#event! detective buzz

[drabbles-n-doodles]

It is 2 am and I am full of ideas for a potential NPMD/DBD crossover fic

[redcherrykook]

──── ⊱ ☆ ⊰ Evidence of a criminal bond- part one

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

enemies to lovers at the detectives office

Jeon Jungkook has been your annoying coworker at the detective´s office for what feels like ages. What happens when he gets assigned as your partner against crime for seouls´s ongoing case of the masked serial killer? Will a vulcano and a tornado manage to find peace in each others chaos, while trying to catch the person responsible for the horror unleashed upon the nation?

content warning: please keep in mind this au revolves around the job as a criminal detective, therefore dealing with darker topics, including sensitive topics such as SA, m^rder, assault, robbery, blackmail, sex work, trauma, therapy.

A large portion of this work is fiction, while some aspects also have valid foundations in actual crime cases as well as psychologically related crime studies and research

further content: slow burn, angst, misunderstandings, comfort, eventual smut, trying to work it out for each other, a lot of plot/work focus, side characters such as officer Kim Namjoon and criminal psychologist Park Jimin, good ending

no taglist! - sorry for misspellings and typos!!

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

6:53 am

Static buzzing sounds around the entire office, a hasty jog through the chattered people and with a slam of your big leather bag to your slightly decorated desk, finally, you arrive at work.

the ordinary, bustling with people in cool blazers and coffes, couple cops and a large story board cluttered with red marker and pictures, at least that's what the countless shows make it out to be,

it wasn't like that in real life

While, surely, there are an array of different people having serious conversations, while there may the occasional cop visit, this whole, rushed overly analyzed office doesn't come close to your neat workspace.

Days mostly consist of reading through the piles upon piles of boring paperwork left by your superiors and attorneys, or investigating some string of robberies that are operated by biker gangs,

Some prostitution rings disguised as karaoke bars or massage parlors,

Nothing like a serial killer, no nothing even close has hit your very own, very organized desk in the span of your bloomed carreer

In fact, seoul hasn't seen an unpleasant visitor like that in 30 long years, three full decades

Wind rushes through the heated room as a window opens down the hall, most likely in an effort to flush out the stress that spans throughout the people- yesterdays events have left the investigation sleepless, having seen the on scene cops and crime scene investigators while passing through the door,

It was fairly easy to tell who it was,

a souless, empty glaze clouds their colorful irises- dark, deep circles making it clear that these people were there when it happened

"What the fuck did you do Hwang?"

your head shoots up, locking eyes with someone you did not wish to see right when starting your shift- with the entire department working on a serial killer case, irritated and occupied with following a majority baseless leads- the last thing you need is him.

"Thats quite the different tone from yesterday Jeon"

he scoffs, cocking his head while pushing his hands deeper into the pockets of his darkwash jeans

"Yeah? Well i called you and-" he sighs, "Explicitly told you not to take the case didn't I?" you nod, irritated at his obvious anger that you knew you had absolutely no business in,

you didn't take the case, hell, you had just arrived at the office

"look, it's too early to blame your issues on me-"

"Blame?" the disbelief in his tone messes with your already risen cortisol, only deepening the wrinkles of your frown, probably prolonging the sprouting of grey hair on your scalp.

"Hwang? Jeon? You already received the order?"

The monotone voice of your superior, also known as chief, makes both of your heads turn to face him in all his pale, 6'2" middle aged glory, the suddeness creating a small Oasis of peace between the two of you, stopping your petty argument for a bit

You had now wished that this blatant, confusing misunderstanding will be easily dissolved,

"There must have been a mix up" he states, his face curling into the typical shit eating grin that is etched into his features, like clockwork, it always appeared whenever he thought he was in the right.

the bubble of hope bursts in a split second, stabbed in full force

"As partners?" you blurt out, eyes practically bulging from your skull, the absurd implication of being Jungkook's partner makes your chief sigh, nodding his head in something you can only label disappointment

"Yes. I deem both of you as highly qualified, young individuals. i'm sure i don't need to remind you how serious this is" the chief explains, the same monotone voice now sounding like a cruel joke, however the lack of sleep and evident annoyance plastered on his face doesn't allow room for further complications

As expected, it earns him a shake from Jungkook's head, looking down and taking a breath to prepare himself to complain,

You were faster,

"We will do it. Thank you chief"

your heartbeat hammers in your chest, almost making you feel sick,

It isn't solely that now, you're being responsible for this huge nation wide case,

As abstract and insignificant as it may sound, alongside that, you're facing the difficult task of working with detective Jeon

"I am relying on your ability to stay professional and not let your personal fuedes get in the way" chief gestures his fingers between the two of you, resting his droopy eyes half lidded on yours, haunted by the Terrors of the previous night as he strides off,

Looking over to you newly aquired partner, he looks back at you with a clenched jaw, meeting your tranquill gaze as he speaks,

"Unbelieveable"

11:23 pm

You find out that working with him is in fact, difficult.

15 long hours had passed since your mangled, conjoined mess of what can be roughly considered as partnership had started,

This would have been hundretfold less hair pulling without the countless complains and microagressions,

"Can you move? I can't read this"

you huff, pushing the rolling chair further to the side of your desk, creating even more of a chasm beetween your two bodies,

This reffering to the monster of a case file that had ben handed to you- consisting of every possible report, witness statement, newspaper, autopsy report, possible subject you name it,

it was there- written somwhere in the horribly unorganized pile of paperwork

It slumps down your heavy shoulders, weight down by the hope and responsibility over the country,

"I can't get a read on this bastard" he utters, shutting his eyes. The same frustration that courses through your veins also shows on him and the way he rubs his forhead with his large hands,

The issue is, surprisingly there is nothing in this everything,

"Me neither. The witness statements all contradict themselves and there isn't anything helpful in the other reports" he watches you erratically reorganize the papers for the hundreth time, humming in agreement,

While you had been sitting at this bitingly cold, empty office for the past 15 hours, analyzing every line- reading between them, speculating upon the relevancy of each syllable, on duty officers are being chased around the city like headless chicken, led by baseless tips that somehow- always end up in sheer nothingness.

Nonetheless, you had read every word, soaked up ever piece of Informationen like a greedy sponge without a filter,

Jungkook is on his third cup of coffee, stratically pacing his caffeine intake to maximise his ability to stay awake,

"The department that had this case before us were nutjobs" he says, making you let out a small laugh, a rare occasion which cuts through tension and inevitable irritation that corresponds with this unexpected partnership

A long sigh of desperation follows as you recall what you have managed to gather in the past 15 hours, recalling the possible profiling there is to make on your killer,

Witnesses all contradict each other apart from stating that the victims had been in contact with an ominous man previous to their deaths caused by the rivers ghost- that man presumably being him

"All we have is his patterns. Women, all dismembered and thrown in the river" you tell him, leaning back in your chair with your arms crossed over your chest,

he nods, granting you a look,

"Very throughly dismembered it says in the autopsies, clean cuts at the right spots. That sick creep must be a surgeon or something" jungkook adds, swiping through his hair

"Yeah, or a butcher" you agree, retracting your mind to the details of the killings. There had been no traces of dna found any where on the crime scene, no hair, fingerprints even scraps of clothes- something rarely seen in murders no matter how premeditated- even if the perpetrator had worn gloves, leaving without a speck is practically impossible,

how does he do it?

Aditionally, by how meticulously dismembered the body parts were, it transmitts the notion that the killer must be experienced,

"Possibly cumpulsions? He's uncharactaristically clean" your question makes jungkook think for a second, contemplating, "i figured. But that usually implies a history of mental illness"

"Yeah, and that narrows it down if he's on file"

you pause, "We should look into that"

He hums before turning the bright screen of your pc torwards him, guiding the mouse along the pad,

"The only reliable witnisses we have are the on scene cops. Let me write a email for an interview" he whispers, prominently groaning as you pry the mouse away from his hands, rolling your eyes at him

"Let me write it, it's my pc" your voice falls into a lower grumble,

"Oh okay miss, didn't know i couldn't use your pc, partner" jungkooks lips turn into a mocking grin, you lamely tell him to shut up

he pushes himself away from the desk, sliding the rolling chair back as he releases himself from the suffocating shakles of a long shift,

"I'm leaving. Another hour of this and i'm going insane" as he puts on his thick black coat, the dim light above you flickers, without a further note, his presence leaving subsides, resulting to your solitude inside the four walls of the eceptionally empty, staticly buzzing office

Your fingers type away at the keyboard, the blue, bright light eliciting from the screen strains your exhausted eyes with all their might, in the email directed towards your loyal friends and helpers, you´re practically begging them for an interview the following day

As you finally press send, your face crashes down into your hands- fingers rubbing the crumbled remains of what once was your mascara into your skin, highlighting the lack of rest you so clearly suffer from

With the obnoxiously loud sound of heels clicking on the floor and the shutting of the floor hall doors, the department falls entirely empty,

gushes of frosting wind hit your skin upon your exit already inhaling the smoke from your freshly lit cigarette, you attempt to make the trainride home to pass in the blink of an eye by disassociating into thought, thoughts that expectedly, revolve around what you had spend the past hours of existance with,

It felt surreal, that he must be out here right when you are as well,

In the same city, inhaling the same polluted air

"This stupid woman"

Jungkook pulls into his usual spot down at the apartment block, the tall lights shining a oddly comforting, yellow glimmer on his street

His hands slam on the steering wheel, blowing out air from his puckered lips as his head falls back- final relief, while simultaneously, dreading to be back at work in a meer time of 7 hours

Reverting back to the thought of you, he curses underneath his slightly labored breath,

he doesn't hate you- at least that what he tells himself, in all rationality, his unfounded fascination with your patheticly annoying "i can do it all" attitude is precisely that, unfounded

The keys jingle between his rough fingers, revealing his dark apartment, before a very hungry- playful Doberman greets him with a jump and about a million licks to his hands,

"heeyy bam.. you hungry bro?" Bam barks and Jungkook giggles in return, throwing his coat onto the hanger while the dog strides happily torwards the empty food bowl

On the other side of town, a siren blares- red, blue lights reflect on your fogged up kitchen window as the vehicle speeds down the road,

both of you silently prayed that it wouldn't be his fault once again

[ariseur]

“can we do that again” with megumi

megumi’s eyes widen as you pull back. your scent no longer clouding him or his senses anymore, now only specks of it wavering in his brain, a distant feeling as he watches you smile and place your hands behind your back.

a small sound of surprise leaves him as his fingers come up to brush against his lips, the phantom pair of your own still buzzing against his where you had quickly kissed him.

his eyebrows furrow as his head tilts down with a soft scoff. “if you’re gonna kiss me, at least give me a warning beforehand,” he mumbles.

you feign a sulking expression, tilting your head as you lean down further — only trying to get his attention ( and although it might not seem like it sometimes, his attention is always on you).

“you don’t like my kisses, ‘gumi?”

sea green irises flit up to you immediately, narrowed and skeptical as they try to decrypt what game you’re playing at. you struggle to resist the urge to crack a smile at the way his lips tug into a small pout.

“i never said that—“

“i can’t believe you’d say that. here all this time, i really thought you had loved me,” head hung low, you place a hand on your chest delicately, right where you’re heart would be as you face away from him. his confused pout morphs into a scowl as you remind him of a certain white haired teacher that you’ve definitely been spending too much time with, he thinks.

“tch, just come here then,” megumi says. he leans over to put his arm in front of your waist, blocking your moving form to the exit as you look down at him. he doesn’t return your gaze; simply nudging his arm against you to gently push you in his direction, plopping down between his legs as you bounce from the plushness of his dorm’s bed.

“eh? so bold. didn’t expect this from you, megs—“

“shut up,” he groans.

you tilt your head back to look at him ( probably craning your neck in the process but you convince yourself it’s alright because he’s megumi ), watching as his sharp eyes squint at you whilst you smile, a big grin on display for him that almost makes the scowl on his face falter for a bit.

“d’you just want a kiss? you could’ve just said so,” you tease.

“be quiet,” he flicks the side of your head. you could’ve sworn you could see the pink of blush dusting his cheeks as he turned his face away. but instead of complying, you persist ( like usual ).

you shuffle around so that you’re facing megumi, flipping your previous position completely as you lean in to embarrass him further — relishing in the way he holds his hand up so you can’t see his face in your view. even if he knows that you’ll move your head every which way to try and see him anyway.

you poke at his shoulder to try and get him to cave. “ah? you know you need to ask before i—“

and before you know it, clammy hands find their way to your face as they cup your cheeks in hand — a steady pair of lips in contrast pressing themselves against yours in a soft kiss. his hand slides from resting on your cheek to being buried in your hair, exhaling shakily as he feels you grin against his lips.

and as the two of you part; you laugh breathlessly, snaking your hand on the nape of megumi’s neck in a way that makes him shudder before you press your forehead against his. “can we do that again?”

jade eyes dart along your face. perhaps flitting around as a form of trying to detect any falsities within your form, finding only nothing but adoration in your features.

feeling a foreign heat crawl its way up his ears at the way you softly scratch at the hairs that stand up on the back of his neck, he huffs. “tch,” his hand finds your cheek — and with his last breath before bruised lips meet yours, he mutters out a small, “dork.”

𐙚 join my taglist ! ; @sad-darksoul @kasumitenbaz @chxlexauriana @seternic @kalulakunundrum @silly-norman @2ukika

𐙚 dottie’s 500 event ; 🍡 ( dialogue ) - prompts!

𐙚 non-500 requests are closed — august seventh, 2024 ( 3:55pm )

[mononijikayu]

chapter (1) — rumours.

GENRE: alternate universe - actors/celeb au!

WARNING/S: not safe for work (nsfw), r-18 and above, singers au!, romance, fluff, minor angst, slow burn, humour, slice of life, will they won't they, light-hearted, flirting, playful, possessiveness, teasing, explicit content, possible, kissing, sexual content, innuendos, drama, feels, hurt/comfort, falling in love, love, happy ending, actor/singer! sukuna, actress/celeb! reader;

WORD COUNT: 3k words.

NOTE: this was a request by a good friend of mine here, midnight-138; honestly, this was fun to write but i realized it wasn't going to be fun without a series happening. since jjk ended, i like to think its just a tv show with actors and everything. anyway!!! enjoy it!!!

masterlist

hey lover! series

SOMEHOW, ITS VERY COMMON TO HEAR YOUR NAME IN ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING. Headlines are always buzzing about your on-screen chemistry with your beloved co-star Ryomen Sukuna in Jujutsu Kaisen.

The two of you are practically inseparable on set, sharing private jokes and glances that fans swear could only belong to people who are more than just co-stars. Every Instagram post and tag, every red-carpet, every bit of interaction sends social media into a frenzy.

A blurry paparazzi photo of the two of you leaving a restaurant together? Uproar. Sukuna’s hand on your back at a press event? Uproar. Matching accessories spotted in your latest selfies? Uproar.

Fans dissect every interaction, convinced that something more than friendship is brewing. Because why wouldn't they? Everything felt like a clue. Everythjng felt like it was a mystery that needed to be solved when it comes to you two.

But the worst part about it is that you and Sukuna remain silent. Neither confirming nor denying anything. When asked about your relationship during interviews, you both just smile—maybe even exchange a playful look, adding fuel to the fire.

You leave fans in a constant state of guessing, teasing them with cryptic posts that seem like inside jokes only the two of you could understand.

In the quiet privacy behind the cameras, though, whether there’s truth to the rumors or not is a secret only you and Sukuna hold close. And maybe that’s part of what keeps everyone so hooked.

As social media explodes with theories, fans take it upon themselves to become full-time detectives. Suddenly, every frame from behind-the-scenes footage becomes evidence.

"Did you see the way Sukuna passed her the water bottle? That’s definitely a boyfriend move." People zoom in on grainy images like they're solving a mystery for the FBI.

A single, innocent tweet of yours like, "Had sushi today!!! 🍣🥢" is met with immediate chaos:

"GUYS, DIDN’T SUKUNA POST A PICTURE OF CHOPSTICKS TWO DAYS AGO?? THEY’RE EATING TOGETHER, CONFIRMED!!"

"Sukuna wears black, she’s wearing black. THEY’RE MATCHING."

"Doesn't she live in the East Side and Sukuna has a shoot in New York too? I bet he slept at her place, that's why they're together!"

You can't even breathe without someone connecting it back to Sukuna. Once, you posted a picture of your mother's cat, and someone commented, "Wait, Sukuna said in an interview last year that he likes cats. Coincidence?? I THINK NOT."

And the funniest part? You and Sukuna seem to be in on the joke. And still, STILL, not confirm anything. Not one thing. NEVER.

At every red carpet event, you both manage to “accidentally” coordinate outfits or just happen to walk into the venue within seconds of each other. On set, you pass him your coffee to share and the fandom collectively loses its mind. Yet, in interviews, your answers remain as vague as ever:

“So, there’s been a lot of talk about you and Sukuna. Are you two seeing each other?” The interviewer asks you, a certain mischief in his eye.

You looked at Sukuna, who raises a teasing brow. “We see each other every day on set, yeah.”

Sukuna grins back at you. “Sometimes even during lunch. At your trailer."

"Well, depends on the day." You added, grinning back. "I mean, sometimes we get messy in there so...."

Your fandoms spirals further.

Of course, fans don’t stop. A blurry photo surfaces of someone who might be you two walking through a park, closely packed together in a very close skinship The comments section erupts:

"THAT’S THEM. SUKUNA POSTED A PICTURE OF THOSE BENCHES A WHILE AGO!!!"

"No way, that could be anyone!"

"Look at the way they walk. That’s dating posture."

"Dude, it's just two blobs in a park."

"Only their blobs could look that in love."

Eventually, the theories get so wild, people start making compilation videos of “proof.” You sit back, watching them, popcorn in hand, thinking, They really think they’ve got us figured out.

But until the day you decide to spill the beans—or not—the internet will just have to keep guessing. And you and Sukuna? You’re having way too much fun letting them.

One day, you both find yourselves in a meeting with the producers, and the topic of fan theories comes up. They’re considering incorporating some of the drama into the show. With how your characters are, it was very easy to just make it happen.

“You guys are basically a couple already in their eyes. Why not lean into it?” one of the producers suggests, chuckling.

Sukuna leans back, a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, what you’re saying is we should start holding hands on screen? I mean, don't we do that already?"

You can’t help but laugh. “i mean that depends, you know? Only if we get matching outfits. I’m not going out there without a coordinated look.”

The producers are writing down ideas, completely serious. “We could do a whole segment on you two fighting each other and you know......sexual tension. Very exciting.”

"We already have that anyway." Sukuna snickers back at the producer. He looks at you. "I mean......have you seen how we get down?"

"Yeah, we don't need anything to be scripted." You grinned back at Sukuna before standing up, walking towards him and placing a kiss on his cheek. "I have to go sit at the make up chair first. Bye!"

In that moment, even Jujutsu Kaisen's producers weren't sure. Are you guys datng or not?

And Ryomen Sukuna refused to say anything. He merely smiled. Proudly.

Later, during a shooting break, you and Sukuna can’t stop giggling about it. “If we did that, the fandom and our fans would explode.” you say, shaking your head. “We’d really end up causing a generational fall out."

Sukuna smirks, “Let them have their fun. I’m sure they're enjoying how we have fun too."

➽───────────❥

PROMO SEASON CAME AROUND FAST. And even during this time, you and Sukuna were never escaping the allegations. At one of the major press eventa later that month, you both decide to play with fire once again. Once more, rumors were little but they burnt like wildfire.

At exactly 9:00 am, you had to be there in the agency building to get ready. You show up wearing a shirt with a giant cartoon cat on it, and since Sukuna and you have the same agency, when Sukuna arrives, he’s wearing a matching shirt with a dog. The cameras flash, and you both strike a pose, arms crossed, looking like a bizarre couple straight out of a sitcom.

The internet goes wild.

“ARE THEY ADOPTING A PET TOGETHER?!”

In the frenzy, you hear someone yell, “What’s the cat’s name?”

You look at Sukuna, who gives a dramatic sigh. He snickers. “Guess we'll have to say something about our pet, darling.”

You both exchange a look, trying to suppress your laughter. “Oh, but don't we already have Noodle?” you suggest.

"We do.” he replies back, mischief in his eyes. “But only make sure you only feed him on your side of the bed.”

The whole thing spirals into a hilarious Twitter thread: “Sukuna and (Y/N) are definitely getting married and adopting a cat named Noodle.”

This entire thing creates media frenzy. Because what do you mean there's a marriage? And not to mention, a cat? That makes it even more serious!

The following week, you’re both asked to do a Q&A session with fans at a media event.

The moment someone asks, “So, is Noodle a real cat?” you both exchange a look, then burst out laughing.

“Listen, Noodle is a very busy cat.” you respond, trying to keep a straight face. “He’s got modeling gigs and a busy social life. And very busy building his collection of balls. He’s basically the star of our lives.”

Sukuna adds looking at you. “Yeah, he’s too good for us. He's definifely giving us a run for our money in acting. Oh, if you can visit our house and see his acting chops! He'd replace me as Sukuna!"

By now, the memes have taken over. “Noodle the cat is the real star of Jujutsu Kaisen” trends on Twitter, complete with fan art and even a fake merchandise line.

Every time you and Sukuna scroll through the latest memes together, it feels more like you’re in a sitcom than reality.

And it happened again when you both came live on Instagram after a long shoot together. You were eating convenience store ramen together. 

“We should probably just embrace the whole ‘cat dad’ angle for you, bub.” you suggest one evening while going through a particularly funny thread.

“Only if you’re down to play the role of the supportive girlfriend.” he teases.

“I’d do it for Noodle!” you laugh.

At the end of the day, the speculation continues, but now, it feels like a shared inside joke. And who knows? Maybe there’s a little truth buried in the fun.

