke, if you’d be so kind. Lotta Jack, not so much coke” Bev asks, smiling up at Richie.

“That’s a lot of booze for a young lady like yourself” Richie drawled in something Eddie supposed was supposed to be a southern accent.

“Bite me”

“If you’re sure”

Eddie sort of expected Bev to tell Richie to fuck off, but she doesn’t. She did something much more surprising.

“Hey Eddie, why don’t you go and help Richie carry the drinks? I’m just gonna –“ she gestures to the opening of the tent and waggles the spliff between her fingers.

“Aw, man. I’m hitting on the wrong person here. Any chance of a do-over, Red?”

“Not a fuckin’ chance, Trashmouth. I’ll be back in a few, Eddie, go help with the drinks!” Bev says again, a little bit more insistent this time.

“What a marvellous idea! Come on, Spaghetti” Richie announced, sending a look towards Bev that Eddie didn’t understand.

Eddie stood up, wordless, and followed Richie towards the bar, but not before sending a silent “what the fuck?!” Bev’s way. She just smiled at him, stuck her thumbs up, and disappeared out of the tent.

Eddie waited at the bar with Richie, who was drumming out the beat of a song that Eddie doesn’t recognise on the polished wood.

“Bev has a girlfriend, you know,” Eddie blurted out before he could stop himself, “just so you, y’know … know”

“Does she? That’s nice. Now, do you have a boytoy, Mr Eds?”

“but … aren’t you trying to hit on her?”

“Uh, I’m definitely trying to hit on someone, but it ain’t Red”

“Then … who …”

Richie looked at Eddie square in the face with epitome of are you shitting me written across his face.

“…oh”

“Yeah, Oh” Richie mocked, laughing. Eddie couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were glittering despite the low light of the tent.

Unsure of what to say, Eddie remained silent for a few beats too long, but he was saved when the bartender came over to take their order. Richie orders Bev’s drink, before also ordering two pints of hard cider, one of which he passes to Eddie.

“So, to return to our previous conversation, is there a Mrs Eddie Spaghetti waiting for you at home?”

“Okay, you gotta stop with all this spaghetti stuff. It’s just Eddie”

“Sure. Is there a Mrs Just-Eddie waiting for you at home?”

“Wait – hang on. How did you even know I like men?”

“Lucky guess” Richie boasted, waggling his eyebrows.

Eddie stared at him until Richie burst out laughing.

“No, Seriously! It was a lucky guess. I was fully prepared for you to tell me that Red was your girl and that I’d have to slink off with my tail in between my legs”

“Bev will find that hilarious when I tell her that”

“C’mon, S’getti you’re killing me,” Richie groaned, “should I persist in my pathetic attempts to woo you or am I wasting my time?”

Eddie pretended to think, and rubbed his chin with the hand that wasn’t holding his cider.

“I’m not sure I wanna tell you, yet. I’m quite enjoying watching you squirm”

“You sadist” Richie shot back immediately.

Eddie stood up on his tiptoes and whispered, “you don’t know the half of it” directly into the shell of Richie’s ear, before he swiftly turned on his heel and slinked back to the table.

“I’m taking that as a ‘Yes, Richie, please continue trying to get into my pants!’” Richie yelled after him.

Eddie threw his head back, and laughed.

– X –

When they got back to their tent that evening after staggering back across the field, Bev and Eddie collapsed onto the same tiny air mattress and curled around each other like inebriated kittens.

“Sooooo?” Bev drawled, as she tried to pull her boots off without unlacing them first.

“Whazzit? What?”

“Richie? D’ya like him? Because I’m pretty sure he’s gone all kissy-kissy-mushy-mushy over a certain little spaghetttiiiiii”

“oh m’god, shut’p,” Eddie slurred, and he tried to hit Bev on the arm but missed by a good six inches, “he’s just … uh … flirtatious”

“Naw, Eddie, he’s desperate to, y’know, get in there!” Bev laughed hysterically, as she pointed at Eddie’s crotch.

Eddie rolled his eyes, at least he thought he did, he’s definitely too drunk to tell.

“C’mere, tiny, I wanna spooooon” Bev moaned, grabbing Eddie.

They both fell asleep almost instantly after that, Bev’s arm wrapped snugly around Eddie’s waist.

