#now i know what mental image will be stuck in my head in the middle of the night

[selfishdoll]

WHAT A WASTE ! ft. feitan portor ೀ ׅ ۫ . ㅇ

▌   you wanted it so bad, you don’t get to stop.  𐚁֙࿐ㅤㅤ it’s a shame, truly a shame; you being unable to contain yourself whilst your classmate examined your body for an assignment. but it’s fine, really— feitan doesn’t mind completing a detailed exam.

CONTENT WARNING(S) 𐚁֙࿐ㅤㅤ ooc feitan, please understand it’s been a minute since i’ve watch hxh & i’m going off my own interpretation plus a bestie’s. so if you expect him to be the perfect characterization you have the wrong fic | heavy degradation w/ minimal amounts of praise | strangers to ? (will there be a part 2.. maybe 🤭) | spanking | manhandling | usage of the words “slut, minx, & whore.” | all is consensual & feitan asks ofc | multiple orgasms | dacryiphilia | unprotected sex | creampie | cowgirl | reader is taller then feitan but he’s stronger then her | pussy slapping | overstimulation | hair pulling | softer feitan at the end? | impact! play | hints of sadist(?) feitan | accidental recording | feitan “threatens” to send the video to their professor (he wouldn’t actually do it, far too possessive..) | bitch is used once | etc. if i forgot something please let me know.

AUTHOR’S NOTE 𐚁֙࿐ㅤㅤ i’m sure assignments like these are not actually done but i got the idea randomly when seeing fanart of him. also expect more works of feitan, chrollo, & maybe the other adult characters except hisoka. also he wasn’t as mean as he should have been because i’m a very sensitive person & it shows in my writing 😭. and always please excuse any typos & grammar mistakes. 4K+ WORDS

Snap! The sound of the thin gloves had you jumping for a split second, eyes carrying away from the phone taking in your position on your bed to the man standing just a few feet away from you. Feitan Portor, a classmate you’ve never got the pleasure of talking to. Which wasn’t surprising at all, given he ignored just about everyone in class.

Eyes focused on his notes, the textbook, or glued to the images of the human anatomy your professor would plaster upon her smartboard. Those were the only instances you could remember of the unimpressionable man.

Yet now, here he was; in your room adjusting the gloves on his hand whilst you waited ever so patiently.

Becoming a surgical resident was a grueling process on its own, but having to work with the most quiet man alive just made it even worse. You felt so uncomfortable, wondering if you should speak or not— if it was alright to breathe.

As, no matter where you looked, said, or did; he seemed to be agitated.

Or maybe that was just his face, who knows?

A step in your direction caused the thoughts to dissipate, eyes flicking over to the man that stood off to the side of you. His eyes looked at you expectantly, impatience enveloping his gaze. Such intensity caused a sheepish sorry to escape your glossed lips, pushing off the slippers you wore with a hum. You then turned your body to lay across your plush blankets, arms stuck to your sides whilst your head rested on your pillow. A soft breath flew from your nose, tensing the moment he stepped closer.

The idea of the group project was being able to label the muscles of a human off paper. You were sure this type of assignment was for closer students but you drew the short end of the stick. Then again, it wasn’t too bad; Feitan didn’t seem like the perverted type— you highly doubted he would take advantage of such a situation.

His form moved closer, knees pressed against your bed as his hands hovered above you. Feitan’s eyes fell to your legs, mentally deciding to start there first.

Which.. wasn’t the best for you.

As his hands dragged up from his ankles and further; lips moving to utter the muscles beneath your skin— you felt a warmth brew inside you. Was it the feathery touches? Maybe you were touched starved even..

Either way, as he got closer and closer to your middle; you felt the heat threatening to spill over. Fuck.. you were done.

His hands were.. warm, the feeling seeping through the thin blue gloves he wore— large, a complete contrast to his smaller form, which barely reached your bust. They ghosted you perfectly, teetering between respectful and disinterested as they brushed your covered hip. Maybe you really were touch starved, or maybe an inkling of attraction towards the man rested deep within you. Either didn’t matter given the little gasp and flinch that escaped you was clear as day.

Feitan’s hands stopped just on your lower stomach, eyes snapping to your face. Oh, was he annoyed. Aggravated you had interrupted him whilst attempting to complete the assignment. Your manicured fingers bundled the plush blankets beneath you, lips parting slowly to speak;

“‘M sorry..”

“Your constant twitching is bothersome.” The man hissed softly, eyebrows brushing close as his face turned to glance back down your body. “A single touch and you’re trembling..” Feitan spoke, actions solidifying his words the moment a hand grasped your hip, thumb pressing into your plump, covered skin. The warmth you felt from his hand was stimulating, trickling between your legs— causing the plush limbs to push together. An action the man caught easily.

An annoyed sigh escaped him, hand withdrawing from your body whilst his eyes bore into your form. “What a waste.. getting aroused during an exam, specifically when we were so close to being done.”

“I am not.. I am not aroused.”

The man sucked his teeth at your words, eyebrows pushing even closer together as irritation formed his features. Feitan remained unmoving for a moment, simply staring you down before he leaned over, taking your cheeks in a tight grip and lifting you a bit off the bed. “So you’re not only a slut, you’re a lying one at that.”

A hiss tugged his words, fingerprints pushing into your heated skin whilst his eyes stared you down— daring you to deny. A stranger he was, nothing more than a classmate yet; here you were, so open and pliable for him. Staring up at him as if the venom spewing from his lips were the sweetest things ever.

Your head tilted down just a tad, gripping the sheets as you struggled to hold his gaze. “‘M not a slut either.”

“A pervert then—“ Feitan countered easily, fingers tapping against your skin while tilting his head. The moment your lips pulled into the tiniest pout a grin was pulling his own, thumb reaching over to press against your glossed mouth, “— is that more fitting? You laying here; waiting so desperately to be touched..” Feitan removed his hand from your face slowly, watching in amusement at the way you tried to follow his grasp.

“What a display really.. the only thing that is missing, is you begging.”

The anticipation welling inside you was threatening to explode, thighs pushed close as the heat rose within the room. Feitan enjoyed such a sight, piercing eyes taking you in— interest for once swirling in his irises. Finally, his eyebrows rose, even going as far as tilting his head.

Breath escaped you as you took him in, Feitan Portor your classmate and very much a stranger. And despite such formalities here you were, gripping the sheets, lips parted as pretty pleas escaped you.

Feitan sighed softly reaching down once again, taking your cheeks in his hand; a grasp you’ve already come to adore. “Speak up.” He hissed, fingers pressing into your hot chubby cheeks whilst his gaze never left you.

“Ple..please Feitan, please— I need you..” You cried out, eyes dipping down as the embarrassment settled in. Feitan didn’t allow this to settle for long, hand dropping to collect your chin more and pushing you to force the gaze.

“Need me?..” His tone was airy, a snicker even passing through his lips; such sound causing further shyness to trickle down your spine. “We’ve only just met.. just interacted,” Feitan drawled and not so gently pushed you to lay across your bed, crawling over your form. Your legs parted to rest on other side of him, gripping the sheets in excitement.

“And yet, you need me. Such a desperate thing, aren’t you?” Feitan dipped down close, hands pressed on either sides of your head, hovering just above your face. He watched as your eyes fluttered close, surely expecting a kiss. Instead his face was dropping to your neck, teeth sinking into your skin abruptly.

The hiss, mixed gasp that escaped you was loud, hands flying to his black shirt whilst he sucked and bit into your skin; dark marks forming from the attention. His hands moved across your body, falling down to your thighs— sliding under them to push them even wider. Once satisfied he was moving in closer, pushing your dress up to your stomach whilst using his free hand glide across your covered slit. Your hips rose to find friction, yelping the moment he pinched you lightly.

“Quit moving..” Feitan huffed, fingers pressing just a bit harder against your covered wetness, finding your clit and slowly stroking it. The little sparks of pleasure were sweet but barely enough, the burning impatience brewing inside you caused a whine to escape your throat. The dark-haired male clicked his tongue, eyes flicking from your thighs to your face. “Impatient slut..” He hissed, hand pulling from your covered, wet cunt.

You wanted to whine again, but instead— Feitan forced a sharp yelp out of you the moment his palm struck your pussy. Your thighs closed around his hand, tears springing into your eyes as the pleasure and pain combined into a single, sickeninly sweet feeling. The grin on his face was telling, clearly delighted by the high pitched cry that escaped you so freely.

A sound he chased; pushing at your thighs again and slapping the exact same spot. A wet sound entered the room, followed by an even sharper cry from your mouth. Your body rose up off the bed, cunt throbbing from the attention as your heart pounded against your chest.

A snicker, one far too sinister escaped the man above you, pushing your thighs back down to the bed. “Hurts doesn’t it?..” The humor was clear in his tone, pushing you even wider as his eyes trained on the prize between them. “As if I could tell, making such a mess all over your sheets.” Feitan claimed, reaching over and finally; peeling your ruined panties from your body.

The undergarment was tossed to the side, his thumbs pulling your folds as his eyes focused completely on your wet sex. Clit throbbing, hole clenching around nothing, you truly were such a mess.

“Feitan..” You spoke softly, nearly shifting under his gaze if it wasn’t for the quick glare he sent you. You decided to simply bunch your dress up in your hands, eyes fluttering closed the moment his fingers gliding across your abused slit.

Slowly, the man collected your arousal onto his still gloved fingers, the thin latex pressing against your wet cunt. And without warning, two digits were pressing into your awaiting hole; sinking all the way down to his knuckles. Feitan didn’t wait for you either, scissoring and thrusting them in and out of you— the soft squelches soon filling the room.

Your moans escaped you freely, acrylics gripping your dress as your legs threatened to close. His fingers hit all the right places as precise and calculated as he was with suturing. So perfect.. fuck, so so perfect; you felt your brain getting hazy, cries of pleasure escaping as his fingers pushed against your hot gummy walls— essence spilling with each push.

As if the pleasure couldn’t get any better his thumb lowered to your begging bud, teasing it for a moment just to hear you whine— right before rubbing harsh circles into the sensitive button. Feitan’s eyes captured it all, free hand gripping your other thigh to assure you didn’t move an inch.

If you wanted.. needed him so bad, you would be sure to take everything he gave you.

Once the third finger pushed in, you were thrown off the edge; groaning at the sudden stretch yet moaning as it worked in tandem with the other fingers. He played with you so easily, pushing spots with just his fingers— much deeper then your own has ever reached.

“F—fuck.. Feitan.. feels soo good—!”

Feitan grinned down at your display, listening to the breathy praises that continued to escape you. How you begged so much for a release, hips rising to meet the thrusts of his fingers; withering beneath him. “What a fucking mess..” He drawled, eyes flicking to his hand to watch your sticky arousal coating the blue latex. This only caused his expression to deepen, quickening the pace of his hand whilst hanging his head; mouth brushing against your ear.

“This was the only thing you were thinking about, weren’t you? The moment I walked into your bedroom, you were just itching to feel me.. such a perverted slut— [Name].”

His words, tone, the way his fingers bullied your insides; Feitan was just so fucking mean. Yet here you were, eyes rolling to the back of your skull while the loudest moan escaped you, making a mess of his hand. Your arousal trickled down his fingers to his palm, ruining his glove even further.

However, even as your orgasm raked through your body his fingers never stopped moving; pushing you further and further, sensitivity rising as breathy whines escaped you. Forgoing his threat from earlier, your hand lowered to his wrist. With each movement the muscle was tensing, your thumb pressed against his pulse to feel his rapid heartbeat— in sync with your own.

“Ca—can’t fuck it’s too much!”

Such noises fell on deaf ears, his pace continuing but not moving your hand. The man wouldn’t dare say he enjoyed your grasp around his wrist.

“Too much?..” Feitan mocked, gripping your thigh when you attempted to shut your legs. The pretty whines escaping your throat was answer enough, his eyes gleaming with excitement as his thumb continued working circles into your clit; fingers never faltering inside your wet walls.

From just his fingers, just his fingers you were so lost. A fucking babbling mess whose long forgotten the entire purpose of him being in your room.

Your stomach tightened, the feeling bordering on painful, as your next orgasm got closer and closer. Pushing through the pain, your hips rocked against his fingers, desperate for the euphoric feeling again— only for it to be snatched away the moment he removed his fingers.

Your clit throbbed, hole fluttering around nothing as your hazy gaze soon focused on the man between your legs. The annoyed moan that escaped you was shameless, lips slick with your saliva pushed into a pout. “Why’d you.. I was so close!” You spoke, watching his eyelids lower.

Feitan moved to hover over your body, hands sinking into the spaces beside your head whilst pressing his hips to your own. “Said it was too much, right? Or are you already too fucked out to remember?” His hips moved slow, grinding the hardon within his pants into your wet, uncovered slit, your essence darkening his bottoms.

You weren’t given a second to dwell on his words or even muster a reply. Because the moment his hips moved yours were as well, head knocking back against your blankets as the light pleasure danced up your spine; stirring you inside. Your hands rose to bunch his shirt in your fingers, shaking underneath him as the desperation oozed from your heated body.

Feitan’s hand rose, taking your braids in a secure hold, pulling your head up from the bed to bring you a breath’s away. “Humping me like some bitch in heat.. So fucking needy.” A hiss hugged his words, as if aggravated from your actions. However, he was far from irritated, far from angry— enjoying you far too much.

You just looked so pretty like this; wet trails running down your chubby cheeks, dress and blankets wrinkled, with your legs wide— a clear invitation to ruin you even further. The sight was.. unbelievable, one he was delighted to keep all to himself.

“Feitan, please..” You dragged, hips pushing against him more, craving the friction and something else. He should have slapped your thigh or even pinch you for your impatience but fortunately for you, Feitan was just as needy. A huff escaped you as he released your hair, hands dropping to your hips. You silently questioned this, only for him to pull you up, you in his lap with his legs hanging off the bed.

You hovered above his lap, watching intently as he shoved off his bottoms; revealing his hard, long length. The tip was bubulous and red, a contrast to his paler skin. What’s more, pretty white pearls of precum oozed from the slit, twitching from the cool air in the room. Your hands found his shoulders, eyes flicking to his face as nerves settled in the pit of your stomach.

Feitan didn’t do much to ease your anxiety, even finding it a bit comical. His hand rose, shifting under your dress to stroke the dimples etched into your lower back. “What’s wrong?.. Don’t tell me you’re backing out now, [Name].” He watched as your eyebrows pushed together, lips pulled into an annoyed pout.

“I’m not..” You huffed softly, nails digging into his skin as your hips lowered just a smidge, jumping the moment his tip bumped against your throbbing bud. “Just.. g—give me a second.” You spoke, hips moving, lining his cock up with your entrance. A whimper escaped you the moment his tip breached the warm space, sinking down slowly whilst more breaths escaped you.

His hands were steady on your body, holding you up and watching in excitement as you trembled. Your walls clenched around him, slick coating his length as you reached just the middle. The stretch teetered between painful and pleasurable, eyes closed shut as you allowed yourself a moment of rest. A moment that dissipated rather quickly, given Feitan lifted his hips; shoving his length the rest of the way inside.

You tipped over, leaning into him as a sharp whine escaped you. You fisted his shirt, seated completely in his lap as huffs escaped you. “Feitan—!” You cried out, feeling his hand lift to the back of your head, taking your braids in his hand as he lifted you from his form.

“Such a crybaby..” Despite his words, his eyes searched you for any discontent or actual pain, lip tucked behind his teeth. When he found neither — ignoring the light feeling in his chest — the man’s hand fell to your hips, gripping the plump flesh. His fingers dug into your sides, lifting you up off his length until only the tip resided inside— before pulling you back down.

The moan that escaped you was far too sweet, nails pushed into his skin as your hips began to move without restraint. You were so uncoordinated, so fucking messy as you bounced up and down his cock; whimpers thrumming from your throat. The sounds carried around the room; the wet slaps each time you slammed down, your desperate moans, and the subtle grunts Feitan would release every so often.

With each moment of your hips his tip was striking the sweet spot inside you, your walls clenching around his slick length— fresh tears beading and threatening to spill over. A hand rose from your hip, driving up the plane of your stomach to grip one of your breasts; pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers just to hear your voice pitch.

Feitan, Feitan, Feitan! His name was falling from your lips like some type of prayer, knees digging into the mattress as the pleasure consumed your body. You were so fucking lost, lost in the throes of it all with only him to guide you. A faulty anchor he was, pulling you deeper and deeper; leaving your mind so hazy and bleak.

The show you were unveiling was such a delight, the man far too happy to have the front row seats. He pushed closed, hips rising to meet your drops as he grew just a breath’s away. “Keep clenchin’ me so much.. you’re close aren’t you?” Feitan’s voice was ragged, feeling your breath fan across his face. The whimpers that escaped you was enough of an answer, his hand rising to your throat to simply hold— placing his lips onto your own for the first time this afternoon.

The kiss was as heated as the rest of the room, as intense as the moment his hands settled onto your skin. Feitan’s tongue intruded your mouth, licking into the wet cavern to claim as his own. And the moment you attempted to pull away to breathe, his teeth were sinking into your bottom lip; swallowing you back up.

It didn’t matter if you were on top or not, you and him both knew who was in control.

Your hands rose, curling into his black tresses as you felt your peak approaching quickly. You moaned and whined into his mouth, legs shaking as the band tightened deep in your stomach. The tears were flowing freely now, Feitan releasing you this time to hear the haste babbles that escaped you.

“Fu..fuck Feitan! I—I’m gonna come—!” You cried out, the bounces becoming even messier. You felt his hot hands fall to your ass, slapping a cheek as if encouraging you to ruin yourself even further.

“Fucking minx..” Feitan hissed out, eyebrows pinched close, cock twitching within you. “Make a mess than.. don’t hold it.” The confirmed huff was enough for you, creaming all over his dick as you arched into him. The feeling caused a shiver to run down the man’s spine, hissing as you clamped around him.

As you rode out your high, your movements slowed— lurching forward the moment his palm slapped your ass again. The high-pitched whine that threatened to escape was quickly overshadowed by his words;

“I never said stop, did I?” His hand traveled to your hair again, tugging just to hear you whine again. “You wanted it so bad, you don’t get to stop.” Feitan spoke, gripping you to keep you grounded before lifting you up and off his length. The added fact he was matching each thrust was enough for you, head tossed back as the moans slipped from your bruised lips freely and shamelessly— eyes meeting the back of your skull.

The breathes that escaped you was strained, the pleasure far too much but you being unable to run from it. It seems his height went to his strength, holding you so fucking tightly you couldn’t move an inch. Leaving you defenseless, making you take every inch without mercy. The sensitivity dissipated quickly, leaving behind unadulterated ecstasy that caused stars to invade your vision.

Proper words no longer escaped you, babbles of his name and praises replacing such intelligible speech. But Feitan knew enough what you were trying to say, grin still plastered on his features, like some type of madman.

You were sore all over, struggling to keep going but so desperately chasing the release that was bubbling inside of you. You fell forward, forehead brushing his own as his tip brushed your cervix. The pain mingled with the pleasure easily, cunt pulsating around him as you felt yourself grow closer and closer.

In the past hour Feitan had grown to know your body. Each twitch, spasm— everything. He didn’t need to be warned of your climax, especially since he felt the way your walls clenched with urgency. Such a feeling pushed him closer to his own end, blunt nails etching crescents into your sun-kissed skin as he rose up off the bed; fucking you even harder.

The two of you leaned forward for a sloppy, messy kiss; moaning and groaning into the other’s mouth. The hurried slaps of skin on skin contact intensified for a split moment before stuttering as the man spilled inside you.

This was enough for you, coming on his dick again; your releases mixing together and trickling down his cock. Slowly, the two of you pulled back from the kiss; a string of saliva connecting your lips.

Your chests brushed against each other, breath heavy and fanning against the other. The flat of his palms pushed against your waist, pulling back to look at you. “Get off me.”

“Give me a moment to breathe, Fei.” You spoke, used to his harsh tone by now. Despite the small annoyed sigh that escaped him, the man didn’t push you off; even leaning back onto his hands and allowing you to remain in his lap— length still inside your wet sex.

A pleased sigh escaped you, arms tightening around his neck as you leaned into him fully. His eyes darted to the side of your face for a moment, an unreadable expression crossing his features.

A comfortable silence covered the room for a moment before Feitan spoke again, amusement etched into his words;

“I wonder if the professor will like our.. exam.”

Your eyes flew open at this, glancing down at the grin plastered onto his features. Sure enough, the moment you turned, you spotted your phone on your tripod— still recording.

The next ten minutes was spent fighting the shorter man for your phone, him managing to grab it, and you pleading for the video to not be sent.

FEEDBACK & REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED <3

[delicate-moon-princess]

that last ask has me thinking about soft daddy Henry who cares so much about your mental health. I have adhd (not bad but it’s there) and I really struggle with depression and anxiety in the wrong environment. I can just see daddy!Henry mode activated if you went to a party you didn’t know would be so loud and chaotic. He has you lean against a corner and breathe in sync with him, uses his charm to find a perfect excuse to leave. You’re all “I’ll be okay, we don’t have to go,” and he just gives you that daddy look like he can’t believe you would downplay your needs like that, and he low (high) key wants to spank you for it. And then he cuddles you all night long. But then if you get depressed (maybe you’re PMSing, maybe someone said something that triggered a bad thought cycle), he runs you a bubble bath and pours you a glass of wine and rubs your shoulders and snuggles you through your favorite Disney movie. And goodness help them, if someone did say something negative to you, but he would spend the night making you fall apart on his fingers and tongue until you forgot all about that silly person 🤭

(Henry is a big protective bear in this one, so a gif of Walter had to be used obviously.)

 Overwhelmed

A party gets out of hand when some harsh words are thrown around. Henry is there to pick up the pieces, but it’s not always so easy healing your broken mind. (Based on this original ask)

Warning: 18+ smutty content, RPF, minor alcohol consumption, bullying, minor violence, bad thoughts and self image, mental health issues, panic attacks, comfort, daddy kink (not exactly dd/lg, but could have undertones), oral (f receiving), Henry being a gentleman and expecting nothing in return 🤭, multiple orgasms

5.1k words

Any typos are my own

******

This was supposed to be a small get together. That’s what you were told. A plan for a few friends to gather for a couple drinks at home. Maybe you would play some board games.

But a few people quickly turned into loads. And a couple drinks was soon an incessant river of alcohol. Now you found yourself stuck in the middle of a jumping house party.

At least thirty sweaty bodies were packed into the mediocre sized home. And new faces seemed to be showing up every minute. And the only person you knew in this place, Henry, had left to go get you some water when he saw you start to panic. 

This definitely wasn’t your kind of crowd.

Miraculously, he had found a quiet corner for you to wait in. So that is where you waited for him, as patiently as you could. You did your best to remain calm as the loud music thudded in the other room. The vibrations rattled your throbbing head. You leaned against the wall in the empty hallway, sighing.

Why did social gatherings like this overwhelm you? It always seemed like a good idea in theory. A place to meet with people, an opportunity to make new friends. But your imbalanced brain had a way of ruining things. You could never enjoy yourself. And you were sure you weren’t a joy to be around when you got overstimulated like this.

Wait for Henry, you told yourself. Don’t get too worked up. He will be back soon.

You heard footsteps approaching, so you lifted your head with a weak smile. You were expecting him to return, and all would be well again. Only it wasn’t him. Instead it was the host of the party, the one who told you it was a small gathering.

Jake. A friend of Henry’s. One that always gave you bad vibes. You bit your tongue with your bad feelings about him. If your man liked him, so should you. You were being paranoid. As always.

“Hi, Jake.” You wiped the anxious sweat from your brow, offering him a polite smile. “Quite the party.”

“What are you doing here? I thought you left already.” His voice seemed to be laced with distaste, but you figured you were imagining it. 

“I’m waiting for Henry. He left to get us some water.” You explained, wiping your damp palms on your thighs.

“Your little errand boy, right?”

“H-Huh?” You uttered in confusion. Errand boy?

“You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, don’t you? You say jump and he says how high.” He spat, crossing his arms

“Jake, I’m not-” Perhaps you were about to stick up for yourself, but he cut you off again so the words died in your throat.

“He can’t seem to go anywhere without you tagging along. Asking him for a guys night is like pulling teeth. Always spending time with the old ball and chain. You’re nagging him 24/7, aren’t you?” He scoffed.

“No, I…” You trailed off, thinking long and hard. Did you nag him?

Jake gave you hardly any time to think before spurting out more insults.

“Y’know I never could see what he saw in you. No one can. The man can get anyone. Everyone knows that. So why does he go and pick a ugly slag like you?” He jabbed, and you felt your eyes prick.

Your chest tightened. That was a question you asked yourself everyday. Everytime you woke up next to Henry. When he greeted you with a kiss and a smile. A beautiful way to start the day. But deep down it made you feel vulnerable. 

What did you do to deserve him? Nothing. Nothing at all. You were nobody. A nobody with a broken mind. 

“Why don’t you leave so the man can actually have some fun for once?” He was right. 

You blinked and didn’t say anything. You took his advice though, wobbling away as your heart began to beat quicker. You had to get out of here. The front door never seemed so far away.

You could already feel yourself spiraling as you rounded the corner to the living room. It was packed and loud. More people shuffled into your sight range. With each new face, it felt harder to breathe. You were suffocated.

You inhaled shakily, stumbling a little. You collided with a hard body, and as you were about to whip around a pair of hands cupped your shoulders. You tried to turn and apologize, but the person spoke.

“Darling? Are you alright?” Henry. You looked at him, taking in his features. He was here to protect you. But why weren’t you able to calm down? 

His lips were moving, though you couldn’t hear him. Everything was muffled. The people, the music, his voice. It all sounded far away. Like you were underwater. 

Your breathing was labored, your brain dissociating when the panic almost overtook you. The only way you were going to survive this was by detaching your mind from your body.

You felt yourself being moved. His solid presence was behind you, holding you by your shoulders. Your attention was focused on the floor. Pairs of shuffling shoes invaded your vision as he guided you through the crowd.

The fresh air entered your lungs when he got you outside. Cool and refreshing, unlike the stuffy hot air inside the house. Your hands shook as you reached up to hold your face, hiccuping when you were forced back to reality.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe, I promise.” His hand gently laid on your back, not crowding you.

“Breathe, baby. Breathe in against my hand here.” He placed his other palm on your stomach, a gentle reminder to breathe in through your diaphragm.

You closed your eyes, inhaling as you concentrated on not panicking. Your breathing was shaky but it did wonders to calm you. His soft voice rang in your ears, praising you.

“There she is, good girl. I knew you could do it, I knew you could work yourself down.” He murmured. 

He stroked your moist cheek, pushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead. You leaned into his touch, your rapid heart slowing.

“Darling, what happened in there?” His face showed his worry.

“I… I got a little overwhelmed. That’s all.” You murmured while glancing down at the ground. He didn’t need to know about your encounter with Jake.

He rubbed the base of your neck sympathetically. He could tell there was more. Something was bothering you.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t realize it would be so crowded.” He kissed your temple as he apologized.

“It’s alright. Neither of us could have known Jake would invite everyone he knew.” You gave him a weak smile, shaking your head.

You thought you kept your tone even while speaking about that wretched man. Henry caught it. He didn’t let his surprise be known. He was confused by your sudden annoyance towards Jake, who you tolerated before.

“Let’s go home, princess. I think we’ve had enough fun for one night.” He took your hand, kissing your knuckles while giving you a dazzling smile.

You frowned, disappointed in yourself for not being able to handle a simple house party. He had seemed really excited about this get together. Even as more people showed up, he kept his smile and light heartedness. That was until your mood had dropped.

Jake was right. Henry couldn’t have fun with you around. You ruin everything. Quickly, you had to fix this.   

“No, no- I’m okay. I-I only needed a breather.” You shook your head frantically, swallowing. You grimaced when you realized how dry your throat was.

His expression dropped slightly, resembling a scold. He held the water out to you after opening it, silently urging you to drink. You took the bottle sheepishly, sipping from it slowly. 

“We’re not staying here anymore. We need to go home and decompress. Both of us.” He sighed when you pouted, softening his features as he rubbed your shoulders. He leaned in, kissing between your brows as you furrowed them.

“I really need to snuggle my favorite girl right now, okay? We can have a nice bubble bath. I’ll wash you up then maybe we can watch a movie after I get you into some warm pajamas.” He leveled with you, cupping your cheek.

“Okay...” You smiled weakly. Cuddling with him sounded better than anything. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” He started to turn towards the car.

“Hey, you two!” A voice called out from behind you, a familiar one that made you both freeze. For different reasons.

Henry spun around first, a grin on his face as he greeted his friend. They embraced in a hug as you turned slowly, trying to keep a polite smile. You hoped Jake would just let you two go without any snide comment.

The man in question spared you a glance as Henry patted his shoulder. 

“Hey, man. This has been quite the party. Y/N and I had a great time.” 

“Really? You’re leaving so soon.” Jake questioned, his brow raising in suspicion.

“Oh, I’ve got an early meeting in the morning. My manager contacted me with some stuff about emergency re-shoots. You know how it goes, man.” He quickly came up with a solid excuse, smooth as ever.

“Yeah, I know how it goes. It’s whatever the lady says right, pal?” Jake took a hearty swig of his beer, staring your man in the eye as his face dropped. You shifted on your feet, looking down in shame.

 “Sorry?” 

“Tell me, does she carry your balls around in her purse? Because you seem to have lost your pair.” He bit out viciously, the liquid courage burning in his chest.

“What did you just say?” Henry reared up, taking one long stride to get right in the other man’s face. 

His brows were pinched angrily. Jake’s eyes widened in the slightest, but the alcohol in his system was making him braver. He didn’t back down.

“You heard me. Ever since she’s been tagging along, you’ve turned into an utter bore. Must be some good pussy, because it seems to have sucked the life out of you.” He spit.

The anger that flashed on your boyfriend’s face was bone-chilling. In the blink of an eye, he had the smaller man’s collar clenched in his fists. Yanking him upwards, Henry shook him while growling.

“Do you think the fact that you’re hammered is going to keep me from punching your teeth in? I’m going to make you regret disrespecting her.” He growled dangerously.

You finally came to your senses when you saw him pull his fist backwards. Jake flinched. Thankfully you were able to stop your boyfriend before his knuckles were to connect with the drunk’s jaw.

“Don’t.” You gasped softly, catching his gaze while holding his arm in both of your hands. His eye twitched as his fist clenched tighter. You felt the tendons in his forearm jerk. You squeezed reassuringly.

You shook your head silently, a wordless plea for him to not escalate this. Punching him would only make things worse. Jake wasn’t worth it.

The anger dissipated from his face as he gazed at you. He lowered his fist, while his other hand on Jake’s collar loosened. Henry was about to let him go completely, until Jake scoffed under his breath.

“Pfft. Pussy-whipped.”

The actor’s face twisted once more. You sighed, cursing the hammered bastard mentally. He wasn’t making this any easier. You could tell Henry was still itching to beat him mercilessly. Said man grunted, your hand falling from his arm as he gripped Jake’s collar once more.

The large man lifted the smaller one off the ground. At least three feet upwards before tossing him on the grass in the front yard. You grimaced as he fell on his back in a heavy heap. Luckily Henry chose to drop him in the grass, as opposed to the pavement. 

You could see Jake’s ego wounded immediately, and you would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so serious. You crossed your arms, holding in a sigh as Henry bent down to talk to him.

“Don’t bother trying to apologize tomorrow when you sober up. Or else I’ll be forced to come back here and finish what I started.” He stood up, glaring at him for one last moment before he turned to you.

“Let’s go.” He whispered, walking behind you as he led you to the car. He kept you from even sparing at glance at Jake.  

You were silent as he got you in the car, looking down at your lap as he got in the driver's seat. He looked at you, you could feel his stare burning into you. Shame kept you from looking at him.

“Darling… Did Jake say something to you earlier?” He finally broke the silence. 

You opened your mouth, before closing it with a nod. Tears welled up as you recalled his hurtful words. From earlier in the night, and from now.

“What did he say to you?” He prodded.

You finally looked at him, and his jaw ticked when he saw your puffy eyes. Right then, he felt like going back and beating that idiot to a pulp for making his baby girl cry.  Your sniffles broke his heart.

“I-I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it.” You hiccuped, shaking your head. 

“Is that what got you so upset?” His voice was soft, almost broken with guilt. He should have never left you alone. 

You shrugged, Jake’s badgering surely didn’t help your already overstimulated mind. Henry bit his lip as he was forced to push away his anger to comfort you. He stroked your hair, rubbing your shoulder.

“Baby..” He trailed off, being interrupted by you.

“I just want to go home. And take that bubble bath you promised.” You begged, causing him to sigh and let it go for now. He gave you a smile.

“Of course, sweetheart. Let's go home.” He kissed your cheek before pulling away, turning the car on and driving.

Your eyelids were heavy, your head resting on your hand. You let them close for the rest of the car ride home. Your silence was making him want to squirm, but he did his best to not show his displeasure. It killed him to see you so upset.

When he parked he was sure you had fallen asleep, but you surprised him by lifting your head. He turned the car off, reaching to cup your cheek.

“Are you okay, my baby girl?” He searched your face for any more signs of tears. He saw only the dried streaks from earlier. 

You gave him a weak smile, and it did little to mend his broken heart. He matched your smile though, stroking your hair away from your face as you leaned into his hand.

“I’m okay. I promise.” Your voice was softer, smaller.

He leaned forward to kiss you, and you kissed back half heartedly. Henry pulled away, knowing you were still trying to put on a brave face for him.

His brave girl. You didn’t always have to be strong. That’s what he was here for. He wasn’t going to push you. You would talk to him eventually. You always did. 

“Let’s get inside, pumpkin.” He kissed your knuckles before getting out of the car. Of course he opened your door and helped you out.

You held his hand as he led you inside. He knelt in front of you once he closed the door, working on taking your heels off for you.

“You look so beautiful tonight… I still can’t believe you gave a man like me even a chance.” He murmured the last part to himself, rubbing your ankles when your shoes were gone.

You couldn’t quell the quiver of your lip. You’re the one who didn’t deserve him. Not in the slightest. Jake was right. What does a man like him see in a woman like you?

You masked with a smile, stroking his hair as he kissed your clothed hips. He watched you carefully, still on his knees in front of you.

“What do I have to do for you to see how perfect you are?” He whispered as he nuzzled your stomach, squeezing you close.

You hiccuped quietly. Your fingers weaved into his hair, feeling his silky curls between your digits. The sensation calmed you a little.

Soon, his warmth pulled away and when you opened your eyes again, he was standing. He cupped your cheek, his thumb rubbing your flesh.

“I promised you a bubble bath. Come on, sweetheart.” He bent down to kiss your nose. You smiled lightly. 

You both went into the master bathroom, where you sat on the closed toilet lid. He turned to mess with the knobs on the large tub. The water filled the basin, then he added bubbles. 

You took a deep breath, the soft smell of vanilla and brown sugar filled your nostrils. The scent caused you to relax, the sound of the water lulling you into a calm state.