Until then, you and Sukuna are happy to keep the mystery alive, letting the fans run wild with their theories while you enjoy the antics of being in the spotlight together. And just be together.

➽───────────❥

YOU DON'T LIKE PRESS TOURS. Because they get longer and longer the more you're in them. But it's part of your job and you can't ignore it.

As the promotional campaign for Jujutsu Kaisen heats up, the marketing team decides to do a special segment where you and Sukuna read some of the most outrageous thirst tweets from fans live on social media.

You both gather in a cozy studio set, a couple of drinks in hand, ready to dive into the wild world of fandom obsession.

The camera rolls, and the host introduces the segment with a laugh. “Today, we have two of the hottest stars from Jujutsu Kaisen! Let’s see what the fans are saying about them.”

The first tweet pops up on the screen:

“Why do I want to fight Y/N just to get a date with Sukuna? Like.....Let me touch those pecs too, Y/N! #ThirstyForSukuna”

You smirk and turn to Sukuna, raising an eyebrow. “Looks like I've got some competition, buddy. Who knew you’d be a heartthrob?”

Sukuna leans back, feigning nonchalance. “What can I say? I’ve got that bad-boy charm everyone just falls for, you know?"

The next tweet scrolls by:

“Y/N could step on my neck and I’d thank her for it. #JJKThirst”

You nearly choke on your drink, laughing uncontrollably. “Wow, I’m basically a neck-stomping goddess now?”

Sukuna grins, “I might need to step up my game. Do I have to start practicing neck-stomping moves?”

You grinned. "Why not? We can start now, baby boy."

"Hang on, lemme kneel in front of you."

The host chuckles, and the viewers can feel the playful tension in the air. The next tweet appears:

“Why is Y/N so cute? I just want to put her in my pocket and carry her around. #ProtectY/N”

You lean over and poke Sukuna playfully. “Looks like I’m the cute one. What are you going to do about it?”

“Pocket-sized? I’m pretty sure I could lift you up and carry you around. I’d be the pocket protector.”

The host raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the banter. “This is some serious couple energy right here!”

More tweets flash on the screen, and they’re getting wilder:

“I’d let Sukuna ruin my life and then ask for more. #JJK”

“Y/N and Sukuna need to date in real life. They have undeniable chemistry!”

You read that one aloud, rolling your eyes dramatically. “It’s not like we don’t have undeniable chemistry, right? I mean, we just got it, you know?"

Sukuna leans closer, lowering his voice, “You’re right. It’s almost like we’re living in a rom-com, and I’m just waiting for the big confession scene.”

The chat is blowing up, and you can see fans losing their minds over the playful flirting. Comments like, “THEY’RE SO IN LOVE!” and “CAN THEY JUST DATE ALREADY?!” flood the screen.

Next up is a tweet that reads, “Y/N can do no wrong. I’d let do anything for my queen to step on me! #ThirstyForY/N”

You turn to Sukuna with a playful smirk. “Looks like I have my own little army. How do you feel about that?”

He leans back, crossing his arms. “I’m not worried. They can love you all they want, but who’s the one sharing sushi with you?”

The two of you break into laughter as another tweet rolls in:

“Okay, but if you and Sukuna don’t end up together by the end of JJK, I’ll riot.”

You look at Sukuna, eyes wide. “Looks like we’re starting a revolution!”

“Right? How about we take the revolution to the next level? You and I should go on a ‘date’ for the cameras and really stir things up.”

“Imagine the tweets! ‘The romance is REAL!’” you exclaim, giggling.

By the time the segment wraps up, fans are in a complete frenzy. The host turns to the camera, “You’ve seen the tweets, now let’s see what the fans will do with this energy. You guys are absolutely hilarious!”

As the cameras stop rolling, you and Sukuna lean back, grinning at each other. “You know, I think we just made a lot of people’s dreams come true,” you say, still buzzing from the fun.

Sukuna winks. “Just wait until the next promo event. We’ll really give them something to talk about.”

With the buzz of excitement surrounding you both, the thrill of flirting, and the chaos of fandom, it’s clear that the jokes and playful banter only add fuel to the fire of the romance rumor mill, and you’re both having the time of your lives

As the promotional segment wraps up, you and Sukuna step off set, still riding the high from the chaotic energy of the livestream.

Fans are already trending the hashtag #YandSForever, and you can’t help but pull out your phone to check the latest tweets.

“Look at this one, Su!” you say, reading aloud. “I need Y/N and Sukuna to take a couple’s selfie like right now. Make it happen!” You smirk. “Should we make that a thing?”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “A couple’s selfie? What, are we going to match our outfits again?”

“Absolutely! Let’s go full rom-com with hearts in the background.” You both burst into laughter, and he nudges you playfully.

“Okay, but only if we can throw Noodle into the picture for added cuteness.” he says, mock-serious. “Can’t let my cat-dad image fade. After all, we have a three soul family!”

As you’re scrolling through the tweets, you come across one that reads, “If Y/N and Sukuna were a snack, they’d be the whole charcuterie board—gorgeous, a little salty, and definitely irresistible.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Okay, that’s actually pretty clever.”

“Salty, huh?” Sukuna leans in closer with a smirk, “You think they’re implying something about me?”

“Only that you’re a snack, Sukuna.” You wink, enjoying the banter as you both stroll through the studio’s backlot.

Suddenly, someone yells, “Hey! Are you two dating, or what?” It’s one of the crew members, clearly getting in on the joke.

You both pause, exchanging a look. “We’re.....interesting, right?” you say, nudging Sukuna.

He smirks, “Yeah, just interesting. Especially together. Interesting together as we definitely share sushi and matching outfits.”

The crew member laughs, shaking his head. “You’re both ridiculous. Just make it official already!”

You can’t help but grin, feeling a mix of warmth and excitement at the thought. As you continue walking, you check your phone again and see another trending tweet:

“Sukuna’s hand on Y/N’s back at the premiere was a whole mood. I’m not okay.”

“Hey, I think we were just trying to navigate the crowd.” you say, laughing as you elbow Sukuna. “Or maybe I was just trying to keep you from tripping on your own ego.”

He feigns shock, placing a hand over his heart. “My ego is as solid as my acting skills! But it’s nice to have someone as cute as you around to keep me grounded, darling."

Your cheeks flush at the compliment, and you decide to lean into it. “Well, I’ll just have to make sure to keep your ego in check. Maybe I’ll start charging a fee for my services.”

“Oh? What’s the rate?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“A dinner date sounds fair. Noodle can join too!”

Just then, another crew member walks past, overhearing your banter. “Wait, are you two actually going to have a date? I’ll start a betting pool.”

Sukuna leans in, whispering dramatically, “How much are they betting on us? Better be big money we can share.”

You break into laughter again. “I’m betting they’ll think we’ll end up together by the end of the season. That’s practically a guarantee.”

As you walk back to your trailer, you can see fans gathering outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of you both.

“Looks like we’ve got an audience, Su!” you say, glancing at the growing crowd.

Sukuna gives you a sly smile. “Let’s give them a show.”

You both step out onto the steps of your trailer, and the fans cheer, holding up their phones to capture the moment. Sukuna eagerly wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as you both pose for a picture, flashing playful grins.

The fans go wild, shouting your names and yelling for you to kiss.

“Maybe next time, guys! I'm hungry!” you shout back, grinning. “Tough luck but you’ll have to settle for selfies!”

"Yeah, everyone!" Sukuna whispers, a sly smile on his face. "Can't let my darling be hungry now, can't I?"

You both pose for a few more pictures, enjoying the energy and excitement radiating from the crowd. As you glance at Sukuna, you can’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline.

This might just be a fun little game for you both, but with every shared laugh and inside joke, the lines between friendship and something more seem to blur just a little more.

Later that evening, you’re scrolling through Twitter again, and the excitement of the day sinks in as you read the latest updates:

“I’m not saying Y/N and Sukuna are endgame, but… I’m not NOT saying it either.”

“Someone tell me how I can apply to be the third wheel on their sushi dates! #LifeGoals”

“Can’t wait for the upcoming JJK season! Also, please, can they just kiss already?”

You smile, a mix of joy and mischief bubbling up inside you. With Sukuna by your side, the adventure has only just begun, and you can’t wait to see where it all leads. After all, isn't that the fun?

[silkscreaming]

[ID: Trigun fanart of a Pushing Daisies AU. Vash and Knives are shown in a cafe, both wearing aprons. Vash is smiling at Wolfwood as he prepares a strawberry pie, and Knives scowls at Vash while holding a covered box which flies are buzzing over. Over them is the cursive text "Love and Pies." In the background, Wolfwood is staring at Vash with a lovestruck expression, and Kuroneko is sleeping on a diner chair. End ID]

there once were two pie makers who shared a gift: a touch that brought the dead to life.

the facts were these:

-the twins share the power. they discovered it as kids when Rem died suddenly, and learned its limits when vash hugged her goodnight. he blames himself, and doesn't like toying with the power.

-nai got involved in some unsavory business trying to find clues after their sister tessla went missing.

-enter wolfwood: a man with ties to the organization that has to do with tessla's disappearance. except: he's dead.

-nai brings wolfwood back to question him right as vash walks in to the wake. nai is unable to kill wolfwood again within the 60sec time limit. (he also has extremely foggy memory of his death and the events leading up to it)

-vash is a slight exception to the rule: he can give his own life force to bend the cost rule. nai loses the minute holding vash back from giving his entire life to keep wolfwood alive and spare the cost of someone else's life.

bonus things that didn't fit in my twt thread:

-nai is in touch with milly and meryl's detective agency to keep a tab on any clues. they are frequent customers at the pie shop.

-vash brought kuroneko back to life when they were kids. she immediately chomped on his finger. vash freaked out thinking she would die again but black cats have 9 lives and are also exceptions to the rule because i think its funny.

-like canon, vash can be pretty reckless when it comes to helping people and avoiding deaths. running into burning buildings and pushing people out of the way from cars running lights.

-wolfwood wears his sunglasses to hide his identity. it is extremely hilariously not effective.

-vash still has a prosthetic arm. wolfwood can hold One hand.

also here is the first sketch i drew of this concept way back in april where i simply had not figured out how to draw these two yet lol

[ID: Slightly sketchy Trigun fanart of Vash and Knives from the same AU, shown walking past each other against a light pink background. Vash smiles as he looks at a strawberry which is surrounded by sparkles, and Knives is scowling while carrying the box flies are buzzing over. End ID]

[celestialglow24]

••• Even Still •••

Frank Castle x AFAB reader

Frank is upset with you when you put yourself in harms way

once again i was in my frank feels and got a little carried away with this one. enjoy xx

“Don’t.”

He cut you off before you could even finish saying his name. You bit your tongue hard as you watched him insert another stitch on your forearm.

The pounding in your head was relentless and you did your best to ignore the buzz emitting from the lights in the bathroom.

It felt as though it was right in your ears.

Your chest rose and fell slowly — each breath feeling like a knife was being jammed into your side. More than likely you had a few broken ribs.

It hurt to talk and smile but at least your split lip had finally stopped bleeding. The soreness around your eyes reminded you of the probable bruises that would be there to greet you tomorrow morning.

You hadn’t planned on getting hurt. You hadn’t really planned on any of the events of tonight.

But when the opportunity came up for you to go after the men who killed your brother, there was no way you could turn it down.

You didn’t think about the possible consequences.

You didn’t care.

All you could see was the vision of your brother’s mutilated body. All you could hear were the screams from your mother when the police had come to deliver the news.

So you sought your own justice— with help from a certain red vigilante that your boyfriend wasn’t particularly fond of.

The tension in the bathroom was palpable. You wanted so badly to say something sassy, but Frank was the one with a needle and thread in his hand.

While you knew he would never purposely inflict pain, you wouldn’t put it past him to fix you with a little more pressure and force than was probably necessary.

So instead you waited until he finished covering your stitched wound with a bandage and gauze.

You didn’t move from your seat as he started cleaning up the supplies and you refused to look at him. You kept your gaze off to the side, looking toward the bathroom window at the few cars that drove down the quiet midnight street.

“I don’t understand why you’re so angry? I thought you would understand more than anyone why I did what I did.”

It was a low blow and you regretted it as soon as the words left your mouth. It wasn’t fair to throw that in his face but it also wasn’t fair that you got the cold shoulder when you weren’t all that different.

You couldn’t comprehend why it was okay for him to consistently put himself in dangerous situations but god forbid you do it one time.

He didn’t respond. He just continued to clean. For some reason that irritated you more than if he would’ve bit back with something even lower.

“Frank.” you prodded, this time finally turning to look at him. Again he ignored you, shoving the first aid kit back under the bathroom sink.

“Is this really what we’re gonna do? You’re gonna pretend like i’m not he-”

He grabbed your chin and jutted it up toward him. It didn’t hurt you, just startled you more than anything.

“Why didn’t you ask me?”

His voice was low, and while he tried to keep up his usual tough, stoic demeanor, you detected a hint of hurt in his voice.

You weren’t sure what to make of it.

“Hm?” he squeezed your chin gently when you hadn’t responded.

You avoided his gaze now, uncomfortable with his searching eyes. He could always see right through you. No matter how much you tried to close him out, it never worked.

“Because I knew you would’ve said no.”

As the words left your mouth you could hear how dejected you sounded. You were tired and really didn’t want to get in a screaming match with Frank tonight. You were just happy to be home and alive.

“You’re damn right I would’ve.”, he quipped. “It was a stupid thing to do.”

You scoffed, finally pushing his hand off your chin and crossing your arms.

“I did what was necessary.”

“No, you got fucking lucky. I mean what the hell were you thinkin? You really thought you could take on a group of those guys by yourself and win? You were just a doe heading straight into a lion's den.” he said incredulously.

“That’s why I didn’t go by myself, Frank.” you rolled your eyes. “I’m stubborn, not naive.”

“Oh right. ‘Scuse me. You and Red. The dynamic fucking duo.”

He was definitely hurt. There was no denying that. From the outside you could understand how it looked. Turning to someone he couldn’t stand for help instead of coming to him.

You realize now he wasn’t asking why you didn’t ask for his permission.

He was wanting to know why you didn’t ask him to be the one to go with you. Why did you go to Matt Murdock of all people?

But if you had gone to Frank you know he would’ve stopped you. Those men would still be alive right now and on their way to hurt someone else. To destroy some other family. You couldn’t let that happen.

Matt tried to stop you too but you had a bit more leeway with getting him to go along with you than Frank.

You knew even if he objected to it, Matt would reluctantly follow alongside you.

Frank would’ve tied you to a chair and locked you in a room.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you by going to him for help but you said it yourself. There’s no way I could’ve done that on my own. I needed someone who could join me and handle a fight. Not someone who was just going to tell me what I could and couldn’t do like I was some incompetent child.”

Frank shook his head. “Yeah and i’ll deal with that motherfucker later. He’s an idiot for letting you put yourself in danger like that.”

“He wouldn’t have let anything happen to me.” you shot back.

All he could do was run his hands down his face before turning to look at you. “Do you hear yourself? He ain’t some magic shield that would’ve kept you from getting shot or stabbed. What if there had been more men? What if he had gotten hurt and you were left to try and fight off those scum bags by yourself?”

“I think i handled myself pretty well when he was occupied.”

You knew you were being difficult. You also knew Frank was right. It was a bad idea all around, but at the time it didn’t matter. You just wanted to hurt them.

Sure there was a part of you that felt invincible having someone like Matt with you, but as you got more clarity you realized how lucky you had been to get away with the injuries you had. It really could’ve gone a different way.

Still, you hated the way Frank was making you feel right now. Like a child being scolded by a parent. You know it’s cause he loves you and you scared him, but it doesn’t make it any easier right now.

You figured he’d be a little upset but you also thought he would be proud of you.

The look he was giving you right now showed you anything but that.

“So do you feel better?” he asked, following you as you limped out of the bathroom. “Huh? You get what you wanted out of it?”

“Frank.” you sighed.

“No I wanna know.”

He grabbed your arm and spun you around. He loosened his hold when he saw you grimace from the contact, god you ached like a bitch, but he still held his intense stare.

“Was it worth it?”

You knew he was trying to rile you up. Get some sort of angry response from you. He was pissed now and was ready to let you have it but you weren’t giving in that easily.

“I don’t feel anything right now.”

Which was the truth. Besides the obvious physical pain, you didn’t feel anything about tonight. There was a rush of adrenaline as you fought, as you punched and kicked and dumped the last body into the river.

But now? As the high wore off and reality was sinking in? You just felt empty.

“You think about anyone else before you did what you did? You think about me or your friends?” he nodded toward the dog bowl for Rocco, the pitbull that you shared. “You think about him, how he’d search all around the apartment and wonder why you never came home?”

You turned your back to him and headed toward the bedroom. You just wanted to get out of these uncomfortable clothes and you wanted this conversation to stop.

“Enough, Frank.”

He didn’t listen, he just kept going. God is this how he felt when you nagged him for coming home close to death after a mission gone wrong?

“What about your mom, huh?”

That made you pause.

“You ever stop to think how she’d feel having two dead children?”

Your stomach dropped and the blood in your veins suddenly felt ice cold.

“How dare you.” you asked angrily, spinning around to face him. It took all the strength you had not to slap him.

“You don’t understand sweetheart. I’ve been where you are. I did what you did and it doesn’t stop the pain. It’s there like a gaping wound that won’t fucking close except now you’ve got something else on your conscience.”

“You think I don’t know what’s going through your head right now? The rush is gone and you’re left feeling like ‘what now’? He ain’t gonna call you up. He ain’t gonna walk through that door.”

You move to sit on the bed now, not even bothering to fight the tears as they rolled down your face.

“It doesn’t end there. No, because now you just took 3 men’s lives. Men with families. Men with people who are gonna want to know what happened to them. Men who work for people that don’t take well to being threatened and they’re gonna want to find whoever did this.”

“They ain’t gonna care that you were getting revenge for your brother. It’ll take them all but 2 seconds to put a bullet in your head and drive away like it never fucking happened.”

You hated that Frank was right but you didn’t understand the self righteous talk. Why does he do what he does if this is how he feels about it?

“How is this any different than what you do huh?” you spat angrily. “You think I don’t sit here worried about you when you disappear at night? Come in looking like you’re knocking on death’s door?”

“You’re not me!” he shouted. “I’ve already made the mistakes I made and I deal with it. I never wanted you anywhere near that world because it’s not for people like you. I already accepted my fate a long time ago.”

Frank knew he was being hard on you but he just couldn’t help it. He was so angry that you put yourself in that situation and he was angry that as much as he tried to protect you, there was nothing he could do for you now.

You were still processing everything but because of the kind of person you are, he knows tomorrow you’re gonna wake up feeling the guilt wash over you like an unrelenting wave.

It wasn’t that Frank was only trying to keep you safe physically—that was part of it— but he wanted to protect you from the emotional trauma that comes with taking a life. He’d buried that part of himself a long time ago.

But you? You were too sweet for this life. He was worried that it would break you. He knows better than anyone that it’s not a piece of you that comes back. You’re changed forever.

Your lip trembled and suddenly the sob you had been holding in came rushing out. The tears stung like hell as they fell down your face and this would no doubt make your headache a million times worse, but there was nothing you could do.

“Shit, baby.” Frank cursed, rushing over to you. He pulled you up into his arms, kissing your head and rubbing your neck. “Just let it out, I got you.”

Your whole body shook as the grief consumed you.

“I’m so sorry Frank.” you cried. “I’m sorry. I just wanted them to feel what he felt. What I feel. It’s not fair. It’s not-” you couldn’t even finish the words. You sounded like a blubbering mess.

“I know sweetheart. I know.” he whispered, rubbing his hand up and down your back and lightly rocking you back and forth.

He wished he could take this away from you. It hurt to see you hurt.

“I’m sorry for the harsh things I said. I’m not the best with words.” Frank said, resting his forehead against yours.

You breathed together, slow and steady. You could feel yourself start to calm down, the edge of the panic attack starting to subside. You slumped against Frank’s chest as the energy had been zapped from you.

“I’m sorry too.” you replied, “I wasn’t exactly making it easy on you.”

“No, but that’s my girl.”

He brushed your hair behind your ear and tilted your chin up to look at him. For a moment neither one of you said anything and you couldn’t decipher the look on his face.

“You drive me so fucking crazy sometimes.” he said quietly, “Even still, I don’t think I could survive losing you too.”

It felt like a kick in the stomach to hear that. You really had been selfish. You didn’t think about anyone else in your life that would’ve been affected if something had gone wrong.

It made the tears come again and Frank pulled you into him. He tried to soothe you, telling you it was going to be okay. You were safe, nothing was going to harm you.

After a while he helped you get out of your clothes, changing you into one of his big t shirts. You really wanted to shower but at this point the exhaustion was overwhelming. You could barely stand up straight.

So the two of you laid in bed. You laid on his chest, the top of your head resting in the crook of his neck.

You played with the chain around his neck, twisting and twirling it around your fingers while he absentmindedly ran his hand up and down your back.

“Frank?” you asked quietly.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Those men, do you really think someone will come after me now? Or my mom? What if they try to hurt her-”

“Nobody’s gonna do a damn thing, sweetheart.”

You rest your chin on his chest, looking up at him with tired eyes, you honestly weren’t sure if they were even open all the way.

“But what if-”

“Don’t do that.” he shushed you. “I promise nobody is gonna touch you or your family. I’ll take care of it.”

You decided to drop it for now. It’s not that you didn’t trust Frank. You know without a doubt he would die before letting anyone hurt you or the people close to you.

But you still couldn’t shake this gnawing feeling that something bad was going to happen. You hated the thought of him having to fight a battle on your behalf. Especially one that wouldn’t have even happened if you had kept your emotions in check.

