#Held x At x Gunpoint

[galaxyspeaking]

I would love you with our heads down

[six-tooth]

what a bastard teddy bear you got there Pom

[skippersxfamily]

Endo writing his female characters: "women should be allowed to be strong, violent, and angry"

Endo writing his male characters: "he is pathetic for a woman"

[koushuwu]

kiss me slowly

pairing: kageyama tobio x reader

word count: 1,9k

summary: tobio has been in love with you, his older sisters best friend for years. after all these years, he's feelings are strong as ever when he comes back home to japan during the holidays, and mistress luck turns out to be smiling upon him.

tags/cw: fluff, kisses, best friends younger brother!kageyama tobio, mutual pining, not beta read, also not edited we die like neji. bare with me, i'm concussed and wrote this thing on paper before hastily typing it in here.

the first time kageyama kissed you, he might have sworn he could’ve passed out right then and there. maybe he already had. maybe he’d passed away and ascended to heaven. that was probably it, because your lips against his felt like nothing short of his own personal heaven.

kageyama tobio had loved you from afar for years upon years, but he’d never known how to convey these feelings to you. it was a wondrous feeling. intoxicating. but it also hurt. it ached so deep and heavy in his chest that when he was younger, he’d sometimes wished he’d never met you at all. wished that his sister had picked a different best friend.

as he grew older, those wishes seized. although he would sometimes still wonder if it’d been easier. better. if he’d never known you. as if that choice had ever been his to make. he did wonder, but after moving to italy in pursuit of his volleyball career, those thoughts subsided, along with the memories of you.

that was at least what tobio though, but then came around the first holidays where held been able to travel back to japan, since joining ali roma. they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. it wasn’t a saying that tobio had ever really given any thought. at all. but then he crossed the threshold of his childhood home, removed his shoes in the genkan, stepped inside, and there you were. he knew that miwa was going to be home as well. for some reason though, despite knowing that you and his sister were still very much attached by the hip, he hadn’t expected to see you standing right there. in his kitchen. smiling. at him. and talking. to him. shit. you were talking to him.

“— grown so much! welcome home!” and as you rounded the table and pulled him into a hug, all he could muster was one single breathless word.

“… yeah.”

when you pulled back, he thought for a spilt second that you lingered, looking at him with an expression he couldn’t read. but then you were already stepping back towards the kitchen counter and he must’ve imagined it. he must’ve. but he knew that he hadn’t imagined the way his heart hammered in his chest and his palms got clammy.

“still quite the talker, hm?” you chirped. “i’m preparing snacks for miwa and i. you want any?” okay. so maybe his feelings had never really subsided after all. instead, they’d been buried deep inside, during a time where he hadn’t been faced with these feelings and the subject of them, close to every single day.

throughout tobio’s time back in japan, things only got worse. or maybe they got better? tobio had no way of knowing at the time, how the ache is his chest would soon be soothed. all that he knew was that you hung out with miwa on the daily, and seeing you that often was both a blessing and a curse. more often than not, you and miwa would insisted that he joined. that he watched movies with the two of you. had drinks with the two of you. spent time with the two of you, interrogated about his life in italy. and he did. because as much as it hurt, he still wanted to spend as much time with you as he possibly could. be as close as he could. but in doing so, tobio found it harder and harder not to think about you. he shouldn’t be thinking about you like that. he shouldn’t. but the thoughts and the desires kept intruding on his brain and he knew that he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop.

gradually, you started spending even more time at the house, even when miwa wasn’t home. some foolish part of tobio’s brain couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, you came around for him. couldn’t help but hope that that was the case.

on that particular day, he almost convinced himself when you knocked on the door to his room. almost.

tobio was splayed out on his bed, tossing a volleyball into the air. over and over. toss. catch. toss. catch. toss. catch. it helped him focus. helped him remember the feeling against his fingertips. even more so, it helped him keep himself together in your presence.

“where’s miwa?” he asked, eyes trained on the ball. as if he wasn’t the one living under the same roof as her. as if you were the most likely to know. but truly, mostly because whenever he talked to you, his brain went blank. completely and utterly, and his tongue desperately tried to compensate, which always turned to questions like that.

“out. probably still at work, i think,” you said, shrugging. toss. catch. that made sense. toss. catch. 

“oh. yeah.” toss. catch. toss.

“i can go if you’d rather be alone.” catch.