Henry stood up, helping you stand and start to undress. His fingers unzipped your dress, letting it fall off your body and pool at your feet on the tile floor. You shivered when his digits trailed over your form. They hooked on your panties and pulled them down your legs.

He helped you into the tub, and you let out a sigh as you sunk into the warm, scented water. The bubbles covered your chest, and you let yourself rest for a second. He stroked your hair, an added comfort to the warm bath.

“How does that feel, darling?” He spoke softly, his hands disappearing. You heard liquid being poured into a glass.

The sneaky devil had snagged a bottle of your favorite wine before coming up here. He was pouring it into the stemmed glass. Somehow you hadn’t noticed he grabbed it. He glanced back at you with a smirk. How did he know exactly what you needed?

“It feels perfect.” You whispered, in awe of this man. He handed you the wine, and you took a smooth sip. You hummed.

Well, it was almost perfect. There was one thing missing.

“Come in with me?” You blinked up at him, your hand wrapped around his wrist when he went to sit beside the tub.

He melted, nodding his head instantly. Anything you wanted, he would not hesitate to give to you. And anything he couldn’t do, it killed him that he wasn’t able to fulfill your every need. Thankfully, this was a simple request. He began to undress as you set the glass aside.

You watched him unashamed. This beautiful man was yours. All yours. You felt your heart begin to swell. As it always did when you thought about the fact that you were his and he was yours.

How did something like that happen to someone like you? It was unbelievable.

You scooted forward as he lowered himself in. He dragged you back into his chest after he was seated, making you relax in his embrace. He began to wash you, his breath ghosting over your shoulder as he kissed it.

“It kills me seeing you so upset.” Henry finally spoke after a lull of comfortable silence.

You pouted, feeling guilty about worrying him. Before you could open your mouth to apologize, he cut you off.

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry.” He turned your head, looking at you seriously. “None of this is your fault.”

You closed your mouth, swallowing your apology as he stroked your cheek. He sighed to himself as he traced your lower lip with his thumb.

“It took every ounce of my self control not to beat him to a bloody pulp for disrespecting you.” His voice was flat.

The protective tone he held made your heart skip a beat, and a tingle to grow between your legs. A smile ghosted your lips, your hand coming up to cup his face.

“I know. I’m starting to think I should have let you.” You cracked a smile. A real one.

“I would have. All you have to do is ask.” He turned to kiss your palm. You laid your head on his shoulder, his arms around you making you feel safe. 

“I know you would.” 

Your words had the whisper of sadness. He was perfect. Too perfect for you. There must be a catch. Henry kissed the top of your head, squeezing you gently.

“Do you want to talk about what he said to you?” He murmured, dragging the washcloth down your arms.

You sighed, his touch easing you enough to talk about it. You tell him your encounter with Jake, from the very beginning. Tears burned in your eyes as you retold the story, but they didn’t fall as you repeated his hateful words.

“He said you were too good for me. And no one understands what you see in me.” You looked at him, blinking away your tears. You don’t tell him the harsher words Jake uttered to you. No reason for him to get angry again.

“And you believed him.” It wasn’t a question. He could tell by your expression that the drunk’s words resonated deep within you. 

You shrugged. He kissed the back of your neck, breathing in your scent. He sighed, his nose pressed against your skin.

“I wish I had the words to change your mind, my love. I don’t like the way you view yourself. While you think I’m too good for you, I believe in the opposite. It is you who is too good for me.

Every morning when I wake up next to you, I always ask myself one thing. ‘What did a fool like me do to deserve such an amazing, beautiful woman?’. I still don’t have an answer.”

He kissed the side of your face, his lips next to your ear. You shivered, hanging onto every word as his hands rubbed your sides.

“But I try not to dwell on it. Because every moment I spend with you is a gift. And I much rather enjoy it and then spend our time together stressing.”

You nuzzled him as he squeezed you. You sniffled, his words calming your woeful heart. You pressed your lips to his cheek, whispering against his skin. 

“Thank you, Henry. You always know how to fix things.”

“Anything for my precious girl. Anymore wine, sweetheart?” He offered you the almost empty glass. You shook your head, gesturing for him to finish it.

He winked at you and tossed it back. You watched as his tongue came out to lick the rest off his lips. Your mouth watered. His taste was intoxicating by itself, mixed with the sweet wine it had to be heavenly.

 You decided not to wonder any longer, pressing your lips to his. He hummed, deepening the kiss as he stroked your tongue with his. You gasped into his mouth when you felt his half hard cock twitch against your spine.

He grunted, smirking as he nipped at your lower lip. He squeezed your hips, pulling away. His nose brushed against yours.

“Let’s get out and dry off, shall we? Get into some warm pajamas and then you can pick a movie to watch.”

You grinned as you started to brainstorm about which movie you were going to pick. You were off in your own world as he helped you out of the tub. He quickly dried himself. Then gently patted your body dry with a fresh towel.

You hummed a soft tune, a sign to Henry that you were starting to feel like yourself again. The material of the soft towel was making you relax. Your skin still smelled of vanilla, as did his. 

He kissed the top of your head after he was done, both of you still nude until he wrapped the towel around you. You kept stealing glances at his naked form. He smirked to himself.

“Go wait for me on the bed. I’ll pick out something comfortable for you to wear.” He pecked your lips, patting your side to urge you towards the bedroom.

You bit your lip and nodded, leaving him in the bathroom. You made sure you weren’t dripping any water before sitting on the edge of the bed. You grabbed the remote, browsing for something to watch.

Henry entered, fully clothed now as he held a pair of clothes for you in one hand. In the other, a bottle of lotion.

“I’ll get you dressed, but first-lotion.” He knew your routine.

You smiled at him, watching him massage the lotion into your shoulders and arms. He lowered the towel to get your back as he sat behind you. Your eyes were closed, listening to his breathing as he lathered you up.

His large hands spread over your chest. He weighed your breasts in his palms as his thumbs lightly grazed your nipples. You moaned softly, leaning into him. His lips touched your ear, kissing his way down your neck and shoulder.

“Lay back sweet girl.” 

You did so, gazing up at him as he stood at the end of the bed. He gathered some more lotion, rubbing into your feet. You groaned in delight when he massaged your aching soles. The sensation made you melt.

You felt his lips on the sensitive skin on your foot, gently kissing your heel, and each of your toes. He gave the other foot the same attention. His fingers creeped up your legs till he was squeezing your thighs. 

Your legs spread instinctively, presenting your core to him. His eyes became half lidded as a pleased growl tumbled from his lips.

“So beautiful. Every inch of you, darling. There’s not a part of you I don’t love.” He tugged you up on the bed, lowering himself down on his stomach between your legs.

Your breath shook when you felt his mouth against the inside of your thighs. He peppered kisses along your skin as he lifted his hands. You gasped as his fingers bumped your clit. 

“Please, Daddy.” You needed more, squirming in front of him as he teased you.

“Shh, baby girl. Daddys got you. You don’t have to beg. I’m gonna taste this perfect cunt either way.” His breath hit your center as he leaned closer, covering your slit with his mouth as soon as he ended his sentence.

His tongue was hot as it weaved between your lips, seeking out the bundle of nerves hiding. His wet appendage swirled the bead once, twice, before he puckered his lips around it. Henry suckled gently, his large hands holding your thighs apart.

You arched your back and moaned, the stimulation making your gut tighten. You reached down to hold onto his hair, tugging lightly when he gave your clit another suck. You couldn’t help it

He didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, moaning against your flower as you held onto his curls. He gazed up at you, admiring the look of pleasure on your face. His tongue explored further down, dipping into your leaking hole

You bucked against his mouth, panting as your heart started to thud quickly. Incoherent groans left your mouth as you wiggled on the bed. He held you in place, snarling as he increased the pace of his tongue and lips. You tensed.

He pulled the orgasm from you with skill, your body rolling. Moans of wanton pleasure escaped you, falling apart from his lips. Your skin didn’t stop tingling until he finally pulled away.   

You panted and opened your eyes when his mouth disappeared. His lips and chin were shiny, his smirk large as you got bashful at the sight of him.

“Mmm, you taste delicious. As always. Wish I could eat you all day.” He growled, one of his hands going back to your pussy. Your jaw dropped open as he traced your puffy slit.

You inhaled as he sunk a finger into you, your hole closed around it eagerly as you clenched down. He moaned under his breath, his gaze attached to the way your body swallowed his digit inside. 

“So tight, baby girl. It feels so nice to just relax and let Daddy make you feel good, doesn’t it? I love seeing you squirm. I want you to cum again. Can you do that for Daddy, beautiful?”  

You nodded quickly. He added a second finger, almost like he knew you needed it. You concentrated on the feeling of his fingertips rubbing against your convulsing walls. He found your special spot with no problem, growling when you let out a cry.

“There you go, good girl.” He grunted, shaking his fingers inside you. You squealed, and Henry moaned at the sound. “Cum for me, princess. Cum for daddy.”

He toyed with your g-spot, his lips finding your nub again. The sensations all blended together, and soon you lost yourself in another orgasm. You sobbed, gripping his head between your thighs and you arched off the bed.

He gulped down all that you gave, rutting his fingers into you to pull you through the tendrils of euphoria. Your body relaxed as your orgasm subsided. He finally pulled away with one last lingering lick of your cunt.

“Are you still with me, gorgeous?” He chuckled when you hummed and nodded lazily. “Did you decide on a movie to watch?”

You pouted silently as you glanced down at his groin. He was obviously aroused, yet wasn’t expecting you to return the favor. You wanted to take care of him. Your hand rested on his thigh. He chuckled, lifting your hand to kiss it. 

“That’s nothing for you to worry about right now, darling. You need to rest. Now, have you decided on a movie?” He questioned you again.

“Lilo and Stitch.” You murmured as he stood up, your gaze following him.

“Lilo and Stitch it is then.” He grinned leaning over you to peck your lips. You could taste a hint of your own essence on his tongue.

Henry dressed you in the warm pajamas he picked out of you beforehand. You sighed in content, smiling up at him as he switched on the movie. He smiled back at you, scooting onto the bed and pulling you close. You snuggled him, your face in his chest.

“I love you, Darling. Don’t ever forget that. No matter how bad your thoughts might get, I want you to remember how much I love you. You mean everything to me.” His voice vibrated in his chest, and you lifted your head to fixate on him.

“I love you, Henry. You’re my everything. I don’t think I could live without you.” You whispered, your eyes locked.

“Good thing you won’t have to. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.” He smiled, kissing you with a pleasant hum. You giggled.

“Now let’s watch ‘Lilo and Stitch’. Who’s the little blue guy again?”

******

A/N: Slowly chipping away at my inbox. Thank you for your patience as I slowly complete your requests. I apologize to anyone who has been waiting for months. Some things in my personal life have affected my mental health negatively, and I haven't been writing as much. Recently I've been easing my way back into writing, and I want to start being more active on here. I love you all, I feel like I don't tell you that enough. I’m sorry when I go MIA 😭❤️

Taglist: @sunshine-with-daisy @leigh70 @islacharlotte @lysarria @kebabgirl67 @pandaxnienke @identity2212 @rach2602

[delta-gambit-au]

[[BREATHING IN — BREATHING OUT]]

"When I close my eyes, darkness is all what I see. When I take a breath, you fill up my lungs. If my mind worked backwards just for a minute, I'd hold onto you before the memory is gone. I remember you. You always made me stronger. You always lifted my spirit… I remember how we felt alive together… I remember… remember…" — A broken puppet

I had this image stuck in my head since I returned from the hospital the other day. Just Spam going through his nightmares.

The lotus flower was always considered as "the incorruptible soul" because it could grow on the most mucky of ponds and still stand tall over all the surrounding filth without a single blot marring its beauty. The blue lotus in particular was considered a conduit to communicate with the gods above and beyond, with a brilliant sun-like burst radiating from the centre of the flower.

That's how Spam regards Sears in his mind, his star in the middle of the abyss, a saint that has adopted a largely broken toy loaded with a heavy burden of internal pathos that not even Spam can comprehend himself. Why is he so broken? Why he deserves the pity of others? Why darkness will never leave him in peace? Why he is in love? Why he even exists?

((sharing some prototype script loosely related to the picture, if anybody is interested -- it's long and you don't need to read it to enjoy the picture anyway -- please tell me if you like it or not if you decide to read it; feedback or your impressions are always appreciated))

Sears: You are shaking, Spam. Come here, don’t fret, don’t let the glitching to get worse… *embraces him*

Spam: I-I f-eel so awful-l inside — I-I can’t [brEaThe]- - *glitching and shedding graphical artefacts*

Sears: Hush, focus on my voice. *holds him firmly as if fearing he would disappear like those glitchy images* Now… After me... Breathing in…

Spam: Breathing out… *slowly*

Sears: Cut the strings…

Spam: That hold me down…

Sears: Breathing in...

Spam: Breathing out...

Sears: The walls are falling…

Spam: No more pressure…

Sears: Breathing in…

Spam: Breathing out…

Sears: *releases him softly* Better? *smiles*

Spam: *blinks* Thank you again. The glitching… *soughs* Is gone *relieved smile*

Sears: So we see. *pats him on the shoulder* Next time, when you get another of your crisis, just recite the mantra, all right?

Spam: I always do, but… It’s not the same when you are not here… *looks away*

Sears: I can’t be at home always, Spam. You need to make the effort to calm down the glitching bouts on your own.

Spam: I know… *feeling admonished*

Sears: Hmm… *thinking* Did you try to combine the mantra with your memory of me embracing you?

Spam: *blushes* In reality? No, never.

Sears: Then next time mix that mental feeling with the mantra, and I’m sure it will help you improve your efforts at calming down. *does a thumbs-up towards him*

Spam: … *looking embarrassed*

Sears: I got another idea to reinforce the mantra! *beams and graciously produces a clean blue handkerchief from their suit’s breast-pocket and hands it to him*

Spam: *taking the gift from them* Are you sure, Sears? Isn’t this yours?

Sears: *smiling* This thing is merely a decoration for the uniform, don’t think the others at the office will miss it. You can bet it will help you reinforce your focus on me while you control your anxiety. *holds his hands in a reassuring manner* I don’t want for you to feel so alone when I’m out working. Think of this item as an extension of myself if your glitching gets uncontrollable like recently. *taps friendlily the brow of their partner*

Spam: I’m grateful for this gift, Sears, really am. *gingerly feels the blue soft fabric between his fingers* Please, do not concern yourself too much for me while at work. I don’t wish to be a hindrance against your performance.

Sears: *beams* Not to worry! I know you have everything under control, and thus my mind is at peace while at the office. *arms crossed* By the by, what manner of event triggered this crisis? It’s been a long long while since you had something this bad. Did anything out of the ordinary happen?

Spam: Well… *rubs the back of the neck nervously*

Sears: At ease, Spam. I’m here, you can tell me everything and we’ll solve it together, as we always do. *winks*

Spam: Actually, I don’t think we will be able. *loosens the neck of his sweater with a finger* The chief was apprehended and the business we had together, was dismantled overnight… We lost everything… Nobody is picking up the calls... Everyone is gone and shut all communications… And it's already all over the newspapers... *defeatist expression*

Sears: Is that so? *surprised* That’s so awful… *pats his shoulder reassuringly* Don’t worry, I can provide for both of us even if you are jobless at the moment. *smiles*

Spam: N-no! I-I mean… I don’t want to be a burden to you. I must find a new job as soon as possible! *determined expression*

Sears: Of course, relax. You are free as well to find another one if that pleases you, but don’t you worry about our current budget. My promotion can cover for both of us, and enough to get some extra savings to boot. You really don’t have any need to work any more while under my roof. Take this day to relax, OK? You have been going through too much stress lately, and if it builds up you are going to get glitchy again.

Spam: Aye, I know, but… *frowns* I also want to give you something in exchange. It’s always you giving me stuff, but I can’t give you anything back if—

Sears: *interrupts him with a tender embrace* Your company is enough for me in this exchange, Spam. As long as you are provided, free and happy to do whatever you want, you don’t need to get out of your way to please me back with gifts. Your happiness has more value to me than 100 material gifts. Though, that doesn’t mean I dislike gifts, mind you. *winks and laughs*

Spam: *soughs* You are too kind to me, Sears… Too much… Still… I want to someday gift you something, for rescuing me from the Conglomerate. I owe you that one, to you and Joel and the others who pitched in to get me out of there... *folds the handkerchief carefully and tucks it in a pocket* It feels heavy inside of me to only receive and not be able to give something in return. It goes against my code of delivery... Makes me feel... Selfish…

Sears: At ease. *flicks his pointy white nose softly to snap him from his self-absorption* No more brooding. Let’s focus on the solutions. If finding a new job will allay your anxiety, what you had in mind? Something similar to the last one?

Spam: *phew* No. Don’t think an opportunity like that will ever present itself again. The Suburbs are no place to find something stable that doesn’t incur the wrath of the feds…

Sears: Indeed, their industry is very volatile nowadays, unfortunately. *shrugs* But you could try to find something similar within the boundaries of Cyber City proper. There must be a vacant out there that could take advantage of your "logistics", you know?

Spam: Actually… *ponders* I meant to take on a new trade. *hides face shyly with the postman hat*

Sears: Whatever it is, you know you have my full support and those of the others. If you want to aim for something new, I think Merit or Lafay can help us find you the material you need for your education. *nods encouragingly* What took your fancy?

Spam: *tosses the postman hat onto the sofa, landing it on top of the cat* I want to become a salesman, like you all! *happy grin*

Sears: *speechless*

MIKE: Mau? *waking up with the head covered by the hat*

[cuubism]

Hey I love your work so much, I just have a quick question to pick at that phenomenal brain of yours.

So this is WHUMP!Hob because my heart aches for this little man and I love him but I also want to see him go through the horrors.

Did any of us ever imagine what it’d be like if Hob had been on the Titanic? Not like an AU where Hob and Dream are Jack and Rose, but like canon universe.

What if Hob was on the Titanic when it sank??

I don’t think he’d get on the lifeboat because:

1) He’s Hob,our beautiful, lovable, self-sacrificing pillock that now holds all life over his own. If he can save just one more person, if one more live can be saved if he doesn’t get on that boat.

(He’d probably rag other men off the lifeboats too to make room let’s not gaff.)

2) He knows he’ll survive underneath it all. The stress and fear around him would probably get to him so much that it wouldn’t be the first thing he thought of (I mean that’s my person opinion because the titanic obviously was a mortifying experience)

3) He would leave the lifeboats to go below deck and literally deck the workers locking the lower class people under and to their deaths. He would 10000% break every gate and door he could find to free those trapped.

If he can survive drowning, then he’s going to hold his breath as long as possible to help those he can.

But then imagine him after the boat has gone under. After the lifeboats have abandoned those they couldn’t carry.

He’d be floating there hearing the screams of people around him and long after that, when he’s frozen and stuff, he’s drowned twice and come back, and latched onto an empty life jacket that he doesn’t want to think of why it was empty, and he’s just floating there.

And then he hears a whistle. Rose has been saved and he is found too, and he survives of course.

Imagine Dream finding out about this. It happened roughly 2 decades after their last meeting, where Hob thinks he screwed it all up.

He wanted an escape after it happened and then this cruise ship came along with promise of being unsinkable, and to an immortal man who sees the wonder of life, isn’t that bloody brilliant??

And then it turns into one of his reoccurring nightmares for decades, nay centuries to come.

How would Dream react to that?

—

I just think you could do more with this than I could, you know?

You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, I understand that some people tend to avoid asks/promos like these and if so, I completely understand! It’s just been in my brain for a while now.

So so sorry this is so long and badly written, I didn’t know how to phrase it.

Again, I LOVE your work, keep it up! Take a break when and if you need and I hope you have an amazing day/night wherever and whenever you read this!

<3 Meema

You have such a more generous interpretation of Hob's personality than I do, because my first impulse was "Hob is the ultimate survivalist and would definitely push somebody off the lifeboat" 😂. Then again, this is also in his post-1889 era which is the first era where it seems like he cared about or was trying to be a better person, so maybe not. Maybe he'd only push assholes off the lifeboat and not just anybody 😂

I could see Hob going on the Titanic though, he was involved in the ship-building business for a while so I can see him hearing about it being 'unsinkable' and being like hmmm bet. Anything for a new experience, etc.

Then it's sinking of course and he's like mmm fuck I can't die but I'm in the middle of the goddamn ocean. He does need to get on some lifeboat or something because even if he can't actually die of drowning he also can't swim hundreds and hundreds of miles to shore, he'll just be trapped out there or stuck in a cycle of dying from hypothermia and reviving for god knows how long. I doubt drowning is something Hob particularly wants to experience again anyway.

I really enjoy your kind Hob who wants to help people, I'm sorry that my mental image of Hob is hitting somebody in the head with an oar instead 😂 or at least, wanting to hit somebody with an oar, thinking back on his stranger saying 'you've changed,' dropping the oar with gritted teeth... XD Being a better person is hard-won and hard-learned for Hob, I think.

thank you for sending me the story 🥰

[unicornsaures]

urrrhhhhhvggggg i try not to make vent posts a whole ton but alas, ya girl is not doing so hot

tw// sh😁

guys do not do what i did and like. purposely trigger yourself with your own sh from a year ago because oh my god in. its. i feel so absolutely fake my scars were so much worse last year and now theyre just gone and i thought i was fully recovered its bren a year and. and im still crying over it and i thought i was done crying over it. I thought i was done crying over literal scars and i was. i mean i thought i was exaggerating when i said the closrr i get to the date ill br one year clean its getting worse and. nope! no, no that checks out!!

Its all my fault i got triggered in the first placr too. I knew what i had in my eyes only wnd i knew that checking it would only make me spiral and here i am just. crying over it. its sending me back to last year where its i just its only oj my hod i csnt be doing this again i really csnt be doingthis again ive bren doing so well and then. and i dont want to i really dont but im still tjinking about it and im still telling myself i want to but i dont i never did i always wanted to say ive been 1 year clean but i dont think ill rver even be able to make it to that point if i keeo self sabotaging like this. i mean t barely even counts ive basically just replaced cvtting with eevry other unhealthy coping mechanism under the sun but i should be better than this i shouldnt rven be thinking sbout it i shouldnt even be thinking that i can go back i shoulfny be in this situation at all and if it werent for me i wouldnt even be in this situation in the first placr ebcause i dont know how to keep myself away from tjings that i really need to stay away from

i really shouldnt be caught ip on this but its. i was. i was thinking aboht whag would happen if i would look back on photots earlier and and i knew i wouldnt be okay with it i knew i would snap the moment i did and wow its almost like forced recov only made me feel guilty for it and ohmygod kill me now i should be better than this i should be better than thjs ive had crisis called so many times ive been threatened by my parents for this so many times im worrying eveyrone around me and im only getting worse and everyone has to wastch me spiral but they cant do anything because im jsut too fucking oblivious to my own issues but im just too scared to readh out to anyone because how am i gonna say that i triggered myself without sounding like i planend this i didnt i swear i didnt plan to break down over this i promise i didnt mean for it i didnt want to cry over it i dont want to think abiut it anf i dont want to go back ive been doing sowell i swear im just worrying rveryone i dont want everyone to start checking in on mr in the morning just to make sure im still alive i font want people to messagr me in the middle of the night to make sure im not dead im so sorry ik so sorry

im just as tired as i was last year the only difference is thst im not actively trying to kill myself over it even if i really. wiuld like to thats besides the point the point is im just as weak of a girl as i was last year but last year i could at least hanfle pain now i just fucking snap whenever someone raises their voice or whenever i get. acut i break down and whenever i get hurt it only reminds me of the past 4 years that ive spent doing nothing but putting myself through mental hell and im realizing tbat ill never get begger i cant get better ive bren trying and i just csnt

i cant do it ive tried ive been trying why am i not getting anywhere why am i still stuck on the thought of sh i shouldnt be thinking about it i shouldnt miss it i shouldnt be upset that my scars are faded i shouldnt still have the ideas and images swirling aorund in my head because theyre always there and ill always have these scars and ill always br fucked ip and i wont ever be able to fix it ive had so many people worry and theyre worrying and worrying and i just dont care im such a horrible person i

i shiuldvr stopped for my parents they had to skin check me dsily for almodt a year straight and here i am just fucking itching to go grab something, literally anything just to go back and in so stupid im so stupid i did this to myself and im still being a pussy about it i shouldnt be thinming abiut it i shouldnt be crying over it whats wrong withme

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

Hello ! I love your work and I was wondering if you could write something about Peter 1 and 3 finding out about the fact that Peter 2 was low-key possessed at some point ? I'm referring to spider-man 3 with venom, if we ignore the memes and take into consideration the fact that this situation must have been traumatizing for him. I wonder how the other peters would react and how p-2 could talk about what happened to him

He wears all black just like his soul, yet his heart is made of gold.

__________

“So yeah, that’s how Mr. Stark saved the universe. Killed the big purple guy and his whole creepy alien dog army in a snap of his fingers. Done and—well, yeah, literally done and dusted,” Peter One concluded his long tale with a decisive nod and a shrug. He wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened immediately after that, not in too much detail, and his brothers seemed to sense the tenderness of his grief on the subject. They wouldn’t press him for anything more.

“That’s…wow.” Peter Three shook his head. “He must have been one hell of a guy.”

“Heh. Yeah, h-he was, he was amazing.” After a lingering moment of silence, Peter One fidgeted, shrugging again in an attempt to move the conversation forward. “But hey, now that you know about Thanos and that whole deal, I want to hear more about Peter Two’s alien! What was that like?”

“Oh, yeah!” Nudging their older brother in the side, Peter Three concurred, prompting, “How’s about that space goo, huh? Was it a big alien invasion force like the purple guy’s?”

“Uh…no, it was just the one.” Peter Two allowed himself a small, uncomfortable chuckle. “Not quite as impressive as saving the whole universe. I don’t know if you’d really be that interested in hearing the whole thing.”

“Hey, no, I bet your showdown was really epic too!” Two made an inconclusive noise, stalling for a few more seconds by taking a sip of his beer, only to swallow hard and stifle a cough when Three promptly elbowed him again, wheedling, “Come on, I don’t even have any cool alien stories! I’ve gotta live vicariously through you two. Spill the tea!”

Peter Two’s lips thinned in a rueful, lopsided smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well…” He cleared his throat. “It came down to Earth in a meteorite that hit Central Park. MJ and I were out there on a date and it must have followed me home somehow. Maybe it hitched a ride on my bike or something, I don’t know. Anyway, I went to bed in the suit because I was waiting to lure a specific criminal out of hiding—it was Flint Marko, actually. You remember him.”

“Obviously.”

“Yeah, kinda hard to forget the big, angry sand giant when I’m still finding grains of him stuck in my boots!”

Peter Two chuckled again, this one even more halfhearted than the last. “I feel you there—and, um, speaking of things getting stuck to the suits, that’s exactly what happened. One second I was in bed like normal, then I thought I felt something crawling on me, like…like worms or snakes. It was all just really cold and slimy.”

Peter Three sputtered, flailing his hands against the mental image the same time Peter One cringed with an “Eww!”

“Yeah. Not the best sensory experience.” Instinctively sliding his arms over his chest, he suppressed a faint shudder at the memory. “For a second I thought I had become self-aware in the middle of a nightmare or maybe sleep paralysis. I couldn’t move, I-I couldn’t do anything to stop it. It was all over my face and neck, everything went black and then…well, I still have no memory of how I got there or why but when I woke up, I was on the side of a building somewhere with this alien goo fused to my body.”

“Wha—” The disgusted furrow of Peter Three’s brows deepened for a moment before he fully processed the words and they shot up toward his hairline. “Wait, what?”

Running his hands gingerly up and down his arms to quell a phantom prickling sensation, Peter Two kept his gaze averted to the floor but in his peripheral he could still see Peter One scrambling upright in his seat, concern paling his face.

“Dude, that’s—holy—”

“I-I was okay,” he hastily interjected, only to self-correct with a grimace. “At least I felt okay afterward. Actually it almost felt good.” The words tasted bitter; his stomach turned against them. “I don’t know. If it was supposed to hurt, maybe it’s a good thing I blacked out.”

“Wait, wait, hang on, that’s not the point!” Peter Three interrupted. “I mean, I’m glad it didn’t hurt you but it still…all you’ve ever said was that you fought a black goo alien, you never said it possessed you!”

“It assimilated my suit, it didn’t really possess…” He paused, heaving a short, steadying breath. “Alright, it…imprinted on me, bound itself to me. We had a sort of symbiotic link.”

“That doesn’t make it sound any better!” Peter One stammered, aghast. “It stole time from you, stole your memories? You still don’t remember what happened in that gap before you were on the building?”

“No but…honestly, when all is said and done, that little bit of missing time has been the easiest part to cope with. If I could forget everything that happened next…” He was sure the others could hear it when his heart skipped a beat. The old, familiar guilt and self-loathing were creeping up his back, tightening his throat. Peter Three’s hand on his knee, much gentler than his prior nudging, didn’t help.

“Peter Two, are you—are you actually okay from all that?”

Jerking a nod, he repressed the initial urge to maneuver away from his touch. “Yeah. I’ve dealt with it f-for the most part. It was years ago.”

“Okay, but you know that whole ‘time heals all wounds’ thing is bull.”

“True, but I’ve done a lot of work on myself since then. Most days I don’t even think about it. It’s just…obviously not something I like to think back on.” His downcast eyes darted over their worried faces only briefly before tearing away again. “I know you guys look up to me in a lot of ways. I-I’m honored by that but I have a feeling if you knew what I did back then, you wouldn’t be so quick to call me a hero.”

“Hey. That’s not fair to yourself, not when you can stand to be around me.” Peter Three’s fingers tightened on his knee for a moment. “I’ve done a lot of terrible things in my time and you haven’t hesitated even once to tell me that I’m loved.”

“Mr. Stark wasn’t all great his whole life either,” Peter One added in a small voice. “He made plenty of big mistakes. H-He used to be an arms dealer but then he spent the rest of his life trying to make up for it. He turned it around and became a real hero.”

“Like you. What matters to us is who you choose to be now. You’re our brother and we love you—and whatever it was that happened, I think the black goo could stand to take some of the credit for any poor decision making.”

“It was a lot more than ‘poor decision making,’” Peter Two spat, voice hitching. “The symbiote—it brought out the worst in me, everything dark and arrogant and spiteful and cruel. I was the hero of the city and all I wanted to do was hurt people. I ruined my life and the lives of everyone around me.” Finally twisting away from Three’s grasp, he rounded on Peter One. “C-Can you imagine ever throwing a bomb in your friend Ned’s face?”

“I’m sorry, what?!”

“Can you? I can, because I did. My best friend Harry, I threw a bomb at him. I tried to kill him! Marko too. You were better than I could be, Peter One. I didn’t want to save him, I didn’t want to cure him. I ground his face into dust and sent him down a drain without a second thought, like he was nothing. Good riddance. And MJ…” He bit the inside of his cheek against the memory of his hand stinging from the impact. Clenching his fingers now, he dug the heels of his palms viciously into his burning eyes. “I became everything I hated. I was a bully and a monster and—and—”

“And it wasn’t the real you, Peter! You had an alien parasite attached to you, affecting your mind,” Peter Three stressed. “You were under duress!”

“But I still did it. I used and abused people, manipulated them, tore them down at every turn and I thought it was fun.”

“But we know you, we know you aren’t really like that. A monster wouldn’t be looking back on it now and still regretting it,” Peter One protested. “If that’s who you actually were, d-do you really think Mary Jane still would have married you? I think MJs have a knack for seeing through Peters no matter which universe they’re in. She has to know who you really are, even better than we do.”

“Who are you?” she had demanded from the ground, staring up at him with grief, horror and accusation in her face.

“You’re a good man, no matter what the symbiote told you. I know our whole thing is great responsibility but there is such a thing as taking too much responsibility. That creature corrupted you. And maybe you felt okay in a twisted way when it was happening but looking at you now, your friend Harry and MJ and all of them obviously aren’t the only ones who got hurt.”

Curling his knees up underneath him on the couch, Peter Two stayed shamefacedly silent. Several seconds crawled tremulously by, during which Peter Three scooted to reclose the distance between them and slip an arm around his shoulders. Thankfully Two didn’t try to pull away a second time. When he spoke again, it was in one soft, shaky breath, barely audible.

“I really am okay most days. I swear I’m okay. I just still get nightmares sometimes.”

[cyberphuck]

Rant under cut

I use labels because it's faster, but there's something inside of me that is terrified of someone assuming something about me based on someone else's pre-manufactured labels. It's why I don't really like being called "she" or "him," and "they" used to be okay until a bunch of other people started using it. It's why I don't like telling people my age. It's why I post pictures of my face but not my clothes. It's why I'm moving slowly away from the Asexual and Aromantic labels and using Nonbinary more. I'm not part of that group, I'm not "like you."

I want to have some control over what people think of me. "Scary at first but nice when you get to know them" is an easier description than "used to be nice to everyone and now I react violently to being threatened." People hear the second one and all sorts of assumptions pile up in their head: the poor thing, like a beaten dog. Let's tiptoe around them, constantly ask if this or that is triggering them. They've been forced to be mean but they're really a beautiful delicate flower inside and we just have to pry open the shell.

No! No. Because if you let someone believe that, not only are they constantly analyzing everything they say in case it harms poor little delicate me, they think they're "done" when I laugh and make jokes, and if I retreat and they have to "work" to get me to relax again, I feel like I'm disappointing them. Why am I sad again, didn't they just hug me? Am I just doing this for attention? Also, it's not fucking true! I've always been kind of a dick!!

Other Asexuals hear I'm ace and go "oh me too, isn't it weird how EVERYONE is obsessed with sex but us?" No, I think about sex constantly, I *do* understand a lot of kinks, I'm just not attracted to anyone. Am I sex repulsed? Maybe. Am I sex positive? I guess?? Suddenly the Ace (and Aro) labels don't fit as snugly.

I'm not from Los Angeles, I'm from Redondo Beach, which is a resort town about 20ish miles away from LA. But the person you imagine when you think of LA is *very* different from the one who's from an upper middle class beach resort. And I probably spent more of my youth in the SF bay area and Gold Country than in southern California, but that too carries mental images that don't fit who I am.

I'm not even going to fucking go into my age but suffice to say that it's extremely unfair that my physical age keeps going up and my mental age has been stuck where it is for eons.

"Is there anything about you that's not complicated?" Sorry! No. You either know me for a long time and realize that I'm all OVER the fucking place, or you get "Ace Asshole, Nonbinary Nobody, Old as Balls. Born and raised in LA, kind of a bully, passionate about the creative arts but more in a Jackson Pollack way than a Georgia O'Keefe way. Once in a while one of the panels falls off and they hurriedly shove it back into place before you can get a good look inside."

Even saying "I'm not like anyone else" makes you think something about me. But there's not much I can do about that.

Not straight, not cis, not allo people, I'm curious:

[ego-morior]

LV

I'm stuck.

God, you would think the feeling would go away once you hit 30 but it will probably take me 30 more years to realize feeling stuck is just something very human that happens to humans.