Still, you decided to believe Frank in the moment. Everything would be okay.

Besides, you never felt safer than you did in his arms.

As the breeze from the outside moved through the curtains and over your back, you finally agreed to let sleep overtake you.

You drifted off to sleep to the sound of his heart beating. You felt a light kiss planted on top of your head along with a string of mumbled words,

“No one’s gonna lay a finger on my girl.”

[mariasont]

Ours Minds Entwined----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4

Spencer Reid x Original Character x Aaron Hotchner

in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest youngest member

Chapter Three:

The precinct doors swung open, admitting the BAU team into a world where the air was heavy with the scent of stale coffee and the buzz of fluorescent lights. The local officers, scattered like leaves, paused mid-motion their gazes drawn at the badged newcomers. Among them, the chief stood out, his shoulders bearing the slump of defeat.

Evelyn stepped through the threshold, her arrival stirring the calm atmosphere as subtly as a breeze disturbs a tranquil pond. The male officers couldn't help but glance up from their desks, their conversations trailing off as they took in her confident stride and bright energy she carried like a torch. She was oblivious to the subtle shifts in posture, the stolen glances that followed her path to the map.

Hotchner's gaze, sharp and discerning, caught the brief interplay of looks, a silent conversation in the language of glances. Beside him, Reid's observation was more analytical, noting the dynamics without judgment, his mind already cataloging and discarding the information as irrelevant to the task at hand.

Hotchner's voice cut through the low buzz of the precinct, clear and authoritative. "We're here to assist, not take over. Your insights are invaluable." His words were a bridge, extending partnership to the weary officers.

The chief, a grizzled veteran with eyes that had seen too much, stepped forward to greet them. "We're at a dead end," he admitted, shaking Hotchner's hand with a grip that spoke of desperation. "This guy is thorough, leaves no trace."

Reid, his eyes sharp behind the lenses of his glasses, peered over the crime scene photos scattered across the table. "Has there been any consistency in the locations of the attacks?" he asked, his mind already sifting through the data like a codebreaker.

A detective, her badge dulled by the dust of the chase, shook her head. "All within a ten-mile radius, but no specific pattern. Random as far as we can tell."

Evelyn leaned over the map, her fingers tracing the spider web of roads and locations, her brow in concentration. "Not random, a constellation..." she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

It was there, in the quiet hum of her focus, the pattern emerged--a dance of dates and places that wove together.

"Look at the dates," Evelyn said, her voice a beacon cutting through the fog. "Each one aligns with a local event. It's not random; it's opportunistic. He's hiding in plain sight, using the crowds as cover for escape."

Silence fell, a heavy cloak, as all eyes turned to Evelyn. Reid's lips quivered in a semblance of a smile, his respect for her clear in the warmth of his eyes. "She's right," he affirmed. "The unsub isn't just local; he's embedded in the community, using public events as his hunting ground."

Hotchner's nod was slow, thoughtful, the gears of strategy turning behind his stoic facade. "Good work, Evelyn. Let's get a list of upcoming events, cross-reference with his known comfort zone. We might just catch him in the act."

--

The office was a cocoon of concentration, bathed in the soft hum of working minds. The only sources of light were the twin glows of computer screens, reflecting off Reid and Evelyn's focused faces. Papers littered the desk, each one a piece of the puzzle they were desperately trying to solve.

Reid, his eyes scanning the data before them, spoke without looking away from the screen. "If we consider the unsub's preference for high-density events, it's logical to deduce that he will utilize the inherent disorder as a smokescreen for his escape," he said, his voice a low murmur in the quiet room.

Evelyn's eyes, bright with the thrill of the hunt, were fixed on the screen as she leaned forward, her curiosity piqued by the list of events. Her hair had loosened during the long hours of research, giving her an air of approachability.

Reid, ever the picture of academic focus, had his brows furrowed in concentration. His hair was a bit more unruly than usual, the curls just slightly askew. The faintest hint of a five o'clock shadow graced his jawline, adding a rugged edge to his otherwise youthful appearance.

Evelyn leaned in, her eyes scanning the list. "What about this one?" she asked, pointing to an entry on the screen. "The annual bourbon event. It's popular, draws a big crowd, and it's happening within his hunting grounds."

Reid's eyes flickered with approval. "Good catch," he affirmed, his voice steady and calm, yet there was an undercurrent of enthusiasm for her keen observation.

Evelyn's cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, her eyes sparkling with pride. The praise from Dr. Reid, sent a wave of elation through her--all the way in between her thighs. She dragged her lower lip through her teeth, straightening her posture, as she turned to him. "So, we could catch him there," she said.

Reid observed the transformation with a gentle, knowing smile. There was a vibrancy to Evelyn's enthusiasm that reminded him so vividly of his own younger self--brilliant, eager to prove, and somewhat oblivious to the darkness they were about to face. Yet, there was a shadow of concern that crept into his thoughts; the job had a way of chipping away at one's spirit, and he hoped Evelyn would be spared the harsher realities for a little while longer. He saw her potential for greatness, but also the innocence that he once carried--an innocence he hoped to protect, even if just for a little while longer.

Reid leaned back in his chair, his eyes meeting Evelyn's with a mentor's patience. "It's a multifaceted problem," he began, his tone measured and informative. "We have to account for variables that could influence the unsub's behavior--law enforcement visibility, crowd dynamics, ingress and egress points."

Evelyn nodded, her pen pausing over the notebook that was quickly becoming a testament to her dedication. "Right, exit strategies," she echoed, her voice a mix of realization and admiration. "I didn't even think about that."

"There's always a pattern, a logic to their choices, even if it's skewed by their own delusions," Reid continued, the profiler in him surfacing as he spoke. "Our job is to decode that logic, to think like them, so we can be there to stop them."

Evelyn's scribbles grew more fervent, her eyes alight with the challenge. "To get into their heads," she mused, looking up at Reid with newfound understanding.

"Exactly," Reid affirmed with a nod, a subtle smile acknowledging her quick grasp of the concept. "And remember, the most seemingly insignificant detail could be the key to unlocking their next move."

The realization struck like a bolt of lightning, and the urgency was palpable in the room. Evelyn's breath hitched as she stared at the date, her voice a mix of alarm and adrenaline. "Reid, it's tomorrow," she said, the words tumbling out with the weight of their implications.

Reid's reaction was immediate, his sharp mind already racing through the implications. His eyes now mirrored Evelyn's intensity. "We need to call Hotch," he stated, the command in his voice leaving no room for hesitation.

--

The BAU team, after hours of meticulous planning for the bourbon festival operation, stepped into the hotel lobby--a spacious area with high ceilings and a grand chandelier casting a warm glow over the polished marble floors. The air was filled with a mix of anticipation and fatigue from the day's efforts.

Morgan's eyes, sharp and observant, scanned the surroundings before resting on Evelyn. His muscular frame relaxed against the front desk, his FBI badge glinting under the lobby's lights. "You know, for a rookie, you're not too shabby at this profiling gig," he teased, his voice carrying a hint of respect.

Evelyn, despite the exhaustion that shadowed her features, still managed to exude an effortless elegance. Her hair, usually tied back for practicality, had strands falling loosely around her face, softening her determined expression. "Oh, please. I learned from watching the best," she quipped, nudging him lightly with her shoulder.

Morgan chuckled. "Just remember, it's all fun and games until someone gets out-profiled by the new kid."

In the hours between the precinct and the hotel, the team had dissected every detail of the unsub's previous attacks. They mapped out the festival grounds, assigned undercover positions, and established communication protocols. They even ran through several scenarios, each time refining their strategy to ensure they were ready for any contingency.

As they finalized check-ins, Garcia buzzed in with last-minute intel, adding another layer to the plan. They would need to be vigilant, adaptive, and above all, united to outsmart a foe who had eluded everyone thus far. The team dispersed to their rooms, Reid lingering behind with Evelyn as their rooms ended up being next to each other.

The dimly lit hallway to their rooms was quiet, save for the soft thud of their footsteps on the plush carpet. Reid walked alongside Evelyn; his profile bathed in the intermittent glow of the overhead lights. His hair was tousled, likely from the countless times he'd run his fingers through it in thought, giving him a disheveled charm that Evelyn couldn't help but find endearing.

As they reached her door, Evelyn's bag strap slipped from her shoulder, prompting her to grasp it tighter. In doing so, the sleeve of her blouse shifted, revealing the gentle slope of her collarbone. Reid's gaze inadvertently followed the movement, and he felt an inexplicable warmth flood to his cheeks. It was a simple, innocent moment, yet it stirred something within him.

"Here we are," Evelyn said, her voice breaking the silence as she fumbled with her key card.

Reid, still slightly flustered, cleared his throat. "Yeah, um, goodnight, Evelyn. See you in the morning," he managed to say, his eyes lingered a moment longer than they should've before he turned towards his own door.

"Goodnight, Spencer," she replied, her use of his first name sending a ripple through the air.

--

The bourbon festival buzzed with energy, a tapestry of sounds and colors under the open sky. The scent of oak and vanilla wafted through the air, mingling with the sweet, earthy aroma of the surrounding food stalls. Laughter and lively conversations created a backdrop to the twang of banjos and fiddles playing a lively bluegrass tune, setting toes tapping on the grassy grounds.

As Evelyn navigated the festival crowd, Reid found his attention inadvertently drawn to her. The way the setting sun played with her hair, transforming it into a cascade of burnished waves, and the way the sundress accentuated her every curve with an understated elegance. There was something about Evelyn in this light, in this moment, that captivated him, and he caught himself appreciating the sight more than he had anticipated.

Reid's attire was a departure from his usual suits--a plaid shirt that brought out the flecks of amber in his eyes, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and dark jeans that were both functional and inconspicuous. His hair lay in casual disarray, seeming as though the festival's carefree spirit had influenced his usually precise appearance.

The bourbon festival was in full swing, the air filled with the sounds of laughter and music. Undercover among the revelers, Reid and Evelyn blended in seamlessly, their casual attire and relaxed demeanor belying the sharp vigilance in their eyes.

Evelyn leaned against a wooden stall, sipping her fake drink as she observed the crowed. "So, we're looking for a male in his 30s, likely with a history of gambling debts and penchant for superstition," she recited quietly to Reid.

Reid, who was pretending to be engrossed in a festival brochure, nodded subtly. "Exactly. The four-leaf clover he leaves with his victims--it's not just superstition; it's a signature. It suggests a compulsion, a need to leave his mark, which is indicative of a narcissistic personality. He's taunting law enforcement, believing he can control the outcome of his crimes--like he's playing his own game of chance."

Evelyn, her voice low and steady leaned in. "So, we're looking for someone who blends in too well, someone who's watching but not engaging," she observed, her gaze sweeping over the crowd.

Reid nodded, his attention divided between her and the faces passing by. "Our unsub targets individuals who are isolated, perhaps separated from the group--easy prey in a setting like this," he explained.

Evelyn's eyes followed his line of sight. "Right, the loners. The ones who look like they're searching for something or someone," she added.

As the evening progressed, the shadows began to cast across the faces of the crowd. Reid and Evelyn moved through the throng, their gazes sharp and discerning. They passed a group of raucous college students, their laughter ringing out as they clinked their glasses in a toast. A little further on, a family of four navigated the crowd, the children's faces painted with whimsical designs, their hands sticky with cotton candy.

The air was rich with the scent of smoked meats and the char of oak barrels, the soundscape a blend of folk music and the murmur of hundreds of conversations.

Reid's voice was low as he leaned in, "It's fascinating how a beverage can be both a social lubricant and a potential clue in a criminal investigation. I suppose that adds a whole new layer to the term 'spirit detective'."

Evelyn's laughter was like a melody that cut through the ambient noise of the festival, infectious and unrestrained. It was the kind of laugh that turned heads, not just for its volume but for its genuine quality.

She turned to Reid, her eyes alight with a playful glint. "So, we're adding 'spirit detective' to your already impressive resume? I must say, it's quite the title upgrade from genius profiler," she quipped, her tone teasing.

"Easy, we don't want to draw attention," Reid murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. Her laugh was a laugh he realized he wanted to hear again, a candid burst of warmth that cut through the coolness of his analytical mind.

The festival's din faded into the background as Evelyn's attention was momentarily captured by Hotch's presence. He stood there, a figure of quiet authority even in his casual undercover attire. The subtle checkered pattern of his shirt did little to conceal his disciplined build, and the way his jeans fit just right made Evelyn's mouth feel dry all of a sudden.

Hotch's eyes, usually a well of stoicism, held a flicker of something else as they met Evelyn's--a momentary lapse in his guarded demeanor. His gaze, sharp and assessing, traveled over her in a swift, sweeping motion that was both professional and personal. It lingered just a beat too long on the curve of her neckline.

Hotch, after his brief lapse, was once again the picture of professionalism. His conversation with Rossi resumed, his demeanor unreadable, the brief moment of personal interest concealed behind a mask of focus and command. Evelyn, still oblivious to the subtle undercurrents of attraction, turned her attention back to the mission, her mind as sharp as ever.

Evelyn excused herself from Spencer, weaving through the crowd in search of the bathroom. The path to the restrooms was a stark contrast to the bourbon-soaked revelry Evelyn had left behind. The vibrant string of lights gave way to the occasional flickering bulb that did little to pierce the encroaching darkness. The music, once a lively companion, now played a muffled soundtrack to her solitary walk, the notes distorted and distant.

The restrooms, a small cluster of temporary structures, stood isolated at the edge of the festival grounds. Evelyn's boots sank slightly in the soft earth with each step, the recent rain turning the ground to a treacherous mix of mud and grass.

As she stepped out, the sense of solitude was abruptly shattered. A hand clamped over her mouth with startling force, stifling the scream that rose in her throat. Her assailant's arm was an iron band around her, pulling her back against a solid chest. Panic flared, her breath hot and desperate against the palm pressed to her lips.

Panic surged, her heart thundering in her chest, her mind screaming for action, but her body momentarily paralyzed by fear. It was him--the unsub. His breath was hot against her ear, his grip unyielding.

Adrenaline surged through Evelyn's veins, her training taking over as she drove her elbow back with precision, aiming for the soft of her attacker's abdomen. The unsub grunted, his grip loosening just enough for her to twist out of his hold. The unsub recovered quickly; his face contorted with anger.

He lunged at her, throwing a punch that Evelyn narrowly dodged. She countered with a swift kick to his knee, causing him to buckle, but he was relentless. He swung again, this time connecting with her cheek, the impact sending a jolt of pain through her jaw.

Evelyn staggered but didn't falter. She wiped the trickle of blood from her lip and glared at the unsub with fierce determination. With a swift move, she stepped inside his reach, delivered a powerful uppercut that snapped his head back, and followed with a knee to his midsection that doubled him over.

As he gasped for air, Evelyn seized the opportunity. She grabbed his arm, twisted behind his back, and pushed him down to the ground. "FBI! You're under arrest," she declared, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart.

The scene was a rush of motion as the team manifested in an instant. Reid's face was a canvas of raw concern, his eyes searching for signs of distress. Hotch allowed a rare glimpse of worry to surface as he took in her appearance--the bleeding lip and the bruise blooming on her cheek. Evelyn's hair, though slightly disheveled from the altercation, framed her face.

The team's anxiety was palpable, a collective breath held until they were certain she was unharmed. It was her first case, and the stakes had never felt more personal. Yet, as Evelyn stood there, her bright smile breaking through the tension, her spirit undimmed by the encounter.

"I got him!" she declared; her smile unwavering as she met the eyes of her team.

--

Evelyn perched precariously on the cold metal edge of the ambulance, the harsh glare of its lights casting long shadows on the pavement. The EMT, with gentle hands, tended to the gash on her lip--a stark red against her skin. Each touch of the disinfectant was a sharp reminder of the day's chaos, a stinging sensation that seemed to echo her inner turmoil.

Despite the pain, Evelyn found solace in the rhythm of conversation, her words weaving between the EMT's methodical treatment. She spoke of trivial things at first, the weather, the relentless pace of the city, anything to keep the silence at bay. Yet, even as her voice trembled slightly, revealing cracks in her usually unflappable demeanor, she smiled--a smile, wistful curve of the lips.

Spencer's approach was hesitant, his hands buried deep in the refuge of his pockets, betraying a casual facade that his furrowed brow contradicted. As he drew nearer, the dim light fell upon Evelyn's features, illuminating the stark contrast of bruised skin against the sterile white of the ambulance's interior. His eyes, a mirror of his internal struggle, winced at the sight, a silent testament to the empathy that swelled within him.

"How you holding up?" he inquired, his voice a soft undercurrent amidst the wail of distant sirens. The concern in his tone was evident, wrapping around her like a warm blanket.

Evelyn, her face a canvas of the day's trails, bore the marks of the ordeal with an unsettling grace. The cut on her lip, now cleaned, was a vivid line drawn across her otherwise smooth complexion. Flecks of dried blood were still visible.

Evelyn's smile, though small and tinged with irony, was a testament to her unyielding optimism. "I've had better nights," she quipped, the humor in her voice a gentle balm against the sting of the EMT's ministrations. As a fresh bandage adhered to her cheek--she winced.

"I know it's part of the job, but... I'm sorry you had to go through that," Spencer said, his eyes meeting hers with sincerity.

Evelyn's shrug was a delicate dance of nonchalance, her shoulders lifting in a gesture that belied the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. "Comes with the territory, right?" she said, her voice a mix of jest and earnest. "Besides, we got him, and that's what counts." Her words were a shield, a deflection of the concern she saw mirrored in Spencer's eyes.

Spencer's response was a nod, subtle yet laden with the weight of unspoken words. The corner of his mouth curved into a faint smile, a silent accolade for her courage. "You did good, Evelyn. Really good." His affirmation was simple, but it carried the depth of his respect for her, for the strength she wielded so effortlessly.

"Thanks," Evelyn replied, her gratitude genuine, a softening in the steel of her eyes. "For checking on me." It was a moment of vulnerability, a crack in her armor that allowed gratitude to seep through.

"It's what teammates do." Spencer said, his voice a low timbre that seemed to resonate with the quiet of the night. His gaze held hers, a momentary tether, it lingered a beat longer than necessary.

As the silence stretched between them, a figure approached, his footsteps measured and purposeful. It was Hotch, his presence commanding even in the dim light. He carried with him a blanket. Spencer, ever perceptive, felt the shift in the air and excused himself with a nod, stepping away to give them space. Hotch's eyes met Evelyn's, a wordless exchange passing between them before he spoke.

"You should keep warm," Hotch said, his voice firm yet laced with concern. He unfolded the blanket with practiced ease and draped it over her shoulders, the soft material enveloping in a gentle embrace. His eyes inadvertently lingered on the wound upon her lip, the starkness of the injury drawing his focus. It was a fleeting moment, but in it, there was an intensity. The EMT, giving them a brief nod, finished up and moved aside, leaving them in a quiet bubble of privacy.

Evelyn pulled the blanket tighter around her, the fabric against the night's chill. Hotch's proximity was a force itself, the air charged with an energy that seemed to pulse with each of his measured breaths. She was acutely aware of his gaze, the way it rested upon her with an intensity that was both unsettling and reassuring.

"Thank you," she murmured, her gaze lifting the meet Hotch's steady one.

Hotch's stance was as resolute as his reputation, his figure cutting a commanding silhouette against the flickering lights of the emergency vehicles. "Evelyn," he intoned, his voice carrying the weight of authority softened by a trace of concern. His eyes, usually a guarded fortress, held a glimmer of uncharacteristic turmoil as they fixed upon her.

Evelyn, still cocooned in the blanket, looked up to meet his gaze. The ambient light played across her features, highlighting the youthful resolve etched into her bruised face.

In that moment, as he saw her standing her ground, something within Hotch shifted. The sight of her in the fray, fiercely fighting for her life, had ignited a surge of panic unlike anything he'd experienced with other team members. It was a visceral reaction, one that puzzled him with the intensity. Was it the paternal instinct to protest the progeny of his old friend and mentor, Gideon? Or was it something else?

Whatever the cause, it was a jarring sentiment that Hotch quickly compartmentalized, returning to the matter at hand with his usual stoic clarity. "You know the risks of going off alone, even for a moment," he reiterated, his stern gaze lingering on the cut of her lip--a silent reproof of her impulse.

Evelyn absorbed the words, her own eyes reflecting a complex mix or appreciation and a newfound understanding of the weight of her actions.

Hotch's gaze softened as he concluded, "Despite that, you handled yourself well out there. It's clear you're Gideon's daughter, and that's not just a responsibility--it's a strength. I have no doubt you'll become an invaluable part of this team. You're going to be okay, Evelyn."

next

[xtra7s]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋�� ★ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

pairing: Renee Rapp x Reader

Synopsis: Y/N comes to Renee's house to write more lyrics, having more fun than she thought she would.

content: literally just fluff.

word count: 2000+

masterlist | previous part

Sunlight, unwelcome and insistent, lanced through the blinds, dragging Renee from the depths of a dream filled with unfinished melodies and Y/N's sharp, enigmatic smile. Groaning, she swatted at the offending light before surrendering to wakefulness. The events of yesterday, the tense collaboration with Y/N, flickered back to life. Their creative sparks flew, but so did their barbs, leaving an uneasy truce instead of the harmonious flow Renee had hoped for.

Yet, a melody hummed beneath the surface of her mind, insistent and tantalizing. It was unfinished, a single verse born from their clash, and it held a raw honesty that resonated with Renee. She couldn't shake the feeling that Y/N, despite her aloofness, held the key to unlocking its full potential.

Sitting up, Renee grabbed her phone and sent Y/N a message. It was a gamble, a tentative olive branch extended across the chasm of their differing personalities.