“no i–” his tossing halted for a moment as he looked at you. “stay,” he said. he didn’t want you to leave. he lowered his arms, ball still perched on the tips of his fingers. he wanted you to stay. and he wanted you to keep smiling at him like that. and you did.

“alright,” you said, leaning back in the chair you’d occupied since you’d come into his childhood room. there’s a short pause, but you never stop smiling as you look into his eyes. he wants to look away. he doesn’t want to look away. ever. “italy sounds magical,” you then said. he nodded but didn’t say anything, tongue tying on knots as he took you in. “does it ever get lonely all the way over there?”

“I–” that was unexpected. he thought it over for a moment. tossed the ball back into the air, and caught it as gravity did it’s thing, pulling it back down. “hm. maybe sometimes.”

“you know, if you’re lonely, miwa and i would love to come visit.” did you know how his heart hammered in his chest? did you realize how much he wanted you to visit him? did you have any idea just how much he wanted you, and just you? toss. catch. toss. catch. “tobio.”

“hm?” he hummed. toss. catch.

“if you don’t stop tossing that ball while i’m talking to you, i’m going to steal it.” toss. catch. he stopped again. looked over at you. hadn’t even realized when he’d looked away. when he’d started tossing the ball again. it just happened.

“sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly.

“if you don’t want me to come, that’s fine btw. you don’t have to–”

“no.” he didn’t mean to be so stumped in his answers. but he couldn’t help it. his brain was spinning with the thought of you in his apartment in italy. you in his kitchen. you in his living room. on his couch. in his bed. he shook his head. toss. catch. “i would love that.” toss. catch. toss. catch. you moved beside him. his gaze flicked to you, the moment the ball was in the air. the split second before you were on him.

“told you i’d steal it!” you exclaimed, pouncing to snatch the ball out of the air. tobio had no idea what happened next. or more like, he didn’t know how it happen. one moment you were going for the ball, the next you were falling. you were falling. onto his bed. onto him. panicked, he reached to catch you as you crashed against him. the ball smacked against the wall as tobio’s large hand had slapped it out of the way in his attempt to break your fall. which he had. with his body. 

“oompf.”

it was quiet for a moment, except for the volleyball bouncing on the floor a couple of times before it continued it’s adventure, rolling until it came to a halt against the opposite wall.

“i’m sorry,” you said lifting yourself up on your elbows. “are you okay?” you didn’t move to sit up. you didn’t. maybe because tobio’s hands were splayed out over your spine. or maybe you just didn’t want to. you looked into his eyes, the air around you seemingly growing heavier by the minute.

“i’m okay,” he said. the silence stretched. he should probably say something. he should let go of you. he should ask you to get up. he should. he should. he should. but he didn’t. he didn’t, because he didn’t want to.

“are you going to kiss me?” you asked, the question hanging in the air, charged. he wanted to. his lungs felt completely void of air. he couldn’t. he shouldn’t. he wanted to. so badly.

“no.”

“i’m sorry.” you pull back when the rejection leaves his lips, but his hold around you tightens. he doesn’t want to hold you back. he really doesn’t. but he can’t let you go. not when– you look away and his chest aches again. more than it’s ever done before. “it’s okay. of course you don’t want to. i’m sorry!” for being so forward. for making it awkward. for falling on you, for assuming– tobio heard all the things you didn’t say in that one single apology. 

“it’s not that i don’t want to–”

“it’s fine,” you blurted out, cutting him off. the muscle in his jaw ticks. he can feel it. he doesn’t mean it. but you’re misunderstanding him and he never hated his poor communication skills more than he did that very moment. “you don’t have to explain.” he brushes his knuckles against your jaw before his palm settled on your cheek, turning your head back to face him.

“i want to,” he said. “you have no idea how much i want to. how long i’ve– but i know that i won’t want to stop if i do.”

“okay,” you said. it was quiet for another moment as you looked at each other. “okay, well. that’s good. because maybe i don’t want you to stop.” tobio found his eyes growing wider at your admission. the first time kageyama tobio kiss you, it was actually more you the kissed him. as you leaned down and pressed your lips to his, tobio found himself scared that this was but a dream. that one wrong movement would have you vaporizing and disappearing from. but the press of your lips were so soft. so tender. the hand left on your back fisted in your shirt. clinging on for dear life as his lips finally moved against yours. he’d passed away and gone to heaven. there was no other explanation for what was happening right now. it was sweet. it was magical. it was perfect. it was you. he pulled you closer and you obliged. it was– it–