I've been debating going to therapy recently, just to get a third person point of view on the feelings I harbor. Someone without bias to validate certain things and point out the flaws of others. A different pair of eyes to take a look at all the puzzle pieces I have yet to combine together across the table. Someone with enough experience to point out that there are a few missing edges that I will never recover and that it's okay to stop searching for them. Maybe hearing it out loud from someone else won't hurt as much as when I whisper it to myself in the middle of the night on a random Tuesday.

Something you learn a little later on, is that writing things after a breakdown and not during one, will always be easier to digest on an empty stomach. The rage, sorrow, fear and anguish have simmered down into a stew that isn't bubbling violently over the edges. When it's finally warm enough to sip from without burning your tongue, that is when you should pick up the pen. And that's exactly what I'm choosing to do now, on a cold morning in November.

November 8th, 2023.

I have quietly wept during the past days and loudly sobbed during the past few nights. This is the first morning I don't wake up with a wet pillow and the first time I can drink my coffee and listen to something silly online that has nothing to do with my life. Maybe it's the seasonal depression or the timing of Snapchat memories that has claimed victory to my senses this year. About two weeks ago, I gave up on a love I hadn't heard from in three years. The first year apart, I carried the yearning in the front pocket of every flannel I wore, the second year, I kept it in my purse, far enough where it wasn't part of who I was anymore, but close enough if I ever needed it. The third year, I kept those feelings in a small box in my sock drawer. And now, I have accepted the fact that they have no place in my home or in my life, because the idea of a "maybe one day," has lost it's meaning as time marched forward.

I spoke about him in passing, but I never really emphasized his importance in my growth. Maybe one day, I'll tell you about him, but for now just know, that the person I thought was my other half, was nothing more than a simple tease from the universe. There are several hundreds of articles on how to identify a soulmate or a soul tie. How to know "they're the one" etc. Something silly to give a lost existence some sort of made up trajectory to feel better about yourself for not being able to find a definitive path. But what they don't tell you, is that once your sense of escapism finishes, you feel more lost than before. Because directly afterwards as your feet move forward, your head keeps looking back at what could have been, what might have been, the 'where did they go?'s or the 'what are they doing now's and you don't focus on what's in front of you. The moment you stop looking back, you realize time has continued on and your feet have taken you somewhere you don't recognize.

Here I am, somewhere new, but only mentally and emotionally.

A different man I had a small chapter with, became a father this week. The man I spent almost a decade with, my very first relationship, has purchased a large home on an even larger property with a new wife. A couple of childhood friends have gotten married and made families. Time has moved on, and the frustration I have felt these past days is that everyone seems to have proof that time has moved on. Everybody, except me.

I wondered if maybe I was jealous of them, while I cried and sobbed and screamed uncontrollably this week. I couldn't put into words how every image was a punch in the gut. Some have wondered if maybe I missed my ex, or maybe I wanted to be the third baby-mama of the man who taught me how to love my own body. But I feel nothing towards them in particular and I didn't have the words to explain the anguish I felt to those who tried leaning an ear my way. The emotions felt deeper than just missing or yearning somebody from my past, but the explanations that came out of me only seemed to lean in that direction.

But the pot has finally simmered.

And I can finally put into words what my heart and mind have been begging to express.

I hate that everyone I have known, then and now, has proof that time has moved forward. A new home, a new baby, a new wife in a new place in a new stage in life takes time and energy. These kinds of things don't just happen. I have an apartment, a car, and a small position as a glorified cashier in a store.

I don't have a published book, or a new relationship to flaunt. I don't have a well-paying job or an upcoming vacation I can plan to run away from the feelings I pretend I don't pack in the suitcase I carry with me. The passage of time has always been the antagonist of my life and oddly enough, all it does is its job.

And it does it well, and it does it for everything and everyone else.

[ninjedi30]

r o t a t e your p u p i l s

i need an adult

[whorekneecentral]

Phone sex with mick 🥵

@daydreamingleclerc tagging you cause I'm on edge every time I drop a Mick blurb and I'm waiting for you to see it -- you're like the New York Times and I'm just waiting for the review 

P20 in FP2 was the worst feeling of the day for your boyfriend. You were stuck at home watching and you couldn’t even be there to hold and comfort him. 

You had seen his post practice interview, a smile on his beautiful face as always and yet your heart ached for him. You were sitting in the living room when he walked off from his interview, Kevin taking his place and the idea pops into your head. 

Rushing to the bedroom, you find one of Mick’s hoodie and pull everything off and replacing it with the hoodie. You hop onto the bed, turning on the camera. 

Thank god you decided to wear a matching set today. 

The camera wasn’t catching your face but you were recording, your hand sliding down your chest and torso. You were wearing one of his zip ups and it was only half way undone, the blue lace peeking out as you laid back. Your hand sliding down further to between your legs, another piece of blue lace covering your body. 

You barely gave him enough to keep him interested, making sure you were sending it to the right person before hitting send with a message; miss and love you. 

It wasn’t long before the phone rings. Mick’s name on the screen. 

“Hi honey,” you smile, answering the call. You can hear the door slamming shut on his end, the sigh leaving his lips when he sits. “I was in the middle of the paddock when I opened your video.” 

“Oops.” You bite back a laugh, Mick smiles to himself. “You’re trouble.” 

“You love trouble, especially if it's wrapped up all pretty for you.” Your hand runs down your stomach, fiddling with the lace by your hip. 

Mick groans, his head tossed back onto the pillows. “Don’t make this harder, I'm begging you.” 

“You're begging?” You ask, amused. “You know I love to hear you beg, baby.” 

“It’s the other way around, sweet girl.” He answers, there’s some shuffling and judging by how deep his breathing had got, you knew exactly what he was doing. 

“Whatcha doing over there?” you ask, your own hand sliding down between your legs. “Thinking about how pretty you’d look on your knees right now.” 

“Is that so?” 

He hums, “always looks so beautiful with my cock in your mouth, plus you’re quiet like that,” he chuckles. “Only way to get you to shut up.” 

“For someone with a hand wrapped around their dick, you sure are talkative,” 

“Says the one with their fingers in them.”

The line is quiet for a minute, heavy breathing and whimpers filling the silence, the two of you knowing that the other was listening was more than enough. 

You were thinking about him; his race suit and fireproofs pulled down just enough for him to wrap his hand around his cock, his head tossed back and his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. You thought about what it would be like if you were there, your mouth replacing his hand. 

Mick had the image in his head; you laying in bed, his hoodie hanging off your frame and your hand between your legs. He loved to watch you touch yourself, he’d never admit it to you but you always looked so beautiful. 

He made a mental note to bend you over in front the mirror when he got home. 

“Mick,” your voice calls out to him and he knows, he knows you like the back of his hand. 

“That's it, pretty girl. Just like that.” He answers, his voice just enough to push you over the edge, he followed right behind you. 

The two of you catching your breath once again, the silence filled the line. “I love you,” Mick says softly. 

“I love you.” 

[mint-yooxgi]

Hi hi! Hope all is well! I wanted to see if we could potentially get a part 2 of the rich Sungchan yandere who is obsessed with the barista at his family’s country club? 💗💗

Part One

***

You’ve been avoiding him. Well, as much as you can be while stuck behind the service counter at the café you work at. Sungchan frequently comes to see you, to simply observe you, so of course he would notice something like this. You hardly even look at him anymore, usually finding a convenient excuse to head into the back whenever he appears to order. Unless it’s during a rush, but even then you just treat him like any other customer instead of the love of your life. Of which honestly just pisses him off.

Can’t you see that you’re made for each other?

Another thing that he’s noticed that really pisses him off is how often Chan comes to see you while at work. Sure, it could just be that this is the only café in the building, so most of the workers will stop by for a coffee on their breaks, but the mental image of the two of you smiling and laughing together only serves to make Sungchan’s blood boil.

He’s tried to step in and do something. Just like the first time, he always attempts to come up with some excuse to get Chan away from you, but after his not so subtle confession the first time, you haven’t been taking it well. Which is exactly why you’ve been avoiding him.

Sure, Sungchan has thought of just firing Chan, but you would notice something was wrong given how close the two of you seem. Besides, he’s one of Sungchan’s parents favourite workers. The shit he would get in from his parents alone is enough to deter him from going through with that plan, but if things continue the way they are, he’s not above resorting to drastic measures.

Which is exactly what leads him to form this little plan of his now.

It’s a Friday evening and you’ve just arrived for you shift. Your supervisor told you of a wedding reception that’s supposedly taking place tonight, and how they needed extra hands on deck. Only, when you step through the dining room doors, there’s no one to be seen. No one, except for a singular person sitting alone at the centre table.

Your eyes narrow, glancing around the dimly lit room. You can tell that someone went to tremendous effort to keep up this ruse, given the way all the tables and chairs are set up. Though, the table in the middle of the room is the only one with a centre piece.

As soon as the man stands from his seat at the table, you scowl. “What is the meaning of this?”

You were told to dress nicely, given how important your supervisor instructed you this evening would be. Instead of your usual serving outfit, you wore something a bit more fancy, and now you realize why.

“We’re alone, aren’t we?” Sungchan smirks. “And you’re talking to me. What more could I want?”

“I came here to work, not play pretend on some date with you.” You cross your arms, noticing how he’s wearing a proper suit tonight instead of just his typical blazer and jeans.

“Your words cut deeper than any knife, my love.” One of Sungchan’s hands raise to cover his heart, as if your words have truly wounded him. “This isn’t some half-assed joke to me. I am attempting to impress you, you know.”

You huff, “consider me impressed by your audacity.”

“How else was I supposed to get you to talk to me?” He shrugs, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You were avoiding me at every cost, so I turned to drastic measures.”

“I’m leaving.” You state, going to turn around in the next moment.

Only, the next words out of Sungchan’s lips have you halting in your spot.

“You and Christopher seem close.” He hums, but the way he spits out the other male’s name has your blood running cold.

“What are you implying?” Your eyes narrow.

“You don’t think I wouldn’t know when the love of my life is in love with someone else?” Sungchan meets your gaze, and you’re taken aback by the intensity shining within his eyes.

You hesitate, “you’re wrong-”

“So you wouldn’t care if I fired him, then?” Sungchan smirks. What you don’t know won’t hurt you. “Would be a shame, really. I heard he’s going through some rough times, financially. To be blacklisted from finding another job would really take its toll.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” You grit your teeth in frustration.

“Wouldn’t I?” He smiles, maliciously. “I know I can’t threaten your job, but his? He is fair game.”

“What do you want?” Your fists clench by your sides, attempting to control the raging anger boiling inside of you.

“I thought I told you already,” he tilts his head slightly, almost condescendingly. “Now, why don’t you come join me for our date? The food’s getting cold.”

[myloversthesunrise]

rhysand as your boyfriend

before we start, this is a headcanon so i am not basing these all from the rhysand we see in the books. yes there are some traits that i wrote based on what we see in the books but most of them are what i see rhysand could be if sarah janet didn't stick with the whole "possessive alpha feminist male" thing he's got going in the books.

alright so let me talk about his love language first:

gift giving → i think this is not only his love language as a boyfriend, but also his universal love language to pretty much everyone. we know that he spoils feyre rotten and kept giving nesta gifts after the events of acosf

now i see rhysand as a person who completely worships their s/o, so no matter what your love language is, he’ll do it for you. however, i could only see his as physical touch, acts of service, and quality time

him saying “it’s your choice, feyre” over and over again doesn’t count as words of affirmation btw it’s just sjm nailing us in the head on how much of a “feminist” king he is

→ his nickname for you will probably “Darling” (ha) or “Sweetheart”, but also “My love” or even “My heart” if he’s feeling soft and tender. i could also see him calling you “My moon” or “My stars” (i’m using this for my fic btw i wanted to gatekeep it but i thought i’d share it with you)

→ will always have contact with you. when you’re together, maybe it’s his hand holding yours or a simple act of your hand brushing against each other. if he’s feeling a little clingier, maybe an arm around your waist or your shoulder, even his chin propped on your neck.

→ loves loves LOVES to play with your hair or caress your skin. if you’re cuddling with him, expect his hands to toy with your hair or twirl it or caress it, or even his hand running down your back. he knows you’d purr like a cat and fall asleep easily if he does that, so he made sure to caress the back of your head or your back to put you to sleep sooner.

→ speaking of contact, i feel like he’d ask you to have a mental ‘bond’ with him (cause they don’t have cellphones back then so it'd be easier to communicate but i also think he’s a little clingy like that) HOWEVERRR he would also be completely understanding if you don’t want to. the scenario i have is where you can communicate with each other through the bond but you’d still have your ‘barrier’ up so he can’t read your mind. it’s like coming to someone’s door and knocking to speak with the owner without being let in.

→ honestly he’s a little codependent. i know i said he’s clingy in the previous lines but i don’t think it covers the situation here, and it’s not so bad to the point that he couldn’t function properly without you around, but he likes having a little part of you with him. a drawing of you, something you created for him like a scarf or a bracelet or even a sock you knitted for him. anything really.

→ if you’re next to him, he’d slightly turn his body towards yours and make you the center of his view.

→ if he had a phone, he’d take photos of things that remind him of you and randomly send it to you. since phones aren’t a thing, you’re stuck with the sudden mental image of a yawning cat he sent to your mind in the middle of the day.

→ loves hearing you talk. could never have a quiet quality time together since he would start a sudden conversation just to hear your voice. he feels restless if he’s in a room with you and you’re quiet for the whole time.

→ enjoys going out on date nights to show you off but also likes staying in to relax and slip his hand inside your shirt to rub your bare skin with his thumb

→ if you’re out with him and see something interesting for a little too long in a shop window, he’d have it for you by the time you two got home

→ it’s a problem really, and you actually have to talk it out with him since you’re having less space in your closet (in which he offered to buy a bigger house) and finally came to a compromise that you promise to ask him for anything you want if he can stop buying everything you look at for more than 5 seconds (also no more date night out if he does, which is fine by him but he knows you hate being scooped up at home for too long)

→ actions more than words. i like to think that he’s not very good with it (despite being a politician) so he proves it through his actions, hence his love languages.

→ possessive? no. protective? BIG FAT YES.

→ this man lives for your safety. if you’re bending down he’d have his hand hovering over your head to make sure you won’t accidentally bump it. if you two are walking down the street then he’d make sure that he’s walking on the outer side. if he sees men walking towards your side then he’d switch sides and walk in your lane.

→ don’t misunderstand him and his lack of possessiveness, it’s not because he doesn’t care. but he knows that you love him and only him, so why should someone else flirting with you be a problem? you’ve never shown them any interest either.

→ to me, possessiveness with rhysand comes from jealousy and insecurity that someone might whisk you away from him, and if you’ve shown him enough love and attention privately, then he won’t get possessive easily.

→ if you rarely show it to him and you’ve shown another person more interest than him, this is where his insecurity, jealousy, and possessiveness began to show up.

→ but overall, his possessiveness starts and stops at wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer while giving the other person a staredown.

→ he will rarely ask you to do anything for him. you being the love of his life is enough, what else could he possibly want?

→ so you have to initiate it yourself. bake him something sweet as a thank you for the cake he bought, give him back rubs just like how he’d do yours, play with his hair and make him bury his face on your chest in delight.

→ for you, he’d give the entire world and ask for nothing in return as long as you love him.

[quokkacore]

phenomena | s.jn

summary: the majority of your adult life you’ve been practically married to logic and science. until your superiors at the FBI assign you to work with special agent johnny suh on the so-called x-files project—cases that were never solved due to unexplained phenomena. as time goes by, and you chase case after case, you find yourself drifting further from logic… and closer to johnny. (part of the 90s love collab)

pairing: conspiracytheorist!johnny x doctor!reader

genre: x-files!au (with johnny as fox mulder and reader as dana scully), fbiagents!au, coworkers-to-lovers, slow burn, sci-fi, angst, fluff, comedy, crack-ish at times, fakmarriage!au at the end

warnings: language, murder, eating, blood, general violence, police presence (txf is fbi level copaganda but oh well), johnny is a low key dick initially, sexual references, general american ignorance, implied sexual harrassment in the workplace, mental hospitals, reader witnesses a distressing panic attack, guns, body image, referenced child/animal abuse, repressed memories, mentions of anti-semitism & nazism, christian allusions, occultism, mild gore, slight body horror, some 90s pop culture references, i am not !!! an fbi agent so there may be some inconsistencies, suggestive content but no actual smut, Karens being thirsty for johnny, johnny is a Single Man and is Kind of Gross, both reader and johnny get knocked unconscious Several Times

song recs: gorillaz - dirty harry // john mellencamp - martha say // elton john - whitewash county // arctic monkeys - all my own stunts // kesha - spaceship // the cranberries - dreams // exo - oasis // the cure - friday, i'm in love // billy joel - we didn't start the fire // david bowie - starman // phoebe bridgers - chinese satellite // tom petty - wildflowers // selena - bidi bidi bom bom // soda stereo - persiana americana // bruce springsteen - dancing in the dark // the cranberries - linger // bruce springsteen - human touch // r.e.m - it's the end of the world as we know it (and i feel fine) // david bowie - heroes (or just listen to the playlist i made instead)

word count: 34.3k (YOWZA u should prob read this on a browser)

a/n: a fic this long......never again

X-FILE 62-J: THE PINEWOOD PATTERN

FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C—08:00 hours, Monday, March 16th, 1992

The morning you met Johnny Suh, his glasses were crooked. It was two years after you'd started working for the FBI, and you were 28 years old. 

You'd spoken to your Division Chief—an older, balding man named Carson Brooks—the afternoon prior, just before you left home. He, along with two other men had asked you about the man in question. 

"Agent L/N, tell me. What do you know about an agent named John Suh?” 

You had furrowed your eyebrow, staring up at him. “John Suh? He had quite the reputation at the academy. Let's see… Oxford educated psychologist. He wrote a monograph on serial killers and the occult… helped the FBI catch Ezekiel Braun in 1988. He’s generally considered to be the best analyst of the violent crimes division. I’ve never met him personally. There’s a nickname for him around the division, though. They called him that in the academy, too." You had to hold back a chuckle, "Spooky Suh."

One of the men next to him nodded—a senior officer whose name you couldn't quite remember—before leaning forward. “It has come to our attention that he’s devoted himself to a project outside of the bureau mainstream. Agent L/N, are you familiar with the so-called X-Files project?”

You looked down at your hands in your lap, trying to recall where you’d heard the name. “From what I understand,” You said, looking up at the man, “They’re cases that are related to unexplained phenomena.”

Your division chief straightened his glasses. “Agent L/N, we’d like for you to assist Suh on these files. You are to write field reports and assess the validity of his work.”

You blinked, not letting your face crack. “...Am I to understand you want me to debunk the X-Files project, sir?”

Your eyes scanned the room. So far, the third man, the one smoking the cigarette had been the only one to not speak.

“Agent L/N,” Your division chief replied with a pursed smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes, “We expect you to make the proper scientific analyses required for these cases. We trust you won’t disappoint us and will be looking forward to seeing your reports. You are to meet with Agent Suh tomorrow morning.”

That had been the day before. Now, here you were, on your way down to the basement, which was apparently John Suh's natural habitat within the Bureau headquarters. The lighting was relatively low in the hallways, shelves upon shelves of cardboard archive boxes seemingly closing you in. When you finally reached the office door at the end of the hall, you rapped your knuckles against the wood twice.

“Sorry, no one down here except for the FBI’s most unwanted!” A deep, sardonic toned voice lamented. You made an amused face to yourself, before quickly composing yourself. 

Professionalism above all else, Y/N. First impressions matter.

So you took a deep breath before opening the door slowly. Your eyes scanned the room, widening slightly despite your mantras of professionalism. The man had his back to you, so he didn’t catch it, thankfully. He was too busy studying photographic slides on a lightbox on his desk, hunched over in concentration. 

But amongst those metal filing cabinets that were all that same atrocious shade of gray, the entire room was pretty much a mess—papers scattered across the desk and pictures tacked to the walls haphazardly to the point where it was hard to tell what color the wall he was sitting in front of was. Among other things, you caught newspaper clippings, pictures of bright beams of light igniting the night sky, a diagram of the human skeleton, and in the middle, a large poster. On it, a large UFO was hovering above a pine forest skyline, the words “I WANT TO BELIEVE” printed in bold, white letters across the bottom.

The man in question turned in his swivel chair to face you. You took note of the crooked glasses propped up onto his round nose, wide eyes studying you up and down. The sleeves of his white button up were rolled up to his elbows, and his tie, just like his glasses, was crooked. Still, you mustered a curt smile, urging yourself to remain professional in spite of how handsome he was.     

"Agent Suh," You declared, holding out your hand, "I’m Y/N L/N. I've been assigned to work with you."

John shook your hand, eyeing you somewhat skeptically. "Agent L/N. I've heard a lot of things. So, who did you piss off to get stuck with this old nut?"

"Actually, I’m looking forward to working with you. Division chief Brooks has asked me to do an evaluation of your work ethic and the overall project, I’m hoping we can work well together."

He pursed his lips, obviously trying to hold back a laugh. Finally, he broke into a grin. "So, they want you to babysit."

You bit back a huff as he turned to look back at his slides. Well, yes, he was right in a way, but you weren't going to admit it. Not with the slightly condescending tone he'd taken with you. Running your tongue against your front teeth in annoyance, you did your best to remain cordial. You plastered your polite smile back onto your face and crossed your arms.

"If you have any doubt about my credentials—”

“You’re a medical doctor,” He said, pulling out a folder with a clear plastic front, “You teach at the academy, did your undergraduate degree in physics…”

He looked at the blue folder in his hands. “Einstein’s Twin Paradox: A new interpretation. Y/N L/N’s senior thesis, now there’s a credential: rewriting Einstein.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Did you bother to read it?” Your tone had a dangerous roll to it. Already you were starting to doubt how much you would enjoy this. 

“I did!” He stood up from the swivel chair, revealing to you just how tall he was. As he walked to one of the gray filing cabinets on the other side of the room, he turned his head and flashed you a crooked smile. “I really liked it, actually. It’s just in my line of work, the laws of physics don’t seem to apply.”

John walked back over to his desk, picking up some of the slides on the lightbox and popping them into a slide projector a few feet away. You stepped out of his way as he made his way to the light switch next to the door, engulfing the room in darkness except for the lightbox, which gave the room a dim, industrial white glow. Turning back to the projector, he pressed the on button, before he looked back at you. His face had turned serious, wide eyes peering at you in the dark.

“Maybe I can get your medical opinion on this.”

Turning your head to the first slide, your eyes settled on the body of a young woman lying amongst old leaves. She was in a white nightgown smudged in dirt, and her arms were spread out as if she were waiting for someone to embrace her.

“Oregon female,” John said, “Aged 21. No known cause of death. Autopsy tells us jack.”

He changed slides, and the image projected on the wall changed to a close up of skin, two small red dots puckered up about a few centimeters away from each other. “However, these were found on her lower back. Doctor L/N, can you ID these marks?”

Walking closer to the projection on the wall, you sighed softly in thought. “Needle punctures, maybe?” You asked, “An animal bite? Electrocution?” 

“The coroner wasn’t able to ID them either.” He pressed a button on the projector, and it whirred as it changed slides. This time, it was a figure of a chemical composition. You furrowed your eyebrow. 

“This was found in the surrounding tissue. How’s your chemistry?” He asked, sounding amused. You glanced at him in dislike, then at the composition, racking your head at the sight of so many cyclohexanes. 

“It’s organic… Is it some kind of synthetic protein?”

He didn’t answer, and your mouth fell open in confusion, shaking your head. “I… don’t know, what is it?”

John laughed. “Beats me! I’ve never seen it either. But it’s also been found in Amaranth, South Dakota…” He clicked the button on the projector. It changed to an image of a middle aged man laying face down in a ditch. He did it again, and a younger man appeared strewn in the middle of the desert, eyes glazed open. “...And again, in Verona, Nevada.”

“Do you have any theories?” You asked, squinting as to avoid looking at the glare of the projector, and instead stare at him. He made his way closer to you. The light of the projection caused the image to warp and distort, projected onto the right side of his face. 

“Oh, I have plenty of theories. What I want to know is why it’s bureau policy to claim these as unexplained phenomena when there’s clearly a pattern here.”

He sighed, before stepping closer to you. He wasn’t necessarily invading your personal space. But from this proximity, caught in the light of the projector you could make out the soft flecks of amber in his brown eyes, the soft curve of his lips. “So, doc,” He murmured, voice low and raspy, “Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?”

Oh boy, you thought, here we go. 

“Logically, I would have to say no. The energy capabilities required to travel through space, as well as the technology you're implying would exceed a spacecraft's—”

"Conventional wisdom," He said, raising his eyebrows. He crossed his arms, pointing at the projection. "Do you know that this girl in Oregon is the fourth person in her graduating class to pass away under suspicious circumstances?" 

 He shifted his weight to lean on one leg. “When there’s no logic, and there’s no convention, is it such a crime to turn to the fantastic for explanations?”

 You frowned. “She had to have died from something. Whether it was natural, then it’s possible the medical examiner missed something. If she was murdered, then maybe it was a cover-up, or a sloppy investigation.” 

Leaning your head forward towards him, you put your hands on your hips. “What I find fantastic is the idea that you would be willing to look anywhere except the realm of science for answers. The answers are there, you just have to be willing to look for them.”

    “And that’s why they put the I in FBI,” He quipped, sounding quite amused at his joke. He turned on the overhead lights, then made his way to sit down at his swivel chair. He leaned back against the black cushion. “So, L/N. You, me, a flight to Pinewood, Oregon, bright and early tomorrow at eight AM. How’s that sound?”

 You bit back a smile. John Suh was… quite the character, that was for sure. Smug. Intelligent. Maybe just a tiny bit off his rocker.

But you didn't really have much of a choice, and you were growing curious as well. 

 "Alright,” You conceded, “I’ll bite.”

 John grinned. “Awesome.”

You set your purse down next to the projector, before turning it off. “I’ll be right back,” You told him, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

He nodded, turning back to the files next to the lightbox.

 “And John?” You leaned against the doorway, watching as he straightened his posture to look up at you, expectant of your words. His eyes, from behind those crooked, round rimmed glasses, were poised on your frame. 

“Yes?”

“Your glasses are crooked.” You turned to exit, smiling to yourself when you heard him move, and softly mumble, “Oh, shit.”

PINEWOOD, OREGON—11:32 hours, Tuesday, March 17th, 1992

The plane touched down with only the slightest bit of turbulence. John Suh was sitting right next to you, snoring softly as you pored over the four different medical reports. The reports of the first three victims—Kaya Tate, Jisung Park, and Alex Gallagher—were basically the same word for word, other than specific physical details of the victims, like hair color, height and weight. All of them were found in the woods and were estimated to have died somewhere between one and four in the morning. Possible causes of death included exposure and cardiac arrest, but there wasn’t enough evidence to list anything. The oddest part was that of the three of them, all of their pupils were shrunken. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

 When a person dies, what occurs next is called primary flaccidity. In this state, all of the muscles relax—their head might fall back as the neck loses strength, the jaw falls open, fingers loosen their grip. And the pupils should dilate. But here, they weren’t. Not in the slightest.

You frowned, looking over the first three reports again. There was no sign of red marks anywhere. At the end of all three medical reports, the same signature was seen: Aaron Choi, MD. 

Flicking through the medical report of the fourth victim—Kaya Tate—you looked over the similarities of the other autopsies, and the one unavoidable difference: those damned red markings John had shown you yesterday. With a sigh, you skimmed over the report one last time, before one final difference caught your eye at the very end. This report wasn’t signed by one Aaron Choi, MD. No, it was signed by Hank Rodrigo, MD.

You didn’t have time to think over it much as the pilot made the announcement that the plane would be landing soon. John jumped awake at the sound of his voice. His eyes cracked open, and he frowned as if he were upset at being woken up. 

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” You greeted when he gave you a sideways glance. 

“And here I was, hoping for a kiss to break the spell.” He laughed sleepily, but you frowned as you pulled the reports off of the tray. You didn’t answer as you put them away and put the tray back up in preparation for the landing.

John stretched his back, inhaling deeply before staring at you awkwardly. “...Sorry. I’m being inappropriate.”

You shook your head, but then smiled. “Thank you for apologizing. Some guys at the bureau can be real creeps.”

He frowned. “...You’re trained in self defense at the academy for a reason, y’know.”

Rolling your eyes, you zipped up your bag. Still, you couldn’t let go of the smile on your face. Still, you put some sarcasm into your tone when you next spoke. “Of course I am.”

When the plane landed, you picked up the rental car the bureau had provided, and put your suitcases in the trunk before getting in. John drove, popping in a cassette of his that played some rock song you didn’t know the name of. 

Martha say she don't need no stinking man making no decisions for her

She don't need his money, she don't need him between the sheets

She ain't gonna sleep on the edge of the bed for no stinking man...

“Kaya Tate��s medical report was signed by a different examiner,” You pointed out, even though you knew that he’d already realized that.

“And there it is,” He said, not taking his eyes off of the road. “Those marks are pretty hard to miss. If they all had similar circumstances in the autopsy, who’s to say the first three kids didn’t have the same markings? And why would Doctor Choi avoid putting that in the reports?”

For a moment, he looked at you, and raised an eyebrow. You mirrored his expression at his implication. “So, you think the medical examiner has something to do with the murders.”

“Maybe?” He glanced briefly in the rearview mirror. “He’s a person of interest. Not necessarily a suspect. I’ve arranged to exhume Alex Gallagher’s body. Maybe we can come to some conclusion of our own—”

He was interrupted by the sound of the song from his cassette distorting, static blaring in between the music and the sound of the vocalist’s voice.

At first, you thought it was something to do with the cassette… until the windows started rolling up and down of their own accord, and the lights on the dashboard started to flicker. You felt the car even swerve slightly, despite John’s firm hands on the wheel.

Within a matter of seconds he managed to pull over and put the car in park. As soon as it had started, it was over, but as John turned the motor off, he met your eyes. He looked just as perplexed as you did. 

“What just happened?”

He didn't answer, unbuckling his seat belt. As he got out of the car, you did the same thing, wondering what kind of failure could cause a car to go haywire like that. 

Wordlessly, you watched as John took a good, long look at his watch, before walking over to the trunk and popping it up. From his suitcase, he pulled out a can of spray paint. He pulled the cap off of it and leaned over, aiming at the asphalt. You raised your eyebrows.

"What are you—" 

The sound of the paint can interrupted your words. You watched as he sprayed a big X on the street, right in front of where he was standing. Your mouth remained slightly open, unsure of what to say. When he stood up straight, he placed the can back in his suitcase, and looked up at you. Slamming the trunk shut, the both of you exchanged stares: his blank as if vandalizing forest streets were a part of his day to day life, and yours somewhat perplexed. 

When the two of you got back into the car, it turned on with no issue. John's cassette started up again on the same song. Again, you exchanged a wordless stare, the both of you now equally unsure.

“Welcome to the Twilight Zone,” John muttered, putting the car in drive. You didn’t reply.

 Hi-de-hi-de-hi, brother,

Hi-de-hi-de-hey now, Martha...

Ten minutes later the two of you rolled into the cemetery. It was an uphill slope, a small field atop it, connecting to the woods. John drove until a small, yellow bulldozer caught your eye and you pointed it out. He parked as close as the road permitted, and the two of you exited the car, ready to head up the hill.

As the two of you pulled out your FBI badges, an officer came running up to you. He darted between tombstones and stopped in front of you, pursing his lips awkwardly. You both help up your badges. "Special agents Y/N L/N and John Suh," You said.

The officer nodded sheepishly. He seemed young and rather inexperienced. "Officer Mitch Swenson. The chief couldn't be here right now, ma'am."

"Oh?" John continued walking towards the grave, which was fully undug. A crew was in the process of using a pulley to lift the coffin out of the ground. "Couldn't, or didn't want to? He didn't seem very happy when I contacted him on the phone. Didn't even tell me his name."

Officer Swenson looked down. "I'm sorry to say that he's opposed to this intervention, sir."

"Unfortunately," You told him, "After so many unexplained deaths, we're obligated to involve ourselves. If he has an issue with our jurisdiction then he can take it up with—"

A loud snapping noise stopped you in your tracks, and your head turned just in time to see the ropes on the pulley snap, dropping the coffin. It quickly began tumbling downhill, towards you. You barely had time to step back. Before you could be trampled by a goddamn coffin on what was quickly becoming one of the strangest days of your life, you felt a strong hand grip your forearm and yank you back harshly. 

The coffin barrelled right into the back of a tombstone, cracking open ever so slightly. Your back collided with John's chest. Neck craning back to look at him, you realized both your chests were heaving in shock. He was staring at the small opening in the coffin.

You pulled away from him, charging towards the coffin. John and Officer Swenson did the same, as well as some from the lifting crew.

As soon as you got within five feet of the coffin, a putrid odor hit your nose and seemed to hit everyone else's. John's hand went to cover his nose. Officer Swenson turned green. You held back a gag.

Still, despite the heinous stench, you leaned forward, trying to get a good look inside. Fully expecting to see a decaying corpse, you squinted, trying to make out the shape of the face.

"Holy shit," You heard the young officer say off to your left. Your eyes widened, just as you made out some features of the cadaver.

"Make sure no one else sees this," John ordered someone, as you made out a snout and very thin arms. As your eyes widened, John turned to you. You turned your head to him, and he flashed you an awkward grin.

"...I'm guessing he was no student athlete," He joked, scratching the back of his head. You shook your head in disbelief, face frozen in shock.

"I… is that a—?"

CORONER'S OFFICE, PINEWOOD, OREGON — 14:48 hours, Tuesday, March 17th, 1992

"A chimpanzee."

You didn't give John's unsatisfied tone much of a second thought, continuing to ensure you had everything ready for your analysis.

"You think it's a chimpanzee," John said again a few seconds later, snapping a picture of the body, which was spread out on a metal table. 

"Or an orangutan," You replied, not looking up from your tools. Pulling out your tape recorder, you finally met his eyes. "I was thinking it might even be a bonobo, but it's too big. Mammalian, that's for sure."

"Y/N, we're in Oregon! Where would someone get a monkey—why would someone put a monkey in some dead kid's coffin?"

You shook your head. "John, you can't possibly think this is anything other than a sick joke, can you?"

He huffed, too engrossed in taking pictures of the body. He looked like he had just discovered sliced bread.

"This is amazing. It—it's unprecedented… I want a full report," He demanded, "Toxicology, x-rays, tissue samples, genetic testing, the works. We can get those tissue samples and x-rays done now, everything else we take back to DC." 

You laid a measuring tape next to the subject's body, before putting your hands on your hips. 

"You’re kidding," You said, glaring at him from the other side of the table, "Try telling Alex Gallagher's family that his body was replaced with an alien. You'd probably lose a few teeth doing it!" 

John lowered his camera, taking a deep breath. He thought for a few seconds before answering. "I'm not crazy, Y/N," He insisted, "I have the same doubts you do." 

Flexing your fingers to see if the surgical gloves fit adequately, you sighed. 