Renee: Coffee and unfinished business at my place? Noon sharp? ☕️

Blinking away the remnants of sleep, she sat up, the unfinished song from yesterday humming beneath her skin. Excitement warred with apprehension; Y/N, notorious for her cool indifference, was coming over to write again.

Pushing back the covers, Renee stretched, the morning chill sending goosebumps erupting across her skin. A quick glance at the clock sent a jolt of urgency through her. Time to ditch the dreamland and embrace reality.

The bathroom buzzed with the energy of her determination. Toothpaste frothed into a minty cloud, the rhythmic whirring of her electric toothbrush chasing away the last cobwebs of sleep. As she splashed cool water on her face, a nervous tremor ran through her hands. What should she wear?

Clothes flew like colorful birds from her closet, landing in a haphazard pile on the bed. Each outfit felt wrong, too casual, too loud, and not good enough for the enigmatic Y/N. Finally, her eyes landed on a simple black and white striped sweater, paired with comfortable sweatpants.

Her phone remained silent for an agonizing hour. Just as doubt began to creep in, Renee's phone pinged.

Y/N: Fine. But the coffee better be good. ☕️

A small smile curved Renee's lips. Challenge accepted.

Makeup was kept minimal, a touch of concealer to chase away dark circles, a swipe of mascara to open her eyes. Her hair, usually cascading down her shoulders, was instead pulled into a messy bun. She looked in the mirror, not the polished star, but the artist ready to create, vulnerability mingling with defiance.

By noon, her apartment buzzed with nervous energy. She had brewed her secret coffee blend, the one guaranteed to jolt even the sleepiest soul, and laid out their notebooks and instruments like offerings on an altar of creativity.

The doorbell rang, and Renee braced herself. Y/N stood on the doorstep, looking as effortlessly cool as ever in ripped jeans and a leather jacket, a scowl permanently etched on her face. Yet, there was a flicker of curiosity in her eyes as they swept over the prepared workspace.

"Nice digs," Y/N muttered, stepping inside. Renee detected a slight softening in her voice like the sun trying to peek through storm clouds.

"Thanks," Renee replied, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in her stomach. "Coffee?"

Y/N nodded, accepting the mug with a surprised grunt at the first sip. "Damn, you weren't kidding about the good coffee."

A small laugh escaped Renee, and for the first time, the air felt less charged, a sliver of tension dissipating. They settled onto the couch, guitars in hand, facing the unfinished melody like adversaries about to engage in a duel.

But instead of clashing, their instruments intertwined, weaving a tapestry of sound that surprised them both. Renee took the lead, her voice raw and emotional, pouring the frustration and vulnerability of their collaboration into the lyrics. Y/N responded with sharp counterpoints, her melody echoing the defiance in Renee's words.

Taking a deep breath, Renee picked up her guitar, the wood familiar and comforting in her hands. Today wasn't about impressing; it was about the music, the shared journey into unknown territory. she met her reflection with a determined smile, let the melody begin, imperfections and all.

 Renee's fingers danced across the guitar strings, the melody from yesterday echoing in the room. The air crackled with creative energy as she and Y/N exchanged ideas, tossing lyrical darts at the metaphorical board of their song.

"This conversation's classic," Renee sang, her voice laced with a mix of amusement and frustration. "I can predict this shit, line by line."

Y/N nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration, nodding as a smile grew on her face.

Renee strummed a chord, a wry smile playing on her lips. "I like a straight jacket," she sang, "comfortable but confining. Keeps us safe, but suffocates the soul."

Y/N's eyes lit up. "Exactly! That shit for real!"

Renee's fingers flew across the strings, weaving a new melody around the existing chords. "But it feels like it's a little tight," she sang, her voice gaining an edge of finding. "Oh yeah, you're boyfriend's cute"

Y/N raises an eyebrow, hopping in as Renee makes faces of concentration.

"Oh, shit, yeah, he can come too"

"You'll be his in the morning anyway" Renee responds as she smiles at Y/N, placing down her guitar with a sigh.

As they continued their collaboration, the song evolved, fueled by their shared desire to break free from the confines of expectations and societal norms. The lyrics became a tapestry of raw emotions, vulnerability woven with defiance, a declaration of their artistic freedom.

The room was filled with the soft strains of a melancholic song as Renee and Y/N lounged on the couch, sharing a quiet moment. The lyrics, rich with emotion, hung in the air, prompting a thoughtful silence between them.

Renee turned to Y/N, her eyes reflecting a depth of understanding. "Do you understand the lyrics?" she asked, her voice carrying a sense of reflection as she tilted her head.

Y/N, trying to suppress the subtle flutter in their chest, nodded. "Yeah, it's quite powerful. Each word seems to tell a story, you know?"

Renee's gaze lingered on Y/N, a quiet acknowledgment passing between them. "It's funny how music can capture feelings that are sometimes hard to put into words. Like, it's easier to express things through song lyrics than in a regular conversation."

Y/N took a moment before responding, "True. Music can be a way to say what we might be afraid to say out loud."

Renee, her eyes searching Y/N's face, detected a hint of something unspoken. "Yeah exactly. The constraints of that shit are crazy."

Caught off guard, Y/N hesitated for a moment, then decided to open up a bit. "Well, you know, sometimes lyrics resonate with you more when they mirror your own experiences. It's like the songwriter reached into your soul and put your feelings into words."

Renee nodded knowingly. "I get that. It's like finding solace in someone else's pain or joy because you can relate."

As the conversation continued, Renee subtly steered it towards a more personal topic. "Speaking of relationships, do you ever feel like societal expectations put constraints on who you can be with?"

Y/N, suddenly aware of the weight of the conversation, chose their words carefully. "Yeah, definitely. It's like there are these invisible rules that dictate who we're supposed to love, and it can be suffocating."

Renee sighed, her eyes reflecting a mixture of frustration and understanding. "I feel that too. Being a lesbian, it's like society has this script they want us to follow. But love shouldn't have rules, you know?"

Y/N's heart echoed Renee's sentiment, resonating with the struggle of hiding one's true self. "I get that, I think. Sometimes it's harder for some people to break free from those expectations."

Renee, sensing a shared understanding, placed a comforting hand on Y/N's shoulder. "There are people who understand and accept you for who you are, I think. They're the shit."

Y/N met Renee's gaze, silently grateful for her empathy. At that moment, the lyrics of the song took on a new meaning, weaving a connection between them that transcended the spoken words.

Both Renee and Y/N sat back, chests heaving with creative exertion and smiles mirroring each other's.

A comfortable silence settled between them, the kind that comes after shared creation and vulnerability. An idea sparked in Renee's mind. "You know, writing is thirsty work," she suggested, glancing at the clock. "How about we refuel and keep the good vibes going?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a hint of a mischievous grin playing on her lips. "Pizza? It's practically mandatory for songwriters."

Renee laughed. "Nah, something less predictable. What about Chinese?"

Y/N considered it for a moment, then shrugged. "Why not? As long as there's General Tso's."

A quick scan of delivery apps later, they were sprawled on the couch, plates overflowing with spicy goodness. "Game of Thrones?" Renee suggested, grabbing the remote.

"Only if you promise not to spoil anything," Y/N warned, eyes already glued to the screen.

Laughter filled the room as they navigated the treacherous world of Westeros, their easy banter punctuated by groans at character deaths and cheers for unlikely heroes. The initial tension between them had completely dissolved, replaced by a newfound understanding and respect.

The soft glow of the TV bathed the room in a cozy ambiance as Renee and Y/N settled onto the couch to catch up on their favorite show. Y/N couldn't help but sense an unusual tension in the air. Renee, typically confident and self-assured, seemed oddly nervous.

Y/N glanced sideways at Renee, an impish smile playing on their lips. "Is there something you're not telling me, Renee?" they teased, raising an eyebrow.

Renee's eyes widened slightly, and she attempted to play it off. "What? No, nothing. Just enjoying the show," she replied, feigning innocence.

Y/N scooted a bit closer, the teasing glint in their eyes undeterred. "Hmm, spill the beans, Renee."

Renee let out a nervous laugh, realizing she couldn't escape Y/N's playful interrogation. "Okay, fine. Maybe I'm a little nervous," she admitted, looking down, keeping eye contact with Y/N and smiling with her teeth.

Y/N's grin widened. "Nervous? Around me? What are you really, hiding Renee?"

Rolling her eyes, Renee playfully nudged Y/N. "It's not like that! I just... I didn't want to mess things up or say something weird."

Y/N chuckled, enjoying Renee's flustered state. "Mess things up? With me? Come on, Renee, I'm obligated to be here."

Renee couldn't help but laugh at Y/N's playful banter. "I guess you have a point."

Y/N shrugged dramatically. "It's a gift, really. But seriously, no need to be nervous. We're just bitches watching a show."

Renee laughed, grateful for Y/N's lighthearted approach. "You're right. Thanks for putting up with my nerves."

Y/N grinned, nudging Renee back. "Yeah, yeah, Renee. Now, let's focus on the show before I start making fun of you some more."

As they settled into the episode, the playful banter lingered, turning an ordinary TV night into a delightful exchange of teasing and laughter between two friends.

Between bites of kung pao chicken and tense dragon battles, they talked. Not just about music, but about their fears, their dreams, and the things that kept them up at night. They discovered shared passions for obscure documentaries and a mutual hatred of airport security lines.

As the credits rolled after watching too many episodes, a comfortable silence descended. It wasn't the awkward quiet of strangers, but the companionable stillness of two people who had just discovered a connection they hadn't expected.

"Thanks for today," Renee said, a genuine smile on her face. "It wasn't what I expected, but it was way better."

Y/N smirked. "Neither was it for me. But who knows, maybe this collaboration's the start of something."

With a shared understanding that stretched beyond the song they were writing, they cleaned up the remnants of their feast, the melody of their unexpected alliance humming in the air. The unfinished song waited, a blank canvas ready to be filled with the story of two artists who had found common ground in the most unexpected place: over takeout and dragons.

[anonymous-dentist]

Bleeding Heart Part Five

Part One | Previous Part

-

"Mr. Balanar?"

"Yes?"

"Hi! I'm the nurse at your son's school, and-"

"What!? Is Richarlyson okay? What happened?"

"Well, unfortunately your son did have a bit of an incident this morning. He threw up all over his clothes, and he's running a slight fever. I'm going to have to ask you to pick him up."

"Of course. I'm on my way."

-

Cellbit lets out an anxious breath and slumps into a seat. His foot taps against the floor, his other leg bounces. He wipes his palms on his jeans and flashes a fake smile at the concerned secretary.

It's only been an hour and a half since Pac dropped Richarlyson off at school. Cellbit knows this because he knows Richarlyson's schedule better than Richarlyson does, he knows precisely when school starts, and he knows that Richarlyson has only actually been in class for an hour. The first half hour of his day is a school-provided breakfast.

It's only been an hour and a half, but Richarlyson has somehow developed a fever in that hour and a half. He wasn't sick earlier, obviously, so.

Is his son dying? No, right? He's fine. It might have been the breakfast. Richarlyson complains about it all the time, he hates it.

Maybe Pac just missed the fever. Richarlyson has a habit of not mentioning he's feeling sick until he's ready to be thrown into an ambulance; Cellbit understands, he feels the same way. Hospitals are too... cold.

So it's logical that Richarlyson is sick now. It's logical. Cellbit doesn't need to be worried.

Cellbit pulls out his phone to text Pac an update: 'Waiting in the front office now. Taking Richas home, I'll take care of him'

Pac, of course, wants Richarlyson to go to a doctor. But Pac also knows that nobody in the family can exactly afford a doctor; Bagi is the only one with health insurance, but it doesn't cover anyone but her.

(Pac also knows that Richarlyson can't so much as smell antiseptic wipes without acting out. So him going with Cellbit is probably for the best; nobody else understands just gets it.)

Cellbit doesn't react as the secretary buzzes someone else into the school. He doesn't react as the door opens beside him, and he doesn't react as he hears a small group of people walk into the office muttering amongst themselves. He keeps looking at his phone, mostly so the secretary doesn't feel obligated to try and calm him down.

But:

"Mr. Balanar, hello!"

And, suddenly, he can hear his own heartbeat and nothing else.

Slowly, Cellbit lets out a breath. He smiles, polite, and he places his phone screen-down in his lap. He looks up, and he nods oh so politely.

"Cucurucho," he very politely greets.

In all white stands C.B. Cucurucho, the Federation's 'civilian liaison' and Cellbit's worst enemy. The goddamn bastard.

They're smiling, because of course they fucking are. Their teeth are absolutely blinding- straight and white as a military graveyard.

"What a surprise to see you here!" they exclaim.

They lean closer, hands behind their back, head cocked slightly to the side. "Did you get my email?"

Nobody knows what the 'C.B.' stands for in their name. Nobody knows what their powers are. They're an enigma even down to their appearance: sleek, white hair down to their mid-back straight out of a shampoo commercial; pale skin akin to that of a corpse's; long, sharp nails like claws; and a pair of eyes constantly hidden behind black circular sunglasses. Their suit is sharp, their heels are pointed, and their lipstick is red.

Cellbit hates them.

Behind Cucurucho, their group of Federation employees all go to sign in to the front desk. There's a handful of people in suits and two heroes in goofy outfits who do not look like they want to be there. Newer ones, probably. Less popular than Bluebird, too, or they wouldn't have to be doing school events.

Cellbit nods. Doesn't say anything.

He and Cucurucho have beef. He hates Cucurucho, and Cucurucho doesn't really acknowledge beyond him being Detective Bagi Webber's twin brother. He wants Cucurucho dead, and Cucurucho sends him and Bagi Christmas cards every year. He wants to squeeze the life out of Cucurucho's shitty fucking heart with his own bare hands, and Cucurucho keeps adding him to the Federation promotional email list.

He and Cucurucho have beef.

The group of Feds all filter out of the office and into the hallway beyond, following the secretary to wherever they're supposed to be going, but Cucurucho stays behind. They're tall on their own, but them being in high heels and Cellbit being seated makes them loom above him almost imposingly. Their glasses are so dark that he can see his reflection in them, and he looks so small, somehow.

Cellbit bites back a shiver. Even with a jacket on, he's so cold.

"I hope you consider my offer," Cucurucho says. "I'm sure your camera has been returned to you by the police department by now. There shouldn't be any trouble getting those pictures over to me."

"Just ask Bagi for them," Cellbit politely huffs.

Cucurucho shakes their head. "And take the credit away from you? Come on, Mr. Balanar, who do you think we are? The Federation of Heroes takes pride in its civilian associates and their work. You'll be credited and compensated."

Kill yourself, Cellbit thinks. Fucking die already.

"I'm not interested," he flatly says.

Clicking their tongue disapprovingly, Cucurucho sighs and stands back upright.

"You know," they say, "I made an effort to look through your records before emailing you. It's a shame it never worked out between us, but I do think that a collaboration would work. You have talent, Mr. Balanar. The Federation could easily put it to use."

Cellbit shivers, pulls his coat closed across his chest subconsciously.

He doesn't respond. He just watches as Cucurucho turns to the front desk, flipping their hair back over their shoulder as they go. They sign in.

As they turn to follow their group into the school, Cucurucho pauses to give Cellbit one last look.

"I'll be in touch," they say.

And, with that, they leave.

Cellbit folds over in his chair as soon as they're gone, head falling into his (shaking) hands and shoulders tense and heaving. He can't fucking breathe-

The door to the school opens again, and Cellbit snaps his head up just in time to see the nurse leading a very embarrassed Richarlyson into the office with her hand on his shoulder. His clothes are damp, and his face is visibly shining with sweat.

Immediately, Cellbit is out of his seat and swooping in to pick Richarlyson up. He takes Richarlyson's backpack and slings it over his own shoulder.

"Come on, filho, let's go home," he murmurs.

"Yeah, 'kay," Richarlyson whimpers.

The nurse waves them off with a worried frown.

Richarlyson is so light, he always has been. But today, he seems lighter, somehow. Oh, God, is he dying? That's just what Cellbit needs, a dying son. Great. Great!

As soon as they're on the street and away from the school, though, Richarlyson starts wriggling and begging to be set down.

"What?" Cellbit asks. "No, you're sick, and I'm your dad. Shut up."

"But I'm not!" Richarlyson whines. "I made myself sick! Put me down!"

He kicks and writhes until Cellbit is forced to set him down on the sidewalk. Almost immediately, Richarlyson's face is back to normal. No sweat, no sickness, nothing.

On a hunch, Cellbit unzips Richarlyson's backpack and sees an open notebook in it. With. With a sick Richarlyson drawn inside it.

He narrows his eyes at his son, who just shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets.

"I didn't wanna go to the Junior Heroes presentation," he explains. "Fuck that."

"Oh," Cellbit quietly says.

The Junior Heroes... ugh. Everything about them makes Cellbit's stomach turn uncomfortably. They make him sick, actually. And it's not the kids' faults, but. But what kind of parents actually sign their kids up for what's essentially a war on crime?

Richarlyson jumps up to get his bag back. Cellbit lets him; he faked being sick, he can carry his own shit.

They start walking again, towards the subway that'll take them back to Cellbit's apartment.

"I didn't know they were coming today, or I would've skipped," Richarlyson continues. "I only found out after breakfast, and apparently they're recruiting or something? Today was supposed to be some huge presentation trying to get us to sign up, but, like, nah. Fuck that."

Cellbit nods. "Fair."

It explains why Cucurucho was there, at least. And the two heroes are probably graduates of the Junior Heroes Program.

Cellbit has beef with Cucurucho.

He extends his hand towards Richarlyson, and Richarlyson takes it.

"Come on," he tells his absolute genius of a son. "I'm proud of you for getting out of there. Let's get ice cream."

"What, really?" Richarlyson gasps.

Cellbit smiles at him. "Yeah, 'really'. You basically tricked Cucurucho. That deserves a reward."

Richarlyson cheers, and Cellbit cheers with him. Sure, they look stupid jumping and fist-pumping and shouting in the middle of the street, but if being annoying was a crime, Cellbit would have been arrested years ago. Richarlyson is a kid, he should get to be as annoying as he wants to be. He deserves that much, at least.

"You're my favorite dad ever!" Richarlyson exclaims.

"I'll be sure to tell Pai Felps that you said that," Cellbit teases.

Richarlyson gasps and shakes his head. "Noooooooooooooo, he's my actual favorite, you can't do that!"

"Sure I can. It'll be your punishment for abusing your powers in public."

"But dad!"

"You know the rules, Richas. If I have to follow them, so do you."

Richarlyson groans, but he knows that Cellbit is right. He hates it, but Cellbit is right. Cellbit hates it, but Cellbit is right.

With Richarlyson complaining, they turn away from their subway station and towards the street leading to Richarlyson's favorite ice cream parlor. With any luck, Bad won't be working today, so Cellbit won't have to explain why he's there with his son when he's supposed to be editing and Richarlyson is supposed to be at school.

(As they walk towards the ice cream parlor, Cellbit swears he sees a shadow following them from on top of the nearby buildings.

He flips the shadow off.

Fucking creep.)

--

A/N: Let me know what you think in the tags or in my inbox! I want to hear your theories, thoughts, opinions, everything!

[rinneroraito]

is it really the alcohoL?

L was going through the surveillance tapes for the nth time tonight, taking notes, labeling peculiarities in every frame.

“Let’s entertain the possibility that Light Yagami is Kira again,”  he thinks to himself as he types away on his keyboard. “He hasn’t done anything suspicious in the whole week that he had been under surveillance, only keeping up with his studies and engaging with his mother and sister. Assuming he’s only keeping up with his facade as a model student, son and brother, it could either be that he’s really good at it, or he’s entirely innocent.” 

The clacking of the keyboard fills the room as he scans the rest of the footage on multiple monitors, pausing on the scene where Light was having potato chips while studying.

“Light, you-”

A faint smell of lemon accompanied by the unmistakable sharpness of antiseptic fills the air. Flavored alcohol. L feels someone behind him and the scent of alcoholic citrus becomes more apparent.

“Miss Uehara, I can smell the alcohol from here,” L says, not looking up at you, a little displeased that you’ve managed to derail his train of thought.

“I’m off duty at the moment, aren’t I? Don’t worry, I’ll be alright in the morning, I have a regimen for this.” you reply, putting an arm on the back of the chair he was sitting on and leaning towards the back of his head. He is surprised by the contact but continues with his work as he tries to get his thoughts back in order, noting them down on his computer. They were important observations and your presence will not be a distraction for these findings to not be written down.

“You want some?”

L looks to his right side to see you offer him the can of alcohol and he silently huffs at the proposal, knowing the brand wouldn’t even be sweet enough for him to try anyways.

“No thank you, I’d like to keep a clear head while working.”

“Why are you even here, Miss Uehara?” He muses to himself. “If you’re not here tonight to help further this investigation, what business do you have? It does not make any sense for you to be here when you’re off-duty, the office hq is not the place to relax in.”

“I figured. You’re such a workaholic, Detective. Such a workaholic.”

“Your speech isn’t slurring yet so I assume you’re just buzzed. Were you pressured by the events as of late? I didn’t expect you to be the type to drink alcohol, actually.”

L replies, still mulling over the reason behind your visit as he continued to note down his observations, the clacking melody of the keyboard being the only thing making an audible sound in the electric silence of the dim office.

“Oh, you didn’t, did you? Well, it has been stressful, but I can manage. This helps.” You bring the can to your mouth, taking a long swig from it, exhaling after. “And I guess, in some way, you’re helping me, too.”