– X –

The next morning Eddie woke up with a mouth that tasted like he’d gargled with white spirit, and, surprisingly, no headache and a stomach that only felt a tiny bit like a whirlpool.

Bev, on the other hand, wailed like a banshee when Eddie shifted on the air mattress to open the tent flap, letting a stream of cool air into the tent.

“Edward, I will cut off you bollocks if you let any more light in”

Eddie slipped out of the tent, leaving Bev to her hangover. The sun was already high in the sky, and Eddie guessed it couldn’t have been earlier than eleven or midday. His mother would definitely never have let him sleep in this late. The music started today, the first band taking to the main stage at 3pm. There seemed to be more people than Eddie had ever seen in his life charging around the staff camping grounds, carrying various bits of rigging, instruments and electrical equipment. Eddie sat on the grass outside his tent, trying to psyche himself up enough to make the long, arduous 500 metre walk to the bathrooms to brush his teeth, when a large hand clamped on his shoulder. Eddie barely managed to suppress his scream.

“Howdy, neighbour!”

“Oh my God, it’s you”

“That isn’t a very nice way to greet your beloved now is it, Eddie?”

“I thought I’d dreamt you up in an alcohol-induced fever dream” Eddie deadpanned as Richie all but threw himself down on the grass next to him.

“Naw,” was all Richie said, closing his eyes against the light of the sun. Eddie swore he could see the freckles scattered across the bridge of Richie’s nose multiply in front of his eyes.

They sat without talking for a while, listening to the hustle and bustle of the campsite. Richie looked exhausted, and Eddie wanted to let Richie rest his head in his lap while he stroked Richie’s wild hair until he was snoring.

“So … plan on seeing any good bands today?” Eddie asked awkwardly, consciously aware of the fact that the Dutch courage previously coursing through his veins had evaporated overnight.

“I dunno, yet. Who are you going to see?”

“Bev wants to see Def Leppard, who I’m not majorly fussed about, but I have to go see ‘em if she’ll even think about coming with me to see Kiss”

“Where is Red this morning, anyway? Is that … is that tent of yours empty?”

“She’s still asleep”

“Cockblock” Richie cursed under his breath, just loud enough for Eddie to hear it.

“You’re very presumptuous, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t make a habit of this” Richie replied, with a serious edge to his voice.

Eddie blinked.

“Make a habit of what?” Eddie asked, dumbly.

“This,” Richie gestured to Eddie and then back to himself and repeated the action, “I’m not … I don’t do this stuff”

“Richie, I’m confused”

“Never mind, sugar. I’ll explain it to you when you’re older”

Before Eddie could protest that he wanted Richie to explain his cryptic message now and not later, a rather dishevelled and grumpy looking Bev poked her head out of the tent.

“Okay. One, Eddie, I love you but you are so dense that light bends around you. Two, can you guys go flirt somewhere else please, it’s making my stomach churn”

“Top o’the mornin’ to ya, lassie!” Richie bellowed in an awful Irish accent, shuffling closer to Eddie to allow Bev more space to clamber out of the tent.

Bev collapsed on the grass next to them, rubbing her head.

“Do you have any painkillers in that magic fanny-pack of yours?” She asked Eddie, a pitiful twang to her voice.

Eddie nodded, and climbed back into the tent to search for the fanny-pack. When he’d grabbed it and climbed back out of the tent, Bev and Richie were sitting close, heads together, whispering frantically about something that Eddie couldn’t hear. Bev’s face was stern, like she was scolding a small child who had broken her favourite mug, and Richie’s eyebrows looked very insistent, but also vaguely scared. They sprang apart when Eddie climbed back out of the tent, painkillers in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He passed both items to Bev, who hoovered up two painkillers quicker than Eddie could blink.

“I gotta skedaddle now, my love. Promise you’ll stay faithful as you wait for me,” Richie announced as he stood up, and brushed stray blades of grass off his jeans.

“I won’t make a promise I can’t keep, Rich,” Eddie tried to joke, but it fell flat as Richie’s smile, only for the briefest of seconds, was replaced by a mask of hurt.

“I guess I’ll see you around then,” and with that, Richie sauntered off, hands shoved deep in his pockets, head hanging uncharacteristically low.

“Eddie, what I need you to do right now, is go after him and apologise for being a dick”

“What did I do?!”