“finally!” miwa’s cheerful voice echoed in tobio’s room, and startled the two of you pulled apart. shock painted in your features as well as his. but kageyama miwa looked nothing but happy to have caught the two of you kissing. the smile on her face said it all. and then– “took you long enough. anyway, finish up soon, okay? i brought dinner.” she turned and left.

the second time kageyama tobio kissed you, was only mere moments after the first. he was smiling. you were smiling. the heavy atmosphere had lifted but the magic was there. the second time tobio kissed you, it was quick and full of wonder. like the promise of many more to come. and while tobio knew he was going back to italy soon and the ache of leaving you behind was overwhelming, at least he knew that he could be looking forward to you visiting him when he inevitably started feeling lonely without having you close.

*:･ﾟ✧ thank you for reading ♡

[clarissaweasley-10]

ISTG IF EMILY TURNS OUT TO BE ALIVE/MAKES HER RE-APPEARANCE WHEN GRAY AND LYRA WERE FINALLY STARTING TO BOND OR SMTH THEN I'LL SERIOUSLY JUMP OFF THE CLIFF

[officialdaydreamer00]

(part 1 here)

you did notice him some time ago.

the cloak clad boy with the prettiest fiery blue hair.

he who watches from behind the trees. never gets close, never interacts.

"do not go near that boy, for he may be bearing ill intents. do you understand, my child?"

"yes, mother..."

mother always told you that, which left you wondering why. the boy didn't try to approach you, when he could have done it long ago. instead, he chose to observe. he responded to your smiles and waves with his own, albeit shy ones.

the more you looked at him, the more your heart felt strange. it was a warm feeling that engulfed you whole, as if you had seen him somewhere before. had you known him from somewhere? anywhere?

but you grew up with only the presence of your mother, exactly what made you feel that way?

peculiar, indeed, and you intended to find it out yourself.

so despite your mother's words, you wandered beyond the borders, the one that your mother put up to, in her words, protect you from the horrors of the outside world. she was protective, that you were always grateful for, but it soon felt rather overbearing.

it had been quite a while since you last ventured out of your home. mother used to bring you along to places. something happened, however, and she never let you leave the house ever since. you understood, of course, but the growing want to explore pushed that thought away. so the moment your mother left the house, you left too.

there he was again, at his usual spot and gazed over the little place you called home.

he looked confused, his pretty golden eyes darted around, seemingly searching for something, or rather, you. you decided to approach the boy, and with every steps you made, that feeling came back as stronger than ever.

the boy soon turned to you. he flinched back in panic(?), before slowly calming down when he saw it was you. that was when you noticed some things about him.

he was tall, towering over your form, yet he didn't give off a threatening aura. pale white skin, ghostly even, all hidden under a black cloak. the fiery blue hair that you saw was, indeed, fire, strange how it didn't burn you. and his eyes, a molten gold so eerie yet so soft as he stared at you with an expression difficult to read. melancholic? wistful? you couldn't tell which.

his hands held yours so gently, and they fit so perfectly together. he called you 'his queen', you didn't understand why, but something in your heart stirred. as if a force took hold of your soul, you responded.

"We have met again, my King."

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reblogs are very appreciated!!

[sp4rkstorm]

Morph is definitely 100% acting of their own free will

[dazednstoned]

“Let me make it up to you, hm?” He murmurs the proposition against the ever-sensitive skin behind her ear.

The scrape of his beard and the warm exhale of his breath against her is more than enough to earn her forgiveness. Though, that ain’t mean he’ll go without punishment.

“I can give you my mouth tonight?” His lips trail down her neck and to the expanse of bare skin left where the strap of her chemise slipped down.

“That’s as much a treat for me as it is for you,” she scoffs but can’t stifle the heat that crawls up her neck and to her cheeks.

“What do you want then, my angel?” It ain’t a question, but rather an offering of himself and anything she wishes of him.

She thinks on it a moment, chewing on her lower lip as she ponders all she can do to him. When she turns in his arms to face him, she grins like the clever thief and seductress John had known her to be when they first met.

“Get your lasso,” she urges him, but he knows it's a demand.

“Yes, ma’am."

[snowiefur]

I'm being peer pressured into posting candymoon content (a OC x canon of mine.)

ermmm ya. astro from dandy's world and my oc Sweets. 2nd image is how they make me feel rn

you guys will never see me again. unless I get held at gunpoint to post candymoon content again

[agentsnarky]

Went out for pizzaaa

[polvillodecanela]

For later - Something something Hob can see the dead something something.