L was very much aware of the effects of alcohol and how it lowers down a person’s inhibitions significantly. The way you were approaching him right now was more daring than usual. Did you come here just to chat him up while he was working? But why? Is it the alcohol? Has the alcohol affected your judgment so much that you’ve become quite inconsiderate? You knew very well how he worked late into the night, you’ve sat through many playbacks of surveillance tapes with him yet now you’re here, and with the lack of a better phrase to describe it, wasting his time. “Would you please elaborate on that, Miss Uehara? Besides helping out with the actual Kira case and that small encouragement I gave you some time ago, I don’t suppose I’ve done anything of significant help towards you.”

You chuckled and he felt a bit of your weight on the back of his head as you leaned towards him. L shifts slightly at the contact but doesn't fuss about it, continuing with his task. He assumes that you were most likely going to leave soon anyways, your inebriation could only keep you awake for so long.

“Because you’re an inspiration to me and well, I like that you’re here, World’s Greatest Detective. It’s like, a biiiig deal to me that I get to work with you, you know?” You ramble.

“You speak rather highly of me, Miss Uehara, I’m touched, thank you.” He speaks in his usual monotone voice. There was genuine gratitude in it, but he also knew right from the start that you looked up to him quite a bit, hearing from Matsuda how you got so excited when he decided to ally with the NPA in catching Kira.

“Also, I think I actually like you, L...”

The keyboard’s clacking stops as he hears the words that escaped your mouth. Not only that, you dropped the usual honorific you called him by, likely influenced by the alcohol. 

“Like me?” His forehead knits as he rolls the thought in his head. This is new.  He knew you felt comfortable around him but… “It’s the alcohol.” L rationalizes.

He was still, and you continued to ramble on in your intoxication.

“I like the way you stare at things like you’re trying to dissect them before you, your piercing glare so intense that I feel like if you had lasers in your eyes I’d be bisected right in front of you.”

That description was pretty grim but… Why would you like that? Most people did not want him to stare at them as he seemed “eerie” and “creepy” when he did, but… You liked that?

“I like the way you daintily hold things with your thumb and forefinger, and it makes me wonder just how strong your digits are.”

More observations about his idiosyncrasies that most people just found strange. He’s never actually thought about how strong his fingers were, but now that you’ve pointed it out it made him look at his hands for a bit. And he realizes something. You were watching him really close, you were observing him. You had no aversion towards him.

He shifted slightly forwards, and you brought the arm that you had resting on the back of his chair around to rest on his shoulder. The contact surprises him again, but he stays still.

“I like the way you eat your sweets, it’s nice to see you enjoy them.”

You do?

“I like how I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or you’re just being blunt at times, and it sends the rest of the Task Force in a state of confusion whenever you say something.”

That, too?

You chuckle, pressing your cheek on the top of his head yet he was too lost trying to make sense of what you’re rambling about that he doesn’t move.

“I like your face, the seemingly permanent shadows under your eyes, your sharp jawlines and how long your neck is, your lanky frame…”

L’s eyes just stay wide as he listens to you. The surveillance footage seems to be in freeze frame as you keep talking. Is he just supposed to believe you? That you find him… attractive?

No, wait. Wait.

“I like how you’re so smart and you know that you’re the smartest guy in the room but you give everyone the benefit of the doubt because of the way you look.”

“Miss Uehara…”

It’s the alcohol.

“I don’t know, Detective, maybe I do like you or maybe it’s the alcohol.” Hair strands fall off your shoulders caressing the nape of his neck as you lower your face on the back of his head, his hair brushing against your cheeks.

He was so distracted by your words that he almost, almost forgot that you were drunk. “Your hair smells nice.” You say, and your breath bounces off of the nape of his neck. He bends forwards, away from the warmth of your breath as the proximity makes goosebumps on his skin.

“While I am flattered by your words, Miss Uehara, I have my reservations over accepting them due to your current state. Were the things you just said truthful and you’ve been harboring feelings for me for a while or were they just a product of the mock confidence induced by alcohol?”

He knew asking you right now would be futile because you were still intoxicated, but he just had to make things clear. You have only been working together in person for no more than 2 weeks, so to rationalize this behavior of yours, he’s decided to label it as some sort of callow infatuation.

It was just the alcohol… But, was it really?

He feels you shift your weight while your face was pressed on his head.

“If I remember all of this in the morning and start acting awkward around you, then you’ll know..”

I’ll ask her again when she’s sober.

“Would you kindly stand up so I can move away, please? I’ll have Watari assist you back to your room.” Getting you back into your room where you could sleep the alcohol off  was the most rational thing to do right now, and he needed to go back to work anyways. He feels the weight lift from the back of his head as you lean away, exhaling slowly.

“Can I sleep on the couch over there? I don’t..” You sway slightly on your feet.

He turns around and looks up at you, his wide eyes illuminated by the electric lighting of the monitors. He watches you closely, curiously, a faint tenderness that seemed to plead for the things you said earlier to be genuine.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight. I just want to know that there’s someone else within the 4 walls of the room I’m in.”

There it is. The reason you came to the office. You were seeking out a companion in your solitude. To pick him was something he had to find out the reason to later, something he had to clear up in the morning. 

“Very well. I’ll have a blanket brought up here for you.” He gets out of his seat and walks around his chair to your side.

“Thanks, Detective.” You step back so you could walk to where the couch was when the rest of the alcohol suddenly hits and you stumble backwards. L, who had been perceptive of the entire situation, was able to grab you by your shoulders before you could lose even more of your balance.

That was close.

“Easy. It seems like the rest of the alcohol you drank is starting to run its course, please hold on to me and I’ll walk you to the couch.”

His grip on your shoulders was firm and secure. You lean on to him and he brings one of his arms around your back as he walks you to the couch by the other end of the room. 

L looks at you as you drop yourself onto the sofa, making it seem more comfortable than it actually was.

Your voice comes out a little ragged as he watches you pull your feet up onto the couch.

“Hey, Detective..?” 

“Yes, Miss Uehara?”

“I still have the lollipop stick from that day we met.”

“You do?” 

That’s another revelation he wasn’t expecting, his brows furrowing in curiosity. But you had already fallen asleep.

You have left L with these alcohol-induced confessions, and he was pondering over them. He’s decided to file them into the back of his head for now, waiting until the morning to ask you about it when you’re awake and sober. 

“Good night, Miss Uehara.” He says to a sleeping you before he turns around to walk back to his monitors, resuming his role as the World’s Greatest Detective.

[thekiltongrammarwriter]

Your shadow is in whitfoshire Pt 1

AGAD Pippa Fitz Amobi x fem reader

Summary: Cambridge University, England. Pippa Fitz Amobi, still haunted by the events of her past investigations, stumbles upon a new enigma. The campus buzzes with rumors about the girl with dark circles beneath her eyes and a smile that conceals secrets. Pippa senses the weight behind that forced smile, the pain hidden within. The whispers echo through the halls: "Y/N? Oh, everyone knows her. Her family was at the center of that infamous case three years ago. Her older sister Amelia vanished without a trace, think she was abducted, and Y/N was the last person to see her alive. Quite Tragic annit?. The whole family unraveled-her barrister father lost everything to gambling, everything. her mother became quiet, doesn’t speak much. Yet Y/N remains the sole beacon of normalcy”

Warnings: LONG, A bit wordier than my other ficts so beware, Pippa Fitz Amobi being a curious cat at your arrival. AGAD PIP, MENTIONS OF BOOK TWO AND THREE IN DETAIL, Heavy mystery incorporated, pessimistic Pippa. Dark eerie thoughts. First try at anything in the mystery/thriller realm so take this with a grain of salt. To be edited at a later date. Part 1 of 4. Some light groundwork to set the scene and give a nice taste.

words: 6.453k

It was hard not to notice you, with your hands pinned behind your back and your eyes trailing the chancellor as he spoke softly to you. The pupils in the common room had all halted, breathes leaving their lungs as soon as you came into view, it was odd and distracting enough that Pip had to lift her head from her computer. Her glacial eyes took note of how the chancellor spoke to you all with soft eyes and a calm demeanor, almost like he was afraid of saying the wrong words.

Lord Sainsbury was not a very feeling man, nor was he a robot, but this odd cross of playing jacket potato and treating you with kid gloves piqued Pip’s interest. The chattering of the other students made it hard for Pip to read you, that and the fact that you were feet away, face set in such a warm smile that Pip was sure it was a ruse. For one thing the way you held yourself was evidence enough that you were aware of the eyes peering at you from the common room. Aware of the comments and hushed opinions.

Your hair was up in a decent ponytail, slicked back with ease, a smart pants suit adorning your body, only the best for Cambridge.  Pip couldn’t help but let her eyes take in the way you chuckled at Lord Sainsbury, nodding with a kind sharp smile, your mouth moving in a whisper. From the way lord Sainsbury chuckled widely, a deep belly laugh Pip knew you were quite humorous, getting Lord Sainsbury to laugh or even crack a simple smile was the pupil’s life work, and somehow you had managed to do the impossible in a matter of minutes.

There was just something about you Pip could not quite put her finger on, though your face was eerily familiar, the lines and sharp cheekbones prominent. Pip hadn’t a clue why you looked so familiar. Had she seen you somewhere? Passed you on the pavement?  That is till her sharp ears caught the tail end of Stella Chapman’s gossiping from the far end of the table.  Pippa could sense the weight of your forced smile. could feel it in her bones. Usually, Pip wasn’t one to care for idle gossip, not if there was no concrete reason for it. She was already branded as Cambridge’s own “private detective” since the second popular season of her podcast, and try as Pip may she couldn’t outrun little Kilton, or the looming shadow of Jason Bell. She had momentarily quit her podcast, looking for some other options to pursue, options that wouldn’t make her mother gray with worry.

That wouldn’t turn her into a separate person, as she allowed the past cases too. That wouldn’t make her mind think back to the blood on her hands and the feel of the metallic hammer in her palm. The feel of duct tape sticking to her cheek.  The heat of the roar of the fire as the smoke entered her lungs.

But it was the way you stood, face innocent and kind, yet something dark and sinister in your clouded eyes that made something in Pip preen. That too familiar dopamine effect, the same rush of victory and stomach-churning high she would get when her inner curiosity got the better of her. The same feeling she had felt the day she had connected the dots of who had murdered Andie Bell. The same rush, the after effect leaving her high and wanting nothing more than to sink her teeth into another case and maybe the fact that you were so achingly attractive had something to do with the way her ears perked up too. But she would never admit it aloud.

“y/n? Everyone knows her. Her family was at the center of that whitfoshire case two years ago, my father worked as a lead barrister for it. Never thought she’d be coming round here. Her older sister Amelia vanished without a trace, the police and my father believe she was abducted and I suppose what’s worse is that y/n was the last person to see her alive. Quite tragic really. The whole family unraveled- her father, the barrister for Whitfoshire solicitors lost almost all the family's fortune to gambling and had to open their estate for viewings from what my mums said. Not to mention the family’s reputation was slandered by the media. A sad lot they make. Yet y/n remains the sole beacon of normalcy it seems. Wonder how she managed to pay tuition”. The way the last sentence fell off Stella Chapman's lips made Pip’s fingers curl around her keyboard. One lesson Pip had learned from her investigating, people can be cruel. Can say the most vile things without a care in the world, can do the most vile things without repercussions.

That’s what her time had taught her. Elliot ward, Max hastings, Howie bowers, Becca bell, Charlie green, Jason bell. They all seemed to loom in her mind, like ghosts she couldn’t quite get rid of. Taunting her.

“she’s probably a trust fund baby, did you see her clothes? It’s a wonder she can afford that, from what my mum says her dad has been shagging his secretary-“the lid of the silver laptop pip’s fingers had been clutching had slammed, the echo vibrating the whole table, causing the many cups of tea to ricochet. Stella Chapman’s eyes immediately widened at Pip’s outburst. Her lips twisted into an uncomfortable grimace, “Oh Pippa! I didn’t know you were sitting with us. I don’t wish to offend” she began, sugar-covered words trying to snake out of her pink-frosted lips.

Pip’s throat gulped; her eyes somehow darker than usual.  “Perhaps instead of providing idle gossip and analyzing a person’s life we could have some respect and be more sensitive to the topic. Not everyone is as unscathed as they seem” Pippa managed to get out, her accent smooth as she packed up her things, eying the group who all seemed to shut their mouths like school children being reprimanded by their mother. All sunken eyes and red cheeks.

“of course!! We didn’t mean to seem-“ Pippa with a quiet ease slung her knapsack over her shoulder, her signature saccharine smile on her lips, “Of course not Stella, you would never spread such idle gossip on a new pupil”. It was said with such sweet spite that as Pip turned on her heels she could almost feel the anger pulsing of the girl. It was a welcome feeling.

Pippa had found she had less patience these days, often feeling like a bomb ticking ever so slightly, eager to explode in the most mundane situations, and Stella Chapman had picked the wrong day because if anyone knew the reality of missing persons it was Pippa Fitz Amobi.

They had no clue the amount of emotional trauma she carried around like a knapsack too big for her back, of all the secrets she would greatly take to the grave, of all the words she had been called throughout the years following her involvement in the cases. It was akin to a slap in the face, Stella Chapman's words. Even as she had walked the school’s corridors, stopping into the library to check in some of her maths textbooks still her mind refused to stop, analyzing your facial features, the slight curve of your jaw, your eyes that were shaped in such a familiar position..

Pip shrugged it off afterward, she had much more important matters to tend to, it was a Friday evening and the campus would be closing, Pip still needed to grab a few things before her drive back home, she had promised her mother she would be home for dinner, after having missed so many. Josh was getting taller at this point every time she would see him, just another indication of the life she was missing out on. But how could she ever be the same Pip? Not after everything she had been through. That jubilant, clever girl was lost, lost in the wind just like Andie had been. And she was afraid she would never get her back.

It was at this thought that she felt a familiar hand on her shoulder and the scent of ghastly chewing tobacco. Headmaster Sainsbury. Lifting her steel blue eyes from her current book she held in her pale fingers she watched as the man smiled, bowing his head in regards to her. Pip almost smiled, Mr Sainsbury looked so out of place standing in the dusty old archive of the library, clutching his indoor hat to his fingers. He wasn’t exactly a large man, portly in stature.

Pip immediately put down her book, straightening her posture, “Mr. Sainsbury, what a lovely surprise, what can I do for you, sir? I was just about to pack for home, my mum is making Yorkshire pudding and I wouldn’t want to be late. Am I missing any assignments? Is this about my marks on my recent exam?”

Mr Sainsbury’s lips lifted into a creased smile, his hands coming up to wave the notion away almost sensing the young girl’s anxious thoughts, “Oh It pleases me to have such a young bright pupil such as you Miss Amobi in our midst. Do not fear Darling you shall make your dinner and as for your assignments, you are simply soaring through. I simply came here to ask rather a big favour from you, you see there is a new pupil joining our fine establishment- the young girl I escorted to the office today” At the mention of you Pip’s eyes shot to the man, her eyes narrowed.

“You see, she needs a tour around the campus, nothing big just a proper guide around the school and I-“ It was obvious Mr. Sainsbury was beating about the bush, it was almost like he couldn't quite make the words fly out of his mouth. Like he was struggling even to get the long-winded syllables out.

Pip’s eyebrows lifted, intrigue dancing in her blue irises, “You what sir?”

Mr. Sainsbury sighed, looking ashamed and somber as he eyed the stacks of wooden books before whispering softly, “Given the matter that surrounds her family, this is a great opportunity for Miss Y/N, She has bravely decided to get on with her life despite the-“ his eyes lifted as to find the words, “Unfortunate events that have been associated with her family. I had a whole list of well-qualified top marked students to welcome her but I soon realized after her little introduction in the great hall that she needs a rather caring hand, and seeing as how I and many other educators at this university hold you in such high esteem miss Amobi I find it is only fitting for you to give her the welcome tour, as you have a familiar shall we say experience with this topic?”

Pip blinked, the sides of her mouth creasing into a confused smile, her mind telling her to kindly decline, eying her yellowed watch on her wrist, it would be half past three in a few minutes, she had planned rather hastily a quick nip into her dorm to grab a few essentials before she made the small hour trip back to Little Kilton. Her mum had probably already prepared the table and made the mince pies that had been her favorite since childhood. But the way Pip’s heart seemed to dance at the thought of you made her mind take over, and before she knew it she was agreeing.

Mr Sainsbury looked relieved at her words, a smile so big and round filling his lips. “Wonderful!! Thank you so much, Pippa, this really means a great deal to me and her family. Now if you hurry you’ll just about catch her. She’s just in the chapel”.

Before Pip could ask any questions, the man was gone. Pippa eyed her watch, her mind logical as she thought, it would be half past four by the time she finished the tour, it would be cutting it close but she would still make it back in time for dinner. So, lugging her knapsack again before making a beeline up the old steps she quickly made it to her dorm, gathering her keys and a few gifts she had gotten for Cara and Ravi into her bag before descending the steps. Her steps were rather uncoordinated as she flew through the school’s corridors, eyes taking in the wristwatch as she ran up the chapel steps, excusing herself as she flew past the small number of pupils that were left loitering around the campus, her grip on her knapsack tightening as she came into view of the great medieval hall, eyes searching the crowd for you. Her eyes zeroed in and her heart seemed to leap as she caught sight of you, sitting near the far edge of the long table, book in hand, the reflection of the stained-glass mirror making the colour of your eyes pop. Her chest was heaving wildly as she willed her feet to move, the feeling so foreign. Her eyes took In the way your feet crossed under the table, your outfit now a rather studious aesthetic that made her knees weak.

Sighing, she made it in front of you, and your eyes flitted up to meet her own, and Pip couldn’t breathe. “Hi…. I’m Pip” she settled on, sighing and offering her best smile, “Mr Sainsbury sent me to be your official Cambridge tour guide” she spoke, offering her hand. You put your book down, eyes flitting down her outfit, your lips quirking up, “Did you run here? You look quite out of breath” you assessed. Pip’s cheeks blushed but she nodded, “Very attuned to observation Miss-“you smiled, getting up from your spot, lifting your backpack on your shoulder, Pip listened as you told her your name, offering a small smile. Hand in hers as you shook it. Your fingers felt hot in her touch, and she quickly pulled back, stepping in front of you with her back turned to the hall, “Shall we begin your tour?”.

Pip began showing you around campus, regaling you with stories, the history of the school, and even showing you the original medieval structure of the school. She was keen to answer as many questions as she could, she took note of the way you were rather quiet, hands behind your back, eyes still that dark cloud, but just enough smile to look appealing, to fool just about anyone, but Pip wasn’t just anyone.

It was while Pip was walking you back to the dorms that you spoke, this time rather fast and anxious, “Please don’t find this presumptuous of me and if I am talking out of turn please forgive me but I’ve heard of the cases you solved, I just- I wanted you to know that as someone whose sister is-I wanted to thank you for what you did for Andie Bell and Jamie Reynolds, you gave my parents and me a lot of hope ”.

The words took her off guard, and she only eyed you. You were walking beside her, slowly, your skirt ruffling in the wind, cheeks a pale hue, but eyes remaining on the floor, the ghostly feeling of somberness overtaking the air. It was nice to be thanked, Pip was grateful for that, not many people had thanked her, not the Bells, the media, and certainly not the Police. They all saw her as meddlesome, as something to contain rather than set free.

But here you were, thanking her with your clouded eyes and broken stuttered words. It stirred Pip’s stomach, the sight of you in the pale winding down sun, looking as strong as you could, putting on a brave face, getting out in the world even if you wanted nothing more than to shut it out.

“I did what any decent person would do” Pippa stated, “In fact, I know many people who are inclined to disagree with you, and sometimes I think I am rather dense to have meddled in that-I-I allowed myself to get so consumed by the cases, I-I didn’t see the way I intruded into people's lives-“ Pip didn’t know why she felt so safe divulging her thoughts to you, perhaps she felt some sort of kindred spirit in you, you knew what it felt to be on the receiving end of her leering, knew what it felt like to lose someone and have no answers given. And perhaps it was a welcome feeling getting all these thoughts out.  You stayed quiet for a second, your pale fingers tugging the ends of your jumper in a nervous act, Pippa watched your eyes turn downcast, your eyes glossy, but even as you spoke your voice never wavered.

“That’s because they had something to hide…I wish the police had been that lucky with my sister it’s been two years. Everybody says it gets better with time, but it really doesn't. It tends to mess with people's minds, shows you how fragile a human mind can be".

Pippa's head tilted as you continued walking, she knew what you meant. She had seen this to be true with Jamie Rennoylds case, had seen how Joanna and Connor had reacted, almost like they had lost a part of there soul. She remembers the dark undercurrents beneath Connor's usually pale eyes, the rattling of the desk as they both sat in class, and the dread that had swooped inside her stomach at the missing yellow knife. She remembers and remembers till she can see the image of Jason Bell clouding her mind, his sweaty perspiring skin as he held her to the ground. Her hands had begun to shake, and she quickly rubbed them against the fabric of her jeans, to prove to herself she was safe, to ground her rapid heartbeat, to prove to her brain that there was no blood splattered on the edges of her fingers.

Her eyes turned to you, her cobalt eyes tracing over your figure as you walked ahead of her, heading back to a quiet campus, the wind creating a cool undercurrent that whipped your hair, pulling at the edges of your slick ponytail and Pip wondered how you felt about the whole ordeal. About Amelia, the case, did you go to bed at night with an uncomfortable pit in your stomach? Did you replay happy memories over and over to yourself? rationalize with your brain? use logic to outway the way your world felt?

The way you had just worded it, your eyes a dark haze as you spoke the words like you were in some deep dark space, filled with haunting thoughts, possibilities of the unknown, of dark shadows that would follow you wherever you went. Like a ghost that you couldn't get rid of, like a silent companion. 'It tends to mess with people's minds, shows you how fragile a human mind can be"

Had it messed with yours? Were you as eccentric as she was? were you unsatisfied with the justice system? The whitfoshire police? just how fragile was your mind?