“You know exactly what you did”

Eddie did know.

The truth was, Eddie was harbouring a crush on Richie that was growing exponentially. He’d spotted him immediately as they’d walked into the VIP tent the day before. His heart had thumped wildly the entire time they sat close together, drinking cider and laughing, and he’d almost vomited every time Richie’s arm brushed his. Eddie had it bad. He knew this. But, try as he might, something kept him from entirely letting go. Something about the fact they’d met at a festival, miles and miles away from Eddie’s home town, and they’d probably never see each other again. He’d never experimented with casual sex, a nice fuck and a see you never! arrangement. He’d never given it much thought. Maybe he should.

Without another word, Eddie sprung up and chased after Richie, who was now rounding the corner by the toilet block.

“Rich!” Eddie called out, panting.

Richie turned around, and beamed at Eddie.

Eddie felt lighter.

“I’m sorry I’m a dick”

“You’re not a dick”

“I am, and I’m sorry. Do you … I dunno, do you wanna come see Def Leppard with us later, maybe? I mean – you don’t have to, I just meant if you have nothing better to –”

“I’d love to”

– X –

“POUR SOME SUGAR ON ME!” Eddie screamed along with Joe Elliott, thousands of other people, and Richie.

Bev had disappeared a few songs ago, pushing her way to the front barrier, but Eddie had hung back. He was stood directly in front of Richie, who had been whispering (or, more accurately, shouting) into his ear occasionally, and even in one delicious, ridiculous moment, picked Eddie up and stuck him on his shoulders. That didn’t last long because Eddie was terrified he’d fall off, but having his thighs wrapped around Richie’s neck was exhilarating for the four minutes it lasted.

“Eds, this might be the best day of my life,” Richie shouted, hot, moist breath tickling Eddie’s ear.

“I think me too!” Eddie shouted back, and the Richie did something that made Eddie’s brain shortcircuit.

Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist, crossing them over his stomach, and placed a large, wet-sounding kiss on the top of Eddie’s head.

Eddie didn’t dare blink, breathe, move or think.

“Thank you for inviting me” Richie whispered, and it was a real whisper this time, spoken directly into Eddie’s heart.

“it’s uh – no problem”

The band ripped into a cover of The Who’s ‘My Generation’, and much to Eddie’s annoyance, Richie released Eddie from his cobra-hold and tugged him forward, forward, forward until they ran into Bev at the barrier. Bev’s long orange hair was piled on top of her head, her face was sweaty and pink, and she looked absolutely radiant.

“This is our fucking song now!” Richie bellowed, hoisting Bev up on his shoulders like he had done to Eddie a few songs earlier.

Eddie grabbed Bev’s ankle and squeezed it. She smiled down at him, all teeth and tongue and happy, happy, happy.

– X –

The sun had fully set behind the massive stage, and Def Leppard had just finished their encore. The mass of people that had been surrounding Eddie, a coagulated mass of shadows and sharp elbows, parted like red sea as people slowly started to trickle out of the main arena and back towards the campsites. As they walked, shoulders bumping together occasionally, Eddie noticed several people staring at Richie, or pointing at him and whispering. Eddie glanced up at Richie to see if he’d noticed, only to find Richie looking down at him with soft eyes and a small, but genuine, smile.

“You okay, Eds?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fucking great, Rich. I wasn’t expecting to enjoy it as much as I did”

“Ah, that’s because I was there, obviously” Richie boasted.

Eddie could tell that he was joking, that he was just playing the game they’d been playing for the past twenty-four hours, but that didn’t stop Eddie from saying “yeah, it probably was”, as honest as the day is long.

Eddie’s honesty seemed to hit Richie in the stomach like a sucker punch, because he made this weird spluttering noise.

“Fucking hell, Sugar, you can’t just say stuff like that”

“Why?”

“Because – Never mind, I’m gonna walk you back to your tent, c’mon”

Eddie stopped walking, and tugged on Richie’s arm to get him to stop too. Richie swung around so he was facing Eddie, boot toe to boot toe.

“Richie, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t think I can do this anymore, Eddie”

“Do what?”

“I can’t just keep this up. I can’t keep fucking – fucking dancing with you, laughing with you, letting you smile at me like that, and then when you cuddled with me during the show I was like, ‘oh my God, this is it, he does feel the same’ but then … then you go all cold on me or you glare at me or …” Richie trailed off, his eyes flickered between Eddie’s eyes and mouth.