"Please leave for a moment," You mumbled, "I need to record my observations and I can't do that properly if you're flashing that camera in my face and talking about little green men." 

He frowned, not meeting your eyes. He looked like he wanted to protest, but he shook his head to himself as he turned around. Soon, he was out the door. 

During your analysis, you made several observations: the subject was 157 centimeters in length, and weighed 56 pounds. Long limbs and fingers, and large ocular caverns that suggested it belonged to the ape family, as you'd told John minutes ago. It was in an advanced state of decay and desiccation. 

When you turned the subject over, you couldn't help but look at the lower back. Lo and behold, there and ready to give you a headache, were two bumps. They were no longer red, tinged gray, same as the rest of the body, but they were there.

Only when the x-rays finally developed two hours later did you discover the cherry on top: a small metallic implant in the subject's nasal cavity, embedded in the skin, which was extracted and placed in a small glass vial. The vial was placed in your blazer pocket, which you'd removed to put on the PPE gown. 

When you were finally finished with the report, you put your blazer back on and discarded the PPE and surgical gloves. All you'd managed to do was give yourself a migraine at all of the oddities piling up in this case. When you got back to DC? A bubble bath was in order. With a very, very large glass of wine.

As you approached the door to the lobby, the voices of two men arguing got louder and louder. Rolling your eyes, you sighed at the feeling of your head pounding. One sounded angrier, the other significantly calmer. When your hand was on the knob, you realized who the calmer voice belonged to.

"Shit," You whispered to yourself, flinging open the door. A middle aged man yelling at John—who looked very blasé about the whole situation—was waving his finger in his face. Behind him stood Officer Swenson, another officer, and a young girl dressed in an oversized windbreaker and jeans, who looked like she wanted to evaporate into thin air. 

"You people think you can march in here and do whatever you want," The man growled, "I don't see why—"

"What's going on here?" You asked, stepping between the man and John. The man scoffed at you, eyeing you up and down. 

“Who are you?”

You pulled out your badge and flashed it to him. His scowl deepened. “Special Agent Y/N L/N, FBI. I’m Agent Suh's partner for this investigation. Now, what is going on? And who are you?”

The man’s face twisted in disdain at your authoritative tone. “I’m Doctor Aaron Choi, the county medical examiner. Now, the audacity of you and your partner—”

“Dad, please,” The girl exclaimed, sounding embarrassed, “Let’s just go home!”

 The man waved a hand in her direction, tone dismissive and angry. “Lia, be quiet. I’m talking. The audacity you two have to come here and interrupt our procedures—”

“Doctor Choi, this is the fourth unexplained death of a student from the Pinewood High class of ‘89,” John pointed out, “After the county was unable to come up with any conclusive evidence, the FBI was forced to become involved. I take it you weren’t informed of the exhumation and the analysis of Alex Gallagher’s body?”

Doctor Choi shook his head. “I’ve been away with my family. We just got back.”

That explains the different medical examiner on the latest autopsy, you realized. 

“Doctor Choi, I’m sorry you feel that way,” You said, “But it’s our obligation to come and investigate. Now, I’m sorry, but it’s getting late, and we have to get going. I can give you my cell phone number if it were to make you more comfortable, but—”

“No. That’s quite enough,” He snapped. He turned to the young girl, nodding his head at the door. “Lia, let’s go.”

The girl sighed, and met your eyes before she turned to follow after him. She looked desperate; you assumed it was because of the scene her father had caused. The two officers followed after them.

As the two of you watched them leave, you turned to John. He simply shrugged, looking done with the whole situation. “Talk about a warm welcome,” He grumbled. You glared at him. 

“Let’s just go,” You huffed, rubbing at a spot above your eyebrow, “I still need to get started on this report.”

The two of you exited the building, and John explained that tomorrow, he’d arranged a visit to a mental institution in the town over. That there were two more students of the class of ‘89 were staying. Both of them were reportedly a part of Alex Gallagher’s circle of friends.

 In your pocket, the vial holding the metal implant seemed heavier than it had been when you first extracted it.

ALOYSIUS GRANT MENTAL INSTITUTION, CRESTHILL, OREGON—10:47 hours, Wednesday, March 18th, 1992

The wing where Chenle Zhong and Nancy Goldstein were staying was relatively quiet. As the nurse explained their circumstances, Nancy remained glued to a book in her wheelchair. Next to her in his bed, Chenle lay perfectly still, lips parted slightly, eyes wide and unmoving. 

You were informed that Nancy had developed delusions and become extremely paranoid as a result of post-traumatic stress. Chenle was living through something called a living coma. He never moved, never spoke. The only indication you saw that he was still alive was the constant rise and fall of his chest. Both of them had been in an automotive crash in the autumn of 1989, and had been like this ever since. 

“Nancy,” The nurse said softly, “You have guests, can they speak with you?”

Nancy lifted her head, “I can’t,” She answered, shaking her head. “I’m reading to Lele right now.”

“Does… does he like it when you read to him?” John asked, and she nodded.

“It calms him down,” She said, “It distracts him from everything.”

You looked down, thinking about her words and what she must have gone through—Chenle as well. At the feet of Chenle’s bed, you noticed odd specks of… ash? It was sprinkled sparsely in front of the bed, on what was a seemingly pristine floor.

You wanted to pick it up, but didn’t want the nurse looking at you strangely. So you turned your attention back to the conversation between John and the nurse. He lowered his voice and leaned in towards her, as if he didn’t want Nancy to hear. “Would it be possible for us to run some medical tests on Ms. Goldstein?”

The thing was that Nancy did hear, and at the mention of medical tests, her large eyes nearly popped out of her head, and she started to tremble in the wheelchair. “N-no tests,” She pleaded, before throwing her book to the side and raising her voice, "No tests! You can't take me there again!"

She began to thrash in the wheelchair, hyperventilating and begging in between breaths to not go anywhere. She threw herself out of the wheelchair but was unable to stand, and instead remained on the floor, crying. 

"Nancy, sweetie, you're going to be fine," The nurse said gently, leaning down to placate the poor girl who was shaking her head. She looked up at the both of you. "Can you help me please?" 

John leaned down to gently assist the nurse in helping Nancy up, and you picked up the wheelchair, which had fallen onto its side. You gripped one of the back handles of the chair to steady it. Your other hand smudged along the ground to try and pick up some of the powder. As the pair helped her sit down, your eyes caught something. 

Nancy's shirt had ridden up during the ordeal, and there, along the small of her back, you saw them. The same marks that Kaya Tate, Jisung Park, and Alex Gallagher had. 

When Nancy refused to calm down, wailing and begging not to be taken back to wherever she thought you and John wanted to take her, the nurse ushered you out.

 "I'm sorry," She told you, "But you're upsetting my patients. If you absolutely need to come back, then do it some other day when she's calmed down." 

The two of you set off towards the exit down the stairs, your heels click-clacking quickly along the floor as you walked in front of John. 

He held open the exit door for you, and as soon as you were out the door and headed toward the parking lot, you whirled on him. 

"How did you know she would have those marks?" You asked, almost angry at him. John shrugged. 

"A hunch," Was all he answered.

"Dammit, Suh, cut the crap. What the hell is going on here?"

"What, so you can go off and write it in your little reports?" He fired back, raising his voice at you for the first time. Your head snapped back at the sudden disdain in his voice.

"I'm here to solve this case just the same as you are," You growled, "Now tell me the truth. I think I'm entitled to it."

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench coat, scowling at you. He leaned closer to you and lowered his voice. "You want my honest opinion? Fine. I think those kids have been abducted by an alien force. I think that they run tests on those kids, which is why Nancy Goldstein freaked out, and why Alex's body and hers have those markings. That's what I think."

You tapped your heel along the sidewalk in frustration and thought. "John, do you realize how insane that sounds? I—Why, there's nothing to substantiate—"

"Nothing scientific to substantiate," He corrected.

"Science is all there is, John!" You shook your head. He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. The  both of you knew that this conversation would lead nowhere. Looking down, you remembered the ash smudged onto the palm of your hand. 

"Look," You said, quieter now. "This was on the floor around Chenle Zhong's bed."

"'S that… ash?"

You nodded. "I know what you think, John. Let me tell you what I think. I think those kids might be involved in some sort of sacrifice of some sort. Think about it, they're always called into the woods. The medical examiner doesn't want us looking at the bodies. And now, ash."

John's eyes darted back and forth, considering the options. He walked over to the car, unlocking it so the both of you could enter. 

"We can head into the woods tonight," He offered finally. "That way, we can both look into our own hypotheses."

"Sounds good to me," You answered, "Tonight."

THE WOODS, PINEWOOD, OREGON—20:26 hours, Wednesday, March 18th, 1992

A few hours after sundown, the two of you drove to the edge of the woods, armed with flashlights and your handguns. You'd tied your hair back and changed into a dark blue windbreaker, along with sweatpants and running shoes. It was a bit windy, and you could see storm clouds rolling in.

"Stay close by," You'd told John. "And be quiet."

"Yes, mom," He sighed. You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to punch him in the arm. 

Once the two of you were out of the car, you split up, trying to stay within earshot of his footsteps. You spent about ten minutes wandering around, flashing your light around, taking slow steps as you scrounged for any hints. 

Above you, thunder rumbled, the occasional strike of lightning lighting up the sky for milliseconds. Leaning your head forward, you squinted in the dark. No way. 

The whole ground around you was covered in ash. If not the exact same ash as what was in front of Chenle's bed, it was very similar—sprinkled on top of the leaves and dirt. As you kneeled down to pick some up, your eyes widened at the same texture and pigment as the one of today. 

"What the fuck," You muttered under your breath, mind racing a mile a minute. These woods were creepy enough without the implication of a ritualistic cult, or close encounters of the third kind, or whatever John believed was happening. But now you had the possibility of a connection between these woods and two seriously disturbed kids.

A sudden mechanical rumbling made you snap your head up. You squinted, lifting your other hand to shield your eyes from the sudden brightness that lit up the trees. 

"John?" You asked when you heard footsteps. Your heart rate began to speed up, hand reaching for the gun tucked into your waistband. 

When you realized that the sound was coming from the direction of the light, you called his name out again. "John?"

A tall figure emerged from the light, and you soon realized what was pointed at you—a shotgun. Definitely not John Suh.

Not hesitating, you pulled out your gun. "Special agent Y/N L/N, FBI! Identify yourself!"

The figure only stopped until it was about ten feet away. You squinted, making out some familiar features. Surprisingly, you realized it was the officer who had been at the coroner's office with Doctor Choi. 

John came stumbling up to you, chest heaving. "Chief!" He sounded strangely enthusiastic. "What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

"You're trespassing on private property," He announced, seemingly unamused by John's tone. 

"We are conducting an investigation," You countered, lowering your gun. 

"You are trespassing," He said adamantly, "Now get out, before I have you both arrested."

John glanced at you momentarily. You frowned as he shrugged, obviously wanting you to stand down. The staredown continued for a solid ten seconds before you groaned softly. Tucking your gun back into your waistband, you followed the chief out of the woods, right back to your car, which was right next to his.

As John drove away, you watched as the flashing police lights faded into the distance. "What's he doing out here when he's got a whole town to take care of?"

John shook his head, furrowing his eyebrows. "I don't know," He hummed in that deep voice of his, "But I don't like him one bit."

The two of you drove in relative silence after that. The storm finally came down, drops of rain cascading angrily onto the windshield. Thunder rolled overhead, and the lightning grew bright.

In the dim light, your eyes turned to watch John, hoping he wouldn't take notice. You watched him alternate his eyes between the road ahead and the rearview mirror every few seconds. Your eyes raked over his features—a strong brow bone, a round nose, lips that seemed to curve upwards in a natural smirk.

You looked back up at his eyes, and his own gaze glanced at the watch on his wrist before returning to the road.

"You're staring," He said, sounding like he’d caught you with a hand in the cookie jar. You felt the scoff leave your lips before you could catch it, your cheeks heating up.

"I am not—"

A flash of lightning lit up the sky, far brighter than any of the other strikes. Then, an odd sensation filled your body: for the briefest of moments you felt absolutely weightless, unable to feel the carseat beneath you. Then a moment later when the light faded, and the feeling disappeared.

The car rolled to a stop, the engine’s rumble dying. You frowned even though you were glad that you’d have a chance to change the subject. “What happened?”

Johnny looked at the lights on the dashboard, and pressed on the accelerator tentatively a few times. He raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical. “Uh… we lost power.”

He seemed calm enough. Until he glanced at his watch again. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he let out a single, excited laugh. “No fucking way,” He murmured, rushing to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“Uh, John, where are you g—”

He was out of the car before you could finish your sentence, heading into the downpour. You groaned, unbuckling hastily and following him. Already, he was drenched, and within seconds you were too. He was walking towards something on the road, a few feet in front of the car. When he turned to look back at you, he looked like a preschooler who had just discovered Sesame Street. His fists pumped into the air, his eyes squeezed shut and he began to jump up and down.

“Fuckin’—I—WOO! WOO HOO!”

“For the love of god,” You grumbled, standing right next to him despite his loud cheering, you tried your hardest to make out what had gotten him so excited. When the next flash of lightning lit up the street, plus the lights of the car helping illuminate the road, you saw it: a big, bright, neon X. Almost the exact same place the car had started acting strange yesterday.

“We lost time!” He yelled over the sound of the downpour. "I looked at my watch before the flash! It was 9:02 then, now it’s 9:13! That’s eleven minutes—GONE!”

You shook your head, stepping away. You threw up your hands in confusion. “What—John, that’s not possible! You’re saying time disappeared, time can’t—it can’t just disappear! That’s not just crazy, it’s—i-it’s a universal invariant! It’s impossible!”

John shook his head at you, eyes wide in wonder. Right before he started walking back to the car, he let out one last gleeful laugh. “Not in this zip code!”

Much to your displeasure, your headache returned soon after. You were more than content to let John ramble on while you zoned out, rubbing your forehead. What little you picked up was that people who claimed to be abductees always mentioned a bright flash of light and losing time, anywhere from five minutes to several hours.

You weren’t sure what to think at this point. You had half a mind to drive John to the Aloysius Grant Mental Institution and leave him there with Chenle and Nancy.

When you got back to the hotel, you ran straight to your room. When you tried flickering on the light, you found that it wouldn’t turn on. With a sigh, you realized the storm had to have blown the power out. Peeling off your wet clothes before you did anything else, you stripped to your underwear before pulling on your bathrobe. Shivering, you scrounged in the darkness of the room for anything, a flashlight, some candles.

Surprisingly, they did have a candle, a holder and some matches. As you lit it, and went over your bedtime routine (yes, you were a grown woman going to bed at 9:30 PM, you were tired), you couldn’t shake the eerie feeling settling in your stomach. Everything felt so off here, and there were so many things you couldn’t explain.

As much as John wanted to convince you, he couldn’t explain them either. The whole situation felt bizarre in a dreadful way. As you marched into the bathroom for a quick shower, you tried to reassure yourself everything would connect eventually.

When you took off the bathrobe, your hand went to rub at your lower back. The stiff mattress wasn’t doing you any favors. You let your eyes flutter shut, fingers rubbing at the muscle below your skin.

Until your fingers brushed over something that you knew hadn’t been there before. Your eyes snapped open, and you turned your back to the mirror, craning your neck to see. Your fingers ached to touch the spot again, but in your sudden alarm, your fingers began to shake.

There. At the small of your back, just above the waistband of your underwear, there they were. Two bumps. Just like Nancy’s. Just like Alex’s. Just like Kaya’s.

You didn’t know what overtook you. All of a sudden, you were putting your bathrobe back on and strutting stiffly out of your room. Before you knew it, you were knocking insistently on John’s door.

You didn’t stop until a very confused looking John opened up, holding a candle. “I—”

“I need to show you something,” You said shakily. His demeanor changed instantly when he saw your frantic state. He nodded wordlessly, widening the door and stepping to the side. Once the door was closed, you faced him, before untying the robe. His eyes widened slightly despite your shaking hands, and the tips of his ears turned red.

“Woah, at least take me out to dinner first—”

“Johnny, shut up!”

He froze at your tone, your slip up—calling him Johnny instead of John. You were too distressed to care, tossing the robe to the floor before turning, trying to poke at the marks on your back.

“What are they?” You asked, and John reached out a hand as if to placate you.

“Hey, hey,” He murmured, “Deep breaths. Can I get a closer look?”

Nodding, and trying to do what he said, you let him step closer, before kneeling. Tentatively, he ghosted a hand over the marks. You tried to ignore the goosebumps, shivering from what you assumed was the cold.

“What are they?” You repeated. “John—”

He spun you around, putting a gentle hand on your hip. You peered down at him, panting softly. “It’s okay,” He said softly, “They’re just mosquito bites.”

Your eyes fluttered shut in relief, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady your wobbling knees. “You’re sure?” You asked, looking down at him.

He nodded, amber eyes staring up at you. You were suddenly hyper aware of his hand on your hip, unable to break his gaze. He cleared his throat, standing up but not stepping away from you. “Yeah, I got some out there too. I’m positive.”

You put the bathrobe back on, then crossed your arms. “I need to sit down,” You mumbled. He gestured to his bed, sitting on the chair next to it. You raised an eyebrow, not wanting to impose. He shook his head, setting down the candle on the table.

“You’re shaking,” He said, “Go ahead.”

Inhaling deeply, you tried to compose yourself. Your hand rubbed at the back of your neck, suddenly feeling tense. You chewed on your lip, wondering if you should ask the question itching to come out.

“John?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. He nodded, eyes earnest.

“Yeah?”

“How did you… Why are you so interested in this stuff?”

His eyes lowered, rubbing his palms together slowly. He took a deep breath, resting his elbows on his thighs. Finally, he sighed.

“I was twelve when it happened,” He whispered. His gaze turned solemn, almost angry. “My little sister, Maggie, went missing in the middle of the night. Just… disappeared, like she vanished into thin air. No note, no phone calls, no discernible trail or evidence at all. Gone, just like that. How does an eight year old girl disappear without a trace?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, not answering. Outside, the rain had stopped, but John’s eyes were a storm of their own, several emotions swimming around in pools of golden brown.

“It tore my family apart. My parents got divorced, everyone else refused to talk about it. There weren’t any facts to confront, nothing to give anyone closure, and the search just stopped.”

“What did you do?” You asked softly. He shrugged, pursing his lips.

“Eventually, I ran away to England. Came back, got recruited by the bureau.” He offered a sardonic smile, no joy behind it. “Apparently, I have a natural aptitude for applying behavioral models to criminal cases. My success allowed me a certain amount of freedom to pursue my own interests. That’s when I found the x-files.”

“On accident?” You leaned to lay down on your side, propping your head up with one hand. He nodded.

“At first, it looked like a dump for UFO sightings, cryptids, alien abductions. Real Hollywood kind of stuff. But… I was fascinated by it all, I read all the cases I could get my hands on. Hundreds of them, Y/N. All the paranormal phenomena, the occult, and then…” He sighed, lowering his head.

“What?” You leaned toward him, trying to read his face in the dark.

“There’s… classified government information I’ve been trying to get my hands on. Someone keeps blocking my access.” He looked to the side, palms still rubbing together. “The only reason I’ve been allowed to continue my work is because I've made connections in congress.”

You shook your head, “I don’t understand, are they afraid you’ll leak this information?”

When he met your gaze, the anger had returned, now far less subdued. “You’re a part of that agenda,” He murmured, “You would know.”

Your mouth dropped open slightly, and you shook your head before scooching closer to him. “I’m not a part of any agenda,” You answered. “You need to trust me.”

He sighed, before standing up to move onto your bed, leaning very close to you. The usually playful glow in his eyes was nowhere to be seen. “I’m telling you this, Y/N, because you need to know. In my... research, I’ve worked very closely with a man named Hans Kruger. He’s taken me through deep regression hypnosis, and through my repressed memories I’ve been able to return to that night my sister disappeared. I remember a very bright light outside and a presence in the room, and the sensation of being paralyzed, unable to answer her cries for help. Listen to me, Y/N, this thing exists.”

“But how do you know—”

“The government knows! And I gotta know what they’re protecting.” He leaned even closer to you, face inches away from yours. “Nothing else matters to me, and this is as close as I’ve ever—”

   The ringing of the telephone made the both of you jump away from each other, and John stood to pick up the phone. “Hello?”

   He made a face as the person on the other side answered. “What? Who is this? Who is—”

   Pulling the phone away from his ear, he looked at you. He seemed confused, alarmed. “That was a woman,” He said, putting the phone back on the housing, “Who told me that Nancy Goldstein is dead.”

 You frowned. “The girl in the wheelchair?”

 HIGHWAY 227, PINEWOOD, OREGON—23:11 hours, Wednesday, March 18th, 1992

 Quickly, the two of you dressed. The crash wasn’t hard to find in such a small town. Surrounded by witnesses and two police cars, a large semi truck was stopped in the middle of the road. Once there you produced your badges to get past the police cars. John went off to ask one of the cops questions about the accident, and you walked over to the body, which was draped over with a white cloth.

 Right next to it, a man, who you assumed was the driver, was being questioned. Showing the officer next to the body your badge, you crouched down to peel back the cloth covering the body.     

Poor Nancy Goldstein, wet with rain and blood, lay strewn in the road. A dribble of drying blood was running down her mouth. Her once white and purple polka dotted hospital gown was tinged with red, brown and gray. You sighed in sympathy. But your eyes travelled down at the watch she had on, and the sympathy made way into confusion. The hands had stopped, right at 9:02.

You took a deep breath when you recognized the coincidence. That's all it had to be, right? A coincidence?

 "You said she just ran out in front of you?" The officer speaking to the man asked.

"Yes, officer," He answered, "Just came charging out from the trees and right into the truck."

Nancy Goldstein, running. Not even walking, no, full on running. You stared at the body, eyes travelling to her legs. Somehow, they were specked with flecks of dirt, mud and small wood chips. It was consistent with someone moving through a wet, muddy area while barefoot. You swallowed anxiously, trying to figure out what was going on in this town.

 When you got into the car with John, you raised an eyebrow at him, getting ready to speak. Before you could, however, his cell phone rang. He pulled out the device and answered the call with a tired, "Suh. Who am I speaking to?"

You watched as his face turned confused. "What?"

 You couldn't hear what he was told, but when his face twisted into disbelief, and then anger, you knew it couldn't be anything good. "Of course. We'll be there as soon as possible," He said, tight-lipped.

 When he hung up, he immediately started the car. He didn't meet your eyes. "Fuck!" He growled, causing you to jump.

 "What?" Your eyes widened at his sudden outburst, barely having time to buckle your seatbelt before he sped away. "John, what happened—"

"Fuck if I know!" He snapped at you, before shaking his head and sighing.

 "There was a fire at the hotel." His tone was softer now. Your stomach sank. "Our rooms were the ones that were most affected."

"You've gotta be kidding," You sighed. He didn't answer, simply kept his eyes on the road.Only when the two of you got there did you realize just how bad the situation was. The fire department was there, hosing down the inside of your room. A crowd had come to watch the firemen work.

"There goes my computer!" You groaned. John kicked the car door.

"Fuck! The x-rays and pictures!" He seemed just about ready to explode.

Your eyes drifted back to the blinding, orange glow of the fire, crossing your arms in frustration, exhaustion.

Suddenly, a tap on your shoulder caused you to turn. You were met face to face with a familiar looking young girl in a bright blue denim jacket. She looked just about on the verge of tears.

 "John," You called, not looking away from her. When he saw the girl, he came up to the two of you.

 He raised a finger at her. "You're Do—"

 "My name is Lia Choi," She declared, voice wobbly, "You have to protect me."

 You quickly ushered Lia into the back of the car. When you closed the door, John raised an eyebrow at you. "She might know something," He murmured.

 "I know," You answered. "She seems terrified."

 He nodded. "You hungry?"

  "Um… yeah, why?"

  "I'm starving," He admitted, gnawing on his lips. "Let's get something to eat and question her there."

 "How the hell are you thinking about food at a time like this?"

He raised an eyebrow, making a face. "What, and you aren't?"

You rolled your eyes, but didn't disagree.

 The car ride took about ten minutes, and you pulled into the small diner with little to no issue. By then, it was a little past midnight, so it was starting to empty out. It had started raining again. You sat next to Lia, as she seemed somewhat more intimidated by John. He paid for some burgers and fries for the three of you, and then Lia finally spoke.

"I… There's something in the woods."

You exchanged glances with John, who rested his elbows on the table and interlaced his fingers. "What do you mean, something in the woods, Miss Choi?"

 The young girl shook her head, looking sheepish. "Please, just call me Lia," She said.

 Taking a deep breath, you flashed him a look that said let me try. "Lia, do you know that there's something in the woods, or is it just a feeling?"

 She stared at the table, looking for words. "I've never actually… seen anything. Not really. But I… I have these dreams. They're not like normal dreams, I-I have no idea how to explain it, but they just feel so… wrong. It's like my body's vibrating the entire time, a-and when I wake up, I'm there. In the woods. Every time. They—they've started happening more and more, and I don't know what to do, I-I'm just so—"

 "Woah, slow down there, kid," John said, holding up his hands. She'd started rambling, and it didn't take a genius to say that she was on the verge of tears. His dark eyes looked gentle, sympathetic. "Deep breath, Lia."

She let her eyes close, breathing slowly. "I'm sorry," She mumbled. "I just don't know what to do anymore."

Looking at John again, you spoke up. "We understand," You answered softly, "Can we ask you some more questions?"

 As she nodded, the one waitress working the place, who looked one strong gust of wind from falling over, set down your three plates. Sticking a fry into your mouth once the waitress left, you met eyes with the young girl.

"You said, 'I've never seen anything, not really.' What do you mean by that?"

Lia poked at her fries, not seeming that interested in the food. She pursed her lips, before sighing. "I… We saw something, once. I think. My friends were all out there—celebrating graduation. It was… maybe 11:30? I-I can't really remember. But we saw a bright light, and then this huge thing flew over us. When it was gone… Kaya checked her watch. It couldn't have been more than ten seconds after, but her watch said it was almost 2 AM, and then Chenle checked his watch, and so did Jisung, and… they all said the same thing.

"I didn't think much of it. I tried not to. I thought we just missed the time going by, somehow. But then Nancy and Chenle got into the crash, and then Kaya turned up dead in the woods… Then Jisung, and now Alex…" She shook her head, blinking back tears. "It can't all be a coincidence."

"How old were you when that happened, Lia?"

 "I was 17. I'm turning 21 in June."

John stared at her for a long time. "...And why did you decide to call me when you heard about Nancy's death?"

Oh?

You raised an eyebrow to look at Lia, who looked down. "They called my dad about it, and I know that Nancy's death has to do with whatever's in the woods. M-my dad, he… He keeps telling me he can keep me safe. But I don't think he can."

"So you called us?"

She nodded, not looking up at either of you. John and you exchanged a glance.

"Lia," You asked lowly, "Do you think your father—"

Your words died when blood began to spew from the girl's nose, your eyes widening and John's expression growing alarmed. He reached for the napkins, handing them to you to hand her quickly. Her eyes shut and her brow furrowed, obviously distressed. John pursed his lips.

  "Does this normally h—"

 "Lia Choi."

The three of you turned your heads to see Aaron Choi and the police chief standing next to each other, glaring at you and John.

Dr. Choi walked over to Lia, handing her another napkin. "Sweetheart, come on, let's go home."

John narrowed his eyes. "I don't think she wants to leave."

"I don't give a shit about what you think," The man snapped. He turned back to Lia, "Let's go home. You'll be safe there. Remember, I said that Chief Zhong and I would keep you safe—"

You exchanged a glance with John. You could see the gears turning in his head. Skywalker moment. "You’re Chenle Zhong's father?"

The chief scowled at him. "You stay away from my boy. He has no business in any of this."

Dr. Choi managed to pull away, with minimal protest from Lia. She managed to give the two of you one last apologetic glance before being pushed out the front door by your father.

"You gotta love this place," John grumbled, reaching for Lia's plate, "Every day's like Halloween."

"They know." You were sure of it. "Choi's been hiding evidence from those medical reports, and Zhong might just have enough authority around here to get access to our rooms to set them on fire."

"Why would they want to destroy evidence?" John asked, but it wasn't really a question. It sounded more like a parent trying to get their child to figure out something obvious on a math problem. "What could they possibly want with that corpse?"

You looked down at the table, heart pounding suddenly. When you met his eyes again, they were burning with curiosity and determination.

"Makes you wonder what's in those other two graves, huh?"

PINEWOOD MEMORIAL CEMETERY, PINEWOOD, OREGON—01:26 hours, Thursday, March 19th, 1992

Getting into the cemetery was easy. Finding the graves, with only your flashlights in the pouring rain, was a lot harder. You pored over different headstones for almost forty minutes, until John called your name.

"Did you find them?" You asked, turning to him. He was scowling down at the headstones. You didn't understand why… until you looked down to see the dirt piled up, and the two holes in the ground.

"Empty," He groaned.

"What is going on here?" You cried. John stared at the hole in the ground, before a look of epiphany dawned on his face. He turned to you, slowly.

"I think I know who did it."

You looked to the sides in thought. "Who? The chief?"

John shook his head, mouth tipping open. You leaned forward, hoping to hear his words better over the rain.

He chewed nervously on his bottom lip. "The chief's son."

When the words registered, you leaned away. All the fight in you seemed to deflate, and your face twisted into a confused mess.

"What?"

He nodded, and you raised your eyebrows. "Chenle Zhong? The boy in the hospital. The boy who's been in a goddamn coma since 1989. That Chenle Zhong? He somehow got here, dug up these graves, and is somehow responsible for the murders of four different kids?"

John's eyes fell shut, and he took a deep breath. "Nancy Goldstein was wheelchair bound but ran in front of a car, it's not entirely impossible. All of this fits a profile of alien abduction. She was killed around 9—the same time we lost time in the car."

"A profile." You crossed your arms, trying to stop the shivering racking your body. March showers in the Pacific Northwest—you wouldn’t be surprised if all of this was just a delusion induced by hypothermia.

"Look, something happened during those 10 minutes," He insisted, "Time, as we know it, stopped, and it has something to do with the forest."

You shook your head in disbelief, unable to hold back your shocked sigh. All you could do was stare, watching as John's expression hardened.

"You think I'm crazy," He murmured defeatedly, "Just like everyone else does."

He turned on his heel, starting to walk away, when a soft scoff caused him to turn back. "What?"

You wore a smile of disbelief. "The hands of Nancy Goldstein's watch stopped at 9:02," You admitted, looking up at the sky before meeting his gaze. "I made a mental note of it because of how insane the coincidence was. But…"

"The forest is controlling the kids," John said with a nod. He sounded more hopeful now, as he took a step closer. "It summons them here!"

"A-and the marks are…"

"The remainders of some sort of experiment. They put that weird chemical into the bodies—"

"Which leads to genetic mutations, like the one we saw in Alex Gallagher’s body!"

John nodded, a hopeful grin spreading across his features, the rain causing his hair to fall into his eyes. "And the woods summoned Nancy Goldstein here tonight, but the one who brought her was—"

"Chenle Zhong," You gasped. Meeting eyes with John, the two of you exchanged surprised, awed, slack jawed smiles, before promptly bursting into giggles at how silly it all sounded, the sheer absurdity of it all. Like the plot of some crappy Fox TV show.

"This—Johnny, this is insane!"

"That’s just how all the x-files work!" He exclaimed between laughter, "This isn't even half of it!"

That did it for you. The idea that there had to be something even stranger, something that paled in comparison to this. You had to reach out for his shoulder to stop yourself from falling, bending over and clutching your stomach to the point of tears. John’s laughter never let up either, not until the two of you were panting, out of breath from cackling so hard.

"I can't believe any of this," You sighed, shaking your head once more.

"It doesn't matter. As long as we're on the same page," John said with a shrug, "It'll make things a whole lot easier. Now, let's get back to the car—"

A high pitched scream filled the air, and the two of you locked eyes before darting in its direction.

Right into the forest.

Mud squelched beneath your shoes as the two of you ran. It was damn near impossible to see anything with the rain and the darkness of night, the way your flashlights swung back and forth with your running.

Your light reflected onto a piece of black metal, causing the two of you to slow down. John flashed his own light side to side, before landing on the white door of the car, the crest emblazoned on it: PINEWOOD POLICE DEPARTMENT. You sighed at the revelation, turning slightly.

"Shit," He muttered, "Do you think—?"

"John." You took a step to the side, focusing your light onto something on the ground. "Look."

When he turned his head to look at what you were seeing, you heard him inhale sharply.

Dr. Choi's body lay strewn on the muddy ground, blood streaking down his temple. You couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.

Another scream pierced the air, the sound distinctly female. You exchanged a brief glance with John, before nodding in the direction the noise came from. "You go! I'll check his vitals."

"Be careful," He warned before darting off. You knelt on the ground, reaching out to feel for a pulse over the carotid artery. You let your eyes fall shut in relief when you found one a few seconds later. All you needed to do now was assess his injury.

But they snapped open when the mud squelched behind you, and when you turned your head, you saw a flash of black and beige. A loud thwack! cracked against the side of your head, and you fell to the ground, vision turning dark.

When you came to, you weren't sure how much time had passed, but it couldn't have been too long. It was still dark, and while the rain had calmed, it wasn't over yet. Sluggishly,  you reached for the flashlight, and struggled to stand.

Stumbling, you tried to surmise where the noise was coming from, but the world felt like it was spinning. You were confused, disoriented, that the sudden brightness knocked you on your ass, quite literally.

Brightness?

White, seemingly industrial light lit up the forest so suddenly that you reeled back in surprise, falling into the mud. You blinked dazedly. If this were a Loony Tunes short, there would be little Tweety birds flying around your head right about now.

Still, you knew you needed to get up. So you did, still stumbling as if someone had spun you around to hit a piñata, and carried forward. The shouting had stopped now.

In the distance, where the light was the brightest, you could hear the shouting. One of the voices was distinctly John's, but as you got closer, it stopped.

And by the time you got into the clearing? The light disappeared, and so did the rain. Gone at the same time.

There were three men standing in the clearing, seemingly in a triangle. John's back was turned to you. In front of him? Someone was lying on the floor (had you not been so dizzy, you would have recognized her as Lia), and…

"Chenle?" The police chief asked, voice shaking. Your eyes turned to the young man, whose dark eyes were wide in confusion and fear. He was barefoot, clad only in a pair of gray sweatpants.

"...Dad?" He asked as Chief Zhong walked to him, before crushing the young man in a hug.

"J-John?" Your voice was small. The man in question turned to you, eyes widening at your state. He stepped towards you, face full of concern. When you buckled, he gripped you by your forearms.

"Y/N, are you alright?"

"Th-there was a light," You murmured, "It was so…"

He nodded, smiling sympathetically. "I know," He said, "But I think you have a concussion."

"Uh…" You stared at him blearily. "...You're really strong."

He held back a snicker. "Am I now?"

FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C—10:04 hours, Wednesday, March 25th, 1992

After a stop to the emergency room, a minor concussion diagnosis, a flight home, a few days of bed rest and finally that bubble bath (sans the wine, unfortunately), you were finally allowed to present your findings to your superiors, in the report you'd written in the past few days (you were advised to rest over the weekend, and you did just that and wrote the report all Tuesday).

You marched into that office, John already sitting in one of the two seats in front of the desk. He didn't speak while you presented your findings. Again, Chief Brooks was accompanied by the same two men.

"And what of the boy?" Division Chief Brooks asked, "Chenle… Zhang, you said?"

"Zhong," You and John corrected in unison, exchanging a sheepish glance when you both realized what happened.

"He's in custody. So are his father and Doctor Aaron Choi. He claims to not have remembered anything."

"I understand you and Chief Zhong had an exchange in the woods?" The older man asked, staring at John.

He nodded. "Yes, sir. I asked him what the need was to take the Chois to the woods, he seemed desperate—said that if it got his son back, then he'd do it."

"So, what, are we to believe all of this—the abductions and the mutations and the mind control without any concrete evidence?" The second officer asked.

"There was an x-ray of Chenle’s that revealed a small piece of metal lodged in his nose, just like Agent L/N's report mentioned with—"

"The Gallagher boy's implant, yes. But that could be anything, Agent Suh. It hasn't been surgically removed so we can't verify what it is."

John clenched his jaw. "But—"

"Agent Suh, with no evidence of the implant existing we simply cannot continue to waste bureau resources," The chief explained, "The fact of the matter is the original implant, as well as your other evidence, was destroyed in that fire and—"

"What if it wasn't, though?" You asked.

It was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room. All four men's eyes snapped up to look at you. John’s eyes were wide in shock.

You met eyes with him briefly as you reached into your blazer pocket, placing the small vial holding the implant onto the table.

"None of the tests I ran on the implant were able to reveal what kind of metal it is," You sighed, "It all came back as inconclusive."

"I—" For the first time, the third agent spoke for the first time. "How did you manage to salvage it?"

Tilting your head back and forth, you tried to sound professional. "I kept it… on my person at all times after I extracted it. I felt it was too important to lose."

The three men exchanged a silent conversation with their eyes. You looked at John, whose expression towards you had shifted from shock to awe. You offered him a sly smile.

"Well, then." Division Chief Brooks sounded frustrated—like a father allowing his children ice cream after being worn down by them. "Considering this… new piece of evidence, I—I suppose I could authorize the continuation of the project."

You breathed a sigh of relief. John’s shoulders sagged.

"However, Agent L/N, I will expect your reports on every single one of these cases within three days of them being closed, unless medically justified. Failure to do so will result in the termination of the project."

"Understood, sir," You said.

The third man lit a cigarette, before pointing to the vial on the table. "That implant will be kept with us, it's evidence now. Any and all evidence will be handed over to us," He ordered, taking a drag.

You nodded, but something told you John wouldn't approve. He didn't say anything, but you knew he'd have something to say sooner or later.

"You're both dismissed," Division Chief Brooks told you both.

Once you were out of the office and out of earshot, John stopped in the middle of the hallway. He put his hands on his hips and stared at you.

"I—That was… Wow. Y/N, how did you even do that?"

"Honestly?" You bit back a grin before lowering your voice. "...I hid it in my sports bra."

He broke out into a shocked smile. "In your—amazing. Y/N, you’re a genius."

"Am I now?" You asked, raising your eyebrows. You started down the hallway again, and he followed. "Thank you," He mumbled.

With a wave of your hand, you shook your head. "I'm just doing my job, y’know? Plus, I enjoyed working with you, John. I think we make a... decent team."

He looked down at his feet, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Well," He said, "If we are going to keep working together, can I ask you to do something?"

"Sure," You replied. By now, you were headed down the basement steps.

"Just… call me Johnny. John feels too… formal."

"Johnny," You sounded the name out, before smiling. "Yeah, it suits you better."

X-FILE 144-A: THE BELDAM'S GLENN BLOOD RITUALS

SOMEWHERE ALONG THE EVERETT TURNPIKE, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—07:32 hours, Thursday, February 11th, 1993

"Brief me again on this case?" Johnny sighed as he drove ahead, "I was too tired when you explained on the flight here."

You nodded, rubbing your eyes and putting on your glasses. Outside, rain hit the roof of the car, and the sky was that bluish gray tinge of an early morning drizzle. That, paired with the soft guitar from the radio along with Robert Smith's voice made for gentle ambience.

I don't care if Monday's blue

Tuesday's gray and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love...

 Pulling out the folder from your bag. Truth be told, you were tired too—you'd been called just before 3 in the morning by someone at the bureau telling you you'd been assigned to work a murder case in Beldam's Glenn, New Hampshire. A fairly small town, less than 10,000 people.

You'd had an hour to pack some clothes, then take a taxi to the bureau to grab some things from the office and pick up the file briefing the incident. Then, just before four you arrived at Reagan International, where you met a seemingly bedraggled Johnny. His suit was a bit wrinkly and there were dark circles rimming his eyes.

By now, you'd been working with Johnny for almost a year. You'd learned in that time that he did not enjoy waking up before 5 AM. 

"Good morning," You'd greeted, and he shook his head.

"It's not morning yet, and it certainly isn't gonna be a good one," He'd grumbled in response. 

"Okay, Oscar the Grouch." 

Now, in the car, flicking through the folder, you read out loud the information. A fifteen year old boy identified as Mark Lee had been found dead in the woods, near an area rumored to be where satanic cults practiced blood magic. His eyes and heart missing, torn clean out.

"...Ouch," Johnny muttered, stifling a yawn.

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Ouch."

"Any witnesses or anything?" 

"No," You mumbled, reading over more details. One in particular caught in your eye. "Huh… Additionally, animal tracks in the form of hooves, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, were found leading to Lee’s body."

Johnny tilted his head. "Hooves?"

You hummed in confirmation.

He raised his eyebrows, facing you for a second before turning his attention back to the road. His eyes were wide. Somehow, you already knew what he was going to say. "Do you think there's a small possibility—"

"No." 

Johnny huffed. "Oh, come on! Y/N, humans are innately spiritual beings. Is it so crazy to think that just maybe a creature akin to a demon could exist?"

"I don't know, Johnny. Maybe there is. But I think now that the middle ages are over and we have more logical explanations for things like this, we shouldn't immediately jump to conclusions."

For a long time, he didn’t speak. Another thing you learned during your time with Johnny was that while it was relatively easy to smother his wild conclusions during calmer discussions, it was damn near impossible to get him to let go of them completely. You knew he'd mention it again later, but for now, you were content to just drive like this with him. You were… comfortable with Johnny. 

He had a sort of dry wit that, paired with his suave persona, made him incredibly charismatic. Once you got to know him better, it surprised you that no one around your department of the bureau really liked him.

Dressed up to the eyes

It's a wonderful surprise

To see your shoes and your spirits rise...

He shrugged. "Maybe you're right. Look, there are the cop cars."

Johnny pulled over on the side of the road, one man holding an umbrella seemingly waiting for you both. You looked at the man in the driver's seat, and he nodded toward the back seat. "There's an umbrella in the back."

"Thanks," You said, grabbing the thing. You both stepped out of the car, tugging the vinyl umbrella open. You did a once over of the officer—sheriff, actually, once you saw the badge on his chest. Johnny stood behind you and grabbed the small umbrella from you, so that he could fit under it.

"You're the FBI guys?" The sheriff asked. The two of you pulled out your badges, presenting yourselves. He offered a smile, but it was obvious the middle-aged man was shaken up.

"My name is Bill McNamara," He said, beginning to walk towards the trees. The two of you followed. "Thank you for coming on such short notice." 

He led you to a spot crowded by a few more officers scattered across the space, a white sheet hiding the body, a few feet away from a large, mossy cracked tree stump, so wide it was probably older than 100 years when it fell.

"Is this Mark Lee?" Johnny asked, and Sheriff McNamara nodded. Another officer peeled the sheet back. The poor boy was, in fact, missing his eyes, and there was a large hole in his chest. Even after several years as an MD and an FBI agent, corpses still filled you with dread.

Johnny, in his proximity from behind, nudged you slightly and pointed to the ground next to the boy. 

"So," You said, turning your attention back to the officer once you noticed the hoof tracks, "Have there been any reports of missing animals in the area? Cows, sheep?"

"...Goats?" Johnny added. You nodded stiffly. Sheriff McNamara shook his head. When he spoke, he seemed resolute.

"They say this area is popular for blood rituals, witch's magic. Now, these rumors have been around for years—since I was a kid, actually."

"Any basis to those rumors?" You asked. The Sheriff gave you a look. 

"Agent L/N, just look at the body!"

"Lots of homicides involve victim desecration," You pointed out, "Is there anything else that might point to that?"

The sheriff put his free hand on his hip. "I know he and his friends listen to that disgusting devil's music."

"I didn't like Madonna's latest album either, but I don’t think it's bad enough to call it that," Johnny mumbled sarcastically. You gave him a subtle elbow in the ribs, flashing him a dirty look. The sheriff didn't seem to notice his banter.

"No, I'm talking about that heavy metal stuff. It takes root in our children, poisoning their minds."

He led you over towards the tree stump. Johnny took a more serious approach. "Have Mark Lee or any of his friends ever been spotted at any of these supposed rituals?"

"More rumors," You muttered. The sheriff shook his head, stopping in front of the stump. 

"Not that I know of," He said, before gesturing at the stump, "This is allegedly their altar. What do you think?"

Johnny's seriousness seemed to only last in short bursts, because he fired back with, "Honestly? With a few rounds of sandpaper and some cans of shellac, it'd make a pretty nice coffee table."

The sheriff replied, "Oh… Uh… Well, from the looks of this wax on it, it was probably being used when he died."

You rolled your eyes, turning your head to the side in embarrassment. But then a flash of white, and translucent pale yellow on the ground caught your eyes.

"Do you know if Lee was out here with anyone?" Johnny asked, not saying anything as you stepped out from under the umbrella. You heard the sheriff say, "We presume he was alone."

"You sure?" You asked, picking up the library card, and the piece of wet paper. "This Franklin Pierce High library card belongs to… Haechan Lee. And the paper here is torn at the stamp so that it doesn't say which library it's from, but it's safe to say that it's from there. The title at the top is torn, too, but it says '...In America'."

You stepped back under the umbrella, raising an eyebrow as you handed them to him. "I'm surprised your people missed this."

The sheriff balked, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I'm sorry, Agent L/N," He murmured, "I'll admit, we're all a bit… shaken up here. This isn't something that we've ever dealt with, which is why I called the FBI. I'll have my men escort you to Franklin Pierce. That kid, Donghyuck Lee… He's Mark’s best friend. He's most likely there."

The sheriff stalked off, and you raised an eyebrow at Johnny before lowering your voice. "Better hide your Metallica albums… I could barely take him seriously."

He shrugged. "Well, the body's clearly displayed in a ceremonial manner. Plus, those goat tracks are highly unusual, Y/N." 

"I was under the impression he made you skeptical once he started speaking," You hummed, crossing your arms. He shook his head.

"I didn't wanna feed his imagination. Poor guy's clearly overwhelmed."

"I think he fed your imagination, Johnny. This is nothing but some murderer taking advantage of local folklore. I mean, there's nothing that odd about—"

The sound of slapping and bouncing against the vinyl of the umbrella caused you to jump back, crashing into Johnny's chest. Your shoulders tensed up as Johnny dropped the umbrella and let out a startled, "What the—"

You caught the umbrella as it fell from his hands, but it was too late for him. Something large, wet and brownish green hit him in the forehead before landing on the ground and flopping away. 

Your mouth dropped open and you met Johnny's equally shocked expression as you both registered the multitude of toads raining down on you. 

A few seconds later and it stopped, but now the ground was covered in toads, now jumping away in different directions. Neither you nor Johnny spoke for a good fifteen seconds, until he wiped his forehead free of… mucus. Your shoulders dropped slowly when he finally spoke.

"So… wanna get coffee before we head over to the school?"

Your face dropped from confusion to disbelief. "Johnny, toads just fell from the sky."

"Yeah, but I still want coffee."

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—09:04 hours, Thursday February 11th, 1993

Coffee on the table, you sat at a desk situated in the school office. Your laptop, the case file and a copy of today's newspaper were laying on top of it. A few feet away from you, the school psychologist and the secretary you'd borrowed the desk from were speaking to each other. You paid them no mind, looking over the file as you typed up your preliminary report.

You continued typing until the door opened, Johnny stomping in tugging a scrawny looking teenage boy—who was most likely Haechan Lee—by the upper arm. Two girls followed meekly behind, as well as a middle-aged woman, who you assumed was a teacher. All three of the kids seemed to be on the verge of tears. You raised an eyebrow at the sight. Johnny looked pissed off, and he asked the psychologist in a clipped tone, "Hey, Doyoung, could Agent L/N and I use your office to talk to the kids?"

Doyoung looked at the boy in Johnny's grip, then at the secretary, then you, before he nodded. Johnny opened the door and made a motion for the kids to go inside. "Sit down at that table. Don't speak unless spoken to," He ordered, tone stern. You gnawed on the inside of your cheek at his voice as you stood. What had gotten into him?

You pulled him away from the doorway, lowering your voice. "You good?"

Johnny sent the boy a glare before sighing. "Kid tried jumping out the window in front of the entire class to escape. I'll calm down. Just pisses me off that he thought something that stupid would work."

You bit back a smile, patting him on the shoulder. "Pull it together, Suh. He can't get away like this."

Johnny nodded, looking down at you warmly. "Ooh, last name. I'm in trouble."

"Shut up," You huffed, only half-joking. You were about to turn when you remembered something you'd read from the cover of the newspaper.

"By the way," You murmured, "National Weather Service reported tornadoes in northern Massachusetts early this morning. The toads probably got picked up from the winds."

Johnny sighed, before walking into the psychologist's office.

He turned to the woman. "Mrs. Walker, we'll take it from here, go on back to the other kids in your class."

"Are you sure?" She asked, pushing a black, stray hair back into her tight bun. Johnny nodded.

"The one day I'm called in to sub and all of this happens," She muttered to herself. 

You spared a glance at the middle-aged woman, giving her a polite smile. She did the same, and you followed behind Johnny, pulling out your tape recorder from your pocket and closing the door behind you. 

Johnny crossed his arms and leaned against the door, you standing in front of the table and setting the tape recorder on the table. 

"This is going to be recorded," You told them. None of them protested, so you hit the record button.

"So, let's get this out of the way," Johnny began, "None of you are under arrest. We just want to ask you some questions. First, I want you to state your names for the record. Understood?" 

They all nodded, and they introduced themselves: the dark haired, tan boy was in fact Donghyuck Lee, the shorter curly haired girl was named Amy Espinoza, and the taller redheaded girl was named Phoebe Howard. 

The questions were basic and thus, so were the answers. Donghyuck and Mark were childhood best friends, but not related. Mark introduced Amy to him with Phoebe's help. Donghyuck took the book Witch Hunt: A History of The Occult in America out because he and Mark wanted to make the whole thing seem legit. When asked why they really wanted to go out there, Donghyuck looked down. He held his hands together between his thighs.

"We wanted to… you know."

"We really don't," You said, raising an eyebrow. He looked like he wanted to sink into the earth then and there.

"Mark and I had a bet that whoever got past second base with the girlsfirst  would do the other's biology homework for the rest of the year."

Amy nudged Phoebe. "Told you," She grumbled quietly. Phoebe glared at her. 

You continued the interrogation. The incantation taken from the book was apparently one meant to summon Azazel. They'd gone out there just before midnight because the book said that was the best time. 

Donghyuck insisted they didn't kill him. "I'll let you search my car and everything, that's how we got there."

"Did you see what happened?"

Phoebe took a shaky breath, before burying her face in her hands. Amy nodded. "...We did. We ran but it had already… gotten to Martin."

You and Johnny exchanged a glance. "It?" You asked. 

Donghyuck nodded. "Lady, you're gonna think we're bullshitting you—"

"Language," You and Johnny scolded in unison. Donghyuck at least had the audacity to look embarrassed. 

"We got out there," Amy continued, "Martin lit a candle on the stump and did the incantation. The wind… changed. It suddenly got a lot colder and we started hearing… I don't even know."

"It sounded like, I guess what you would call speaking in tongues," Donghyuck said. "And then suddenly, there was this thing a few feet away from us. Maybe over six feet tall, and at first I thought it was a goat, but… it wasn't."

"What did it look like?"

Phoebe cried even harder, and the other two exchanged a weary glance. "It had… glowing orange eyes, and long dark hair." Amy shuddered. "It looked like it had goat legs, but a human torso. It was like…"

"It had a… a woman’s chest," Donghyuck mumbled. Your eyes landed on Phoebe, who seemed to be extremely upset. You exchanged a glance with Johnny. He seemed to understand what you were saying, and nodded wordlessly.

"Phoebe, are you alright?" You asked, feeling that something was up. She was shaking like a leaf. With a sigh, you turned the recorder off, and pointed at Amy and Donghyuck. "Both of you, wait outside on that chair. Don't move."

The two of them left, and you nodded at Johnny to sit next to you. 

"Phoebe," Johnny said softly, "Is there something going on that the other two don't know?"

She wiped her eyes, lip wobbling. You put a hand on his shoulder, taking over. "No, there isn't," She mumbled, "I'm just… this whole thing's freaked me out."

Johnny raised an eyebrow, and you sighed. She didn't sound very convincing. Something wasn't right here. Still, you knew it would be hard to get anything out of her when she was so upset.

"Alright. You—you're free to go." You took a deep breath, hesitating before you spoke again. 

"...But if you do want to tell us anything, you can come to us and we can—we'll speak off the record, if it makes you feel better."

Johnny frowned. "I think maybe—"

You flashed him a strong glare, cutting him off, before turning back to Phoebe. She sniffled, eyes darting between the two of you. When she settled on you, she allowed herself to relax a little bit more than when she'd been looking at Johnny. She nodded wordlessly, fiddling with a silver charm bracelet on her left wrist, and you gestured towards the door. "Go wash your face, drink some water. Tell your friends they're free to go. 'Kay?"

She gave a small smile at your gentler tone. Once she was gone, Johnny was on you. "We could have pressed her further. Why did you even offer to go off the record if we haven't ruled her off as a suspect, that's breaking bureau protocol—" 

"We'll talk about this later," You answered as you stood. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched the three teenagers leave.

He lowered his voice as you opened the door. "Y/N, I can't believe—"

"You're letting them go?" The secretary—Beatrice, you believed was her name—asked, glaring at you. Her coiffed blonde bob bounced as she shook her head disapprovingly. Immediately, Johnny straightened. 

"There's not enough evidence to keep them here," He said, "Besides, they're minors. It's always tricky with them."

"It's so obvious that they did it." Doyoung crossed his arms, "They've clearly been influenced by all that stuff on MTV."

You sighed. "The FBI recently concluded a years long study researching any correlation between homicides and media consumption and found that it only occurs in 0.01% of cases. If there were any it would mean thousands of people murdering tens of thousands of other people. It'd be the biggest conspiracy in human history."

Doyoung scoffed, giving you a mocking glance. "Yeah, and J. Edgar Hoover never admitted the existence of the mafia. Really trustworthy source, the FBI."

Johnny barely contained his scoff. He glowered at Doyoung as he gently pushed your upper back towards the door. 

"Our investigation is ongoing."

ROSE GARDEN HOTEL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—19:57 hours, Thursday, February 11th, 1993

Johnny's door opened to a sight of you, no makeup, in sweatpants and hair tied up. You took in his appearance. He had on a similar pair of sweatpants, and a white t-shirt. His hair was pushed back, and he was wearing his reading glasses. 

"What's up?" He asked, letting you in. 

"I found something," You murmured, holding up your laptop as he closed the door. You sat at the foot of the bed, and he sat next to you. You opened the laptop, green text flashing onto the screen. His shoulder brushed yours due to the proximity. 

"'The grisly discovery of a young boy's mutilated body in the woods in the early morning has local law enforcement worried about the organization of conspiratorial dark forces.'"

He nodded. "Okay, is that from this morning's newspaper?"

You didn't answer, but rather read another quote from the article. "'The Jew is known to sacrifice teenagers and remove their organs during their religious rituals.' This is from a Nazi newspaper, from 1934. I found another similar case from 1967, where they pinned it on LSD users. The details are always the same, they just fill in the blanks with whoever was being persecuted at the time."

Johnny met your eyes. "And this time, it's occultists."

"Maybe this is some hidden organization, but I'm not sure. But something's just… not right. I have a bad feeling." 

"Something to do with that girl?"

You nodded. "Is there anything you picked up? Something I might not have noticed?"

He chewed on his lip. "Now that you mention it, I did notice something a few minutes ago, but it doesn't have to do with her. Come on."

He stood, and you set the laptop down on the bed before following him to the bathroom door, where he flicked the light on.

"So, we're in the northern hemisphere." He marched to the sink, leaning over it.

You leaned against the doorframe. "Last time I checked, yes."

He pressed the plug into the sink drain, before turning on the faucet. "The Coriolis Effect dictates that due to the Earth's rotation, water should swirl clockwise, right?"

You nodded, having an idea of where this is going. He motioned for you to come closer. He turned off the faucet. By now, some water had filled the sink just enough. He removed the plug, and you watched as the water went down, whirlpool swirling counterclockwise. 

"Johnny—"

"Something is here, Y/N. It's strong enough to affect this, then who knows—"

"Johnny, the Coriolis Effect works on storms and large bodies of water. Sinks and bathtubs usually don't fall under—"

He groaned, tipping his head back. "Of course," He grumbled, "It's been like this since day one."

You squeezed your eyes shut in frustration. Yes, in your time working with Johnny, you'd seen some truly unexplainable things. A pyromaniac that could light things on fire with his mind, a prehistoric parasite that turned its host violent, a serial killer that entered houses by squeezing his body through impossibly small spaces like an octopus. 

But still, you always had your doubts. "Johnny, once cases are over and we have our explanations, and I've seen things for myself, have I ever not believed you—"

"You don't trust me during these cases, Y/N, that's what matters! It's always been like this, I'm always right, but you never believe me, you go off and write your little notes about me like I'm some field experiment—"

You frowned and crossed your arms. "Johnny—"

"Have I ever gotten anything wrong? 90% of the time, my conclusions are the correct ones—"

"We come to those conclusions together! Don't start taking credit for them now."

"Oh, so you believe it only when your name is also on the report, huh?"

"Don't twist my words, Johnny. You know what I mean. I believe my conclusions first, and then I listen to yours and based on circumstantial evidence and once I discard all logical scientific explanations, then I turn to the extraordinary. I don't jump to conclusions like you do!"

"Why can't you be a good friend for once and fucking listen to me—"

"Because I'm not your friend, Johnny! I'm your fucking coworker!"

The silence that filled the room once you were done was deafening. It was only then that you realized how loud you'd gotten. The shocked disappointment in Johnny's eyes seemed to be even louder, though. 

Immediately, you realized your mistake. Yes, you'd grown close to him, but that was necessary for working well on these assignments. Keeping your work life and your personal life separate was paramount for you. Evidently, Johnny didn't feel the same, and as a result, you'd hurt him.

For a long time, no one said anything. Simply staring at each other, small space ripe with tension. Your eyes softened when he looked away from you, leaning his back against the counter. You took a step closer, until he was right in front of you.

"Johnny, I—"

"Can you get out, please?"

You stared at him for a few moments, trying to think of something to say. 

Ultimately, you didn't. You took a deep sigh, and grabbed your laptop on the way out.

Being an FBI meant you had little to no personal time, working pretty much 7 days a week and being on call for anything at any time, in any part of the country. You knew that when you started your training.

You'd entered with a statement and left with a question. Could you really call Johnny a friend? You really only saw him during work. You didn’t meet outside of it—but considering how much you worked, always on call and spending nights holed up with him in hotel rooms or in your office going over evidence of different cases, at what point did you start spending more time at work than at your day to day life?

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—10:11 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

You were looking between the notes you’d scribbled down on a small notepad using a pen you’d stolen from Johnny the day before. It was while you were transferring them to the report on your computer that you jumped in your seat when the office door burst open. Mrs. Walker guided a sniffling Phoebe Howard into the room. Johnny, who had been speaking to Doyoung to ask him about other students, turned his head. 

Doyoung held up a hand, to which Johnny nodded, and the shorter man walked over to the two of them. "Phoebe, are you alright?"

She shook her head, breaking into tears again, unable to speak. Doyoung turned to Mrs. Walker, who simply patted her head. "Lab project," She murmured, "They had to dissect pig embryos. She just… broke down. I've seen it happen before. Some kids are just more sensitive than others."

"No, no, it's not that," Phoebe blubbered, "Can I…"

Despite everything that had happened last night, when you looked at Johnny, you saw he'd done the same. A tense, knowing stare was shared between the two of you, and then Phoebe spoke.

"Can I speak to Agent L/N please?"

Your head snapped to her when she said your name. You stood, and nodded.

You lead her out the door while ignoring Doyoung’s frown and Mrs. Walker's confused look. Johnny followed behind at a distance. 

The three of you went out the door, to the outdoor lunch tables. You had Phoebe sit down, Johnny and you remained standing. 

"What is it you wanted to talk about, Phoebe?" You said gently.

She took a shaky breath, rubbing her hands together. "So… Do you know who my stepdad is?"

Thinking back to when you'd made a basic profile on the three kids yesterday afternoon, you nodded. "He's the gym coach here, right? Grant Howard?"

She nodded. "So… he married my mom when I was 6. And he adopted me when I was 8. One year after that my mom got a new job, a-and she started travelling a lot, y'know? So I was alone with him a lot more. I-I don't know when it started, but…"

The sinking feeling in your chest grew as she started to cry again.

"S-sometimes when she wasn't here, h-he would invite people over. They'd come i-in with these red cloaks and they—would bring small animals. Kittens a-and puppies, birds sometimes… They would take me down to the basement, to a room where the walls are painted red and there's this dirt floor, and they would—they would stand in a circle and sing and they would give m-me knives, o-or screwdrivers and…"

You sat down next to her, rubbing her shoulder as she let out a gut-wrenching cry. Looking at Johnny, the hand that wasn't in his trench coat pocket was balled into a fist. He was looking down, eyebrows furrowed.

"I didn't want to!" She wailed, "They would hurt me if I didn't, they said they would hurt my mom if I said anything! I had to be the one to kill the animals and then they w-would drink the blood—I don't know how I blocked it out or why I never remembered it until Mrs. Walker put the—the pig on the table, and I… I… I just…"

"It's okay, honey," You murmured, nodding. She buried her head into your shoulder, sobbing freely, and you rubbed her back to soothe her. 

Again, you looked at Johnny, who didn't look at you. You realized just how difficult it would be to keep this off the record—this was something that involved a child being abused, you couldn’t let her go home to a dangerous situation. 

This just got a whole lot more complicated. 

HOWARD RESIDENCE, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—15:49 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

Phoebe was to remain at school. Donghyuck and Amy would pick her up, and she would spend the night with Amy. She wouldn't be going home until the situation was thoroughly investigated. She'd been left with Doyoung, who would speak to her as a mandated reporter, and would later go back to attempt to finish the project. You left her your number in case she needed to speak to you again. 

You'd spoken to Mrs. Walker as her final class was out, just before you and Johnny left. The lab was spacious. A large python lay sleeping in a glass case in the corner of the room. The space was ripe with the smell of blood, which didn't surprise you, given the amount of pig embryos she was having her students dissect all day long.

The woman had a soft voice, and seemed very sympathetic to Phoebe's struggle. "I absolutely understand, I might have her do something else for her grade, but I'm afraid I might not be able to find any other activity on such short notice."

You nodded, sighing. "Of course. Thank you for considering, regardless." 

Your eyes fell to her desk, where a small basket of random items glinted with a small charm bracelet, the same bracelet you'd seen on—

"Ah, the students usually ask me to hold onto their things when we get messy like this," She said with a smile when she noticed where you were looking. "You said you're a doctor, so you understand, right?"

"Oh, yes. I can't really wear anything at all," You said with a soft chuckle.

"Not even a ring? Oh, your husband must be disappointed." 

You felt your face heat up, scratching your neck awkwardly. "I'm not married."

She smiled. “Oh, good for you then. It’s literal hell. And, you get to ogle your partner all day.”

You choked on your spit, coughing awkwardly. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

She laughed, waving her hands, “Oh, Agent L/N, don’t be so modest. You can’t deny that Agent Suh is an absolute dish. Why, if I were 25 years younger… oh my, the things I would—”

“I really must be going, Mrs. Walker,” You insisted quickly. “I’ll contact you should I have any other questions for you."

“Could I have your phone number, in case anything comes up? I-I’ll admit, this whole situation has frightened me a bit.”

You nodded sympathetically, ignoring how uncomfortable you’d felt a moment ago. Pulling out Johnny's pen and your notepad, and you jotted down your number there.

“Y/N?” A knock sounded, and Johnny popped his head in the door. “We need to go.”

“Yeah, I know,” You replied, tucking the notepad back into your pocket. You bid Mrs. Walker goodbye, and off you went, kitten heels clacking as you went.

As for your time with Johnny? The entire ride there was tense.

“Were you expecting that?” He asked a few minutes into the ride. You raised an eyebrow.

“The secret cult that forced a nine year old girl to murder puppies and kittens?” You answered in a clipped tone, “No, John. I can’t say I was.”

He hummed. "Okay… no tape recorder today?"

"I forgot it. Left it at the hotel."

He nodded, and that was that. 

Her mother and adoptive stepfather were, to say the least, shocked at their daughter's confession. You spoke to the girl's mother in the living room, Johnny spoke to her father. Mrs. Howard, whom Phoebe had insisted had never said anything was beside herself, crying as she spoke to you.

“Mrs. Howard, you’re absolutely sure you’ve never witnessed any violent behavior from your husband?”

She nodded, sniffling. “He’s always treated me and Phoebe very kindly. In front of me, at least.”

You hummed, looking down at the carpeted floor. “You said this is your husband's house, and he’s lived here longer than you have? Have you been in all parts of the house? Is there maybe an area a guest might not know about?”

She looked up at the ceiling in thought. “After hearing what Phoebe told you both, it made me realize that I’d never been in the basement. Grant’s always said that was his woodworking space, and he didn’t want anyone in there.”

With a nod, you looked at her. “Could my partner and I maybe take a look at--” 

A commotion from the kitchen cut you off.

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING OF THE SORT! I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE ACCUSING ME OF, SUH!”

You shot up, and so did Mrs. Howard, just in time to see Grant Howard push Johnny into the cabinet. Your training kicked in, and you stepped between the two, holding up your hands to placate the man. 

“Calm down, now,” You growled, dangerously low, “Or I will place you under arrest for assault of an officer.” 

“Grant,” Mrs. Howard called, “Breathe.”

“Leave, both of you! If you want to see my basement, get a damn warrant and you’ll see there’s nothing down there!”

You tugged Johnny away by the wrist, leaving out the front door. “What happened?” 

Johnny shook his head in aggravation. “I asked to see the basement, said that it would clear my suspicions of him. He said he didn’t hurt Phoebe, and I said I didn’t believe him. Then he snapped, grabbed me by the collar and shook me.”

He unlocked the car. “Should we try and get that warrant?”

You got into the passenger seat, shrugging. “I can do it.”

Johnny nodded. “Hopefully we’ll find—”

A ringing from Johnny’s phone caught him off guard. He fished the phone out from his pocket, answering, “Suh.”

“Sheriff, what’s going on?”

You could hear him through the speaker, and you didn't like what you heard. 

"We'll be there right away," Johnny said, face turning serious.

ROOM 471, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—17:37 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

"You're saying she just… had a seizure?"

"I was sitting at the desk, and she was about halfway through the dissection when she just… collapsed on the floor," Mrs. Walker said, voice trembling, "She was shaking and her eyes were rolled up into her head… Agent L/N, it was terrifying."

You sighed and looked at Johnny, who was speaking with the sheriff. When you looked back at Mrs. Walker, she was shaking her head. "I feel a dark force is among us, Agent L/N," She murmured, putting a hand on her chest, "So many horrible things in such a short span of time."

"Agent Suh and I are working hard to solve the case, Mrs. Walker. I promise we're doing our best."

"Y/N," Johnny called, "We gotta go."

You bid the older woman goodbye, and she gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Once you were out the door with Johnny, your voice lowered. "What do you got?"

"Not a lot. The Howards have been notified, but Grant Howard isn't being allowed into her hospital room."

"Who called the police?"

"Clinton."

"Clinton?" 

He shook his head, grimacing to himself. "Shit, sorry. Beatrice Pratt. The secretary." 

You stared at him. "Pratt and Clinton don't sound alike at all."

"Well, yeah, but…" He scratched his head and lowered his voice. "The pantsuit and the bob remind me of the first lady."

You frowned. "I wear pantsuits all the time."

"Yeah, but you don't look like Hillary Clinton."

You sighed. You didn’t have time for this, especially when he was still mad at you. "Okay. Sure, whatever. I talked to Walker. I… I'm not so sure about her."

Johnny tilted his head. "Why not?"

"I don't know. I don't have a lot to go off of, but it seems just a little bit odd that she shows up the morning of Mark Lee's death, replacing a man who apparently hasn't missed a day in a fifteen year career."

"Maybe he had an emergency. Happens to everyone."

"Johnny, he contracted flesh eating bacteria. Does that sound like something that happens to everyone?"

He didn't answer. Obviously, he hadn’t been expecting that. "Ohhh-kay, then. Let's do this. The sheriff said that the warrant should be ready within a few hours. Howard would probably beat my ass if he sees me again, so you check out that basement, and I can do the background check on Walker. Sound good?"

"Actually, I don't think you'll need a warrant."

The two of you turned, stunned, to see Grant Howard standing in front of you both. His eyes were rimmed red and he was clearly restless, shifting his weight onto his legs constantly. 

"Agent L/N, I'll show you the basement."

HOWARD RESIDENCE, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—18:09 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

"My entire life," The man said, sounding tired, "I was taught that humans are no better, no worse than animals. Do what thou willst, rather than do unto others." 

He pulled open the basement door, gesturing for you to go first. Immediately, you were on edge. If you had your back turned he could easily push you down the stairs or hit you in the head.

"You go down first," You ordered. He nodded understandingly. "You were saying?""My family has kept this religion for seven generations. My great, great, great, great grandfather was born in 1777, Agent L/N, and he was the one who brought us into it. We've been keeping it alive since, with two other families. It kept us in good health, we had no money problems."

When the two of you got to the bottom of the stairs, he turned the light on and you realized Mrs. Howard had been right, it did look like a normal woodworking space. Until Mr. Howard pulled a rug up from the ground to reveal a hatch, which he pulled up to reveal another set of stairs.

"I was raised to believe that Christianity was synonymous with hypocrisy. And for years, I believed that." He led you down this pair of stairs again, where he lit his flashlight. The room was a bit smaller than the basement but still large enough to keep a large group of people like Phoebe had said. Also identical to her story were the red walls and the dirt floor.

 "Believed?"