These thoughts plagued Pip as she brought you back to the pupil's dorm, her eyes tracing over you like she was assessing a case, like she was analyzing every movement, from the way your fingers stretched to accommodate the door handle, and it was then she noticed. Crescent moons on your inner palms, indented into your skin like a tattoo. It was hard to notice for others, but she was a keen observer after her cases. She was paranoid and often times looking over her shoulders. Eying teens as they trotted the campus with a cup of alcohol clutched in their hands. Because deep down she knew just what happened when you engaged in those activities. It meant heartache, hurting those you loved, bad choices, and in the worst-case scenario, death.

At the thought images of Andie Bell invaded her mind. It was funny how that worked. How Pip had never met the girl, but she knew her secrets, knew she slept with a pink bunny, and had a childhood pet named Roadie. Knew she had wanted nothing more than to save her baby sister from the same fate as the other victims of her father. Andie Bell, the girl who had in a way saved Pip. Pip often thought back to the girl with fondness. The girl who had died at the hands of her sister. A freak accident, the wrong place at the wrong time. Her eyes watched as you tugged open your dorm door with your key, your eyebrows struggling. Did Amelia look like you? The same strong nose and sharp cheekbones? the same pink frosted lips?

Did you feel the way that Becca Bell felt about her older sister? Did your older sister care about you? Was she kind? was she the sister like Andie who gave you love by hiding secrets?

"Did you love your sister?"

Pip hadn't meant to voice her own thoughts, but at that moment she felt that familiar pit in her gut, the one that usually made her stomach flip. She was no longer Pippa Fitz Amobi of little Kilton, she was that girl again sitting in front of Becca Bell asking about the calamity, the girl eying Nat de Silva as she refused to give answers. The girl weeping into Stanley Forbes eyes as she clung to him.

Her voice was brittle, keeping a soft edge to it.

The way your body froze on the lock, it was a calm type, which led Pip to believe you were more hurt than guilty. Your throat bobbed, and Pip watched the movement. Her eyes scanned over your soft neck. Your eyes were heavy, and you only whispered.

"I do.... it's not past tense" You held a sharp edge to your voice, eyeing Pippa's reflection in the mirror. "She's still out there I don't care what those prats say, my sister is still alive and well. because if she's not then-'' you halted, almost like a button was pushed and you came back to your senses. Your grip on the handle loosened, your eyes became less of a dark void, and you wiped quickly at a tear that had stuck to your eyelashes.

"No body was ever found. and the sniffer dog lost her trail up Abbots Road. The police say she could have gotten into a car, but I know my sister...she's clever, got her wits about her, like you-" your eyes flitted across Pip's.

You must have seen the way Pip's eyebrows creased at the words, "The minute I saw you sitting in the common room I thought to myself, Amelia would be like that. Too clever, too serious to care about the mindless chatters. Busy in her own world, she often was. but she made just enough time for me to feel special. so, when you ask if I love my sister the answer Miss Fitz Amobi is a resounding yes".

Pippa was good at reading people, she had a way of peering at a person's eyes, and she had done with any people and now as she eyed you, she felt it deep in her bones. You were 100% truthful.

"Thank you for the tour, Pippa, Mr. Sainsbury said you were observant, but I didn't quite believe him, till now. They say the eyes are the window to the soul and I could just about hear what you were thinking. Is she telling the truth? Believe me...I can read people too." the edges of your lips curved into a soft smile, like an understanding and then you opened the dorm door, and gone you went. Vanished into thin air.

Pippa watched your form leave, her breathing hard and cold as it flew out of her mouth, her thoughts loud and pulling her mind in all directions. It was only her phone vibrating in her pocket that brought her out of her trance, and she was answering it.

"Hello?"

"Pip it's half past five! where are you? Josh is beginning to wonder if you are coming at all! and Ravi just arrived!"

It was hard to snap out of her own head, which at the moment looked more and more like the murder board she had torn up as soon as Andie's case was finished. Invisible strings were being tied in her mind; questions written in crimson letters over your words. but Pip knew she could let herself fall for it, for the clues and the mystery. The truth, the justice. she couldn't let herself fall prey, she needed to lay low, focus on her studies, and get far away from cases. but was it truly falling prey if this case landed on her lap?

At the squeaky cadence of her mother's voice Pippa blinked, coming to her senses, she nodded and immediately flew in the direction of her father's old Volvo, "Sorry mum I got cornered by Mr. Sainsbury, There was a new pupil I had to meet, I'll be home as fast as I can...No I am not singing the seat belt song I am almost twenty mother!"

Even throughout the drive back to Little Kilton Pip could feel her nerves on edge. It always happened like clockwork, the way her body would react to the Little Kilton sign. It's emblem of a small country bridge used to be familiar, it was where she was born and raised, where Cara and Ravi resided, and her family, but all it brought up were ghosts. Andie Bell walking along the road and cutting along the churchyard to get to Elliot's house, not knowing her fate. Howie Bowers and his odd house on Weevil Road, the abandoned farmhouse where Andie's bones were found in the septic tank. and worse of all The Bell House. Because even though it had been months just at the sight of the house Pip could feel her heart, almost feel the sticky duct tape around the edges of her mouth, feel the sting and the metallic hammer underneath her nails.

To say she was running from the town would be an understatement. She knew as soon as she got out of her Volvo everyone would be there. Nat, Jamie, Connor, the Singhs. so, putting on her brave face she parked the car and was met with a large hug from Josh first, who had run to greet her, his boyish charms on full display, "Pippo hippo!!". The feeling of Josh in her arms instantly calmed her racing heart, just enough for her to feel normal. and soon she made her rounds saying hello to all her guests. Nat wanted to know all about university and Jamie as always hugged her tight, like he was thanking her every time for her help.

Ravi gave her an extra hug, "Been staying up late sarge? You look like the drive was long" he commented as they both sat, watching Josh eagerly flip through some Pictionary cards, having no clue what a word was and would flip to a next one, brows creasing.

They both knew what that meant, and Pip had no trouble stating her troubles, not to him. After all, he had been the one to come to her rescue after the Jason Bell incident, helping her tie up the much-needed evidence and in turn, she had given him back Sal, it was mutual trust A shared trauma.

"I can't sleep at night. most days I get an hour or two, I tried sleeping pills, but I have the worst night terrors. I keep seeing his eyes, that pale lifeless blue" Pip spoke, eyes on the laughing crowd in front of her, voice low. Ravi nodded, his eyes concerned, "I meant other than the obvious, how did you feel driving into town? It has been what two months since you've been back? I couldn't help but notice how long you stayed in the car".

Pip had to chuckle, of course, Ravi would notice, after all for a brief moment in time he had fancied her, she playfully slapped his shoulders, "Now whose stalking".

Ravi chuckled, he reached for his trifle, "Have you heard of the whitfoshire case?". The words were said with curiosity, which made Ravi's face crinkle, his brown eyes assessing Pip.

"The case from three years ago? The one with the girl who vanished. I've not heard much about it, why?".

Pip could sense his uneasiness, but she only continued, "Just asking. and it was two years ago, and that girls name is Amelia"

"you're not thinking of taking it on, are you? what happened to that Jane Doe case you were trifling about with?"

pip allowed her eyes to drift back on Nat, watching her cuddle up with Jamie, "It's not enough...I need more."

she knew how the words made her sound. obsessed, possibly insane, but what if that was her now? what if she was no longer the tidy and well-liked Pippa Fitz Amobi?

"More?" Ravi laughed, but it was a shocked laugh like he just couldn't quite believe her words. Like he was worried, he should have been. "More? Pip are you even focusing on your studies? what about your podcast? you need some counseling; I've done some and it's given me a much better out-"

"I don't need a shrink telling me I've gone off my nutter Ravi!" the words were gritted, and Pip got up, moving to the kitchen for some air, some space. she knew Ravi was only trying to help, he had the best intentions, but still, it was a sore point. Her grip on the kettle was tight and she was only brought to life again when Cara Ward entered the kitchen, brown eyes alight, she had just arrived as was evidenced by the snood nestled in her fingers. Pip without thought rushed to her, holding tightly and burying her face into her collarbone. needing that grounding touch only Cara had.

"You look like a ghost! Have you eaten Chica?"

Pip only brought her closer, "I need to talk" and so they did.

sat in Pip's room which looked the same as she had left it but somehow felt altogether different, Cara holding the tin of Jamie Dodgers and tea, oak eyes worried as Pip spoke. "You know that Jane Doe case I've been working on for my podcast?"

Cara nodded, eyebrows knitted, trying to decipher her words. "Yeah, last I heard you were asking DI Hawkins for the public records".

Pip bit her lip, putting her tea down, "Have you ever heard of the Whitfoshire case?".

Cara's eyebrows rose, "You mean the Amelia case? Yeah, I read up on it last year when Jamie went missing, fascinating. Why?".

Pip watched as Cara dipped her Jammie dodger into the milky tea, "Well her sister is in my year at Cambridge, and Mr. Sainsbury had me give her a welcome tour. That's why I was a bit late".

Cara halted, a twinkle in her heavy brown eyes, she knew Pip like the back of her thumb, "You fancy her already, don't you? Let me guess your detective side went all nuts and now you want to take on the case to show her what a clever girl you are".

Pippa wanted to argue, but it was no use.

"It's the exact opposite actually, I am trying to convince myself I don't need this case. It would only do me harm...plus what good would I be to y/n? I'd only bring her more heartbreak".

Cara was silent momentarily, her brows furrowed in thought. "Or you would be helping lay her thoughts to rest. That must be hard living her life. I cannot imagine how I would feel if Naomi went missing."

Those words seemed to drill themselves through Pip's head the next few days, invaded her senses till all she thought of was you. How had you felt? How did you feel? Could she really help you? Did you even want her help?

These thoughts plagued her, till finally she arose from her bed, hair a soiled mess and body refusing to lay still, heart a roaring fire. It was obvious the tell-tale signs, she would never get to sleep. Not when she felt like this. Hyperactive, every bone in her body a buzz. The sleeping pills void of work, and she had quit taking the other pills from Luke Eaton. Her brain felt like it was frying in the heat of her own skin, and for a second, she thinks its leaking out of her ears, the heat boiling up in her blood.

Pippa was a mess as she sat on her bed, chest rising and falling, pale complexion glistening with sweat, her heart a rapid beat as she eyed her computer sitting on her wooden desk. Her mind was at war with herself, half of her wanting nothing more than to sink her teeth into the case, to help you, but the other was wary. What would this case do to her? Would it aid her? would it calm her racing mind and her insanity that only seemed to make a home in her veins?

Her leg began to shake, small trembles as she slowly edged her way to the computer, her Shakey hands trembling as she opened the lid, her tongue moving to lick her lips as she moved to the search bar.

Her heart was a hammering mess, feral beats, her silver eyes dark. There was no going back from this, but underneath all the confusion and utter fear in the pit of her stomach she also couldn't ignore the way her body preened. The way her fingers eagerly searched up your name.

In an instant millions of articles met her grey hues, familiar names, The Guardian, The Daily Mail, The sun, The spectator--the list is various and long. Some of the titles are eager and fast gripping, 'The Whitfoshire conspiracy: unraveling the secrets behind the disappearance'

'The silent years: Amelia's family breaks their silence'

Pip skims through them all, but it's the BBC's article she halts on, her eyes seem to halt over the website, her blue hues taking in the picture atop the article, the words, 'Hope Fades: Amelia's haunting Legacy'

It's not the words that tug at pip's heart, nor the familiar backdrop of BBC. but the picture they have chosen. It's a lovely family portrait, done in front of a grand stone estate, the estate Stella chapman had mentioned just a few days ago.

Pip gulps, she's worked on two cases previously, she's well aware of the feelings accompanying them, but this feeling, this tightness in her chest is new. Almost like she's scared, almost like she doesn't quite know what she's getting into.

All she knows is that the way Amelia is hugging you to her chest while you squirm away, cheeks flushed and eyes smiling, beaming, makes it even harder for her to swallow because she had been right. You did look like your older sister. In every way, the same familiar slope of the eyes, the pale cheeks, the strong English cheekbones. But it's the way you look so genuinely happy, matching bracelets on your wrists, she knows this case will affect her the most than any other, why? Because maybe, just maybe Pip was starting to care about you more than she should.

She let her eyes fall to the rest of your family. Beside you was your mother, her smile looked painted, forced, much like Mrs. Bell. Pip knew the type, you looked like her too, same eye shape but it was your father's smile you inherited, a daddy's girl to be sure.

Pip's first impression of your father was rather muddled by Stella Chapmans words, he was a solicitor at Whitfoshire Solicitors, and apparently unfaithful to your mother. Wither there was any truth in that time would tell. Your father stood tall, looming over you, his shoulders broad, his eyes calm, yet Pippa couldn't quite understand why his smile was so.... charming?

A chuckle fell of her lips, she had yet to see your full smile, the one you only get to see if you know that person Intrinsically, but she had seen enough by the curve of your pink lips to know you had also inherited your father's charm along with his smile.

Something in Pip's heart made her eyes flit back to you, taking in your smile, the real you in your older sisters' arms. the real person you hid from others, from the media, from everyone. She could do it, finish the case, not just for her, for the sake of just needing a case, but for you. To help you, your family.

Or was it somehow the opposite? Was her mind throwing you in as a reason? Using you as some kind of shield to give herself permission? To prove to herself that Pippa Fitz Amobi still had that inner drive. To prove that she still was a good person.

The thought was alarming, and Pip quickly shut down her computer, the room no longer lit by the familiar backdrop. Her mind was a whirlwind, her emotions muddled, was she really going to do this again?

In an instant her fingers were on her mobile, dialing the only number she knew by heart. Every second the dial tone rang was a moment of eternity, but soon the familiar voice of Cara ward greeted her ears. It was a calming voice, one that often reminded her of days in the countryside as children.

“What on god's green earth are you doing at half past midnight? I am absolutely knackered- “

Pip didn’t waste time, she needed to know what Cara thought.

“I did it…I looked up the case…and I really want it Cara…” pip’s fingers curled against the mobile, “god Cara, I want it so badly…but I’m not certain it’s for the right reasons”.

Cara’s sigh was transmitted over the phone, but a small smile could be heard in her voice. “What are those reasons?”.

Pip chuckled sardonically, ruffling her bed head, chestnut curls unkempt as she ran a hand through them.

“I-I want to help her…. of course, I do…I think I’m growing rather fond of her Cara….and I’ve only just met her…it sounds daft, and I know. But…I want to know her…really know her…and maybe…it’s been a while since I’ve done a case…since I was truly committed. I know for certain that this is a chance to prove to myself…something I’ve been searching for”.

The line was quiet, and then Cara spoke. “Looks to me like you’ve got a case to solve. Be careful with her pip…and most importantly be careful with yourself.”

And then the line went dead.

[songbirdseung]

fans shipping you both / txt

yeonjun

Y/N, a popular idol from a well-known group, attends a music award show where TXT's Yeonjun is also present.

Fans notice the chemistry between Y/N and Yeonjun during a collaboration stage, sparking the first whispers of a potential ship.

Social media explodes with GIFs and screenshots of Y/N and Yeonjun's interactions, with fans dissecting every glance and smile.

Y/N and Yeonjun are interviewed together, and their playful banter fuels the shipping frenzy even more.

Fans start creating fan art and fan fiction, depicting Y/N and Yeonjun in various romantic scenarios, further solidifying the ship in the fandom.

Y/N and Yeonjun's social media accounts are flooded with ship-related comments, emojis, and hashtags, creating a playful atmosphere between the two fandoms.

Y/N acknowledges the ship during a live broadcast, laughing off the rumors but appreciating the fans' creativity.

Yeonjun, in a separate interview, playfully responds to questions about the ship, adding fuel to the fire with his charming and supportive comments.

The ship becomes a running joke among both fanbases, leading to collaborative projects between the two fandoms to support Y/N and TXT's joint activities.

Y/N and Yeonjun continue to interact at events, further cultivating the ship dynamic and keeping fans engaged and excited.

Despite the playful shipping, both fandoms maintain a respectful and supportive atmosphere, understanding the boundary between fiction and reality.

soobin

Y/N, the beloved idol, and TXT's Soobin attend a variety show together, showcasing their easygoing friendship.

Fans pick up on the adorable moments, like Soobin helping Y/N with a tricky game, leading to the birth of the "Y/Soo" ship.

Social media buzzes with screenshots of their on-screen chemistry, and fans start pairing them up through clever edits and witty captions.

During an interview, Y/N teases Soobin about their growing ship, "Looks like we have some detectives in the fandom. They're onto us, Soobin!"

Soobin grins, playing along, "What can I say? Team Y/Soo is onto something. We make a great team!"

The ship gains momentum as fans flood timelines with fan art and fiction, imagining romantic scenarios between Y/N and Soobin.

Y/N and Soobin occasionally reference the ship on social media, responding to fan comments with playful emojis and inside jokes.

The two attend a fan meet, where a fan gifts them a custom Y/Soo banner, and they both laugh, embracing the lightheartedness of the ship.

Collaborative projects between the two fandoms emerge, celebrating the friendship between Y/N and Soobin, creating a harmonious atmosphere.

Despite the ship's popularity, Y/N and Soobin maintain a close friendship, emphasizing the importance of genuine connections in the entertainment industry.

The Y/Soo ship becomes a heartwarming chapter in both fandoms, adding an extra layer of joy to Y/N and TXT's joint activities.

beomgyu

Y/N and Beomgyu find themselves cast together in a romantic drama, sparking immediate interest from fans who can't resist the on-screen chemistry.

Social media explodes with speculation, and fans dub them the "Drama OTP" as they eagerly anticipate the series.

Y/N and Beomgyu's characters share a pivotal on-screen kiss, fueling the flames of the "Y/Beom" ship even before the drama airs.

Fans create countdowns for each episode, dissecting every scene where Y/N and Beomgyu share the screen, amplifying the ship to new heights.

During interviews, Y/N and Beomgyu playfully tease each other about their characters' love story, with Beomgyu saying, "Our ship is setting sail, and I'm here for it!"

Y/N grins, "Who would have thought? I guess we make a convincing couple on screen!"

Fan edits flood social media, seamlessly blending behind-the-scenes moments with scenes from the drama, creating a fictional world where Y/N and Beomgyu's characters truly belong together.

Y/N surprises fans by sharing a playlist featuring songs that remind her of Beomgyu, adding a touch of real-life mystery to the ship.

The drama concludes, but fans continue to celebrate the Y/Beom ship with fan meet-ups, online events, and fan projects dedicated to the on-screen couple.

Y/N and Beomgyu, while acknowledging the ship, express gratitude for the fans' enthusiasm, emphasizing the professional collaboration that brought the drama to life.

taehyun

Y/N and Taehyun find themselves paired up as mentors on a popular music competition show, instantly becoming the dynamic duo everyone talks about.

Fans notice the genuine camaraderie between Y/N and Taehyun, with their mentor-student interactions filled with laughter and encouragement.

Social media is flooded with clips of Y/N giving heartfelt advice to Taehyun, and fans start shipping the pair with the hashtag #Y/TaeMentors.

Y/N, during an interview, playfully mentions, "Taehyun keeps stealing the spotlight with his talent. I might have to join the fandom and become a shipper myself!"

Taehyun responds with a smirk, "Well, who wouldn't ship #Y/TaeMentors? We make a pretty good team, don't we?"

Fans create fan art showcasing Y/N and Taehyun's mentor-student dynamic, capturing the essence of their supportive relationship.

Y/N surprises Taehyun with a custom mentorship-themed cake on his birthday, sharing a photo online with the caption, "Cheers to the best mentor!"

The ship gains momentum as fans organize watch parties for the competition show, celebrating every milestone achieved by Y/N and Taehyun's mentees.

Y/N and Taehyun continue their playful banter on social media, exchanging mentorship tips and funny anecdotes that fuel the ship's popularity.

The fandoms collaborate on projects to express gratitude for the positive impact of #Y/TaeMentors, creating a supportive community around the duo.

Y/N and Taehyun, while embracing the ship, emphasize the importance of mentorship and genuine connections in the competitive world of the music industry.

huening kai

Y/N and Huening Kai find themselves cast as leads in a whimsical fantasy-themed music video, filled with magical landscapes and enchanting scenes.

Fans are captivated by the on-screen chemistry between Y/N and Huening Kai, dubbing them the "Fantasy Duo" and creating a magical hashtag, #Y/KaiFantasy.

Social media platforms are adorned with gifs and screenshots of Y/N and Huening Kai's ethereal moments, with fans daydreaming about their otherworldly connection.

Y/N, during an interview, playfully mentions, "Huening Kai and I got to explore a magical realm together. Who knew it would be so enchanting? #Y/KaiFantasy is real!"

Huening Kai, grinning, adds, "It was like stepping into a fairy tale. I guess the fantasy spilled over into real life!"

Fans express their creativity through fan art, depicting Y/N and Huening Kai as characters in a whimsical story, adding an extra layer of enchantment to the ship.

Y/N surprises fans by sharing a behind-the-scenes vlog from the music video shoot, showcasing playful moments and inside jokes with Huening Kai.

The ship gains momentum as fans organize virtual watch parties for the music video, creating a magical atmosphere to celebrate Y/N and Huening Kai's collaboration.

Y/N and Huening Kai continue to playfully reference the fantasy ship on social media, sharing enchanted emojis and teasing each other about their magical adventure.

Collaborative fan projects emerge, celebrating the enchanting connection between Y/N and Huening Kai, turning #Y/KaiFantasy into a beloved chapter in both fandoms.

Y/N and Huening Kai, while embracing the magical ship, emphasize the creativity and joy that comes with bringing fantasy to life in the world of music and entertainment.