“Richie, I – ”

“Please don’t, please don’t pity me or say you’re sorry, or anything like that. God, I’ll drop down dead if you say you’re sorry, Eds. It isn’t your fault, it’s mine. I wasn’t joking about walking you back, though, c’mon, Bev will kill me if we’re back much later than – ”

Richie stopped talking because Eddie had kissed him.

Eddie curled his hand around Richie’s neck and dragged his face down, before he smashed his lips to Richie’s in a kiss that started off almost violent in its awkwardness but soon became soft and hesitant. Richie didn’t move at first, and Eddie almost pulled away, ready to sprint off to the campsite fuelled on nothing but mortal embarrassment, but just as Eddie had pulled his lips a millimetre away from Richie’s, Richie opened his mouth slightly, just barely, and kissed Eddie back.

They kissed, Richie’s hands cradling Eddie’s face, until someone came careening into Eddie’s back, sending him flying forwards into Richie’s chest, arms flailing wildly.

“Sorry, mate!”

“No problem, bro” Richie responded, voice low and gruff, and from his position squished up against Richie’s chest, Eddie laughed, poking at the soft flesh of Richie’s tummy with his index finger.

“Bro?” Eddie mocked.

“What?”

“You’re ridiculous”

“And yet, you kissed me”

“I did”

“So that makes you ridiculous as well”

“It does”

“Wanna do it again?”

“Yes”

This time, Richie kissed Eddie.

– X –

By the time they’d gotten back to the tent, Eddie wasn’t done with Richie. Not even close. They’d stopped a few times on the way back, mostly Richie cutting Eddie off with his tongue, or one time that Eddie got so frustrated with Richie doing that he shoved him up against a tree and kissed him until Richie couldn’t breathe. It still wasn’t enough. However, Eddie didn’t know how to ask for more, how to ask Richie to climb into his tent with him.

Bev wasn’t in the tent when Eddie poked his head in, but there was a note lying on the air mattress.

With my mom tonight, wanted to give you some space WINK WINK

Love you be safe I’ll kick his ass if he hurts you

Don’t show his this note

Or you can if you want

Richard I’ll kill you if you hurt him okay

Love you love you love you

Eddie loved Beverly so much he could scream.

“Uh… are you tired yet?” Eddie asked, trying to remain inconspicuous, but subtlety was never his strong point.

“Nope” Richie responded, popping the ‘P’.

“Do you wanna, come in? I can’t offer you coffee because … well, I don’t have any way of making any but I can offer you … lukewarm water?”

“Eds?”

“Yeah?”

“Cut the shit”

Richie all but threw himself through the entrance of the tent, pouncing on Eddie with a loud ‘oof’. They both sprawled backwards, and Richie hovered over Eddie, his eyes dark.

“Are you sure?”

“More sure than I’ve been of anything for a very long time”

“Do you have … the necessarily equipment?”

“Are you talking about whether or not I have a dick? Because …” Eddie gestured to his crotch where, yes, it was very obvious that he was packing heat, thank you very much.

“No, you goof, I meant lube and stuff”

“Oh… yeah I do, hang on”

“You’re very … prepared”

“Jealous?”

“I would be if it wasn’t me in this tent with you right now”

“Well it is, so shut up and kiss me”

– X –

The next morning, Eddie had woken up with a crick in his neck. Richie had gone. What lay on the pillow where Richie’s head should have been, was Bev’s note. Or, rather, another note, scrawled on the back of Bev’s note.

Please get as close to the barrier as possible during Crimson Nightmare’s set

Please please please please

You fuckin’ rocked my world last night Eds

R x

– X –

Eddie looked behind him at the pulsing mass of people, blurring into one lacquered mass in the darkness of the night, random faces illuminated by the spotlights. Raucous chants surrounded him, a war cry, “CRIMSON NIGHTMARE! CRIMSON NIGHTMARE! CRIMSON NIGHTMARE!”. It was cultish, and Eddie could feel himself becoming indoctrinated.