"Believed," He confirmed. "I believed until I saw it in my own religion as well, not even an hour ago. When I got to the school to gather my things and was met by the heads of the other 2 families, asking me to pin the murder of Mark Lee on my own daughter. That if she were permanently affected by what just happened, we could get away with all of it. That was when I knew that I was better than an animal. I need to keep Phoebe and Linda safe."

"So one of you did murder Lee," You murmured, trying to get a solid confession. However, he shook his head. "I didn't. The others insist they didn't either." 

"Who did, then?"

He sighed. "Agent L/N, you have to understand, I'm trained in these arts so I know when there’s a difference somewhere. Something is here. Something bad."

 You frowned. "Alright. Did you or did you not abuse your daughter?"

"I never laid a hand on her. The others, however… they wanted to make sure she would stay quiet through fear, and they wouldn't listen to me. We have a ritual that blocks out memories, every time we would perform that ritual when we were done. The plan was to reveal the memories when she turned 18, and then allow her to join or reject the religion. It's a rite of passage."

"Why even use Phoebe in the first place?"

He shook his head. "The magic of an innocent soul is a powerful thing. It's one of the most powerful things we could ever use in our magic. That's also why we used those sacrifices. She was the youngest of all of our children. The others were all past 11 at that age."

With a sigh, you led him up back to the main basement. "Would you be willing to give me a written statement of who the heads of these families are?"

He nodded. "Of course. I just want my daughter and my wife to be safe. They believe that whatever's here wants a sacrifice. That it took Mark Lee as a warning to us, and unless it gets a sacrifice from us…"

"It'll strike again," You finished."And it won't stop." He sounded desperate. You found your notepad, but the pen was nowhere to be found. "Do you have a—"

Your cellphone ringing interrupted you. You groaned quietly, scooping it from your pocket. "Hello?"

"Y/N?" You heard Johnny's voice say. His tone was urgent. There was a faint crackle of static, but as you listened it began to get louder. "I'm at the school. You need to hurry, Y/N, there's something—!"

The static overpowered the sound of his voice, and then the call dropped. "Johnny? Johnny! Hello?"

Your heart dropped, and you tucked the phone and the notepad into your pocket. "I need to go. My partner's in trouble."

"I'll go with you," He offered.

You shook your head. "No. You're under arrest."

"What? But—"

"You just admitted to animal abuse, your complicity in child abuse and conspiracy. If I take you to the school, how do I know you won't take the other two and bolt?" You snapped. "Against that beam, there.

Pulling out some handcuffs, you forced him against the side of the stairs, where you handcuffed him to the railing. "I'll come back for you later," You growled, "Don't move."

Rushing up the stairs, and out the door, into the rain, you ran towards the car. Johnny needed you. 

Your friend needed you.

FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—18:30 hours, February 12th, 1993

You burst into the school, trying to keep calm despite the horrid feeling in your gut. You eyed the office, which was right next to the main entrance. The lights were on, you could see your laptop was on. But the seat was empty, and so was the rest of the office, or so it seemed to be from where you were standing. Taking a deep breath, you pulled out your gun, and entered the office slowly. 

"Hello?" You called, looking into the window of Doyoung’s office. Empty. The principal's office? Empty. Your mouth felt dry. 

Where was Johnny?

"Y/N?"

In a moment your professors at the academy would've been ashamed to see, you shrieked, and turned the gun in the direction the voice came from. But when you realized it was Johnny with a styrofoam coffee cup, whose eyes had gone wide at the sight of the gun pointed at him, you lowered it.

"Don't fucking scare me like that," You muttered as you tucked the gun into its holster. A second later, you raced forward, engulfing him in a hug as you realized that he was okay.

"Y/N? What's… going on?"

You pulled away once it registered what you'd done. "Sorry," You mumbled. "What happened? Where did the thing go?"

"Y/N, what are you talking about?"

You shook your head in confusion. "You called me. You said you were in danger. My heart fell out of my ass, Johnny, what happened?"

Johnny's face contorted at your statement. "Huh? Y/N, I never even touched my phone. I was running the background check on Walker—who, by the way, is pretty much clear in the system. But… I don't know."

Staring at him, you put your hands on your hips. "Johnny, I heard your… never mind. We have to go. Howard confessed."

His eyebrows shot up. "He did it?"

"No, but he admitted to conspiracy and has names. Come on, we have to go."

For the millionth time today, you made your way from the school to the Howard residence, where you found the door was still open. As you opened the door to the basement, you looked at him.

"He's down here."Johnny turned on his flashlight, and you followed him down the steps. The room was eerily quiet, and when Johnny flashed the light at where you said he was, it was empty.You huffed at the sight of the empty handcuffs. How had he slipped out of them?

"Y/N," Johnny said, flashing the light a few feet away, "Look."

You turned to see what he was pointing at. Your eyes widened at the sight of bones, tinged pink with the small chunks of meat still attached to it.

"Do you think it might be some kind of acid?" You asked, and Johnny shook his head.

"There's no sign of a reaction on the floor," He answered, flashing the light around the basement floor. He stopped a few feet away. You felt yourself grow even more confused.

"Is that—?

""Snakeskin," Johnny whispered, "...There's a python in Walker's class."

"B-but, that's not possible," You muttered, "It would take a snake hours to consume a grown man, and weeks to digest it!"

Johnny grabbed your wrist, shaking his head at your rambling. "C'mon, Einstein," He told you, "We gotta go pay Walker a visit."

ROOM 471, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—19:01 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

The school was a lot darker than when it had been when you had been there previously. Seeing the halls, which you'd grown used to being full and lit up, suddenly so dark and empty made you uneasy.

 It was raining a lot harder now. The sound of the rain pelting the roof made it harder to listen for anything. When you got to Walker's room, it was also dark. She said she'd be here until eight grading papers, but the room was empty. There were some broken beakers on one of the lab tables, and when you really strained your ears to listen, the sound of soft yet strained breathing could be heard behind the desk. 

"Mrs. Walker?" You called, slowly walking towards the desk. Johnny tried the light, but to no avail. The rain must have knocked it out.

The woman was on the floor, nose bleeding and leg bent at an angle at which legs weren't meant to bend at all. She seemed to have been hit in the head, a sizable lump protruding from her temple.

"Th-the snake—" She mumbled, "They took the snake—He hit me,"

"Who, Mrs. Walker, who?"

"Kim," She spat out, "Pratt. I think they—think they killed that boy."

Doyoung and Beatrice. You and Johnny exchanged glances, and you remembered what Grant had said.

"Did you see where they went, Mrs. Walker?" Johnny asked. She blinked hazily.

"Said something about the conference room," She muttered.

"We'll call paramedics for you, okay?" You stood, trying to reassure her gently. "You'll be fine."

Johnny had already picked up the phone. Thunder crackled overhead as he dialed the number, but you could hear the busy tone all the way from where you were standing

."Damn storm is jamming the signal," He said, "Y/N, we gotta go, now."

"Johnny, what about—"

"Y/N," He growled, "Now."

Something about his tone set you off, and you did as he said. He immediately shut the door, and sped up his steps down the hall. 

"What was that about?" You asked, turning on your flashlight and trying to keep up with his pace. 

"Y/N, do you have that pen you borrowed from me yesterday?" He asked, not slowing down. Thunder rumbled overhead.

"What?" He had a point, probably. He always did when he got like this. "No, I dropped it I think."

"The pen was on Walker's desk. Next to the phone. Next to Phoebe's bracelet. It was my pen."

You inhaled sharply as Johnny tugged the door to the conference room open. "What are you implying?"

"Walker was clear in the system. But when I was talking to the principal yesterday, she couldn't even remember hiring her. What are the odds that a woman pops up out of nowhere the same day a murder happens?"

You pulled a filing cabinet open, looking through random folders. "Okay, yes, we agree. But what if—"

"Y/N, did you not see how tall she was?"

You shook your head, turning to pull out some papers from a file. "Sure, she's a bit taller than average, but she's shorter than you—"

"She's slouching to look smaller. Trust me, I did that when I was younger. If she stood up straight, she would be taller than me. Donghyuck said the thing that grabbed Mark was tall, had female breasts, and had dark hair. She fits the profile."

You sighed. "I mean, maybe you—"

A thud! and a groan from Johnny had you turning your head. Your flashlight landed on Johnny, on the ground, unconscious. Your body turned cold. 

"Johnny—?"

But then you felt something hit you in the back of the head, and everything went dark. 

Your eyes cracked open at the sensation of being dragged, and as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you realized two things. 

One, you arms and legs were bound, and there was a gag placed in your mouth. You craned your head, and Johnny was in the same situation as you, only he was still unconscious. 

And two, you were being dragged by Hillary Clinton. 

Shit, no. Maybe you'd hit your head harder than expected. Your vision cleared up further, and you realized it wasn't, in fact, Hillary Clinton, but rather Beatrice Pratt. Doyoung was dragging Johnny, and then you realized what was going on. 

These were the others that Grant Howard had been referring to. They seemingly hadn't realized you were awake yet. You were in the school gymnasium, headed towards a doorway in the corner. The room was dark, occasionally lit by flashes of lightning.

"—The showers, right?" Doyoung asked, sounding out of breath. Beatrice huffed. 

"Yes. The blood will get washed away there."

You couldn’t move your hands, no matter how much you squirmed. Your eyes looked at Johnny, who was beginning to stir. His brows furrowed, mouth trying to form words. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” Doyoung hummed, disdain dripping from his voice, “Lovely.”

Johnny’s eyes cracked open, immediately glaring at Doyoung, who chuckled. “Please. I’m terrified.”

“Doyoung, shut up,” Beatrice snapped. “Open the door.”

Doyoung let Johnny’s legs fall onto the floor. Johnny groaned in discomfort as Doyoung opened the door, propping it open with something.

He approached Johnny again, but before he picked him up to drag him further, he landed a swift kick to Johnny’s gut. Johnny let out a muffled moan in pain, and you thrashed against your restraints.

“You just had to come and ruin everything, huh? This is a once in a century opportunity, and you--” He proceeded to kick Johnny again, over and over, “Just--won’t--quit.”

“Doyoung!” Beatrice snapped. “We don’t have time for this. Don’t you sense it getting angrier? If we don’t sacrifice them now, it’ll take us like it took Grant.”

Doyoung turned to her, breathing heavily through his nose. “Fine,” He bit out.

They dragged you into the bathrooms, leading you to the showers, where they dumped you both next to each other. You rolled onto your side to look at Johnny, whose eyes were screwed shut in pain. His breathing was labored. 

You squirmed again, trying to free yourself as the shower roared to life. Curling in on yourself as cold water soaked your body, you tried to think of a way to save both Johnny and yourself. Doyoung and Beatrice pulled out large daggers from their  coat pockets, and raised their arms to the sky. They began chanting in latin, but the roar of water, the shock of the cold temperature, and the panic beginning to set in caused the words to blur together. 

This was it. You and Johnny were going to die. 

Until the two of them crumpled on top of you. You jumped as Doyoung’s weight toppled onto you, eyes squeezing shut in pain. His elbow had landed on your stomach. For a moment, as you lay there reeling in pain, and you wondered if this was a part of the ritual. But then…

"Agent L/N?" Your eyes shot open, and you met eyes with Amy Espinoza. She managed an awkward attempt at a polite smile, fiddling with what she was holding in her hands. Your eyes widened when you registered the shotgun. A flashlight was duct-taped haphazardly to the barrel, probably so that she could see wherever she was aiming.

"Mmh-hffpnffh?" You couldn't stop yourself from trying to speak, unable to contain your surprise. 

A second set of hands turned off the shower, and you craned your neck to see Donghyuck Lee, holding an old baseball bat underneath his armpit. He pulled Beatrice off of Johnny, making a disgusted face. "I always knew there was something up with her," He grumbled, "She never laughed at my jokes."

"Yeah, 'cause you're annoying as shit," Amy countered, pushing Doyoung to the side. "Can you guys sit up?"

She untied your hands, and you got to work on untying your feet before pulling the gag off of your mouth. 

"What are you two doing here?" Johnny asked, voice raspy and out of breath. 

You stood up, wiping water off of your face. "Where did you get that gun?"

 "Oh." Amy suddenly sounded embarrassed. "I, uh… Stole it from my dad?

"Donghyuck helped Johnny stand. "We went to visit Phoebe in the hospital, Mr. Suh—"

"Agent Suh," Johnny corrected, bringing a hand to his stomach. "Whatever. Anyway, we went to visit and once she woke up she told us something… not good."

"Mrs. Walker is the thing," Amy said. "Phoebe said she was dissecting the pig and she saw her grab the bracelet she'd given her—"

"And she did something and her eyes turned orange, like the thing we saw in the woods!" Amy continued. "The officer that was there didn't believe her, but we did."

"So we decided to take matters into our own hands," Donghyuck said. "She killed our best friend, so we thought—"

"That coming to your school with a shotgun and a wooden baseball bat, to kill a demon was the best course of action?" You didn't sound amused, and the two of them exchanged a look.

Amy looked down. "Well… when you put it like that…"

"It doesn't matter," Johnny said. "You kids need to go home now. It's not safe for either of you." 

"Like hell we're going anywhere! We were able to save you guys, so—"

“You kids got lucky this one time," You pointed out, sounding stern, "Agent Suh and I are trained for dangerous situations like this. You two aren't, and we certainly aren't about to expose you kids to one. Go home."

You searched your pockets, not finding your gun. You crouched to look through Doyoung and Beatrice's pockets, handing Johnny's gun to him and putting your gun back into your holster.

"But—"

A large crack of thunder startled you all, and the ground seemed to rumble as it did. Johnny looked past you and the kids, at the end of the shower hallway, and inhaled sharply.

"Oh, that's so much worse than Hillary Clinton," He mumbled. You didn't even see what he meant, but in that split second something in you took over. You pulled Donghyuck behind you, Johnny grabbing Amy and doing the same. 

At the same time, Amy aimed the gun to where Johnny had been looking, the light landing on...

Donghyuck gasped. "Holy shit."

It was like exactly what Donghyuck had said, except worse. Glowing, orange eyes, goat legs, stringy black hair. Johnny was right—standing like this, she was much taller than him. Her jaw was unhinged, open impossibly wide. She was panting heavily, hobbling slowly towards you. 

You and Johnny pulled out your guns, shooting instantly. One hit her in the shoulder, the other in the stomach. Her jaw opened even further, and a blood curdling screech echoed throughout the tiled room. 

Then she broke out into a run. 

You forced yourself to stand still, shooting another round before she jumped over you. Out of the corner of your eye, Donghyuck swung the bat, hitting her in the leg, causing her to fall face first to the ground.

 Taking that advantage, Johnny fired another round into her back. She shrieked again, and you and Johnny took the opportunity to run out the door, pushing the kids with you.

"Go! Both of you, now," You ordered once you were in the gym again. They shook their heads. Donghyuck held up his bat.

"We're not leaving without—"

"Donghyuck, this isn't a movie," Johnny insisted, "Now go!"

 Amy grabbed his arm. "Hyuck, they're right, we have to—LOOK OUT!"

You turned to see what had once been Mrs. Walker stick its head out of the doorway. Amy was able to fire one last shot into it, with her shotgun. You didn’t see where it hit—the door shut and you heard one final wail. 

A few moments later, the lights flickered on. You stood there, clothes dripping onto the hardwood floor for a good minute or so, until you looked at Johnny, who wore a pained grimace. "I can check," You told him. "Stay here with the kids." 

"You sure?" He asked. You nodded, holding out your gun and slowly making your way towards the door. You spared the odd trio one final glance. 

Johnny—soaking wet hair falling into his eyes—was standing in front of them, aiming his gun at the door. Donghyuck was holding his bat up, Amy's MacGyver-esque flashlight gun making you squint.

Then, you opened the door. You could feel your heart hammering a mile a minute. Very slowly, you scanned the room. You stopped when you glanced at the showerhead Beatrice and Doyoung had placed you under—the same one they should have been under, knocked unconscious. You swallowed a lump in your throat. 

Because they weren’t there, and neither was Mrs. Walker. What you did see, however, were two large streak of blood dragged up the wall and to a window, staining the green tiles.

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—20:47 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

The four of you made your way back to the main building on high alert. The rain seemed to have stopped once the thing was gone. Amazingly, there wasn't even a cloud in the sky. Even the air felt different—cleaner.

Shockingly, this time when Johnny tried the phone again, it worked. In order, he called the sheriff, who had no issue believing the ordeal you had gone through. Then the principal, who was incredibly confused as to how four of her teachers could vanish in one night.

 And then, you turned to the kids and gestured to the phone. "Alright, your turn now. Call your parents, both of you."

If they were more afraid of the murderous hellspawn they'd just helped you fight off, it didn't show. "Please just let us go now, Agent L/N," Donghyuck pleaded, "My mom will never let me leave my house again after this."

Amy shook her head. "My dad's gonna kill me if he finds out I stole the gun again."

Johnny made a face. "Again?"

She turned even paler when she realized her screw up. "I'm not going to omit witnesses from a report because you'll get grounded," You told them. "You're good kids, with good intentions. You just lost someone and had another friend go through something traumatic, we get that. But what you did tonight was incredibly dangerous, reckless, and—and—"

"Stupid?" Johnny offered.

"Johnny!" You snapped, lowering your voice. He shrugged.

You sighed, trying to get them to understand. "Alright, listen. There's a Yellow Pages over on that desk. If you don't call them, I will, or the sheriff will. Which would scare your parents less, huh? Getting a call from their kids, from the sheriff's department, or from the goddamn federal bureau of investigation?"

If they didn't get it before, they definitely understood now. Amy took the fall first, telling her dad she'd brought her car to the school, had gotten into trouble, and needed him to come by to talk to the police. She left out the gun, much to your amusement.

While Donghyuck did the same, you pulled Johnny into the hallway to speak to him.

"Are you okay?" You asked, "Doyoung seemed to kick you pretty hard." 

"I'll take a few days off once we get back to DC, I'll be fine," He murmured. He leaned against the wall and winced.

You nodded, but weren't sure how to respond. Finally, you spoke again.

"Look, about last night," You said softly, and he looked up in thought. 

"What about it?" He didn't seem to want to meet your eyes.

You took a step forward. "Johnny, other than when we first met, have I ever treated you like you were crazy?" 

Your voice was quieter now, gentler in its approach. He looked to the side, crossing his arms. "...No."

You shrugged, before sighing. "It's not that I don't trust you. I have my scientific conclusions. You have yours. Every time I see something I can't explain I try to explain it with what I do know. Tonight was… insane, and you were right. But honestly? It just reinforced my wanting to go the scientific route every time we have a case."

He frowned. "Why? You saw Walker."

"Exactly." You crossed your arms. "If I went into every single case, expecting to see that or something even worse? God. I… I don't know how you do it, John."

He smiled, but still didn't meet your eyes. "I didn't mean what I said last night either. Y'know… that. Or at least, I didn't realize I didn't mean it until today. I… I care about you, Johnny. I really do. You're smart, and you're really funny, and you give me perspectives I wouldn't consider otherwise."

He looked at you, and you put a hand on his upper arm. "I'm glad I have a friend like you to work with," You admitted, "And I'm glad you're okay."

His smile grew, and he let out a chuckle. "There's no one else in the bureau I would rather be murdered by Hillary Clinton with," He said, with the most endearing tone possible. You burst into laughter, Johnny joining you. He stepped closer, pulling you into a hug as you continued to laugh. Your eyes shut, and despite Johnny's cold, damp clothes pressing against your cold, damp clothes, it still warmed your chest. The two of you stood together for a while, enjoying each other's embrace. His chin rested on your head, and you sighed happily. Johnny gave good hugs.

"Uhh, Agent Suh?"

Johnny and you broke away immediately. Johnny cleared his throat."Uhh, yes, Donghyuck?"Amy and Donghyuck exchanged a glance from the office doorway. "Uh, my mom said she'll be here soon. A-and I saw some police lights across the street, so…"

"Oh." Johnny straightened his tie. "Thank you."

A few seconds later, the sound of sirens came into proximity. You took a look at these two kids, and despite the stress they'd caused you, you felt an odd fondness in your heart. 

“Come on, you two," Johnny murmured, "Time to go."

X-FILE 229-B: THE SAN CEFERINO SHIFTER

FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C—07:08 hours, Wednesday, July 6th, 1994

On this particular summer morning, you were enjoying the air conditioner for as long as you could wait. You'd be flying to San Ceferino, California, twenty minutes outside of San Francisco. 

The assignment was at a gated community where three women had been found dead within the span of three weeks. You and Johnny would be sent in to investigate due to a strange, unidentifiable residue being found on the bodies. A local detective had contacted the bureau for help.

The kicker? For some reason, due to some sensitivities of having their community "invaded" the head of the community had requested you be placed undercover.

So what was the bureau's idea? "Moving" you and Johnny into the community, posing as a newlywed couple. 

Yikes.

This seemed like a bad idea to you, but you didn't say anything. Because if you spoke up to your superiors, they'd ask why, and you'd be forced to explain. 

"I got the flight tickets and our fake profiles!" Johnny entered your shared office, causing you to look up from the case file.

"Oh, nice. Who are we?"

He curled his lip, making a face. "Whoever makes up these names should be demoted, I swear to god. My name is Fox. Fox Kang. Who the hell names their kid Fox—"

You stifled a laugh as you grabbed the file from him, flipping to yours. Dana Baker. A bit ordinary, but the more inconspicuous, the better, you figured. 

"God, I kind of don't want to go," You hummed, "It's hot enough as it is here in Washington. I don't wanna imagine the California heat."

"Well, suck it up," He said, but he didn't sound dismissive. "We're leaving in three hours. We still have to pick up our undercover wardrobe and get to the airport, y'know?"

Frowning at the profile, you nodded half-heartedly. It stated that your backstory was that of college sweethearts at Cornell in the 80s. He was class of 1984, you of 1986. You were moving to California two months after getting married, because "Fox" got a job offer just outside of San Francisco. 

"You're staring at that paper like you're Nancy Kerrigan and it just broke your knee," Johnny pointed out, "You okay?"

"Huh?" You looked at him, swallowing. "Oh… yeah. I'm fine. I'm just a bit… unsure about the whole marriage thing." 

Johnny shrugged, offering an amused smile. "Really, Y/N. We've been working together for two years and you still find me that unbearable?"

You laughed, standing and circling your desk to stand in front of him. "No, not at all. I'm just not the best when it comes to undercover work."

Johnny leaned against the desk, smiling sympathetically. "Well, I'm no Tom Hanks either. But if you think about it, we spend all our time together anyway. It's not that big of a stretch to say we might as well be."

"We definitely argue like one," You fired back. You both laughed, simply staring at each other in silence once it quieted down. Johnny's eyes studied you up and down, dark eyes warm. He was wearing his glasses today. 

You wondered if he was judging your outfit, because he did that sometimes with other people. Apparently, before he became interested in criminal psychology he'd wanted to become a fashion designer, or so he told you. Six months later after he'd told you that and you still weren't sure if he was joking or not.

"What are you looking at?" You asked. He shook his head. 

"...Nothing. Let's get going?"

The two of you picked up your faux suitcases—the bureau had a department full of fake clothes for agents going undercover needing to fit a certain persona. The two of you were nothing close to the white picket fence suburban life, so you were better off picking up some fake clothes.

You laughed when you saw the first outfit Johnny had been given. A pastel yellow LaCoste polo shirt, and grayish blue dress shorts. He glowered at you when he saw your face.

"Oh, yeah, very funny."

Your outfit wasn't much better. High rise, light wash jeans and another polo, this one bright red, a pair of dark red casual loafers to match. Johnny didn't laugh, but it was clear he was trying not to.

You decided to sleep on the plane. There wasn't a lot to look over, as you'd received the file the night before. By now, you knew the drill. 

You dreamt you were back in that hotel room in Oregon. Johnny was kneeling beneath you, but you still hadn't taken your robe off. He was saying something, but you couldn't understand what. His eyes were full of a warm emotion that you couldn't quite place.

Until he raised his arms to try and remove the robe. This time, when he spoke, you could hear him clearly. "This is what you wanted me to do, right?"

Your hands grabbed his. "What? Johnny, I… Well…" 

He stood, face impossibly close to yours. There was an odd smile on his face. "Don't worry," He murmured. "I want to, too."

Slowly, your hands let go of his and he began to pull off the robe. You didn’t protest. When you were bare, his hands slid to the skin of your waist, and he pulled you against him. His forehead pressed against yours.

"Johnny, are you sure?"

"Y/N," He said with a smile, "We are beginning our descent into LAX. Please put on your seatbelts and put up your trays."

You jumped awake in your seat, eyes impossibly wide. A laugh from beside you caused you to turn your head. Johnny was giggling into his palm. 

"What?" You asked, voice raspy from sleeping. 

"Oh my god, that was beautiful," He declared, "You were sleeping so peacefully and then, oh my god, that was hilarious."

"Ha, ha, ha." Your tone was devoid of any emotion. You rubbed your eyes, yawning slightly. "What time is it, here?"

"Three hour time difference. It's one PM." 

You nodded. And you still had a six hour car ride. Lovely. 

SOMEWHERE ALONG THE I-5, CALIFORNIA—15:22, Wednesday, July 6th, 1994

"Couldn't they have just flown us to San Francisco and have us drive from there?" Johnny complained after being cut off by yet another car. 

You sighed. "Budget cuts, I guess. We're not infiltrating the mafia, or taking down human trafficking rings."

"Yeah, we just fight the boogeyman and the little green men," He agreed. You laughed. 

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we hadn't gotten assigned together?" He sounded wistful, not taking his eyes off of the road. 

"I don't know." You picked at a loose thread on your jeans. "I would probably still be teaching at the academy. I think Brooks was considering placing you with Jung if I wasn't up for it."

"Jaehyun Jung?" He turned his head, making a face. "Really? He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," You insisted, "He just thinks like me, science before all, except… less nice about it."

"You sure?" He asked, fiddling with the radio, "Every time we're in a room together, I catch him staring at me like he's trying to shoot lasers into my head, the prick."

You shrugged. "He's nice to me."

"That's just 'cause he's trying to get into your pants."

You hummed. Jaehyun was pretty handsome. "Would that be such a bad thing?" 

He coughed, shrugging. "Well, it's your love life. You do you."

The air turned awkward. Johnny fiddled with the radio, but in this particular stretch of the interstate, all that came up was a Latin beats radio. Trumpets, and soft snare drums filled the car. You immediately recognized Selena's Bidi Bidi Bom Bom, a song about a girl realizing her heart went crazy whenever her lover passed by—while you didn’t listen to a lot of Latin music, you had a friend who did and always played this song when you met up.

Me tiemblan hasta las piernas

Y el corazon igual

Se emociona, ya no razona

No lo puedo controlar

"Oh, I hate this song," Johnny mumbled, reaching to turn the radio off.

"No, wait! I like it." You pushed his hand away. He groaned, but didn't turn it off. 

Y me canta así, me canta así…

Bidi bidi bom bom, bidi bidi bom bom

Bidi bidi bidi bidi bidi bom bom

Bidi bidi bidi bidi bidi bom bom

So, the two of you continued on listening to Selena, Johnny silently pouting. 

"So, what were you dreaming about on the plane?"

"Huh?" You cleared your throat.

"Yeah, you said my name in your sleep."

You shifted in your seat. "Oh… Um. I can't even remember."

He hummed, but didn't say anything. The drive continued on, both of you alternating between discussing mundane things and the case. All of them had been found in their homes, with no sign of a struggle—which suggested they knew their assailant. They'd all been strangled to death. No odd fingerprints could be recovered from the crime scenes. 

The first victim lived alone. The other two's husbands had solid alibis that were confirmed by the police. 

Which meant that it had to be someone in the neighborhood. There was reportedly a strong sense of community there, which was part of why the bureau had you going undercover. 

Around six, the two of you rolled into San Francisco, for a brief stop to talk to the detective who had contacted the bureau, a woman named Wendy Son. 

The two of you rolled into the precinct, and upon showing your badges, were prompted to the woman’s office. She had her light brown hair tied up in a ponytail, wearing a black pantsuit similar to what you would wear, had you not been dressed like a soccer mom.

"Oh, thank you for coming," She said once you sat down. "I have some extra material here that I wasn't able to fax you."

She pulled out a folder, setting it in front of you on the desk. Johnny opened it to reveal more images you hadn't initially seen. 

"We sent the sample to Los Angeles because their laboratory has a higher capacity," She told you both, "They still weren't able to identify it, but apparently it apparently has an a mild tranquilizing enzyme. That might also be why there wasn't much of a struggle." 

Johnny hummed. "There aren't any cameras in San Ceferino, are there?" 

Detective Son shook her head. "Only around the perimeter and the gates." 

"Maybe there's something there," You said, "Could we have access to those tapes?"

She looked back down at the pictures. "I could certainly get it to you by tomorrow afternoon, though. Come in past two and I should have it by then."

Johnny nodded and smiled at her. "That would be great, thank you." 

She smiled, and you'd have to be blind to not notice the blush on her face. She handed him the keys to the house that the heads of the community had arranged to have semi-furnished ahead of your arrival. The rest would be arriving tomorrow in the morning, during which time you would go through the motions of being a newlywed couple moving into their “forever home”.

Johnny apparently was blind, though. He didn't say anything about it once you were both back in the car. You couldn't really blame her. 

Johnny was… well, he was Johnny. He was incredibly handsome, and funny. Any reasonable person interested in men would find him attractive. 

"Detective Son likes you," You told him as you were getting onto the road that led to San Ceferino.

"Does she?" He answered, smiling smugly. "She's pretty."

You don't know why that ignited something in you. "You think so?"

He nodded. "She seems nice. But I'm not interested."

The odd sensation in your chest simmered down. "No?"

"Not really. I'm not interested in something long distance. Plus, I work too much to have a relationship."

You nodded. "Yeah. I understand."

You arrived as the sun was setting, around seven. The two of you pulled into the gate to the place, where you introduced yourselves with your fake names to the guard. He checked his roster of approved people and let you both in. 

San Ceferino consisted of four different cul de sacs, each house practically identical. The house you would be staying in was towards the end of the second one. The house was a pale pastel yellow, orange rays of the sunset making it seem a deeper color. Your car rolled into “your” driveway, and with a sigh of relief, Johnny turned the car off. 

“I’m so tired,” He groaned, “Should we try and introduce ourselves today or tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” You said, letting your head fall back against the headrest, “These people are probably all having dinner or something, it’d be weird for us to do that now.”

He nodded, and got out of the car to open the trunk. You got out to grab your suitcase, and as you were getting out you realized that just maybe the universe disagreed with your decision to wait to meet others around the neighborhood.

A woman was crossing the street. She seemed a bit older than you both but was still dressed almost identically. You walked over to Johnny, who had his back turned, and tapped him on the shoulder. “Fox,” You mumbled, “We’ve got company.”

He turned, and upon spotting the woman flashed a comically fake smile. You offered the friendliest smile you could muster, but the way her eyes lit up when doing a once over of Johnny and then drooping in disappointment once she spotted you. If she thought she was subtle, she was dead wrong.

“Hi,” She said, impossibly enthusiastic, “I’m Anne Morrison. I’m the head of the Homeowners Association.”

You nodded in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you,” You said, holding out your hand, “I’m Dana. This is… my husband, Fox.”

“Fox,” She repeated, turning to look at Johnny, “That’s a lovely name. So, what brings you two to San Ceferino?”

“Oh, I got a job offer in San Francisco a few months ago,” Johnny answered. He was good, you decided. “We looked at some houses in the city, but it’s so busy there, you know? We were living in Maryland, so the transition between small town and big city… it’s not for us.”

She nodded, eyes wide. “I absolutely understand. My ex-husband wanted to move to the city now that our kids are in college. I don’t enjoy any of the hustle and bustle, really.” She chuckled, “So guess who got the house in the divorce!”

You and Johnny exchanged a glance, then laughed as if it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. “Oh, my goodness,” You wheezed, clutching your hand in your chest, “I can imagine!”

“So, what do you two do?”

“I’m an architect,” Johnny said.

“I’m a publicist.” You scratched at your cheek when you felt a mosquito try to land. Her eyes zeroed in on your hand.

“You two are married, right?” She asked, “How come you’re not wearing your rings?”

You froze. Did the bureau even have fake jewelry? Why didn’t either of you think of that detail?

“Oh,” Johnny shrugged, coming to the rescue. “It’s so stressful having to take everything on and off at the airport, so we decided not to wear them today. Right, honey?”

He wrapped his hand around your waist, and you nodded. “I never wear jewelry when I’m on a plane. Too much hassle.”

She nodded, mouth slightly agape. “Oh, I see.”

Johny cleared his throat. “What do you work as?”

She grinned. “I’m a chemist.”

“I hated chemistry in high school,” Johnny groaned jokingly. Anne apparently thought this was hilarious, swatting his arm. He laughed again, but it was empty, awkward. You leaned your head against his shoulder in hopes that she'd get the message. 

“Well, Anne, it was lovely meeting you,” You declared, “But we’ve been awake since five in the morning travelling. We’re exhausted, we really should be getting inside.”

Anne sighed, eyes turning away from studying Johnny’s face to you. “Oh, go ahead. You two must be so tired.”

Johnny nodded, pursing his lips. “We’ll speak soon?”

She smiled. “There’s an HOA meeting on Friday night at another member's house. You should come and see what we’re all about, consider joining.”

"Swing by tomorrow!" You grinned, "You can tell us the details then."

"Of course, of course. Well, I'll leave you two to it. It was nice meeting you, Dana." She raked her eyes over Johnny one more time, "...Fox."

When she was out of earshot, Johnny pulled the suitcases out of the trunk and scrunched up his nose. "That was... awkward."

Your hand pulled up the extendable handle of the suitcase, looking back at her to see her close the door to her house, which was at the very end of the cul de sac. 

You looked back at him. "So, a chemist. And she's involved with the community, everyone probably knows who she is."

He shrugged before closing the trunk. "Let's keep an eye on her. She gives me the creeps."

The two of you made sure the car was locked before making your way towards the front door. He fiddled with the keys

"She might even have a motive," He said, as you stepped inside. "Ah, c'mon, aren't you gonna let me carry you over the threshold?"

"Not the time," You said, picking up your suitcase to carry it to the bedroom. "We were talking about a motive. Evidently, she likes looking at… married men. If it's her, she might be doing it out of jealousy."

"Exactly," He agreed, following you up the stairs. "Maybe there's something else at play—jealousy or something. how old were the other victims?" 

"Between 25 and 35. She didn't say how old she was, did she?" You rolled into the bedroom, sitting on the bed and immediately flopping down onto it. Johnny rolled past your room, looking for the separate bed the bureau had said would be there as well.

"Finally," You sighed with a smile. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you stifled a yawn. For a second, you considered falling asleep just like this, uncomfortable jeans be damned. 

"Y/N?" 

You cracked your eyes open, frowning at Johnny who was standing in the doorway. "What?" 

"There's only one bed."

You almost stopped breathing for a moment. "Huh?" 

He shuffled on his feet. "There's only one bed," He said, speaking slower.