[xoblondie]

Little Dove

Dark! Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary:

TW: this part is mainly story building and there will be a few parts. (I’m thinking 3ish?) Smut in next parts though ;)

A lantern flame illuminated your face as you shuffled between pages of old parchments.

Stuck behind a makeshift desk on a dingy ministry basement floor, the leaking of old pipes was the only thing keeping you company. You had applied to work as reporter for the Daily Prophet, always having a passion for writing, but yet you found yourself as an intern. Your job had you filing others articles, as you sat alone in a secluded office in the corner of hundreds of filing cabinets and bookshelves.

The sound of wings startle you from your work as an owl swoops between the lines of wooden shelves. Dropping a note on your desk and swooping back around the shelves out of site, leaving you alone yet again. Picking up the scribbled parchment you read it and almost jump with joy. The note from your boss giving you an excuse to escape your mildew prison.

Meet me in my office.

- R. Skeeter

You almost trip as you pull yourself out of your desk, not wanting to keep her waiting long. Smoothing your skirt and tucking back your frizzy hair with a scrunchie, you walk through the maze before you to the other side of the room. Before you the golden elevator Gate appears and you step in, taking the enchanted elevator up to Rita’s private office. When you get to her door, you to move your knuckles up to the large wooden door but with a swift motion, you are pulled within.

“No need dear, I knew you were here.” Her mewling voice chimed as she peered up from her green frames. Her bright blonde hair glittered in its pinned curls, accentuating the crimson lipstick she wore. Behind her, her magical quill was scribbling down your every move hastily, as to not miss a single movement you made. She smiles at you as she sets down her own papers and a chair appears with a quick flick of her wand, opposite from her.

“Now have a seat.” You sit down across from her at the chair she conjured, crossing your ankles to appear more mature.

“From what i remember you were a slytherin correct?”

“Yes, most of family is, but we do have some Ravenclaws.” You confirm her statement.

“So I expect you’re quite smart then too?” Rita says with a playful smile. And you sheepishly nod.

“So you may remember Mattheo Riddle? He’s about your age is he not?” You feel your face flush with colour at the mention of your Hogwarts upperclassman, who had been on the front page of the Prophet many times since his time in Hogwarts. The Son of the dark lord and his right hand man. A total opposite image of the older boy you had known at Hogwarts.

“We kind of knew eachother, but he graduated before me and we didn’t talk much.”

Rita gets up and walks over to a shelf picking up a journal and bringing it back over to the desk.

“Oh dear, you’re perfect!” She almost squealed. “I just knew you would be the one for the job.”

“What job?” You shift in your seat, smoothing your skirt again.

“There’s been rumours that lavish death eater parties have been happening, but I think there is more to that story. And obviously they wont let me in. It’s all very hush-hush but you, my Dear, would be the perfect little messenger bird to send in! It’s been the talk of the town for the last week and I MUST be the first person to get my hands on the details!” Rita slides the journal over to you and you open it, skimming through her pages of notes filed with gossip of these events. You can feel her excitement buzzing off of her body. She was like a teen gossiping about her crush with you, rather than your boss.

“It’s been so tight kept that not even a, let’s say a beetle, could get into them without being detected. I can’t even polyjuice myself with the security spells they have! That’s why I need you! Slytherin family, fresh out of Hogwarts, and quite pretty! It’s the perfect mix.” You put her journal down and look up at her as she rambled on. Her hands expressing her words as she paints you her picture.

“So you want me to sneak into a couple parties and tell you what’s happening? That’s it?” Rita stops and thinks for a moment, her emerald dress sparkling in the sunlight of her office.

“Well I am asking you to go into a Death Eater party where any of them could figure out what you’re up to. I mean there is a reason no one knows what happens there Darling.” She eased back into her chair, her red lips curling up again.

“And if I say yes, what’s in it for me?” You cross your arms, waiting to hear out your options. On one hand it wouldn’t be too hard of a task to complete. But on the other, what if you were caught by the Death Eaters. She ponders for a moment, before her eyes sparkle with an idea.

“I’ll publish your work and you can become my own personal assistant.” You feel your jaw drop, failing to hide your temptation. If you were her personal assistant, you could get out of the dingy basement and write your own pieces. Without a second thought you reach your hand over to her and she takes it within her own.

“Deal.” You shake her hand and she jumps out of her seat again.

“Perfect. Let’s get you ready, you have lots to learn before the next one!”

-

If you had told yourself a month ago that you would be standing in front of the Riddle Manor, you would have checked yourself into St. Mungos immediately. The black dress that had been delivered to your office earlier that morning had somehow hugged you like it had been sewn on your body. An alteration done by Rita, no doubt. But what it had in beauty it lacked in concealing your shivers as the menacing estate welcomed you into its jaws.

On the arm of a man from the ministry, you head towards the doors with the rest of the crowd, fleeing from the cold night. He was your ticket in, a pure blood with family ties to the Dark Lord, earning himself entry. All it took was a little wing manning from Rita and he was wrapped around your finger.

Inside the decor was lavish and dark, creating a powerful ambiance around each of the death eaters and their company. Your family was not pure blood, and had never followed the dark lord like other wizarding family’s so this type of glamour made you feel like a fraud. Stuck on your dates arm, you did your best to note down everything, knowing Rita would want every detail.

As per your plan, he introduced you to others and you played up being his ditzy date.

As the night progressed you noticed high ranked Death Eaters slip away into the halls of the manor. You knew they were up to whatever Rita thought they were and knew this was your ticket to getting you big scoop. Your date had long over drank and was sitting amongst his old school friends. You sat off to the side, with the other girls who had no interest in their dates drunken states. You spot another Death eater slipping out and you decide to follow them out, telling your date you were going for some fresh air.

You watch as the man saunters down the hall, not even bothering to check behind them. When they turn the corner, you pull out your enchanted note pad and start mentally taking notes as you scurry down the hall to follow him. Your note pad starts filling up pages with the scribbles of your thoughts as you note everything you saw in the ballroom.

You follow him down a few hallways and he slips around another hallway, as you go deeper in the Labyrinth of the Manor. However as you round the corner, you are met with a dead end. A hallway where the doors had no light peeking through and no sign that anyone had been down there at all. You walk to the end, where the wall stopped your tracks and tried to inspect for any hidden doors. Anything that might lead you to find where he went and what he was doing.

As you take a step back defeated, you could feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You softly whisper the spell to hid your notepad and you feel someone’s hand slink its way around your waist. Startling you but stopping you from turning to see who had made contact with you.

“Who let you in here, darling.” A cold hand covers your mouth, pulling your back against his body with both hands. A muffled shout escapes your lips as you try to pull yourself away. You could feel his body language shift as he grips you tighter.

“Seems like a little birdy got out of her cage.” You could feel his hot breath against your ear. You were a mouse caught in a trap as his arms pulled you into on of the unoccupied rooms you had just passed.

As you are dragged into the room, his hand leaves your face. Turning you and pushing you against the door, your eyes make contact with Mattheo’s hardened features. This was not the boy you remembered, but a grown up and dangerous man.

“Hello little dove.”

A/N: sorry for the mini hiatus with my fics (didn’t stop me whining on my blog though haha) my life literally went to pieces with midterms, being sick and breaking up with my BF. Anyways I haven’t started on part 2 yet but I’ll definitely start that soon. As for my Theo fic, I’m stuck with the smut so that’s awkward lol.

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Between the Ropes.. a Jey Uso x Rhea Ripley fanfic.

Chapter 13: Weight

Rhea lay in the hospital bed, the sterile room now feeling somewhat familiar after the events of today. The constant buzz of medical equipment and the rhythmic beeping of monitors created a backdrop to her ongoing ordeal. She had just finished a FaceTime call with her boss, Paul, who had wrapped up a press release regarding her situation. Now, she prepared to speak with Damian.

Jey, exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of the day, had managed to fall asleep in a chair on the other side of the room. His quiet breathing was not adding to the tension and uncertainty that had defined the day.

As Rhea settled back into her pillows, she dialed Damian's number. The screen flickered to life, and Damian’s familiar face appeared. His expression shifted from a casual smile to one of concern as he took in Rhea’s weary appearance.

“Hey, Rhea. How are you holding up?” Damian asked, his tone filled with genuine worry.

Rhea sighed, her eyes heavy with the weight of the day’s events. “It’s been rough. I’ve been through a lot today. I can’t even remember most of what happened before I ended up here. Jonathan found me bleeding and battered outside his place. I lost the baby...”

Damian’s eyes widened in shock. “Oh my God, Rhea. That’s awful. I can’t believe what you’ve been through.”

Rhea nodded, her voice trembling slightly. “It’s been overwhelming. The doctors said I needed a transfusion, and Jonathan was the only match. I’ve got Samoan blood now. It’s strange to think about.”

Damian’s face reflected a mix of disbelief and fascination. “So you... you have Samoan blood now? That’s incredible. I mean, it’s a profound connection, but the circumstances are just...”

Rhea interrupted, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah, it’s a lot to process. The haka they performed for me, the ceremony—it all felt so intense and significant. I’m now part of something bigger, a family and a culture I wasn’t really connected to before.”

Damian shook his head, still trying to wrap his mind around the situation. “It’s a huge shift, Rhea. Being linked to the Samoan Bloodline is a big deal, especially with everything that’s happened. You’ve been through so much, and now you’re intertwined with their culture in such a profound way.”

Rhea looked over at Jey, who was still sleeping soundly, and her voice softened. “Yeah, it’s been a whirlwind. I’m grateful for the support from Jonathan and his family, but it’s all a lot to take in. I just hope things can start to settle down soon.”

Damian gave a reassuring nod. “You’ve got a lot of people around you who care and are there for you. You’ll get through this. Just focus on your recovery, and take things one step at a time.”

As the call ended, Rhea set her phone aside and glanced at Jey, still resting peacefully. The emotional and physical exhaustion of the day weighed heavily on her, but the support from Damian and the presence of Jey brought her a small measure of comfort.

Rhea tried to find some peace, the hospital room door opened, and two detectives stepped inside. They were dressed in standard detective attire, their serious expressions matching the gravity of their investigation.

Rhea glanced at them, her unease evident.

One of the detectives, a tall man with a sharp gaze, introduced himself. "Mrs. Adams, I'm Detective Harris, and this is Detective Martinez. We need to ask you a few questions regarding the incident earlier today."

Rhea nodded, her voice weary but cooperative.

"Okay, what do you need to know?"

Detective Harris started with a straightforward question. "We're trying to piece together what happened. We noticed you've been in contact with quite a few people, but not your husband, Matthew Adams. Can you explain why that might be?"

At the mention of Matthew's name, a jolt of memory flashed through Rhea's mind. The fragments of the earlier confrontation with Matthew began to coalesce, and she recalled with painful clarity the details of the assault.

The memory of Matthew's anger, the violence, and the pain he inflicted on her overwhelmed her.

Rhea's voice trembled as she spoke, her eyes filled with anguish. "Matthew... he's the one who did this to me. He found out I was leaving him for Jey. I told him I didn't love him anymore, and he... he beat me up. He kicked me, and I thought I was going to die."

The detectives exchanged a quick, concerned glance, their focus sharpening on the gravity of the situation. Detective Martinez, his tone more gentle now, asked, "Are you sure about this, Mrs. Adams? Are you certain it was your husband who attacked you?"

Rhea nodded, tears streaming down her face.

"Yes, I'm sure. I was going to leave him, and he... he just lost it."

Across the room, Jey, who had been napping, awoke to the unsettling conversation. His face hardened with a mix of anger and hurt as he listened to Rhea's confession. The realization that Matthew was responsible for the violence against Rhea fueled his rage. He clenched his fists, struggling to contain his emotions.

Jey finally spoke up, his voice filled with tension. "Detectives, I need to know if Rhea and I have to stay in Orlando. We both have careers that require us to travel. This situation is serious, but we can't be tied down here indefinitely."

Detective Harris looked at Jey, recognizing the urgency in his voice. "We understand your concern sir. We'll need to conduct a thorough investigation and gather evidence before we can provide any definitive answers. For now, we'll do our best to expedite the process and keep you informed."

Rhea looked at Jey, her heart aching with gratitude and worry. Jey's support and determination to navigate the situation, despite his own pain, was a testament to their bond.

As the detectives continued their questioning, Rhea and Jey both felt the weight of the situation pressing heavily on them. The path ahead was fraught with challenges, but the strength they drew from each other and the support of those around them offered a glimmer of hope amidst the turmoil.

After the detectives left, the room fell into a heavy silence. Jey, his anger and frustration still simmering, turned to Rhea with a concerned expression.

“Rhea,” Jey began, his voice soft but firm, “where would you like to stay while we’re here? We need to figure out accommodations.”

Rhea looked at him, her eyes still red from crying, and shrugged wearily. “I don’t really care, Jey. Just... just stay with me.”

Jey nodded, determination set in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay here with you for as long as you need. We’ll figure out the details later.”

He moved closer, gently cupping her face in his hands. With a tender, reassuring kiss, he conveyed all the love and support he felt. The touch of his lips was a small comfort, a brief escape from the crushing weight of her grief.

Rhea’s eyes met his, and she could only manage a weak nod, her emotions too raw to respond more fully. The loss of their baby weighed heavily on her, casting a shadow over everything. Jey’s promise to stay by her side was a lifeline in the sea of her sorrow.

“Thank you, Jey,” Rhea whispered, her voice barely audible. “I need you here.”

Jey squeezed her hand gently, his own heart aching for her. “I’m here, Rhea. We’ll get through this together. No matter what happens, I’m not leaving you.”

As Rhea closed her eyes, trying to find some solace in Jey’s presence, the comfort of his promise provided a small beacon of hope. Despite the pain and uncertainty, having Jey by her side was a crucial source of strength in the dark hours that lay ahead.

Jey sat by Rhea’s side, holding her hand tightly as they both silently processed the overwhelming day. Their shared grief hung in the air, each tear and touch a quiet reflection of the bond they had. As they leaned on each other for comfort, they were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. A doctor entered, clipboard in hand, her expression calm but serious.

“Mr. Fatu, Mrs. Adams,” the doctor began, offering a gentle smile. “I wanted to let you both know that most of your vitals are starting to stabilize, Mrs. Adams. That’s a good sign. Your body is responding well to the blood transfusion, and your recovery looks promising.”

Rhea nodded slowly, taking in the information. “That’s good... I feel better, I think. Please call me Rhea.” She winced thinking of Matthew’s last name.

The doctor’s expression softened as she continued, her tone careful. “Rhea, I hope you noticed that you have a small cut on your stomach. I wanted to explain that we had to make a minor incision after discovering the baby no longer had a heartbeat. It was a difficult decision, but it was necessary for your health.”

Jey’s grip on Rhea’s hand tightened slightly, his heart aching as they both processed the words. Rhea swallowed hard, her fingers unconsciously moving to the bandage on her stomach.

“I understand,” Rhea whispered, her voice strained but calm. “Thank you for telling me.”

Jey nodded beside her, his jaw clenched as he fought to keep his emotions in check. “We get it. You did what you had to do.”

Rhea took a deep breath, shifting slightly in the bed. “Do you think I’ll be able to leave soon? I just... I don’t want to be here anymore.”

The doctor offered a sympathetic look. “I know it’s hard, but it’s crucial for you to stay here overnight for observation. Your body’s still recovering, and we want to make sure there are no complications.”

Rhea sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat, but she nodded. “Alright... I understand.”

The doctor paused for a moment, glancing between Jey and Rhea before speaking again. “There’s one more thing. I wanted to ask if either of you would like to see the baby?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded with emotion. Jey and Rhea exchanged a look, both of them caught off guard by the offer. For a moment, neither spoke, the weight of the decision pressing down on them.

Jey’s voice was barely above a whisper. “What do you think, Rhea?”

Rhea looked down at her hands, her heart aching with the thought. She wasn’t sure if she could handle it, but at the same time, there was a part of her that needed closure, a part that wanted to see their child, even if just for a moment.

“I... I think we should,” Rhea finally said, her voice trembling. “I think we need to.”

Jey nodded, his hand never leaving hers. “Alright. We’ll see the baby.”

The doctor gave them a respectful nod. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be back in a moment.”

As the doctor quietly left the room, Jey and Rhea sat in silence, bracing themselves for the emotional wave that was about to come. Though neither of them spoke, the shared understanding between them was clear—they would face this moment together, no matter how hard it was.

A few minutes passed in silence after the doctor left. Jey and Rhea sat together, their emotions swirling beneath the surface, their hearts heavy with grief and anticipation. The soft sound of wheels rolling into the room broke the quiet, and a nurse appeared, gently pushing a small cart.

At first, Rhea assumed it was more medicine or equipment, but as the nurse approached, the reality of the moment sank in. The cart wasn’t filled with medical supplies—it held their baby. Rhea’s breath caught in her throat, and Jey instinctively reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly.

The nurse spoke softly, her voice filled with compassion. “Your baby is very small, but if you’re ready, I encourage you both to hold your hands out together.”

Rhea and Jey exchanged a glance, their emotions too overwhelming for words. Slowly, almost in unison, they raised their hands together, palms open and trembling. The nurse carefully lifted the tiny, fragile bundle and gently placed the baby in their hands, cradling it between them.

Rhea’s heart stopped for a moment as she gazed down at the baby, so small and delicate. A wave of regret and sorrow hit her all at once. Tears filled her eyes as she remembered every time she had ever thought about abortion, every doubt, every fear. She had never imagined this—holding her child like this, so fragile, so still.

Her voice was barely a whisper as she stared down at the baby. “I... I can’t believe... I ever thought...”

Jey, too, was fighting back tears, his breath shaky as he held their child with Rhea. His heart was breaking, not just for the baby they lost but for the pain Rhea was carrying with her. “Rhea,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “It’s okay... you didn’t know. None of us knew.”

But Rhea shook her head, her tears falling freely. “I shouldn’t have ever thought that way. I didn’t want this, Jey. I never wanted this.”

Jey gently leaned his forehead against hers, trying to offer her comfort. “We didn’t want this, Rhea. But we’re here now. And we’re together.”

The nurse, standing quietly nearby, gave them the space to grieve, her presence a quiet reassurance that they could take as much time as they needed.

As Rhea continued to stare down at their baby, her heart ached with an overwhelming mixture of love and loss. She gently moved her thumb, brushing it lightly over the baby’s tiny form. Despite everything, this was their child, a life that was part of both of them.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered to the baby, her voice breaking. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Jey’s eyes filled with tears as he looked down at their baby. He had no words, only an immense sadness, but he held Rhea close, letting her know he was there with her in every moment of this heartbreak. Together, they mourned the loss of what could have been, their hands joined in holding their baby, both feeling the weight of a future that would never come.

Time had become irrelevant as Jey and Rhea sat together, their baby cradled in the palms of their hands. The world beyond the walls of the hospital room felt distant, almost unreal. The quiet hum of machinery was the only sound, but neither of them noticed. They had been holding their child for what felt like hours, each lost in their own heartache. The nurse had quietly left some time ago, giving them the space and privacy to mourn.

Rhea’s eyes were fixed on the tiny form in their hands, her face pale and tear-streaked. She felt like she had been hollowed out, her grief so overwhelming that it had consumed every part of her. She had cried so much that it seemed like she had no more tears left, only a dull, constant ache in her chest that wouldn’t ease. Her body was still weak from the trauma, but it was her heart that was shattered.

Jey watched her carefully, feeling his own sorrow pressing in on him. He was torn between his own grief and the need to be strong for her, but it was impossible to hold back the tears any longer. He let them fall, quietly, his heart breaking all over again with every breath he took. He had never imagined anything like this—losing their baby, seeing Rhea like this, feeling so helpless.

After what felt like an eternity, Jey softly broke the silence, his voice hoarse and raw. “Rhea...” he started, his throat tight. “We need to talk about... what happens next. About the baby.”

She didn’t respond, her gaze still locked on their child. It was like she was somewhere else, lost in her own grief. Jey’s heart ached for her, but he knew they couldn’t stay like this forever, no matter how much they wanted to hold on.

“We can... we can cremate the baby,” Jey continued, his voice thick with emotion. “We don’t have to do a funeral if that’s too much for you. It can just be us... something private.”

The word “funeral” hit Rhea like a punch to the chest, the reality of it making her stomach turn. She couldn’t imagine standing at a graveside, saying goodbye to the baby she had barely gotten to know. The thought of planning something like that, of being surrounded by people when all she wanted was to disappear, felt unbearable.

Her voice came out in a fragile whisper, barely audible. “I can’t... I can’t do a funeral, Jey. I just... I can’t.”

Her words cracked, and her whole body seemed to sag under the weight of the grief she was carrying. She felt utterly drained, like she had nothing left to give, not even the strength to make decisions.

Jey’s heart twisted at her words. He hated seeing her like this, so broken, so lost. He squeezed her hand gently, his thumb rubbing over her skin in slow, comforting strokes. “You don’t have to,” he reassured her, his own voice trembling. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We’ll do whatever you need, Rhea.”

Rhea let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes as more tears slipped down her cheeks. She felt like she was drowning in sorrow, her mind racing with guilt and regret. She looked down at their baby, so small, so fragile, and the weight of everything she had been through came crashing down on her.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry... I didn’t want this... I didn’t want any of this.”

Jey leaned in closer, pressing his forehead to hers, his own tears falling freely now. “I know, Rhea. I know. None of this is your fault. We didn’t want this either.”

For a long moment, they just stayed like that—foreheads pressed together, their hands joined, cradling the tiny, still form of their child. The pain was suffocating, and the silence that filled the room was heavy with the weight of all that had been lost.

“I don’t know what to do,” Rhea whispered finally, her voice breaking again. “I don’t know how to keep going.”

Jey’s heart shattered at her words, but he held her tighter, refusing to let her fall into the darkness. “You’re not alone, Rhea. I’m here. I’m always going to be here with you.”