Without warning, the huge fluttering black cloth that had been obscuring the stage was sucked through a gap in the ceiling, and revealed the stage. The entire set was decked out to look like an industrial hellscape, all juddering fans, sharp looking pieces of metal jutting every which way and large metal platforms. Several huge industrial fans were stood in the centre of the stage, acting as a podium for an obscenely large drumkit. Eddie hardly noticed the stage, though, as he was preoccupied with looking at the elaborate venetian masks the band were wearing. They obscured almost their entire faces, and looked like they were made of a buttery-soft leather with horns curling skywards. The bassist was stood on a large piece of scaffolding stage right, and the lead guitarist was standing on the floor surrounded by shards of metal poking out of the floor stage left. The screams and hollers of the crowd grew deafening, and the guitarist ripped straight into a blistering riff that sounded like it’d been spat from the mouth of the devil himself. A scream tore its way out of Eddie’s body, and he began jumping up and down with the crowd, coagulating until he had become One with the throbbing mass of people.

Like Richie’s note had said, Eddie was right at the barrier. His ribs were being crushed against the hard metal every time he leapt up and down, but he hardly noticed it once the vocalist walked out onto stage. The vocalist walked with a swagger that punched Eddie straight in the gut, and before they had even managed to spit out a single syllable, Eddie almost collapsed on the floor. He was held up by Bev, who shot him a questioning look. Eddie didn’t dare speak, move, breath, blink.

“Aw man, look at you see of sexy bitches come all this way to see little old me?” the vocalist brayed, stamping his feet in time with the rhythmic booming of the bass drum.

The crowd roared back in response. Eddie couldn’t breathe.

The vocalist was wearing the same mask as the rest of his bandmates, but that didn’t matter.

“All this noise for me? Too fuckin’ bad I’m gonna make your ears fucking bleeeeeed. This one’s called ‘You’ll Float Too’ and you’re gonna fucking love it” Richie yelled, before screaming like a banshee and launching into the first song.

It was Richie.

It was Richie’s voice.

It was Richie’s voice, Richie’s raspy growl, Richie’s beaten up old boots.

The frontman of the last headliner of Iron Horns was the guy that Eddie had ridden on his shitty little air mattress in his shitty little tent the night before.

Eddie tapped Bev on the shoulder, and soon the taps became almighty whacks when she wouldn’t turn around, but when she did, Eddie knew that she knew.

“IS THAT?!”

“IT IS!”

“FUCKING HELL”

“I KNOW”

Richie paraded up and down the stage, the big black coat he was wearing flapping in the breeze of the industrial fans. Eddie was mesmerised by the way Richie made screaming into the microphone with such tenacity look easy, and the way that Richie leapt around the stage effortlessly. The crowd were screaming, and a pit opened up directly behind Eddie, who clung to the barrier, knuckles bright white, to avoid getting sucked into its depths. Bev, as she always did, disappeared into the centre of the hurricane, and was spat out again several minutes later, eyes gleaming, hair tousled.

– X –

Half way through their last song, Richie locked eyes with Eddie.

Eddie hadn’t been sure that Richie had seen him there, a fleck of sand on the beach, faceless amongst the crowd. But, half way through ‘No Dread, No Desire’, Richie’s eyes locked with his. Of course, Eddie initially thought that Richie could have just so happened to have been staring in his general direction, but when Richie practically ran to the spot directly in front of where Eddie was standing, all doubts dissolved. Richie dropped to his knees and belted the rest of the song directly at Eddie, who needed Bev to hold him up once more.

– X –

Even after Richie had sung the last note of the encore, and bid the crowd farewell, Eddie couldn’t move. He was glued to the spot, practically growing roots. Bev stood next to him, saying nothing, just breathing, loud and heavy breaths curling into the black sky like smoke.

“So”

“Richie’s in a band”

“Richie’s in … a fucking good band”

“You slept with him”

“I did”

“You slept with a guy in a band”

“I did”

“Are you a groupie now?”

“Fuck off”

A figure appeared on stage, and shuffled towards them. A figure wearing sweatpants and boots with laces that weren’t real laces, but were instead blue, frayed string.

The figure crouched in front of them.

“Did you like the set?”

“You’re fucking famous” Eddie blurted out, tongue thick and fat in his mouth.

“M’not, not really. The vocalist of Crimson Nightmare is kinda famous, but he’s … he’s not really me. M’just Richie”

“But … Aren’t you the vocalist?”