Like all stories, this one started with a garden. But it wasn't the first garden ever or a garden in a nice house in Tadfield. This story begins with a garden in a now demolished house, in Varsovia.

The year is 1939, Dream of the Endless has been imprisoned for all the first great war and the pandemic that went after it. Death of the Endless has had the most busy time since the Roman wars and, let's face it, she's awfully overworked. That's why Destiny of the Endless managed to pull that especific scenario out of his book to reality.

Captain Howard (Hob) Gallen, medical soldier, actual inmortal, flies up the air as one of the bombs destroys what little left of said garden. He knows he won't die, it will hurt of course but he will heal. The ones with him though?

He falls right on his ass, wincing. A leg is broken, maybe some ribs, definitely his shoulder is dislocated. his head is a mess of scrambled brains, but he is concious and that is a blessing. beside him, a poor corporate falls on his back, Hob hears the breaking of bones, spinal bones. This lad is over. maybe the head too but Hob has some ringing in his ears from the explotion.

He crawls the few centimeters and tries to hold the poor lad's hand.

"Hey, John, buddy", he says trying for a smile "Hey, you are alright, yu hear me? I'll help you out"

"Sir", the poor fellow almost whines, there's a whistle in his breathing. Bad signal. "Sir, please, I don't want to die."

"Me neither, son, we got this. Please resist for me, yeah? be a good buddy and resist for me"

Hob knows is futile. But he is obsessed with living and that includes all the people surrounding him. Hknows in his heart of hearts that the lad is going to die. maybe he is already halfway.

"Sir, I know. I am not going to make it. I need a favor of you, sir"

"Whatever you want, son"

The lad takes a photo of his pocket. A beautiful lady, a fragile sweet thing made of lithe bones and wavy hair.

"She is Esme. We were going to marry. I want you to tell her... that I was no coward"

"She will know, son. You fought bravely"

Hob has just enough time to mutter his promise before he felt another impact. He felt his body coming apart and how one of his legs just ... disapeared. he wont die but, God, sometimes he wish he did.

Death of the Endless wasn't far but in someting that could only be described as "being so overworked you can't literally see" she doesn't feel the tug of Poor John's soul, calling for her. She keeps collecting, smiling kindly, offering comfort. She keeps doing whatever she can. She is tired and Destiny is almost smiling.

Captain Howard Gallen wakes up two weeks later on a Military Hospital. He has his leg back and all his cuts, if painful, are almost healed. He survived. He, also, is watching poor John standing by the foot of his bed. He looks angry but also hopeful.

The sound hob makes is so undignified that it doesnt deserve quoting here, understandable as it is since John looks exactly how someone would look if they were reached by two - not one -bombs and survived.

"You are awake finally! quick, I feel a pull that is eating me. Off to Esme we go"

And, honestly, he is way past his 600 years, he must know some thing or two about the supernatural. This still takes him by surprise.

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

I want to know exactly what kind of Maoist struggle session Jenna Ellis was forced through

[kurapike]

the lowest point of my life was probably this one time at an anime con in like 2008 when a normal ass dude walked past me n and told his friend "see THAT'S oshare" and instead of being like 'this is the lowest point of my life' inside i was like 'wow this is the highlight of my life'

[gf2bellamy]

mistake — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: spencer overhears you and derek talking and he misunderstands your conversation, causing him to distance himself from you. content warnings: mention of being held at gunpoint, biting lip + lip bleeding, spencer being cold a/n: this idea has been stuck in my head for so long !!! i hope you guys like it <33

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the breakroom as you stood by the counter, suppressing a yawn behind your hand.

Derek Morgan leaned casually against the counter, his coffee mug in hand, watching you. “You okay?” he asked, concern flickering in his tone despite the casual delivery. 

You glanced at him, offering a crooked smile. “If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that today…” you trailed off, finishing your coffee preparation.

Moving aside to let Derek reach the machine, you took your first sip, savoring the warmth against your lips. “I’ve been saying the same thing all morning—I’m fine.” 

Morgan arched a skeptical brow, filling his mug. “You were held at gunpoint two days ago,” he pointed out, taking a sip of his coffee. 

You shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “And nothing happened. I’m fine,” you repeated firmly. 

“Tell that to Pretty Boy,” he said, his voice laced with a teasing edge. 

Confused, you turned to face him fully, eyebrows raised. “Why?” 

Derek chuckled, leaning against the counter as he studied your reaction. “He was driving everyone insane while you were in that house. Emily nearly bit his head off.” 