"What do you mean there's only one bed?" You sat up.

Johnny sighed. "I mean there's only one bed." 

"But the bureau said—"

"Well, the bureau lied," He interrupted, "Because there's no other bed."

You  crossed your arms. "I could take the couch."

"That's supposed to get here tomorrow." 

"Oh," You frowned. What were you going to do? 

"I mean, I could sleep on the floor," You said, "So that way we don't have to sleep, you know…"

"Together?" He offered.

"In the same bed," You corrected, turning your face. It felt hot all of a sudden. 

"No, I couldn't do that to you." He set his suitcase next to yours, then sat next to you. "The bed seems big enough. I'm sure we'll be fine."

You were too tired to argue further. "Sure…" You didn't sound too convinced. 

"Great," He sighed, "I just gotta tell you. I snore a bit."

KANG-BAKER RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—08:43 hours, Thursday, July 7th, 1994

That night, surprisingly, you slept like a baby. You initially thought you'd overthink it all with Johnny lying right next to you but… it was comforting, knowing he was there. You hadn't slept next to anyone since you were 26.

Life as an FBI agent was demanding. Because of this, you'd given up on the idea of having a meaningful relationship ages ago. And due to the nature of your work, it was easy to throw yourself into it to drown out the desire to have someone to come home to. The fact that whenever you did get free time, if you spent too much of it alone… 

But now, lying awake in the morning, seeing Johnny's sleeping face curled up into his pillow… You remembered. 

He looked peaceful. Even at 33, like this he barely looked a day past 27. You could make out the details on his face, old acne scars and the occasional mole. The smile lines along his cheeks and the corners of his eyes… maybe in another lifetime, another universe, you could have gotten used to—

No. You shot up, heading towards the en suite to go to the bathroom. You were still sleepy, that was all. The time difference between Washington and California was having second effects. 

You pulled down your pants, blinking sleepily, and promptly had a heart attack when you sat down. Your knees barely missed your nose, your stomach dropped, and a shriek tumbled out of your lips before you could even register what was happening. 

Standing, now wide awake, you had half a mind to pull up your pants as Johnny tumbled into the bathroom, eyes wide in alarm.

"What happened?" He asked, voice raspy from disuse. You didn’t answer, but instead stared at the offending lifted toilet seat until he got the message. 

"Oh…" His face turned awkward, lips tilting from side to side. "I got up a few hours ago. I must have forgotten to put it back down, sorry." 

You didn't answer, yawning instead. He shrugged. "I've never… lived with another woman before, so…"

"Never?"

His eyes looked down. "...Never."

"Not even with that ex-girlfriend from Oxford you told me about?"

"Mary? No."

You held back an amused grin. "Johnny, when was the last time you even went on a date?" 

He pursed his lips. "I… am starving. Do you want me to go to the supermarket to pick something up for breakfast?"

You blinked, putting your hands on your hips. 

"...Breakfast sounds great."

Johnny promptly changed and left while you got into the shower. Once you were out, you brushed your teeth, did your general morning routine and waited for the car to roll back into the driveway, doing a quick background check on Anne in the meantime. 

No criminal record whatsoever, but that didn't automatically discard her from your list. Mostly because she was the only one on it, so far. 

Johnny rolled back into the driveway just before 9:20. You helped him take the bags into the kitchen, when he said, "Think fast!" and tossed you a small box.

"What's this?" You asked, opening the box. You sputtered at the sight: two simple gold bands. He looked at you like you were a moron.

"Wedding rings," He said, plucking one of the rings out from the box, "Hopefully so Anne lays off."

"You didn't have to go out and buy actual—"

"It's fake gold." He waved his hand dismissively, sitting down at the island and slathering an ungodly amount of cream cheese across a bagel. 

You settled on some coffee after hesitating to put on the ring. As you were finishing up, a knock at the door caught your attention. You looked at him, and he shrugged. "Moving van won't be here till 10:30."

So, you sighed, but still headed to the door. Johnny followed behind, second bagel in hand. When you swung the door open, you were met with Anne and a man you hadn't met yet. A wide Cheshire grin was plastered onto her face.

"Dana, hi!" She greeted. Her eyes landed on Johnny. "Good morning, Fox."

"Morning, Anne," You said with a nod, catching her attention again. You turned your eyes onto the man and held out your hand. "Hi, I'm Dana."

He shook your hand with a friendly smile. "My name's Scott Hernandez. I'm on the HOA board."

Johnny walked up to the door, putting a hand on your shoulder. "I'm Fox," He said, face speckled with crumbs and mouth full of food. You wanted to crawl into a hole.

"Hey, man," Scott said, eyeing Johnny, "Uh… Welcome to the neighborhood!"

"So," Anne asked, eyes raking over Johnny's chest, "How was the first night?"

Johnny swallowed his bagel before speaking. "It was lovely. We just snuggled up together and slept like little baby cats." He turned to you, eyes warm. "Isn't that right, honey bunch?"

Your neck snapped to look at him, holding back a look of disgust. "That's right…" You racked your brain for something sweet to call him and a moment later came up with, "...Poopy head."

Poopy head? Nice one, L/N.

Johnny’s smile faltered for a second, but neither Scott nor Anne seemed to notice. You flashed them both a bright grin. "So! Would you like to come in?"

Scott and Anne nodded. "That'd be great, thanks," He said. You led them into the dining room, where Johnny managed an awkward laugh. "Sorry it's such a mess, we just got up about an hour ago and I immediately went to the supermarket."

"Oh, don't worry, Fox," Scott hummed, sitting at the island, "Moving is so stressful. Especially with…"

Anne flashed him a dirty look. You raised an eyebrow at the interaction. "With what?" You asked, tilting your head as you feigned innocence. Anne sighed, shaking her head.

"Three women have been… murdered over the past few weeks." Scott looked down. "Police haven't been able to catch who's responsible."

"That's horrible," Johnny murmured, standing next to you. "Did you know them?"

"We know everyone because of our HOA responsibilities," Scott answered, "I wasn't that close to any of them, but they were all very nice women. It's awful, what happened to them. You knew Yolanda, didn't you, Anne?"

She nodded, eyes glassy. "Her son and mine used to play together. She was such a nice woman. Lovely family, too. It just breaks my heart." 

"I'm sorry for your loss," You told her. She offered a sad smile.

"But what, is it someone from the community or what?"

Anne shrugged, eyes full of concern. "The police don't really know, but it would make sense if they were from the community—"

"It couldn't possibly be someone living here," Scott huffed, "Everyone knows everyone, why would someone want to—"

"Scott is just in denial," Anne said, waving her hand. "Did you two really not know?"

"Not at all," Johnny replied, eyes wide with fake worry, "These past few weeks have been so hectic we barely had time to sit down. Right, honey?"

You groaned, partially putting up an act and partially in disgust at the name. "It's been a nightmare!" 

You made up some problems, like a crappy travel agency, yard sales, things going missing, stuff like that. Johnny occasionally chimed in, embellishing your stories. Occasionally, Anne or Scott would ask a question, and Johnny would answer with something he pulled out of his ass. 

"So that's why Fox isn't allowed coffee, anymore," You said a few minutes later, rolling your eyes. Scott was cackling, Anne giggling into her palm. Johnny glared at you, but there was no malice behind it. 

"But anyway, I'm guessing you two didn't come here to hear about how anxious I get with caffeine." Johnny turned to the pair. "What brings you to the... Kang-Baker residence?"

"Oh, we came to talk to you about joining the Homeowner's Association," Anne explained, "Not everyone in the neighborhood is a part of it, but it's very convenient to join." 

They laid down the basics, and as they talked, you realized just how much you appreciated living in an apartment rather than a house. Yes, it was a bit small at times, definitely not as idyllic, but 300 dollars as an initiation fee, and monthly payments of 150 dollars? You had half a mind to call the bureau and tell them that the real crime was the extortion from the Homeowner's Association. 

You didn't really see any advantages—probably because you didn't even own this house and wouldn't have to worry about selling it later. It just sounded like a nightmare. What did they mean you could only paint your doors pastel colors if you joined?

When they finally left, you looked at Johnny. "Maybe I'm not cut out for the American dream after all. That HOA stuff sounds even worse than the time we got attacked by the flesh eating virus."

He held back a laugh. "That bad, huh?"

You rolled your eyes. "No, this is much more irritating. The moving van will be here any second, come on, let's go."

127TH PRECINCT, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA—14:29 hours, Thursday, July 7th, 1994

After unloading the furniture boxes (empty boxes with nothing really in them), you and Johnny settled on lunch—some crappy junk food—and drove all the way to the police station where Detective Son worked. 

"What did you think about that Scott guy?" You asked Johnny, who shrugged. 

"Seemed nice enough. We'd have to look into him too, since he's also involved in the community."

You nodded. "I'll run a background check once we get h—back to the house."

He glanced at you, but said nothing. "...What are you doing once this is over?"

You furrowed your eyebrows. "What, once we get back to DC?"

He nodded. "Well, yeah."

You stared ahead at the car in front of you. "Oh, well… I'm not sure. Probably finish writing that stupid report for Brooks and then curl up on my couch, watch some movies, drink some wine. I don't know."

He snickered. "What, and watch Pretty Woman for the 700th time?"

Smacking him in the shoulder lightly, you huffed. "Which is no better than watching Full Metal Jacket 700 times, and you know it, Johnny Suh."

He shrugged. "Well, if sex on a piano is what does it for you then who am I to judge?"

"Shut up." You rolled down the window, the heat too much to handle. 

When you finally got to see Detective Son again, she handed you the cassette and made her way towards the door. When she spoke, she looked only at you. "I'm actually headed out to check out another call we got just now," She explained, "But feel free to use the VCR in my office to look it all over."

She left, not even looking Johnny in the eye. You turned to Johnny, who was wide-eyed. 

"And you said she likes me."

In her office, you went over several days' worth of sped up hours of footage of six different camera angles. By the third hour of watching sped up, grainy footage, Johnny huffed. "I don't think we'll get anything," He said, "Especially considering the killer didn't even need to break their way in—"

"Hold on, hold on." You shook your head, eyes zeroing in on a dark shape in one of the cameras. You walked up to the VCR machine and hit the rewind button.

"Watch camera six."

He narrowed his eyes, fixing his glasses as he watched the dark shape run out from the treeline and up the wall, then out of the camera's view—presumably inside the community. You rewinded one last time, pausing just as it leaped onto the wall.

"There."

"That's too big to be a cat," He murmured, standing to get a closer look at the grainy black and white still image, "Right?"

"Could be a big cat—bobcat or a lynx, maybe, but…"

"It's movements are too… jerky for it to be a cat."

You hesitated, before nodding. 

"Could this be the thing we're looking for?" Johnny asked, and you crossed your arms, giving the dark blob a skeptical look.

"Looks like we have some digging to do."

One more hour of poring over the footage, plus another hour of looking at the archives of the police department turned up nothing on big cats in the area. There'd been no calls to 911 to report big cats in the neighborhood, and looking over the tape again showed nothing else, not even the thing leaving.

Which made Johnny’s theory that it was still there weigh even more.

By 7:30PM or so, Detective Son had returned. "I brought coffee," She said, entering the small space, "Find anything?"

You shrugged. Johnny looked at her. "We saw a weird blob go inside. It never came out and we couldn't figure out what it was."

She frowned. "There haven't been any reports of wild animals there in years. Not since that huge military base opened up."

Johnny's eyebrows knit together. "Army base?"

She nodded. "Fort Talbot. It's about fifteen minutes west of San Ceferino. There aren't a lot of roads that lead to it, they're pretty private."

You locked eyes with Johnny, who was probably thinking the same thing as you. Military base? That was new.

 “I don’t suppose you could take us to see it?”

She shrugged, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, we could try, but there’s a fence around the perimeter about a mile or two away from the actual base. They’re not gonna let you in.”

“No, we’re not military,” You sighed. “But thank you for telling us about that.”

SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—20:44 hours, Thursday, February 12th, 1993

When the car rolled into the driveway, the two of you had found that Anne was at your front door. You shot each other a quizzical look when she turned at the sight of your headlights. “What’s the cougar doing here?” He sighed, and you elbowed him.

“Hush. Be nice.”

She reached the car once you’d both stepped out. “Oh, I was wondering where you two were! I wanted to invite you over to have dinner. The spinach quiche I made was a bit too big for just me!”

At the mention of the meal, your stomach panged in hunger. All you’d had since you left the house was that coffee Wendy had given you. Plus…

Johnny seemed to read your mind. “We’re starving. Quiche sounds great, thanks so much, Anne.”

She beamed at his praise. “Oh, come on! Wouldn’t want it to get cold.”

Anne took the both of you into her house, leading you to the dinner table where she’d already set up spots for the both of you. “It’s not too much, is it? I’m sorry if I’m being overbearing. I really do want you to ease into the neighborhood, and plus, living in this big old empty house gets… lonely.”

As you sat down, you frowned in sympathy. You watched as she began to slice the quiche for you both. “Don’t worry, Anne. I understand where you’re coming from. It’s so lonely in my—or, it was so lonely in my apartment before Fox and I met. Sure, you can distract yourself during the day with all of the stuff you have to do, but at the end of the day you come home to… nothing.”

She handed Johnny a plate, and he took it. “There you go, Fox.”

He smiled, handing the plate to you. “Thank you.”

Her eyes followed his hand, and blinked when she spotted the ring on his hand. “Oh, I see you have your rings now.”

Johnny’s smile grew into a grin, as he held out his hand, flashing the band around his ring finger. You did the same. “No more pesky metal detectors,” He declared, “So why not?”

Anne nodded, eyes lowered. She handed him another plate, then served herself. And then, finally, you all started eating. It occurred to you as you took your first bite that if she was she easily could have laced the food with whatever was in those women’s systems when they died. But that would be too different from the killer’s modus operandi. They only went for women and they killed them in their home. Autopsies didn’t find anything recent in their stomachs at the time of death, so you concluded to take a bite. 

Besides, it smelled good. If you were going to die, then it would be nice to die by the hands of some good quiche.

“So,” You began, “You said your kids were off at college?” 

She nodded, digging around her food with a fork. “My oldest is in grad school at USC. He’s currently in South America doing research on bats, or something, I really can’t remember. My second is off backpacking for the summer, she’s graduating from UCLA next year, and my youngest left for college two years ago. He managed to get a full scholarship to Duke, can you believe it?”

You smiled, nodding. “Wow, that’s impressive.” 

She sounded proud, but there was a sadness behind her gaze. “It’s hard, it really is. Especially trying not to worry. They rarely call and only come home during the holidays. Drives me up the wall not knowing what my kids are up to!”

Johnny laughed. “My mom was the same when I went to college. My freshman year she called me once every day. My roommates always made fun of me for it.”

She chuckled. “Oh, that’s how all moms are,” She turned to you, “I imagine it’ll be the same when you two have kids.”

You almost choked on the food in your mouth at her words. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Johnny go white. Somehow, you managed to hold it back, hitting your chest lightly as the food made its way down. “Oh, well… it’s a bit early for that, I think.”

“We only got married six months ago…” Johnny murmured awkwardly. 

“Oh, I totally get it,” She said, “But, y´know, accidents happen. Especially when you’re still in the honeymoon phase after the wedding. I had my first less than a year after we were married, we weren’t even trying!”

You chewed on your lip. “Well, if something happens…” You met eyes with Johnny, whose gaze was unreadable, “Something happens.”

Not looking away, Johnny licked his lips subtly, before picking up a napkin. Anne didn’t notice, surprisingly, and seemed satisfied with your answer.

You ate a little bit more, when Anne asked, “So, tell me, how did you two meet?”

Remembering the file, Johnny perked up. “We met at a party in college. I was in my junior year, I think? Right, honey?”

You shook your head. “Your senior year,” You corrected, “Because I was in my sophomore year. I remember it like it was yesterday. He came up to me and was wearing this horrible button up shirt—”

“You ended up stealing it from me!” He joked, and you held up your index finger.

 “I use it to sleep. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that in public. Much less to attract a mate.”

Anne cackled, and the two of you laughed too. Again, you managed to make up a story: he was drunk and accidentally spilled some punch on your pants. He’d tried to help you by washing it in the bathroom but only made it worse.

“When I got back to my dorm, it was around three in the morning, my leg was sticky and I was miserable, but we ran into each other a few days later and he was very apologetic about the whole thing.”

“I was mortified,” He said, “I mean, here’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life and I managed to screw it up by ruining her pants. I was so sure I’d screwed up.”

Anne raised her eyebrows. “So, you knew from the start that you liked her?”

Johnny’s eyes landed on you again, turning wistful. He leaned over and grabbed your free hand. “The moment I first laid my eyes on her, I knew. She was the one.”

You tried to smile, but suddenly your chest felt like it was caving in on yourself. You let your hand rest in his for a moment, before pulling away. “Oh, Fox. Don’t get all sentimental on me now.”

Clearing your throat, you didn’t miss the way Johnny’s eyes fell slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, where’s your bathroom?”

She pointed up. “Upstairs to the right.”

This was your chance to get some dirt on her, and put some space between you and Johnny. As you walked away, you touched a hand to your cheek and it came away burning. 

“Get it together,” You muttered to yourself.

The quick search yielded nothing. She had nothing in her drawers, all of the papers on her desk were related to her work at a hair care company. You always could have missed something though. You couldn’t take more than a few minutes, you certainly couldn’t risk her coming up to check on you and finding you sifting through her work documents.

Before you came down, you did your best to leave everything as you found it before heading back downstairs. 

When you sat back down at the table, things were a bit more tense. You sensed it immediately. “Everything alright?”

“...Yeah,” Johnny mumbled. 

“Fox and I were just talking about how… difficult marriage can be.”

You nodded, wondering if that was all that had happened. “Oh, it’s no walk in the park, that’s for sure.”

The rest of the dinner was not as lively. There were more awkward silences, more lulls in the conversation, less laughs. When you finally left, his elbow intertwined in yours, you looked at him. “What happened while I was gone?”

He shook his head as you both crossed the street. “I don’t like her,” He told you in a hushed voice, “She started talking about how it won’t be like this forever and it’s only fun now because we just got married or whatever.”

“What, was she trying to open something up between you and her?”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t exactly been subtle, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she was.”

The two of you marched up into your house, and while Johnny was showering you did a background check on Scott Hernandez. Nothing also. A perfectly ordinary citizen, no criminal record at all. 

Then, it was your turn to shower. As you did, you couldn’t help but think back to Anne’s words. The whole situation, feigning domesticity was proving to be bad for you: you couldn’t help but imagine a small child with his wide eyes and your nose, his lanky limbs and your hands. 

The amount of time you put into your work made you fully aware that it would make having children difficult. Truth be told, you hadn’t really put much thought into settling down. The right person had never been there.

But what if he had? What if he’d been by your side for the past three years?

He had to be putting on an act when he’d said it.

The moment I first laid my eyes on her, I knew. She was the one.

Thinking back to the moment you’d first met him, and he’d come across as slightly patronizing and dismissive of your conclusions. But thinking about when he’d first turned to look at you, that particular morning in 1992…

You turned off the shower. Alone time wasn’t doing you any good, either.

When you emerged from the shower, you sighed as your eyes landed on the toilet seat, which was lifted. You set it back down with a huff before getting dressed.

Once you stepped out of the bathroom in your pajamas, toweling your hair, your eyes fell to the pile of dirty clothes on the bed. “Please don’t put your sweaty clothes, where I have to sleep,” You told him, tossing the clothes into his face. He let out a soft groan, picking them up. 

“Oh, come on,” He grumbled, “They don’t even smell that bad.”

After he set them off somewhere (you didn’t see where as you were shutting your laptop off), he sat back down on the bed, leaving a space open for you. "So, what if we looked into Scott tomorrow?"

“That sounds like a good idea. Tomorrow night there’s that HOA thing we need to go to. We might be able to pick up some more stuff there.”

He nodded, and as you stood in front of the bed he waggled his eyebrows and patted the spot next to you. “Come on, Dana,” He murmured sarcastically, “We’re married now.”

You didn’t smile. He took that as a sign to continue. 

“Plus, if something happens, something happens.”

You grabbed a pillow and flung it into his face. “You’re the worst,” You grumbled. He laughed, but it was muffled from the pillow.

Slowly but surely, you realized with the sound of his laughter, this feeling was soon going to become something you couldn’t ignore.

HERNANDEZ RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—09:02 hours, Friday, July 13th, 1994

When the door opened, Scott Hernandez had a welcoming smile on his face. “Dana,” He said, “Good morning. Did you need anything?”

“Oh, I just wanted to ask if there was an official guidebook or anything for the HOA? Fox and I are still considering joining, but we’d need to go over everything.” You scratched at the cardigan you were wearing. Why did the bureau have to give you something so thick and scratchy when they knew you were coming to California in the middle of July?

“Come in! I’m sure I have a rulebook. Plus, if you have any other questions you could always just come over.”

He led you up the stairs. “I keep all of my stuff in the office,” He explained, “That way my kids don’t mess it all up.”

You offered a soft laugh. “Oh, you have kids?”

“Yep.” His voice was warm. “Two kids, a nine year old and a six year old. They’re not here right now, though. My wife took them up to Washington to see their grandparents.”

“Ah, that’s sweet.” As he led you into the office, your eyes studied the room. A picture frame behind him of a professional family portrait, a houseplant in the corner a big clunky computer on top of the desk, and a cabinet pushed to the side of the room.

Your eyes fell onto the things placed on top of the cabinet, a stapler and some other office supplies. But when your eyes caught a different type of metal that wasn’t the standard gray color, you focused on it. A small medallion, decorated with a ribbon. When you recognized the logo, your eyes widened slightly.

“You’re military?” 

His eyes turned to you, eyebrows raised. Then he looked to the side. “Oh… no. My brother was. He passed away in the Gulf War.”

You looked down, but something about his tone didn’t sound quite authentic. “I’m sorry for your loss,” You answered anyway. 

The silence hung overhead for a few moments, before he pulled out a small booklet. “Here’s a copy of the rulebook.” He held it up, waving it back and forth, “This has pretty much everything.”

“Oh, really?” You straightened your posture, feigning a smile. When he handed it to you, your smile grew bigger as you looked down at the small book. “I’ll be sure to show Fox when he gets home. I really appreciate it, Scott.”

He waved his hand. “Don’t mention it. If you need anything else, just come on over. I work from home, so I’m here pretty much all day.”

Scott studied your face, and a second later you looked away. “So, I should get going,” You murmured. “I’ll see you tonight? I don’t think nor you nor Anne said where it would be.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Here, actually! Tonight, at 7.” 

“Great,” You answered, “I’ll see you tonight.”

When you got back to the house, you walked to the office, where Johnny was waiting. “Hernandez has military links.”

His head shot up. “He does?” 

“There was a military medallion on his cabinet in his office. He looked like he was gonna piss himself when I asked about it.”

“And what did he say?”

“Said his brother was a Gulf War veteran. I didn’t believe him for a second.”

“So could he be our guy?”

You took a deep breath. “Honestly? I don’t know. I could try to look through his office tonight at the HOA thing.”

“You?” He shook his head vehemently. “You fit his profile. All of his victims were around your age. You’re not going somewhere you could be alone with him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Then what?” 

He looked at you as if you were dumb. “I’ll go.”

“But—”

“No.” His gaze turned stern, before walking all the way up to you. He put his hands up on your shoulders. “Y/N, he could kill you.”

“Has that ever stopped me before?” You asked, tilting your head. “Johnny, it’s in the job description to deal with people who could kill me. What’s so different now?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His eyes were wide, urgent, and his face was inches away. You shook your head, trying to prompt him to speak. “What?” 

Johnny pursed his lips, studying your face. And then, finally he shook his head. “Nothing.” 

He stepped away, and left the office, leaving you speechless. You leaned against the desk thinking about what just happened.

For the rest of the day, he was relatively distant. During lunch—you went out to buy some sandwiches—and he barely said thank you, before you ate in tense silence. You could only wait until 7 o’clock rolled around. In the meantime, you placed a call to Detective Son, telling her to look into Scott Hernandez and his family. You typed up the rest of your preliminary report, and then all you could do was wait. 

When five thirty rolled around, you started to get ready. You took only about five minutes, before stepping out, fully dressed. When you stepped out of the bathroom, Johnny had his back turned to you. It was almost as if he hadn’t noticed you were right behind him, because he was humming softly to himself, tapping his foot to a non audible melody. You could hear him humming it though, and after a few seconds of listening. you were able to recognize the song.

He froze when he heard your giggling. “What?” He asked, turning his head.

“Is… is that Bidi Bidi Bom Bom?” You asked, leaning against the wall. He straightened his posture before shuffling on his feet. 

“...No.” 

You raised your eyebrows. “Sure, it isn’t.”

He raised his eyebrow, but it wasn’t as serious as he had been before. And when you spoke again, his mouth grew into a crooked smile. 

“You like Selena,” You sing-songed. 

“Alright, enough. We’ve got a job to do.” He was biting back a laugh. You knew him too much to believe the opposite. 

When the two of you finally walked the few houses towards Scott’s house, he held out his arm for you to hold onto. Taking a deep breath, your hand hesitated before it grabbed onto him. Approaching the house, you could tell that it was alive with a lot of people on the inside. You wouldn’t necessarily say it was overflowing, but you could tell it was definitely close to filling up. 

“Let’s go?” He asked, and you nodded. He led you to the front door, where he rang the doorbell before the two of you waited. 

A minute or so later, Scott opened the door with a grin. 

“Hey, you two! You’re just in time.”

You put on your best smiles. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Johnny sighed. You didn’t miss the tense undertone in his words.

The two of you made your way into the room. Across the room you heard someone call for you both. You held back a groan. You really didn’t need this right now. 

“Hey, over here!” Anne called, beckoning you over. Johnny heaved the sigh of a man ready to end it all, and then you both made your way to her and her group. All of them seemed to be the same age as her. 

“Ladies, these are our new neighbors I was telling you about.” She pointed at the both of you .”This is Dana Baker, and this is Fox… the architect.”

Oh boy. 

And the talking began. You and Johnny having to rehash the same details over and over again. It felt like having to navigate a minefield. You had to recall all of the lies you’d told Anne and Scott, this time in front of an audience of women very clearly ogling the man who they fully believed was your husband. 

You made idle chit-chat after that, but eventually, about twenty minutes had passed until they sat everyone down. The living room was full of grown ups, including a few young children. The thought of everyone being in such close proximity to someone, something that could hurt them all the way it had hurt those other women.

It was easy to tune them all out. It was then that you realized that suburban life would never really be for you. This was all so dull and monotone. You were sure that if you had decided to actually go into the medical field and settled down… you would probably lose your mind. 

They went over some things you didn’t pay attention to: lawns and whatnot. It was so tiring you had to stifle a yawn on more than one occasion. Anne was going on about some infraction that didn’t even sound that bad to you, when it occurred to you to slip away, Johnny be damned. 

You patted Scott on the shoulder as Anne went on. “Where’s the bathroom?”

He nodded back once, “Upstairs. Green door. We’re almost done, though, are you sure you can’t wait a little longer?”

“I had the genius idea to drink two whole bottles of water before we left,” You murmured so as to not make too much of a scene, “I really don’t think I can.”

He sighed, before nodding. “Go ahead.”

Gotcha. You slipped up, sparing Johnny a glance. He was glaring at you. If looks could kill, you didn’t even want to know where you’d end up going. You made your way up the stairs, remembering the way to the office from this morning. You slipped into the office, making your way to the cabinet. The medallion was gone, which made you wonder why he had done so. 

As you shuffled through the drawers of the cabinet and came up with nothing, you had to remind yourself to keep count of how long you’d been up here. You moved on to the desk, shuffling through the papers on the desk and then the ones on the drawer. In the first drawer, you found an ID: Alma Hernandez, Lazarus Programming.

In the second drawer, nothing. 

In the third and bottom drawer, you found something: a pair of dogtags. Neither of them said Hernandez. Instead, they read Simon Walsh. 

Simon Walsh? That was new. You stashed them back into the drawer, suddenly remembering how long you’d been up here. Probably a bit over five minutes. As you made your way back down to the living room, you ran into Johnny. 

“Hey,” He said, “I was just coming to look for you.”

He looked disappointed, bordering on anger. In the small space, you could feel his proximity. You couldn’t help but shake your head.

“I had to take the chance. I wasn’t sure if there would be a chance after this.”

He sighed. “I can’t believe you. Come on, they’re serving pizza.”

You laughed, letting him grab your hand as he led you back into the living room, where you two ate a few slices of pizza. Enough to feel satisfied, but not enough to feel too full. In theory, if you had to make a detainment or worse, have a confrontation then it’d be a bad idea to have stomach cramps. 

You two kept to yourselves, occasionally speaking to other couples who introduced themselves to you. Once you’d finished gorging yourselves on the food, he kept his hand around your waist the entire time. It was a gentle touch, but comforting. You couldn’t help but feel tense.

“After we get home, I’ll tell you all the details I saw.” You looked up to see his face, watching you tentatively. 

“Alright,” He murmured, leaning closer to your face, “But I wanna talk about something together first.”

Raising an eyebrow, you leaned away from him. “What, are you okay?”

Johnny nodded, smile reassuringly. “Yeah. I just realized something earlier today.” 

KANG-BAKER RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—21:17 hours, Friday, July 13th, 1994

When the two of you left, Anne had bid you both goodbye. She’d said Scott had gone to bed with a headache, which made you feel a bit uneasy. The entire way home, Johnny kept himself relatively close. The entire way home, he was silent. It wasn’t until the both of you were inside of the house that he leaned against the front door. As he led you to the couch )which had finally arrived), you tried to remember all of the details you’d seen as you looked through Scott’s office.

When he sat you down, you placed both hands in your lap. He scratched at his shoulder, before meeting your eyes.

“Simon Walsh.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes widened at the same time his had. “What?” You asked, shaking your head. You were suddenly aware of everything going on. You were in an ongoing murder investigation. It was quite possibly linked to a very secretive military base. Three women had been murdered. A fourth would be soon if you didn’t hurry.

“Johnny, I don’t think…”

“No, please. Just a few minutes, okay? I’ve been dealing with this for years. I need to get this out of my system and then we can talk about this back in DC. Please, Y/N.”

Your gut felt heavy at the same time your heart felt incredibly light. It was by far one of the strangest sensations you’d ever felt. Letting out a shaky breath, you nodded. 

“Alright, John. Five minutes. Then we talk about what I found.”

He nodded with a small smile. Gently, Johnny grabbed your hands, rubbing the knuckles with his thumbs. He was silent for a while, tilting his head back and forth as he tried to figure out what to say. 

“What I said last night at Anne’s. I meant it. That first time I saw you, I… I knew. I knew we didn’t get along initially, but I just had this feeling in my chest. You were so smart, and eventually we realized how much we clicked…”

He looked up, leaning closer. You swallowed softly as his eyes met yours again. He managed a soft chuckle. “Y/N, I tried to hold it away. But it got stronger every single day. You understand me. Even though we push back against each other, you don’t think I’m crazy. You take them into consideration and don’t brush them off. I really appreciate that. I look at you and… I’m home.”

Looking to the side, you sighed. “Johnny, I really don’t think this is appropriate. Especially not right now—”

"Y/N, I know what your dream on the plane was about."

You inhaled sharply, alarmed gaze meeting his own. His eyes had turned soft, warm. You knew you had to push him away. The name Simon Walsh was on loop in your head, but you couldn’t find it in you to push him away.

“What?”

“I heard you moan my name,” He sighed, “Trust me, Y/N, I know what I heard.”

He leaned even closer, cupping your face. You could feel his breath puffing softly onto your skin. His eyes were knowing as his voice dropped to a whisper. 

“You want me too, don’t you?”

When his lips met yours, you couldn’t find it in you to pull away. He pulled you closer, and your arms found their way to wrap themselves around your neck. His lips were soft, but demanding. You could tell he’d been waiting for this a long, long time. 

You don’t know when he laid you down onto the couch, but honestly… you didn’t really mind. Johnny was warm, comfortable. And yes, July in California was hot, humid, but… up until Johnny put his hands on you, you’d never realized how cold you’d been, even before your arrival here.

He deepened the kiss, hands sliding down to your waist. They toyed with the hem of your blouse, humming against your lips. You gasped against him, hands sliding into his gelled hair.

Your eyes snapped open. Johnny never used this much gel in his hair.

Two things happened in the next two seconds. You pushed Johnny off. Johnny would never prioritize his feelings like this over a case. You hadn’t seen Scott as you left. All of this pretending, playing house had gotten to you. You were in real danger now.

The other thing that happened? Johnny burst through the door, wearing clothes he hadn’t been wearing when you first left. He was panting heavily. There was a bruise on his cheek and his wrists were red.

You backed away from Not Johnny, who turned to you, gaze now furious. A wave of nausea passed over you, breathing heavily. Whatever Not Johnny had in his system, he had passed onto you with his spit, and you could feel it settling into your system. You looked up at Johnny, before pulling out your gun. Taking a deep breath, you looked at your work partner, closest confidante, love of your life.

“I had a feeling,” You mumbled, realizing how the sinking feeling in your stomach was actually dread.

Stumbling, you heard Not Johnny let out a ghastly screech. You fired your gun at him before passing out. 

SAN FRANCISCO METROPOLITAN, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA—10:39 hours, Saturday, July 14th, 1994

The room smelled sterile. You knew this smell. You’d lived it for several years before in medical school rotations. This had to be a hospital, you realized. Slowly, you let your eyes open. You let out a soft groan at the discomfort of having been stuck in one position for so long.

“You awake?” A deep, familiar voice asked. Your vision was blurry, but you could still recognize it was Johnny. His eyes were rimmed red from exhaustion, but he looked relieved. 

“No. I died, actually.” Your voice was raspy. Johnny scoffed, shaking his head.

“You’re impossible,” He mumbled, “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“What even happened after I passed out?”

Johnny took a second to gather his thoughts before speaking. “You hit him in the face. It wasn’t pretty. He freaked out a bit, and then he took off. I couldn't catch him. Called Son, she came in with the precinct and they looked through Hernandez's house."

His gaze turned somber as you sat up with a soft huff. Your muscles were stiff.

"They found the real Scott Hernandez, his two kids and his wife, in their basement. Autopsies are being performed today, but it looks like they've been dead a few weeks."

Your eyes shut. Two kids, a man, and another woman. Seven victims total.

"And that thing is still out there," You mumbled, "If only I hadn't been so stupid—"

Johnny put his hand on yours. "Don't say that. Even if you hadn't gotten knocked out, he would still be way too much for just the two of us to handle. Y/N, you shot him in the face and it barely stopped him. He wasn't human anymore."

You shook your head, burying your head in your hands. "Still… I know you, Johnny. I should have seen the signs, but he was so—somehow he knew everything—"

"It's something to do with touch," He said with a nod, "He knocked me to the ground and locked me in a closet before he found you. I was a bit out of it, but I remember he touched my wrist for a few seconds and then he turned into me. My head still hurts, too. Maybe he can also copy some memories from the people he touches long enough."