“Well, yes, I mean technically, but I wear that mask n’ all so… It’s also sort of, not me?”

“Richie I have no idea what to say, I’m like … I’m fucking shaking”

“Good shaking? Bad shaking? Did you hate it? That growl in the third song came out so fucking janky, and I know that I sounded kinda flat in a few of the songs but –“

“You were … spectacular” Eddie breathed, and stared up at Richie with wide, earnest eyes.

“Aw, shit. You’re gonna make me blush, Eddie Spaghetti”

Richie hopped down off the stage, crowding into Eddie’s space. They were separated by a thin metal fence. It was too much distance.

“Beverly, if you don’t want to watch me shove my tongue down Eddie’s throat, I suggest that you avert your eyes, otherwise, enjoy the fuckin’ show”

Bev’s indignant squawk was drowned out by the all-consuming taste on Eddie’s tongue.

– X –

From: Sugar Daddy:

[youtube link]

From: Sugar Daddy:

Last night in Denver. I think you’ll like it <3

Eddie opened the link. It was a video of Crimson Nightmare headlining a spot at Denver arena. The camera was shaky, and the audio screechy, but it was clear enough so Eddie could hear everything Richie was saying.

“Alright, alright, now, I know this is gonna come as a fuckin’ surprise to some of you, or maybe it won’t, but I dedicate this next song to the boy who inspired it. Eddie Spaghetti, this one’s for you, my love, my one, my only”

Screeching guitar and guttural screams filtered out of the shitty speakers of Eddie’s phone. Eddie lay back on his bed, closed his eyes, and drifted.

To: Sugar Daddy:

I love you

#reddie #itpromptweek #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #heavy metal festival AU #Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak

86 notes · View notes

bunnylouisegrimes · 5 years ago

Text

Always Together (NOS4A2 Fanfic)

Always Together

By: Bunny Louise Grimes

A/N: Ah, a NOS4A2 fanfic at last! This is pure fluff I thought of with Charlie and one of my characters, Rose or Rosie... enjoy, with love 💖

The smell of something wonderful cooking from downstairs woke me up. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes to the best of my ability and stretched the REM sleep paralysis off. I yawned and looked up at the ceiling, where hints of sunlight speckled about it. Never had I slept better than when I was with Charlie. Before, I had developed insomnia and never slept very deeply. Due to his comforting presence, pure happiness everyday, and ability to lull me to sleep, I was able to sleep soundly and get a good night’s rest.

I rolled out of bed, my bare feet meeting the cold floor. My long rose-decorated nightgown swayed with me as I stepped out of our room, went to the bathroom to the furthest left, and stepped down the stairs. The front door was right near the steps. When you took a left, you were in the dining room. I could see Charlie in the kitchen. He grinned when he saw me shyly peaking in at him.

“Well, good morning, sleepyhead,” he teased. “I hope you slept well.”

I walked over to him and hugged him. “I did.”

He hugged me back, giving me a gentle squeeze as he usually did when we hugged. We separated and I looked up at him. He looked back down at me with a smirk.

“Whatcha making?” I asked.

“Pancakes and bacon.”

I hugged him by his side as he set his arm across my back. “I love those!”

“I know, my dear,” he beamed. “That’s why I’m making them just for you. Now you sit and look pretty while I finish up.”

I sat down at the table and swung my legs, eager to have a good breakfast.

“You know, darling, I was hoping we could have a day of lazy leisure today,” he said. “After breakfast, I was wondering if you’d enjoy spending today doing nothing but being in my company. I know that the two of us have spent the past few weeks after running away together being in hotels and driving in my car, but now that you’ve settled into my humble abode, we can spend time doing other things.”

“I really like the sound of that,” I nodded.

“Excellant. I was hoping you and I could wander through the woods after breakfast, gaze at all the woodland I have and even the mountains behind it, if you are fine with that.”

“Of course, Charlie! That sounds really nice!”

“I’m glad you think so. You’ll come to find living a life in a more solitary environment with only your lover by your side will be quite the experience. I know I prefer the comfort of a quiet area with nothing but the sounds of nature to preserve your peace. That’s why I bought this place to live. It was simply perfect. It’s an area I am familiar with, not too far from Christmasland, and away from everybody so I can rest in tranquility.”