The image of Reid pacing anxiously, rattling off statistics and scenarios, flashed in your mind, and you couldn’t suppress a faint smile. “Hotch got me out. There’s nothing to worry about anymore.” 

At that moment, the sound of footsteps and muffled voices drifted from the hallway as other team members began filtering in, but Derek’s gaze stayed locked on you, serious now. “You know Reid would do anything for you, right?” 

You froze, his words hitting like a direct shot to your chest. The air in the room seemed to thicken, your grip tightening around your coffee cup.

“Yeah,” you mumbled after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Derek didn’t look away. “Good,” he said simply, though his tone suggested he wasn’t convinced you fully understood the weight of it. 

You took another sip of your coffee, your gaze fixed on the countertop as the warmth seeped through the ceramic into your hands.

The thought of Reid’s concern—his constant, almost obsessive worrying—made your chest ache. It was a strange sensation, both comforting and upsetting, like being wrapped in a blanket too tight to breathe.

“I don’t like it,” you muttered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. 

Morgan’s sharp ears caught it instantly. He raised an eyebrow, his posture shifting as his curiosity piqued. “What’s there not to like?” 

You hesitated, the words tangling in your throat. The memories flashed unbidden in your mind—situations where Reid had thrown himself into danger without hesitation, his only concern being you. The way he’d rushed headlong into harm’s way, ignoring all logic and training. The sleepless nights where you’d caught him pacing, the worry etched so deeply into his features that you couldn’t shake the guilt. 

“It worries me sometimes that…” you started, trailing off as your grip tightened around the mug. 

Morgan tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That…?” he prompted, his voice softer now, coaxing the rest of your thought. 

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat stubbornly refusing to go away. “That he cares too much,” you admitted finally, though the words felt heavier than you expected. “He’s put himself in danger for me before. More than once. And I don’t like making him worry. I…” You stopped yourself, realizing you were about to reveal too much. “I don’t know,” you finished lamely, shaking your head and taking another sip to avoid meeting Morgan’s gaze. 

Derek didn’t respond right away, his silence stretching just long enough to make you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He was studying you. 

Derek opened his mouth, a reply forming on his lips, but before he could speak, Emily poked her head into the room.

“Hey, we’ve got a case,” she announced, disappearing just as quickly as she’d arrived. 

Relieved by the interruption, you exhaled quietly and gave Derek a quick smile. “Guess we’ll finish this later,” you said lightly, already moving toward the door before he could reply.

Derek watched you leave, his expression unreadable, before standing and following at his own pace. 

You entered the briefing room, greeted by the sight of Garcia standing at the front, beaming as usual. Her bright pink outfit, complete with colorful accessories, added an air of cheerfulness to the otherwise somber atmosphere. 

“Hi, you two,” Garcia chirped, her voice full of warmth as you and Derek walked in. 

“Hey, Garcia,” you said with a small smile, settling into your usual seat at the table. Derek took the chair directly in front of you, glancing at his phone. 

Moments later, Spencer entered the room. Your eyes instinctively flicked to him, your lips parting to greet him, but he didn’t look your way.

Instead, he avoided your gaze entirely, his expression carefully neutral as he chose a seat farther away—one that was decidedly not next to you. 

You blinked, surprised. Confusion prickled at your thoughts as you watched him pretend to bury himself in the case file that Garcia handed him.

Normally, Spencer greeted you with an enthusiastic smile or a quiet, thoughtful comment. This coldness was unlike him. 

Your eyes shifted to Derek, silently seeking an explanation. He met your gaze, one eyebrow raised, but said nothing. 

“Here you go,” Garcia whispered, slipping a file into your hands. She leaned closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Did you two argue?” 

“What? No,” you whispered back quickly, shaking your head. 

But as the team slowly trickled into the room, it became clear you weren’t the only one noticing the strange tension.

One by one, each team member did a double-take when they saw Spencer’s choice of seat. Everyone knew the two of you were close.

Sitting next to each other during briefings was practically tradition. 

Yet there he was, pointedly looking at his file as if he hadn’t broken that unspoken rule. 

You tried not to let it show, but your heart sank a little as you flipped open your own file. The questions swirled in your mind: Was it something you said? Something you did? 

For the rest of the meeting, you forced yourself to focus on the case, determined to push the nagging thoughts aside. But every now and then, your eyes drifted toward him, hoping for a hint of what was wrong. 