When you didn't answer, he grabbed your face. He looked desperate. "Y/N, you're only human. I would have fallen for it too."

"I fell for it because he told me exactly what I wanted to hear," You whispered, feeling tears spring to your eyes, seemingly out of nowhere, "He played me like a fucking fiddle and I fell for it."

His thumb brushed away a tear. "Don't think about the what-ifs, Y/N. It's already happened, and now we need to focus on what's gonna happen next. We need to find a way into Fort Talbot. Somehow. Turn your report into the bureau and we can figure it out from there. There’s something going on there. Human experimentation on soldiers, or something."

"We're never gonna get clearance to search a military base, Johnny. It's impossible."

He shook his head. "Y/N, if you were able to convince Brooks to let me, Spooky Suh, FBI's most unwanted? keep running around hunting ghosts and aliens and Bigfoot all over the country, you can figure out a way to get access in there. I know you can."

You were shaking now. "We won't be safe if we do. You think the military won't retaliate? We'd be dead, Johnny," Your words were garbled and your voice wouldn't stop cracking, "There has to be another way."

He shook you gently, shaking his head. "Dammit, Y/N, I can't do this without you."

"They placed me with you for a reason, Johnny," You snapped, "To debunk your work, to reign you in and shut you down—"

"But you saved me," He insisted, "You did exactly the opposite. And as a result we kept working together, and you kept me honest. You… you've made me a whole person."

He rubbed his face with his hand, pushing a strand of dark hair out of his eye. "Y/N, as frustrating as it's been sometimes working with you, your stupud science and rationalism have saved me a thousand times over. I owe you everything. Y/N, you owe me nothing."

His forehead brushed yours, and his eyes fluttered shut. "I can't do this without you," He murmured. And despite the fact that you knew that this was your Johnny, you shook your head. The deja vu was making your head spin. 

"Tell me something the real Johnny would know," You whispered, putting a hand on your chest.

He thought for a second, before sighing. "I had three moments when I realized I was in love with you. When you first walked into my office that morning, I had a feeling," He said, voice full of conviction, "It grew into something concrete when you told me my glasses were crooked. And the moment I knew—I mean, I already knew from that first moment but this was when it truly hit me—was when you told me you'd kept that stupid fucking nasal implant in your sports bra so that you wouldn't lose it."

He laughed warmly, obviously thinking back to the moment. "No one else has ever believed me the way you do. And I doubt anyone else ever will. You're my one in…" He looked to the side, trying to remember the number, "Five billion."

Your hand came up to caress his face. He seemed to melt against your touch. 

This time, when your lips met, everything felt right, despite the feeling that the world was crumbling around you. His hands squeezed your face gently, as if you were about to disappear. When your hands slid into his hair, it felt slightly sweaty still, but it wasn't tacky with gel. 

This was your Johnny. You knew it with your entire being.

Yes, Johnny was sarcastic, stubborn, eccentric and had low impulse control. But he was also highly intelligent, empathetic, hilarious and yes, you could now admit that he was the most beautiful human you'd ever seen in your 30 years on this planet. 

If it had to be him and you against the world, so be it. The truth was out there. You and Johnny would just have to be the ones chasing it.

taglist: @doderyscoffee​ @always-wishing-for-rain​

[soulmate-game]

Not related to the other two Bio!mom Harley AUs that I did. Just... similar. I wrote this instead of sleeping, as per the usual.

—*—*—*—*—*

“I need your help.”

No accent, no threats of violence, no beating around the bush (figurative or otherwise). No fighting or unconscious bodies.

Just Harley Quinn with her hair down, no makeup, and completely serious, in the center of the Bat Cave. Even though her usual exaggerated Brooklynn accent (circa 1950s) had become a pretty inseparable part of her personality over the years, every now and then she forcibly stuffed it down and used her mostly unaccented voice. The one reminiscent of days with less colors on her face, a high bun, and a pristine white lab coat.

Every single one of the Bats and Birds present, fresh from an interrupted patrol thanks to her, could count the number of times they had seen Harley like this on one hand. Bruce would have the most recollections, but everyone else would have plenty of fingers left on said hand. So they all knew, especially when Bruce willingly pulled down his cowl so he could look Harley in the eye, that this was the start of something they were not likely to forget. And maybe their chances of survival were slim too.

“Harley,” Bruce’s voice was still gruff, seeing as he was still mostly Batman at the moment, but his eyes were soft. “Maybe you should tell us what you need help with first. And sit down. You look exhausted.”

Sure enough, there were dark circles under Harley’s eyes. She let Bruce-man lead her over to one of their debriefing tables and sit her down. She let out a huge sigh, her fingers tangling in her loose blond locks.

“I have a confession, and it isn’t gonna leave this cave, capiche?” The slight return of her accent relieved a little of the tension, but not much. Taking this as their cue, the rest of the bats spread out into their usual seats at the table. Bruce stayed near Harley, keeping a hand on her shoulder in silent support. Harley didn’t continue talking until he gave her a solemn nod in agreement. She gulped— an action that immediately returned the tension.

“... fifteen years ago, back when I was still with Joker, I disappeared off the Gotham scene for a few months. I’m sure a few of you remember,” she looked up, and a couple of the older vigilantes nodded. Really, Jason has still been Robin back then. But the memory stuck out in his head now that he was thinking about it.

“Yeah, you were breaking away from him a little bit, which was weird at the time,” Red Hood mused aloud, arms crossed. “I think you helped us out a couple times and did some of your first team ups with Ivy before you vanished. Then a few months go by and you were back in action with Joker, so we mostly ignored it as you just being you.”

Harley nodded. “Ah, my Ivy’s a lifesaver, even back then. She helped cover up the timeline by keeping me in action for longer than I should’a been without putting me at too much risk.”

“Timeline…” Red Robin spoke up, eyes huge even behind his mask. “You don’t mean—“

“Harley,” Bruce breathed, having also caught on. “You were pregnant?”

The air went still. Harley sniffed, eyes watering even as she smiled.

“Oh yeah. Shouldn’t have been possible, ya know? Me ‘n Joker being dumped in that damn acid should have made us both more sterile than an operatin’ room. But I knew I couldn’t raise a kid, so after she was born—“

“You kept her?” Damian interrupted, earning a gentle cuff over the head from Dick. Harley just snorted.

“Yeah. Not gonna lie, I thought about abortion. But the baby didn’t do nothin’ wrong, and I was still in love with Joker back then so I was ecstatic that I was able to make something new with part ‘a him in it. Still, I knew a baby didn’t deserve to be raised in Gotham. Especially not my baby, not with my enemies and history. Not with who her father was. I knew he’d never want her, never let me keep her. So I spent the last five months of my pregnancy lookin’ around for the best possible family to take her in. And I found them in Paris, France. A sweet couple, both of them bakers. Sabine, she’s both adorably sweet and super kickass. Comes from a Chinese family that is crazy about teachin’ their women martial arts. But nothing shady about it, I triple checked. Just bonding through kicking people in the face. Which is perfect, I wanted my baby to know how to defend herself. I knew she’d need those skills eventually. And Tom, that’s Sabine’s wife, he’s a gentle giant. Same size as Bane, but as harmless as a puppy and makes the best croissants ever. Seriously, the best.”

“Harley,” Bruce gently prodded, but there was a tiny grin on his face. Seeing her behaving so… so normally, so proud and reminiscent, was a rare treat. Bruce would be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of how far the woman had come. How she had freed herself and become a better person, mostly on her own.

“Right, right. The point,” Harley took a breath, rubbing her forehead. “I came clean to Tom and Sabine, but apparently they knew who I was the whole time. They just didn’t care— did I mention they are perfect? Anyway, once I explained everything, they agreed immediately to adopting my baby. They’d been wanting kids, but it would’a been too risky for Sabine’s health. That’s how I found them anyway, they were in the market to adopt. We named her Marinette. She took Tom and Sabine’s last names, hyphenated. We decided Quinn would be her middle name. And after that, I came back to Gotham and told myself that she was in good hands and I needed to forget about her. Cuz I was no good for her. I knew that. I went back to my old tricks. And then…” Harley chuckled, but it was self-depreciating.

“Then a few years passed, and I started breaking away from Joker for real. Then we broke up, I blew up Ace Chemicals while you guys were outta town doing Justice League and Young Justice shit. I started dating Ivy. And—“ she smiled softly at the table, clearly seeing something the rest of them couldn’t. “Then Ivy convinced me to go see her. Visit my baby, see how she’s been. And I did. Marinette was seven years old, but damn it to hell she was gorgeous. And say whatever you want about me and Joker— most of it will even be true— but neither of us are stupid. And she inherited all of our intelligence. All of it. She got my blue eyes. But she got his hair, which meant Sabine teased me relentlessly about ‘are you sure she isn’t that Wayne’s kid?’ And don’t make that face Bruce, you’d be lucky to have a kid half as beautiful as my Mari-pie. No offense, Damian. Anyway. Anyway, this is the important part. Or part of it.

“She sat there and listened to everything I had to say. Everything. A little seven year old, who could barely understand English at the time, and she listened without interrupting once. She never threw a fit, she wasn’t angry or confused. I told her about the things I’d done in the past— well, G rated versions— and she didn’t care. She called me Momma Harley right away, said she wanted to meet Aunt Ivy sometime soon, and started telling me everything about her that I’d missed. From that day on, she became my sunshine. The light of my life, and I still call her at least once a week every week. When I disappear for a few days out of the city? I’m visiting her—“

“You’re banned from international travel, Harley,” Dick scolded, but he sounded way too amused for it to work. He knew she had her ways, anyway. Nobody could actually stop Harley damn Quinn from doing whatever she wanted.

“—Ugh, she tells me the same thing every time! Disappointed glare and everything. I don’t know how I gave birth to such a goodie goodie, but somehow I did. Not important though! The important thing is, I’m always the first to hear when something new happens in her life. And we had decided that she wouldn’t visit me in Gotham until she was at least eighteen, but apparently she disobeyed me— which I should have expected honestly— and entered you guys’ WE international scholastic competition.”

“Oh no,” Bruce pinched the bridge of her nose. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng? The contest winner?” He finally pulled out a chair and sat down. “The winner gets an all-expense paid trip to Gotham for them and their whole class.”

“Exactly!” Harley threw up her hands. “Mari told me last week, and I’ve been trying to talk her out of coming ever since. But she’s inherited both of our stubbornness too, and she isn’t budgin’ a bit. ‘Momma Harley, I wanna see you and Auntie Ivy though!’ And ‘Momma, Gotham’s nothing I can’t handle,’ or my favorite, ‘Maybe you’ll finally get to see me dropkick someone three times my size then, and I’ll prove it.’”

“So that’s what you meant by you need our help,” Tim said as he leaned forward over the table. “Joker just broke out of Arkham yesterday. You want us to protect her.”

“I’d prefer if one of you was with her outside of the mask too, as often as possible,” Harley confirmed. “I can’t stop her from coming here anymore, but I also don’t trust Joker for a second. As soon as he sees her, I’m afraid he’ll make the connection.”

“She looks like him?” Damian asked, scrunching up his nose at the ugly mental image of Joker as a teenage girl. Harley shook her head, solemn.

“She looks like a dark-haired mini-me,” she corrected. “She even keeps her hair in pigtails as her way of showing support for me. And I know Marinette can kick ass, Sabine’s trained her well. But Marinette inherited more than I’d like from me,” Harley ran a hand through her hair. “I didn’t notice it until she was thirteen. She got a crush on a classmate, and it was almost like watching videos of me back during the early days of— well, of Harley Quinn. Just without the crime and insanity. She didn’t even realize that she was almost stalking the poor kid until I pointed it out, and luckily I was able to put my doctorate to good use and we nipped that right in the bud ASAP. She never meant it that way, anyway. As soon as I explained things to her, she was horrified and immediately asked me to help her learn how to have a healthy relationship. That was a fun discussion,” Harley grimaced. “But she still gets attached to people really, really easily. Once she grew out of her crush on that boy, she adopted him as her unofficial brother. She already calls Selina “Auntie,” even though I’ve barely mentioned her to Marinette. She gets attached fast, and deeply. And I’m afraid that even after all the warning I’ve done, all the stories I’ve told her—“

“You’re afraid she’ll get attached to Joker just like you did,” Bruce finished for her, closing his eyes. “Because she knows he’s her father.”

“Yes,” Tears were slowly dripping down her face already, her hands curled into fists so tightly that her knuckles were paper white. “You know how he is. If he finds out she’s his biological daughter, he’ll immediately try to take advantage of that. And he’s far too good with his words for people like me and Mari. I’m worried outta my mind. Please. Help keep my baby safe from him.”

“We will,” Jason no longer had his helmet on, or the domino mask that he usually wore underneath it. All of them knew masks were merely formality with Harley nowadays. And he needed to look her directly in the eye so she could see how serious he was. “I can sign up as a bodyguard for the class. It won’t be weird, seeing as they’re tourists and this is Gotham. They also have several rich kids in their group if I remember right.”

Bruce nodded, agreeing with Jason. “That’s a good idea. I can lead the class on their tours of WE personally. That’ll serve the purpose of keeping an eye on her and shutting up the investors that keep begging me to make more public appearances for the sake of the company. Marinette’s name is already released to the news as the winner of the contest, so we can’t keep her out of the spotlight long. Tim, you’ll have to keep an eye on any and all pictures of the class. Try to erase or doctor the images with her in it well enough that connections between her and Harley can’t be easily made. Dick, you and Damian will be in charge of keeping an eye out for any activity from Joker. The slightest hint, and you notify all of us. We’ll decide on a case-by-case basis who is necessary to stick with the class and who goes after the clown.”

“She’s gonna sneak out of her hotel to stay with me and Ivy,” Harley admitted, bringing the (now slightly judgemental) attention back to her. She raised her hands up in surrender. “She didn’t tell me that, and I didn’t approve or suggest it! I just know my baby too well to not realize that that’s her plan. Could ya provide an escort?”

Bruce sighed. “This is gonna be an eventful month.”

[spicysoftsweet]

A Thorn In The Side - Gojo x Reader

Summary: Infatuation enduring from high school is more of a problem than you or he think (~3.4k words).

Warnings: fem pronouns, fem!reader, noncon, kidnapping, yandere, wlw mention, gojo is a pos

A/N: Part of @suedebunn​‘s Hanahaki collab! 

When the strongest jujutsu sorcerer to have ever lived wakes up in the early am with the sensation of thorns scratching his throat and fullness in his stomach, he’s baffled.

Even more so when he doubles over in bed to cough profusely to the point of near emesis, shocking for a man who rarely gets sick. He stares blankly at a pillow covered in droplets of flecks of red, and his eyes widen with trepidation, until he realizes those large drops strewn across his bed come from flowers rather than blood.

He must be dreaming, Gojo Satoru tells himself, but the satiny feel of the scarlet petals between his fingertips is very real.

Or perhaps a curse.

“So you expect me to diagnose you over the phone?” 

Shoko pulled a drag of her cigarette as though for dramatic effect, blowing it out with a sigh, but continued to listen. She had to be up early anyway and ignoring Gojo would only make him more annoying in her experience.

“So what are your symptoms again?” she asked.

“Apparently my insides are trying to match my beautiful outsides~” he sang.

Shoko rolled her eyes, and as though he could see her, Gojo laughed loudly.

“In all seriousness, I’m turning into a garden. Coughing up flowers apparently.”

“Coughing up flowers, huh?” She leaned a little further against her balcony, her eyes setting on the early morning sunrise she could view from her high rise apartment. “Do you think it’s some type of curse?”

“It’s… different,” he replied, somewhat noncommittally. “I don’t think it’s cursed energy, actually.”

This was unexpected.

“What else do you feel?”

“Uneasy…”

It was Shoko’s turn to laugh. An interesting choice of words coming from him.

“Any ideas?” Gojo insisted.

“I mean, it could be some kind of undetectable curse. I’d know if I got to see you… How does your heart feel when you cough up the flowers?”

“It races.”

“Your mind?”

“Also races… lightheaded.”

“Any thoughts?”

“None.”

“As expected.” she teased, laughing again until she realized that for once, Gojo was silent on the other end of the phone. She scratched her head, then ran her fingers through her fingertips.

“Come in at 2pm today, okay? Don’t be late.”

---

“Well, you’re right,” Shoko stated, stepping back from the examination table, and crossing her arms as she set herself down on a stool to formulate her assessment. 

Her friend, already graced with the palest of color palettes, did actually look ill, dark circles prominent enough to match hers marring his porcelain skin. He sat, legs spread apart, and leaning onto the weight of his hands besides him, raising an eyebrow quizzically..

“It’s not cursed energy, alright,” she said, with a sigh. She stretched out her hand.

“You brought the sample, right?” 

Gojo, uncharacteristically a bit listless, tossed her the bag of vomited petals from this morning, covered in now dry saliva and other fluids. Not batting an eyelash, Shoko slipped on a pair of gloves and felt inside the bag, petals crumbling at her fingertips.

Definitely not cursed energy. She placed the bag on a disorganized counter behind her, making a mental note of scrutinizing it further under a microscope.

“Ideas?” Gojo asked after he’d decided that the time he’d given her to think was enough. It turned out the idea of being sick irritated him more than he expected. 

The very idea of being vulnerable made him slightly nauseous.

Shoko let out a chuckle that sounded more nervous than she had intended.

“My only other thought is Hanahaki disease.”

“Hanahaki?” Gojo repeated.

“Yeah,” she stated. Crossing her legs, she relaxed into her stool further as she watched the young man carefully. “Who’s the unlucky one?”

“You mean?”

“Who’s the unfortunate soul you’re in love with?” She asked again, waiting for his response. The truth was that she was quite shocked at the idea of Gojo being afflicted with Hanahaki, that he of all people could have such a pure, destructive form of love given his track history.

She’d known him long enough to know that his body count was near ridiculous.

He tilted his head, then burst into laughter.

“Myself, duh.”

“Well, auto-Hanahaki isn’t a thing, but I suppose if it was, you’d be the one to be afflicted with it.”

She decided not to press further. “Whoever it is, I’d recommend you settle your feelings as soon as possible,” she added. “People don’t usually die from this but you look surprisingly like shit so I’d be careful.”

Gojo ran a hand through his hair, hopping off the table and pulling back on his shirt.

Settling his feelings may be more complicated than either of the two of them expected.

---

You were in the middle of your drive home when Shoko’s name finally flashed on your dashboard. Grinning, you picked up on the car speaker, mischief in your voice.

“It’s 7:03 and you promised me you’d call at 7 sharp, babe. What do you have to say for yourself?” 

“You’re going to hold 3 minutes against me?” Her sultry voice filled your ears as you made the last turn between the grocery store and your apartment, and you hoped she’d be inside your home waiting for you so that you could actually hold something tangible against her.

“I did say I wasn’t going to tolerate you being late for anything anymore, didn’t I?” You teased.

“Bold declaration for someone who isn’t even home yet,” Shoko retorted.

In minutes, you were walking through the door, arms charged with bags full of groceries for dinner you’d planned to cook together. Shoko greeted you with a kiss on the forehead as you placed them on the counter.

“Did you miss me?”

You did, but you stuck out your tongue at her instead. Her hand intertwined with yours briefly before you separated to unpack items for dinner.

“I promise I’ll be less busy,” she offered as the two of you worked in tandem. Your stomach was already growling, so the sooner you had food on the table, the better.

“It’s no problem,” you replied, and you meant it only half-heartedly. It’s true she was less busy than a regular civilian doctor, but it seemed recently that her clinic was getting overrun with more and more curse victims. Things had been bad recently in the world, you figured. 

You were happy to step back from the world of sorcery, but small reminders like these persisted.

“Did you still manage to fit Gojo in today?”

She had complained earlier today that Gojo always managed to make a bad day worse.

“Mmm,” is what she offered over the sound of chopping vegetables. You understood that she couldn’t say more, on top of the fact that any discussion of Gojo was already a sore subject. It didn’t have to be, and it shouldn’t have been, but this was what it was.

“Hope he’s okay,” you offered, as you turned on the stove.

“He’ll be fine,” she replied, her voice now quieter than usual.

---

The first and last time Gojo fell in love was in the spring of his third year, he suddenly recalled in the middle of a tryst, as an upsettingly subpar blowjob allowed his mind to wander. The young woman whose gags sounded almost theatrical when compared to the amount of pleasure he was actually receiving was starting to get on his nerves, but instead he took matters in his own hands, wrapping her long ponytail around his wrist before guiding the back of her head so she took him deeper.

If she was gonna choke, she should commit to it.

He’d fallen in love with you at first sight. It was a strange feeling for him to immediately be enamored with someone upon first glance instead, having always been the recipient of many an awe-filled or fawning look.

You were a transfer from the sister school, already a rare occurrence, and what was even rarer was the fact that you both had little affinity to jujutsu and little interest in getting better. One could wonder why you even showed up in the first place, much less why you’d moved from one school to the other. 

You’d quit as expected just before graduation, but not before you caught his eye. 

“You’re pretty shitty at this,” he’d remarked, attempting to win you over with humor when he’d been assigned to you for both orientation and possible tutoring. “Of course, you can always ask me for help,” he added, flashing pearly whites at you.

He was the opposite of successful in wooing you.

“I suppose since this comes easy to you, this is just funny, right?” You’d quipped.

Your words cut more than both you and he anticipated, but it didn’t exactly matter. You were not interested in him, the way he was interested in you. 

But Shoko was different.

You became fast friends and upon your departure from the technical college, you’d remained in contact despite withdrawing from everyone else related to magic. 

Even if Gojo tried many times to either bring you back to this world you’d left behind or be part of your new one, you’d rebuffed him every time. Harshly. 

“I don’t know why you expect everyone to worship you,” was the last thing you’d said to him. “I’ve already made it clear that I don’t want to be part of this life,” you’d insisted. “Why would I change my mind just because you asked me to?”

You were right. 

And yet you loved Shoko.

The young woman whose name he’d forgotten’s face was now pressed against his pubic bone and she now began to squirm, slapping and scratching at him like some kind of trapped animal as she struggled to breathe, reminding him that he’d daydreamed for too long.

“Sorry,” he offered, as he released his grip, leaving her to sputter and choke. Looking at her, knowing that she was not you suddenly made him want to choke himself, to bring forth that impromptu garden of unrequited feelings.

He patted her on the back gingerly, and once it looked like she’d restabilized, pulled her in for another kiss. 

If only her lips tasted like yours.

---

Shoko’s hand glided against the curve of your hips, taking in the image of you sleeping softly on your side, facing her. She dipped down to kiss your nose; it was the only time the fact that she had such an issue with sleep benefited her, this ability to almost always wake up before you.

You looked incredibly peaceful while sleeping, and she had to admit this angelic view of you was even better than your features twisted in a pleasured mewl (not that it wasn’t a close battle).

There was a nagging concern in the pit of her stomach, however.

Gojo suffering from unrequited love could be a problem, if the object of his affections did happen to be you. But it had been years ago that he’d pursued you unsuccessfully, why present now?

Why present to her office of all people? Gojo could be inconsiderate, but not to this extent. 

But what if he didn’t know that this was what he was feeling? Suppressed feelings taking root and morphing themselves into the tangible he couldn’t ignore?

She sat up, resting her back against the backboard, the lack of a cigarette between her lips being palliated with the gnaw of her thumbnail. 

It couldn’t be. Not you. 

Please, not you.

---

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Shoko checked in about a week later.

Gojo didn’t share that he’d spent the entire morning in a coughing fit of petals, now definitely streaked with blood, and the entire last night vomiting enough flowers into the toilet that it had overflowed.

He didn’t comment on the entire scarlet sage plants with large green leaves that threatened to sprout from every orifice, not just his throat, but his ears and nostrils, possibly from behind his eyes.

He didn’t know what was next, only that it was getting worse.

The constant fire in the pit of his stomach, the shivers, the chills, the incessant flash of you running through his mind, your name moaned in the darkness, his body drenched in sweat.

The fact that he knew it was because he loves you and cannot find an alternative for you.

The fact that he must have you, and only you.

“Has it gotten better or worse?” Shoko asked.

“I’m fine,” Gojo reassured her, masking the exhaustion in his voice, and she made the mistake of believing him.

---

You awoke in darkness with an icy cold searing into your skin.

It took you a moment to let your eyes adjust to the light and for your body to resume the motor control it had briefly relinquished in sleep before you could reorient yourself. You were laying on ground of some sort, maybe hardwood which implied that you were in some kind of building. 

Your head throbbed viciously as you shifted slowly to a sitting position and you almost expected there to be blood as you ran your hands over the back of your head, checking for injury. But there was nothing, just the normal feel of your hair, and the steady thump of your temples in time with your pounding heart.

Looking around, your eyes soon fixed to the low light, not actual darkness to center on a figure in the center of the room.

You let out a gasp of surprise.

Gojo.

Not only had it been a while and he was the last person you expected to see, he looked stranger than he ever had.

He sat perched on a chair backwards, chin leaning on the top of the backrest. His head was tilted, and he watched you warily but fixedly through eyes that looked sunken into their orbits. Their clear blue was still sharp in the darkness.

His skin had taken on an almost ghostly cast to match his hair, and he was thinner than you remembered as though he had been slowly withering away since the last time you saw him. That was ages ago.

Your limbs froze in anticipation. You didn’t have to be a genius to recognize that whatever was happening or was about to happen was bad.

“Why did you bring me here?”

He stared at you blankly for a moment, unmoving. If he weren’t so extraordinarily fatigued, he would have sat up straighter in his chair and offered you a smile. You were still as pretty as the day he first laid eyes on you, after all. What a welcome sight.

“I guess I missed you,” he responded instead, quietly. 

Your teeth gritted as you flared up in indignation.

“Excuse me?”

He cut you off with a loud, exasperated sigh, mustering the little bit of energy he had left to run a hand through his hair.

“Listen, I thought I’d forgotten myself, but it turns out that I’m being betrayed by my own body.”

As though to add effect, a coughing fit began just at the end of his sentence, and you watched as he spat flowers into the palm of his hand, lowering them for you to see.

“And it seems like you’re the cause of this.”

Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of bloody petals falling through his fingertips and hitting the ground.

He was completely out of his mind.

“I…,” you shakily got yourself up to your feet, not letting your gaze leave Gojo for a second. He didn’t get out of the chair, but he did shift so that he leaned back in the seat, a wicked smile on his face.

“You...?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You spat. “Where the hell am I and how did I get here?”

He finally did get up, although it was done in a dramatic, strained movement. He really had lost weight, you noticed, picking up the flash of pale wrists before he shoved his hands in his pocket.

“I know it sounds crazy but apparently, according to your girlfriend, I’m suffering from lovesickness.”

He bared more of his teeth now, looking more like a grimace than a grin by this time. “I didn’t believe it either, but then I started seeing you in my mind every single waking moment.”

In the split second it took for you to blink, he had crossed the distance between you, so that he was now in your personal space, the palm of his hand inappropriately caressing your face, as tender as you’d expect from Shoko.

And you immediately jumped back and backhanded him as hard as you could.

The crack of your hand was loud and exaggerated, reverberating in the room. For a moment, you froze in shock, surprised the slap had actually landed, before shaking out your now burning hand and following up with a hiss.

“Don’t you fucking touch me.”

Gojo’s icy blue eyes glint, demonic in their delight.

“That’s the feisty bitch I remember.”

---

It was nearing 24 hours since you’d failed to reply to Shoko’s text and the normally collected woman was terribly anxious.

She’d stayed at work late, and still, not a single message from you. 

The nagging feeling in the back of her mind returned.

What if it were you?

Gojo couldn’t be that insane, could he?

When she entered your home to find traces of red salvia scattered throughout your home, it only confirmed her fears.

---

“I don’t want to do this either. I mean it.”

It was hard to believe him when he seemed to savor every brush of the lips as he trailed kisses along your inner thighs, spread open with the force of his hands. Gojo had always been deceptively strong, even now, when it looked like he was wilting just as much as the flowers he coughed up. 

Your wrists were bound to a fixed point at the head of a foreign bed, and your ankles to the bedposts anteriorly to prevent you from fighting. Not that you would have been able to fight back anyway, but the severe fatigue permeating his very bones made him less willing to risk anything.

When his lips made it to your center to circle your clit, you writhed in disgust, forcing back the sighs of pleasure that would inevitably ensure.

“Y-you can’t - ah - make me love you…”

Gojo paused the swishing of his tongue to give you a look that reeked enough of apathy that it was almost startling.

“I’m aware, but there’s no harm in trying.”

---

“Where the fuck is she?”

Satoru had the ostentatiousness within him to receive the phone call on speaker, so that you could hear Shoko beg to find out your whereabouts.

“She’s with me,” he replied, calmly to her, holding the phone in one hand and pumping fingers in and out of your slippery cunt with the other. 

By this time, Gojo had gotten tired of your expletives which no longer retained the initial cute charm, so your screams for help were muffled by a gag over your own wet panties shoved into your mouth.

He’d been at this for hours.

There was a pause on the phone from Shoko’s end that sounded like something crashing to the ground, maybe a plate breaking.

Her tone changed immediately.

“P-please don’t hurt her.”

“I’m not.”

He glanced at you who glared back at him with reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You looked even prettier when you were so totally helpless.

“I would never,” he added.

The pump of his fingers slowed but did not stop.

“This won’t fix you,” Shoko warned, almost in a low protective hiss, her own voice breaking. “This won’t fix anything, you bastard.”

He cut off the phone abruptly, and let out a sigh before shifting his attention back to you.

“Where were we?”

---

Maybe if I pretend, he’ll stop?

Or will he continue? Will I just affirm that he won?

His thrusts were relentless, as was the constant tugging at your hair, the teeth sinking into every inch of your skin, the moans and groans whispered into your ears or your bosom.

A violation in every sense of the word.

You were running out of tears.

The fact that it’s pointless, you and he both know it. Your true love knows it, that this is just an excuse to get back at you. For what? Rejection? 

He would die anyway. You would never return his feelings, if there even truly were any. 

He continued to rut into you, and flowers started to stain every inch of your bodies, covering them in a deep scarlet.

Red. Red. Red.

Blood. Rage. Power. Passion.

You probably didn’t need the restraints anymore. You had no fight left in you. 

Just the satisfaction, however small, that regardless of what he did to you, he would still eventually succumb to nature and perish in a bed of putrid efflorescence.

[sugakuns]

[sc] 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐛𝐨𝐲 ?

sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs: kozume’s twitch had blown up lately and his subscribers love to bully him with you

ᴀ/ɴ: gn reader

-> this has been in my drafts for AGES and i kinda need to post... sorry for any grammar mistakes..

⤷ mlist

Kenma was having a chill stream, one where he sat back from the games (surprisingly) and spoke to his fans. He preferred these streams when he had a particularly hard day at work wherein he had to sit in long meetings while elderly executives yelled at him for not working his business the way they would prefer.

But for now, he sat on a familiar black gaming chair with white and red accents, on his head sat a pair of pink headphones with little cat ears and white fur details. They were gag gifts from Kuroo when his stream started to get more popular but Kenma had actually liked them and genuinely started using them since they did work. They’re pretty much a staple in Kenma’s online image too.

His set up was quite minimalistic due to the room he used for steaming being a spare room within the house. The white walls behind him had a few gaming posters stuck to the walls, along with LED lights and picture frames of random images ranging from cute photos of your cats to pictures of you and Kenma on dates. Kenma sits in the middle of the screen, camera positioned from the waist up to barely show the offcial Kodzuken logo (stylised KDZKN) printed on the front.

“You guys wanna see [y/n]?” He asks after observing the fast flowing chat. Multiple animations flared on the screen from money donations to gifted subs and messages relentlessly asking for you to come on the stream. They loved to see you two interact, especially since Kenma seems so much more confident and snarky when you’re on the stream.

“They’re watching so they’ll come up if they want” He tells the chat as he runs his fingers through his hair, grunting lightly as he pulls his hair into a lazy low bun. The front strands of his hair were always let down to frame his face due to the fact he never grew out of his habit of using his hair as a shield from others.

He can already hear you padding down the hallway anyway, mentally ticking down the seconds until the door clicks open and you stumble in the streaming room but for now his eyes gaze over the chat.

“I’m not gonna wear a maid dress you guys” He groans. He knows many of his followers like to imagine him as very feminine - and yes, fair enough he had painted his nails and let you put eyeliner on him but dresses were far out of his comfort zone. It’s something he’s already discussed with his fans as being something that crossed the line when requested.

His eyes flicker to the corner of the screen where he catches the movement of the door opening as you quietly slip into the room. You’re wearing a pair of sweats and some random top but he noticed how you fixed your hair (and makeup if you wear it!) to look a little more presentable for his fans.

“Hi everybody” You greet softly, bending down to get a better look at the stream. It took you a while to understand his setup with the three large and extremely expensive monitors balancing on some random white table you bought at a local Ikea. You have no idea why Kenma isn’t more careful about the placement of his things but you’re sure it’s down to the amount of money he’s accumulated from multiple platforms.

The personalised and familiar sound of Happy from FairyTail saying “wow” chimes through the air as a donation appears on the screen. A feminine robotic voice follows shortly after as it reads out the short message displayed on the screen.

“Is your boyfriend a catboy?”

A giggle ripples from deep in your chest at the playful question but you nod anyway. Kenma’s blank expression judging you through the monitors reflection is enough to make you double over with laughter too, making his eyebrows curve downwards in a display of annoyance.

“I’m not a catboy”

“Babe you literally have cat ears on your headphones” Kenma groans, hands wrapping around the plastic to pull them from his head to rest around his neck. A few more donations come in repeating the previous question but the two of you are distracted by a letter argument.

“You literally went to a school with the word cat in it!”

“That’s not the point”

“Kenma we have two cats! Plus i’m pretty sure I remember you looking into getting some Hello Kitty things” Kenma attempts to cover your mouth with his hands but the last few words come out audibly muffled. The chat of course explodes, claiming you to be his My Melody to his Kuromi but he chooses to glare at you instead.

“Don’t you have Hello Kitty hair clips?” He retorts, letting his eyebrows furrow as he purses his lips into a strange mixture of a pout and a frown.

“And I wear them with pride!”

“You’re worse than me” Kenma pouts, leaning back from his keyboard as his left hand comes up to snake around your shoulders and lovingly rub your upper arm. He knows you get a little nervous when speaking to his fanbase, especially after you’ve seen what they’re capable of doing to other fanbases or people in general.

The chat continues to flow rapidly with new questions, a few donations coming in randomly with by gifting subs or asking questions that Kenma briefly answers.

“They’re asking if you’ll make a Twitch” Kenma smiles, eyes darting from the screen to watch how you fidget as you think of an answer.

“No” You chew on your bottom lip “I don’t think i’m that entertaining... maybe if i do anything I’ll make a youtube channel..”

“You’re not boring” Kenma retorts swiftly, promoting a small smile to appear on your face. You can’t help but feel a little happy with the positive attention you’re gaining from his fans, but you’ve thought about it before and you’ve seen what having a large fanbase can have to a person. You’re literally dating Kodzuken.

“Thanks, Ken”