“I like it too! I’ve always sort of wanted to live out in the country away from everybody and have beautiful land to run through.”

“Well, here on my land, you can run and run and run to your heart’s content. There’s plenty of space to do it.”

He gave me my pancakes and bacon. He picked up some syrup and poured it all over my pancakes. I clapped in excitement as he gave me a knife and fork.

“Thank you, Charlie!”

“You are most certainly welcome, my sweet.”

We ate our breakfast and he told me stories about other breakfasts he’d had in the past century and 35 years he’d been alive. Some were horrible, and he joked about those ones. Others were some of the most delicious meals he’d ever been presented with. I was fascinated by all of his stories of old. It was an honor to be with someone as old and wise as he was and hear stories from times some were not alive anymore to recall and tell.

When we were done, Charlie gathered up the plates and told me to get changed to go outside. I ran back upstairs and got changed into one of my long, oversized hoodies. It was lavender purple with a white kawaii cat with colorful eyes, a star on her forehead, heart blushes on her cheeks, and a pink ribbon with a bell on her neck on the front. A pastel rainbow was behind her, and white stars sprinkled throughout it. The same cat and rainbow were on the back of the hoodie. I slipped on a thick pair of leggings with pastel rainbow stripes. Stars and crescent moons decorated the rainbow stripes along with a pair of fake milk splashes designed to look like they were dripping down the legs. A childish and girly castle design was printed on the bottom of both bottoms of legs.

For jewelry, I put on a necklace with a pink and gold Sailor Moon wand, a necklace Charlie gave me that included a part of the Wraith’s engine so that I always had a piece of him and the car (he knew something was up with the engine one day and when he got it fixed, they gave him a piece of it he could keep, and he thought of the idea to make a necklace for me out of it), and a pink kitty cat collar choker necklace Charlie bought for me with a gold bell, golden heart, rainbow, star and moon dangling off of it in the front, and a cat paw in the back that clipped it together around my neck. I also put on a letter bead bracelet I made myself that read, “Charlie’s Angel” and another bracelet Charlie bought me and customized at a jewelry store that had rainbow beads and colorful, glittery ponies, bats, and butterflies dangling off of it.

I bounced down the steps to see Charlie washing the dishes. I sat back down at the table with some hair ties and a small, glittery and pink unicorn brush I had left in the hoodie pockets. Charlie looked up when he saw me sitting down and chuckled.

“You look adorable, my wonder... I always think it’s so cute that you express yourself by wearing the most colorful and feminine things possible...”

“Aw, thank you, Charlie,” I giggled. “I love the way you dress too. I love your old-fashioned clothes. Plus, your clothes are so soft!”

He blushed and said, “Perfect for snuggling, huh?”

I nodded happily. I undid my braids and brushed my hair out. I placed my hair in two puppytails on the side of my head held together on the top by hair ties with pastel rainbow bows with pink strawberries in the middle of them.

By the time Charlie was ready to go, I had finished my hair. I slipped on a pair of shoes I had near the door. They were pastel pink and purple sneakers with white Pegasai with pink, yellow, and blue manes and tails on the sides of them, signifying which was left and right.

We stepped outside and walked together for a few minutes, enjoying the peaceful nature around us. I clung to Charlie’s side, feeling the softness of his blue coat. He had an arm wrapped around me, keeping me close to him. It was a little chilly, being autumn. I looked up at him with a toothy smile. He looked back down at me with a tightly-lipped smile. That’s when an idea hit me.

“Charlie, let’s play hide and seek!”

“Hide and seek? Well, I suppose we could. We have the room to do it. But I warn you, I always win at hide and seek. You’ll never find me, but I’ll always find you.”

“We’ll see about that,” I snickered. “You hide first and I’ll find you.”

He smugly smirked at me. “Alright.”

I closed my eyes, covered them, turned around, and counted to ten. While I was counting, I heard Charlie’s footsteps running away from me with swiftness for only a few seconds before disappearing from my hearing entirely.

I turned around when I was done counting and called, “Ready or not, Charlie! I’m coming!”

I ran around the woods amongst all the tall trees, looking and searching everywhere I could. There was no trace of the vampire anywhere; he must’ve been telling the truth about always winning.

“Charlie!” I called after a while. “Where are you?”

My voice echoed amongst the trees, and only silence responded.