More time passed, though neither of them could say how much. Eventually, Rhea shifted, her body trembling as she took in a shaky breath. The loss of their baby felt like a wound that would never heal, and yet, with Jey beside her, she knew she wasn’t facing it alone.

They would grieve together, and somehow, someday, they would find a way to move forward. But for now, they sat together in their shared sorrow, holding their baby for the first and last time.

“Mr. Fatu if you please follow me, we have an urgent matter to discuss.”

Jey gently adjusted Rhea, cradling her as she held their baby, and kissed her forehead before stepping out of the room. His heart felt heavy as he left her, but the nurse’s urgent request for a private conversation weighed on his mind. He followed her through the quiet halls of the hospital, the sterile scent filling his lungs as they made their way to another floor. The nurse led him to a small, dimly lit office where two people were waiting.

As he entered, a tall man in a sharp suit stood and extended his hand. “Mr. Fatu, I’m Julian Velasquez, with the law firm Brentley and Barnum. I’ve been hired by the WWE to represent you and Rhea during this difficult time.”

Jey shook his hand, his brow furrowed. “Represent us?”

“Yes,” Julian continued, his tone professional but kind. “Given your high-profile status in WWE, the company wants to ensure that you and Rhea are protected legally, especially with all that’s happened. We’re here to make sure that no one takes advantage of your situation, and to offer any legal support you may need.”

Jey nodded slowly, trying to absorb the information. His mind was still clouded with grief, but he appreciated the gesture. He glanced at the second person in the room, an older woman with kind, weathered eyes. She smiled gently and introduced herself.

“I’m Ms. Gurdie Crowley, the president of the Organization for Lost Littles. We specialize in providing support for families who have experienced miscarriage or infant loss, particularly in the Orlando area. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Jey’s throat tightened, but he managed a nod. “Thank you.”

Ms. Crowley’s eyes softened further. “I understand that discussing burial options is difficult, but I’m here to help in any way I can. Many families choose cremation in situations like this. Is that something you and Rhea have considered?”

Jey cleared his throat and spoke quietly, the weight of the conversation almost too much to bear. “We’ve decided on cremation. Rhea... she doesn’t want a funeral.”

Ms. Crowley gave a small, understanding nod. “I see. I’d like to offer you an option that some families find comforting. Given your baby’s size, it’s possible to create jewelry containing the remains—pieces that can be worn, keeping your child close to your heart.”

She handed Jey a brochure filled with photos of delicate rings, necklaces, and bracelets designed to hold ashes. Jey’s hands shook slightly as he took it, flipping through the pages. Each item seemed both beautiful and heartbreaking, a physical reminder of the loss they would carry with them forever.

Jey paused on a page featuring a matching set of rings and a necklace. He swallowed hard, looking back at Ms. Crowley. “Her ring size is a 7... mine is a 10. She likes an 18-inch necklace. Also, her ring… can you ship it to my father’s house? It’s going to be saved for a special occasion.”

Ms. Crowley nodded, quickly jotting down the details. “Thank you, Mr. Fatu. I’ll make the arrangements. These pieces will take some time, but I’ll ensure they’re handled with the utmost care.”

Jey’s heart felt heavy as he handed the brochure back. “I appreciate that.”

Ms. Crowley offered a soft smile. “We also offer counseling services for families. It can be a lot to process, and we want to make sure both of you have the support you need.”

Before Jey could respond, Julian chimed in. ��The WWE has already arranged counseling services for Mrs. Adams and Mr. Fatu. We want to make sure they have everything they need, including mental health support.”

Jey looked between Julian and Ms. Crowley, grateful but emotionally drained. “Thank you... both of you.”

Ms. Crowley nodded kindly. “Of course. I’ll be in touch soon with the next steps, but please don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything at all.”

Julian stood, signaling that the meeting was over. “If there’s anything you need, Mr. Fatu, I’ll be your point of contact. We’re here to help.”

Jey shook their hands, still feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. As he left the office and made his way back to Rhea, all he could think about was the painful reality of what they were facing. But he knew one thing for certain—he wasn’t going to let her face any of it alone.

—

In the quiet sanctuary of Jonathan and Trinity’s home, the evening was filled with a soft, practical activity—preparing the guest room for Rhea and Jey. The room was being arranged to provide a sense of comfort and normalcy once Rhea was released from the hospital in the morning.

Trinity, arranging fresh linens on the bed, glanced over at Jonathan. “You know, despite everything that’s happened, I’m really glad Rhea is now part of the family. It’s been a tough road, but it’s good to see the family coming together.”

Jonathan, who was adjusting a set of pillows on the bed, looked up and said, “Even with all the chaos and pain, having Jey back in the family is what really matters. It’s been a long time coming.”

Trinity smiled, her eyes meeting Jonathan’s with a warmth that spoke of shared feelings and understanding. “It’s been rough, but seeing everyone come together, it feels like we’re starting to mend some of those broken pieces.”

Jonathan walked over to Trinity, pulling her into a gentle embrace. He leaned in and kissed her softly, the touch of his lips conveying the depth of his affection. Trinity responded with equal tenderness, her arms wrapping around him.

As they pulled away slightly, their faces still close, Jonathan’s voice was filled with sincerity. “Thank you for being so strong through all this, Trin’. It means more to me than you know.”

Trinity rested her forehead against his. “We’re in this together, Jon. And no matter what happens, we’ll face it as a family.”

They shared another quiet, intimate moment, their closeness a comforting reminder of their bond amidst the unfolding challenges. The preparation of the guest room, though a small task, symbolized their commitment to providing support and care for Rhea and Jey during a time of need.

Later that night, after finishing the preparations, Jonathan and Trinity settled into bed, the weight of the day still lingering but momentarily distant. The room was quiet, save for the soft glow from Trinity’s phone as she scrolled through her news app, trying to unwind.

Her thumb paused on a series of headlines, her eyes narrowing. One article after another popped up, all speculating about Rhea’s attack. Trinity sighed heavily and rolled her eyes, irritation creeping in.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.

Jonathan turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “What is it?”

Trinity tilted her phone toward him, showing him the screen. “Look at this. Every one of these so-called ‘news’ sites is trying to spin what happened to Rhea as some kind of storyline. Like it’s just a part of wrestling.”

Jonathan scanned the headlines. Each article seemed more absurd than the last, questioning the authenticity of the situation, trying to claim that Rhea’s attack was part of an elaborate WWE plot.

“‘Rhea Ripley’s ‘attack’ just another storyline?’” Jonathan read aloud, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. These people seriously have nothing better to do.”

Trinity huffed in agreement, her frustration bubbling over. “I can’t believe they’re trying to turn something this serious into a storyline. Like Rhea didn’t just go through something traumatic. It’s so disrespectful.”

Jonathan leaned back against the headboard, running a hand through his hair. “That’s the problem with being in this business sometimes. People don’t know how to separate reality from what they see on TV. They think everything’s just part of the show.”

Trinity shook her head, locking her phone and tossing it onto the nightstand. “It’s disgusting. She just lost her baby, and they’re out here writing this nonsense like it’s some scripted drama.”

Jonathan reached for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We know the truth, and so does Rhea. That’s what matters.”

Trinity sighed, leaning into Jonathan’s embrace. “I know. I just hate seeing her go through so much and having people question whether it’s real.”

Jonathan kissed her forehead softly. “We’ll get through this as a family, Trin’. Let them talk. We’ve got more important things to focus on.”

Trinity nodded, allowing herself to relax in his arms. Despite the noise of the outside world, what truly mattered was right there with her—a family bound by love, loyalty, and strength, ready to face whatever challenges came their way.

—

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Due to Monday Night Raws Previous Episode I had these chapters already pre written. I had three different ways Chapter 12 would go and this chapter was apart of that.

[violetmuses]

Wedding AU - 💍

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Pairing: Armando Aretas + AMMO!Reader

Main Storyline: Previous criminal Armando Aretas meets you for the very first time during Mike and Christine's wedding.

====

2024

“Marcus? C'mon, man. Stop crying.” Placed behind this veiled table with his bride Christine, Detective Mike Lowrey faced longtime partner Marcus Burnett.

“I love you, Mike!” Marcus blubbered throughout his kind but emotional speech. Decades of friendship and brotherhood grounded the special moment.

You've enjoyed that celebration while mingling near members of AMMO. This new yet lethal squad joined the Miami Police Department some years back.

“Look over there.” Choosing her own beautiful dress, weapons expert Kelly whispered to you.

“What, is something wrong?” You glanced around just in case.

“We have something to tell you.” Kelly spoke up again when you turned near the entrance. Tech genius Dorn, K's boyfriend at the time, had just returned.

“Come with us.” Wearing one respectful suit for the event, Dorn eased his tone as well, but your thoughts jumbled.

“All right.” You nodded, trailing each step while Kelly held your hand.

______

Outdoors, you realized that someone waited in the parking lot by himself.

But once this man turned around, every quiet warning made sense.

Armando Aretas stood right here.

To make this situation even more unsettling, Mike Lowrey would take responsibility as Armando's biological father.

Now realizing apprehension, Kelly squeezed your palm harder.

“Don't move any closer.” Warning Aretas, Dorn mediated the encounter for obvious reasons.

All four of you stood in the large-scale parking lot while awkwardness built more and more.

“Hey.” While Armando dressed in black, his slightly accented English rasped near your direction.

“Hi.” Cordial beyond rumors and headlines, you know better.

“Should we head back?” You glanced near Kelly and Dorn again.

“Not with Armando.” Dorn clarified. “He's on the guest list, but we should careful right now. One wrong move could ruin the celebration.”

Good point. You thought.

Sooner than later, guests could reasonably panic tonight.

Even Captain Howard's daughter Judy attended the wedding. Judy also earned the position of U.S. Marshal following Armando's case.

Dorn's phone buzzed seconds later and you didn't know what to think.

Mike: I've talked to Judy for safety precautions. If you're out with Armando, bring him over. It's okay.

Dorn: Yes, Sir.

“What's going on?” You questioned Dorn once he tucked the phone away.

“Mike spoke with Judy Howard. We can bring Armando inside.” Almost chuckling through relief, Dorn revealed this update.

Both you and Kelly exchanged glances with brief smiles.

Everything should be okay. You thought.

______

Back inside, all four of you cornered by the exit while cautious. There's no other choice.

You've managed to laugh or smile with Kelly and Dorn again, but “someone” keeps watching your presence.

From the corner of your eye, Armando lingered without holding a drink or joining conversations.

“Single ladies, please head to the dance floor.” An emcee rolled out plans. "It's time for Christine to toss the bouquet!

“Move, Kelly!” Playfully nudging your friend, you lifted the hem of your dress and shuffled over as music dropped.

When upbeat lyrics played out, Christine's smile illuminated and she even noticed you on camera before tossing the flowers backwards.

Sharp, you caught that bouquet and laughed with everyone, hugging Christine as the playlist changed.

Right when everyone else started dancing, Armando finally spoke to you again.

“Are you new?” Aretas questioned your spot with AMMO.

“Joined after you went to prison.” Your voice didn't even avoid this response.

“Ouch. Clearly I'm not the favorite.” Armando nearly cringed.

“Don't play dumb. It'll take so much time.” You explained the truth about forgiveness.

“I know.” Aretas nodded and watched as the party continued. Even Marcus stepped out.

Out of nowhere, though, Burnett collapsed, and the night changed forever.

*****

During the reception, Marcus suffered an unexpected heart attack.

“I'll keep looking out for Marcus. Y'all can leave now, Rook.” Mike cut your nicknames as you visited the hospital.

“Okay.” You stood with Kelly and Dorn, absolutely devastated. Who knows what could happen next?

“Bye. Drive safe, y'all. Thanks for everything.” Mike bid farewell and went to Marcus' bedside.

Pulling emotions together, you all returned to that parking lot and headed to Dorn's boathouse as Armando waited in the car.

_______

Staying at the house, you take this much-needed shower and plan to reach one guest room until Armando catches up.

“Oh, shit! Don't scare me like that.” You nearly squealed through shadows of the dim hallway as this robe covered your body.

“My bad, are you okay?” Aretas lifted one free hand while nursing this drink. Even the wardrobe switched.

Wearing this Bud Light shirt right now, Armando chose one trucker hat that veiled his brown eyes. Jeans covered both legs and boots stepped along the floor.

“I'm fine.” Your footsteps walked elsewhere and Aretas turned bold.

“Yes, you are.” Armando dared to flirt this time around, but you gasped.

“Are you drunk?” You pulled the obvious question just in case.

“No.” Aretas shook his head.

Wow!

_______

By morning, everyone shared breakfast together and settled down afterwards.

Soon enough, an update chimed from the hospital at last:

Marcus Burnett woke up.

Grateful beyond words, you scrambled with Kelly and Dorn to see Marcus, but Armando stood to disrupt time.

“Hold up. What am I supposed to do?” Aretas offered his accented English to figure out this situation.

“Wait here.” Dorn instructed Armando and gathered essentials while Kelly stepped outside. Even you helped pack the car.

“That's not fair.” Armando quickly defended himself here.

“Even though Lowrey is your father, it's not my fault you're still a safety risk.” Dorn couldn't battle the truth about Mike and Armando.

Armando hunting the Miami Police Department pulled all kinds of danger.

“Whatever.” Fed up, Armando stopped talking as Dorn's car drove away.

****

Meeting everyone at the Burnett household, Marcus raved again and life seemed “normal” until routines changed.

“You'll have a strict diet now - No salt, no sugar, no fat.” Marcus's wife Theresa Burnett warned first.

“No stress, no loud noises, no physical exertion. Just sit your ass down, man!” Mike offered more restrictions around Marcus while Christine sat nearby.

“Case in point: no more Skittles.” Even you arched your brow while facing Marcus.

“Aw, damn. Not you too, Rook!” Marcus scrunched up his face when you heard the rules as well.

“Just looking out.” You expressed so much gratitude while Burnett survived.

“I know. All jokes aside - thank you.” Marcus opened this gentle embrace as you welcomed his recovered heart.

“Take care.” Happy for Marcus, you said goodbye while leaving with Kelly and Dorn. Even Mike and Christine would return to the boathouse.

______

“We're back!” Mike called outwards to signal Armando.

“Sh! Everyone settled down. He's sleeping.” Christine raised one finger toward her lips upon realization.

This time, Aretas veiled his eyes with his trucker hat and napped on the living room couch.

“You're very considerate.” Mike kissed Christine for a second.

Just when you'd all reach the kitchen and make lunch together, Armando opened his eyes and sat up, groggy as hell.

“Baby…” His accented English rasped once more and everyone froze.

“Who's Armando looking for?” Mike squinted, definitely puzzled.

Blinking through exhaustion, Aretas locked his glare toward you without shame.

Uh-oh.

Nothing happened last night, but his attraction moved close no matter what.

******

Once the team shared lunch, you gathered belongings and planned to head home. Mike and Christine would help Armando settle down as he stayed at their place.

“Sorry.” Aretas apologized to you while standing near Mike's classic Porsche.

“It's okay.” You just rolled both eyes and rocked sunglasses.

“I didn't even learn your name.” Aretas genuinely struggled.

“Just know that I'm your partner now.” You smiled and left, pulling the car out of sight.

======

Tag List: @nelo0wesker @yassbishimvintage @nobodygetsza @peaxhygirl @superstar-t20 @adoresmiles @klssngss @deja-r @hyper-trash-panda @amethyst-loves-bucky @planetblaque @sweettea-and-honeybutter @lovedlover @xjjawsomex @readingisahobby @kindofaintrovert 🏷

[running-with-kn1ves]

Helloo, I hope you're doing well, if you could I was wondering if you could please do a yandere L Lawliet x reader story, it can be any plot you'd like. THANK YOU AND HAVE A NICE DAY🦆

A/N: I have yet to write anything for death note 'til now so here's my poor attempt at trying to write L 😅

Synopsis: You are interrogated by a certain stalker-y detective through a twisted turn of events.

TW: Yandere themes, stalking, death (non-canonical character), abuse of power

Word Count: 1200

“After he clutched his chest he just…fell.” 

“....I see.” 

L sat with a notepad and pen in his hand, watching you intently from the other side of the coffee table. You picked up your drink with shaking hands, avoiding the detective’s prying eyes. His dark circles showed his lack of sleep, causing you to mistakenly believe his level of dedication to the case you were discussing. 

“During Mr. Fujioka’s incident, did your spouse happen to be… present with you?” L inquired. 

You sniffled into a crumpled tissue, breath hitching as you tried to answer another one of his prying questions. 

“Uh, no… I’m not dating anyone so.. I was alone.” Your professor’s lifeless body flashed again in your mind, the memory seeming almost hazy and faint now. It happened so fast; one moment you came into his office, asking for last week’s assignments, and the next he was giving his last breath on top his desk above your midterm papers. 

You had feared becoming a suspect, especially with all this “Kira” buzz going around-- but thankfully the man across from you didn’t seem suspicious of you. Inquisitive, but not suspicious. 

“What were your plans after visiting Mr. Fujioka?”

You cleared your throat, dabbing at your eyes once more before sitting up straighter.

“Well, I was just going to head home, maybe stop at the grocery store first… though I doubt I’ll have any time to do that.” you voiced. 

 Trying to wipe the redness from your eyes away, you clenched your shirt to stop from shaking. You assumed the detective must’ve dealt with emotional people all the time-- especially from the recent rise in deaths, but you still felt bad for crying so much. 

Though, you couldn’t be more wrong. L Lawliet did not often deal with witnesses up and close in such a casual manner, especially meaningless ones who were the sole observers to a random professor’s death. If it weren’t for the possible connection of your professor’s heart attack to Kira, L would’ve never gotten this golden opportunity. It seemed luck really had struck him, even though he wasn’t one to particularly believe in “fate.” 

With his knees pulled up to his chest and the empty notepad in his lap, L watched you stare at the coffee table lifelessly. You could hardly give any attention to the males’ strange sitting position or odd attire that did not reflect your average japanese detective, which normally would’ve struck you as strange. 

“Am I… in trouble?” You asked, pulling L out of his thoughts on how oddly fascinating you were when crying. “I mean, am I going to be put in jail until this is all figured out?” 

Your naivety almost made L give a pout of sympathy. How could someone be so wide-eyed and unaware? He kept a straight face despite the confiction your question caused. 

“No, don’t worry. We already have a line of suspects waiting to be interrogated, and you aren’t one of them.” He replied robotically. 

With his fingernail to his mouth, the detective tilted his head as you gave a smile of relief, pushing back more thoughts of your twitching professor and his red face. 

“But one more thing,” Getting up from the opposing couch, L moved to sit beside you. “This incident is very important; you may be a vital piece to our discovery of Kira, as a witness to one of his attacks.” 

L placed his hand near your limp one, pinky nearly touching yours. He looked to make eye contact with you, curious to see those glassy eyes that he had been staring at from behind a monitor for months. 

“I believe a followup might be necessary… There’s a few more questions I’d like to ask you regarding your relation to Mr. Fujioka.” 

You nodded your head, listening intently as the detective dared to push his hand closer to yours. He could feel the heat from your body next to him, your hand so close yet inches too far. He continued to speak though his mind wouldn’t move away from the fact that you were within touching reach, when days ago he could only caress you from behind a computer screen and paper pictures. 

“Perhaps tomorrow? Unfortunately my schedule is quite rigid, though I think I can fit you in during… lets say, eight? I’d be happy to make it worth your while.”

You moved your hand away to grab another tissue, balling it into your fist onto your lap. L bit his lip at seeing you move away, clenching his teeth though not moving. 

“A-alright.” You forced an answer, not daring to reject his proposal out of fear of being seen as noncompliant. You couldn’t afford to get mixed up with the police right now, and this was your best bet on getting this whole situation dealt with. Besides, its not like you could say no to a detective.

“I’ll have someone contact you tomorrow on where to meet. Please be sure to only bring yourself, and wear something… mildly formal.”

You batted your eyes a few times, surprised at the rules regarding another questioning. But you didn’t dare to bring up your confusion, only nodding and holding tightly to your tissues. 

L on the other hand, couldn’t believe your complete willingness. You didn’t raise any questions, going along with his proposition and even smiling at him. If he knew meeting you would be this easy, he would’ve acted far sooner! Though all areas of reasoning pointed to you behaving oppositely, he didn’t mind this twist of events. He already had thoughts on where he’d take you first tomorow. Of course, it’d all be under the guise of the investigation, but he knew if you stayed this trusting the entire time he’d have no problem taking you out to dinner and a nice romantic stroll. 

You allowed him to walk you out of the comfortable faux interrogation room-- which truthfully was one of the police buildings’ lounge rooms that were far more comforting than the cold steel of the REAL interrogation room. Once L caught wind that you were going to be questioned, he couldn’t sit still, taking over all decisions regarding your interrogation. 

Gripping tightly onto your used tissues, you listened to L speak eloquently on the case and your future questioning “date.” The words hardly entered your head though, your mind too focused on how you were going to enter class tomorrow. How you were going to finish your studies without a teacher. And how your professor’s family would react on the news you knew far beforehand.

L looked at you with sunken eyes, giving a twisted, creepy smile. He lifted the corners of his mouth like you did, his hunched over frame causing a shadow to cast over his face, bangs nearly covering his eyes as he grinned. 

The look was…. Odd, to say the least. And yet-- you smiled back, trying to cover up the fact that you had not heard a word he said within the past several minutes. Handing you your bag, the detective hesitantly put a hand to your back as you continued to walk out. You didn't flinch or move away like he had fretted. Instead, you almost leaned into the touch, feeling a small amount of comfort after such a stressful evening. 

If you stayed this trusting, keeping you to himself might be far easier than L thought.