“Charlie!” I tried again. “Come out, come out, where ever you are! I know you’re around here somewhere!”

More silence answered me. High above, the leaves swayed and branches rocked. I clung to myself, shivering at the chilly wind.

Five minutes passed, and I couldn’t find Charlie anywhere. A small part of me was starting to get a little worried. I had strong doubts that he would be in danger, but a part of me somewhere had to worry about him. He wasn’t indestructible.

“Charlie...” I called, my voice shaking just a little bit. “I think you win, Charlie... you can come out now...”

A minute of silence and stillness later, a shape flung itself at me from above, along with a growling. I shrieked and jumped back, but after hearing a certain laughter, I realized it was Charlie hanging upside down from a branch like a bat, the long back of his coat hanging down with him. I giggled back at him.

“Charlie! What are you doing? Hanging upside down like a bat... you’re a silly vampire bat!”

He chuckled with an innocent look on his face. Even his arms were crossed as if he were a bat crossing its wings.

“Well, this silly vampire bat scared you! The look on your poor, sweet face... you weren’t expecting your beloved Charlie to surprise you and scare you like that, were you? But it’s okay, because Charlie is here to comfort you...”

I giggled and kissed him on the lips as he still dangled from the branch.

“Now it’s my turn to hide! You close your eyes!”

He jumped down from the branch safely. “Very well then... good luck, my joy... you’re going to need it...”

He turned around, closed his eyes, and began counting. I ran as fast as I could away from him and found a little dip in the land to hide behind, guarded by trees to prevent him from seeing me. I jumped into the small ditch and covered my mouth to hide my laughter. I gasped for air at the same time to catch my breath.

There was no announcement from Charlie that he was ready to find me.

Am I really that far away from him? Maybe.

The tree limbs above me waved in the wind. I had caught my breath and rested my back against the ground. I kept my ears and eyes open for any sign of him. For a total of three minutes, I sat there, waiting for him. Once those minutes were over, I let my guard down and relaxed a bit. There was no way he could find me now if he hasn’t by this point-

I cried out as I was being lifted up off the ground by a strong force. I was set comfortably down on a tree branch and turned to be faced with a certain vampire with a large grin and smug face.

“Ha, ha! I found you! Just like I said...”

“How?! How?!”

“Well, I can sense your presence, plus smell your sweet scent, and I have very sharp ears and eyes.”

“No fair!” I laughed.

“I told you I always win. Because even when you can’t find me, I’m always there watching out for you, and when you’re lost and wander away from me, I’ll always be there to swoop in and take you back in my arms to keep you safe.”

I hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. “Awww, Charlie, you’re such a sweetheart!”

He smiled and hugged me tightly back. I burst up laughing again and looked up at him after he laid a kiss on my lips.

“Charlie and Rosie, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” I sang.

“Very cute,” he smirked.

We cuddled together in the tree for a while longer, eventually nodding off and taking a nap. We woke up when the sun was setting, and we ran around more in the woods. Charlie even invited some of his bat friends and let them fly around us. One of the bats, Alucard, was especially a “little gentleman,” as Charlie put it, and let me pet him. Charlie told me that all the bats liked me because I was so kind.

By the time the sky turned dark blue, Charlie believed it was time to go inside. We returned home, Charlie prepared dinner, and I took a nice bath in his claw foot bathtub. While I was changing into the pink bunny pajamas Ralphie from A Christmas Story wore (Charlie bought them for me), Charlie took a shower himself. For dinner, we ate Hamburger Helper with potatoes (one of my favorites), and we snuggled more on the couch while watching TV after dinner. I yawned and nuzzled my head against Charlie’s chest. He rubbed my head through the pink rabbit eared hood and said, “Sleepy, my little bunny?”

I nodded and rubbed my eyes.

He picked me up after turning the TV off and we settled into bed. I was already snug in my pajamas, but I was even more snug within the blankets and Charlie’s body. He rested his chin against my soft head and whispered, “Good night, my wonder and my joy. I love you very much.”

“Good night, Charlie! I love you very much too.”

He placed a kiss on my lips and forehead before embracing a nuzzle against my head. We both fell into deep and peaceful slumber, our shared dreams filled with nothing but fun and happiness.

#nos4a2 #charlie manx #charles manx

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