And every time, Spencer Reid refused to meet your gaze. 

Once Garcia finished explaining the details of the case and the team had hashed out the initial plan, Hotch’s voice brought the meeting to a close.

“Wheels up in 20,” he said, and everyone began gathering their things. 

You hesitated, lingering in your seat as the others started filing out of the room. Your eyes flickered toward Spencer, silently willing him to look your way, to give some kind of indication that everything was okay.

But he didn’t. 

Instead, he moved quickly, clutching his file tightly as he left the room in a rush. His long strides carried him away before you could even think of stopping him. You bit your lip, frustration and confusion bubbling up as you watched him disappear down the hall. 

Shaking it off, you grabbed your things and followed the rest of the team, trying to focus on the case rather than the knot of uncertainty twisting in your chest. 

By the time you boarded the jet, you weren’t surprised anymore when you saw Spencer seated far away from his usual spot next to you. He was already absorbed in his file, his profile turned slightly away, making it clear he wasn’t about to acknowledge you. 

Your heart sank a little, but you forced yourself not to dwell on it. Instead, you slid into your regular seat, pulling out your file to prepare for the mission. If Spencer wanted to play distant, you’d let him—for now. 

Emily settled into the seat across from you, her eyes scanning your face with curiosity. You tried to ignore her, keeping your focus on the pages in front of you, but her gaze burned into you. 

Minutes passed, the hum of the jet engine filling the silence, but Emily didn’t look away. Finally, you sighed, snapping the file shut as you met her stare. 

“Emily,” you said, your tone equal parts exasperated and pleading. 

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice low but insistent. 

“Nothing,” you replied too quickly, shaking your head. “It’s fine.” 

“Don’t give me that.” Emily leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “You and Spencer haven’t looked at each other once since this morning. That’s not normal. Did something happen?” 

You hesitated, your lips pressing into a thin line as you considered how much to say. “I don’t know,” you admitted quietly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the file. “He’s been… off. Avoiding me.” 

Emily tilted her head slightly, her expression softening. “Did you talk to him?” 

“I didn’t exactly get the chance,” you said with a bitter laugh, glancing toward the back of the jet where Spencer sat. He hadn’t looked up once, his focus seemingly glued to the pages in front of him. “And even if I did, I don’t know what I’d say.” 

Emily followed your gaze, her brows knitting together in thought. “He’s probably overthinking something,” she said, her tone conspiratorial but kind. “You know how he gets.” 

“Maybe,” you murmured, but doubt lingered in your voice. 

Emily reached across the table, giving your hand a quick squeeze. “Give him time. And if he doesn’t snap out of it soon, you’ll have to be the one to say something. He’s not exactly known for his social bravery, you know.” 

You managed a small smile at that, grateful for her attempt to lighten the mood. But as you glanced toward Spencer one last time, the knot in your chest only tightened. 

You stared out the window, watching the clouds stretch across the sky as the jet hummed steadily beneath you. The rhythmic sound was almost soothing, but it did little to calm the chaos of your thoughts.

You didn’t notice Derek slip into the seat next to you until his voice cut through your haze. “Hey, pretty girl.” He nudged your shoulder lightly, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

You blinked, focusing on his familiar face. “Hi,” you smiled softly at your friend, grateful for the distraction, even if it was brief. 

Derek’s expression shifted from playful to serious. “I talked to him,” he said quietly. 

Your interest piqued immediately. You turned your head toward him, eyes searching his face for any hint of what had been said.

“What’d he say?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, not wanting anyone else to hear. 

Derek leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest as he glanced toward Spencer at the back of the jet. “Nothing,” he said simply, his tone flat. 

You frowned, your gaze following Derek’s to Spencer.

For the first time today, Spencer’s eyes met yours—just for a moment—but it felt like an eternity. He quickly looked away, like he was ashamed to have caught you looking. 

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” you pressed, feeling a pang of frustration twist in your stomach. 

“I mean, he said there’s nothing wrong,” Derek replied, his voice low. His eyes followed Spencer again, and you could tell he wasn’t buying it either. 

You shot Derek a skeptical look. “He can’t seriously think anyone would believe that.” Your voice was laced with disbelief. 

Before Derek could respond, Emily, who had been quietly listening from the seat in front of you, leaned back and added her voice to the conversation.

You bit your lip, feeling the weight of the conversation settle heavily on your shoulders. The uncertainty was overwhelming, but the more you thought about it, the more it hurt.

“It's okay,” you said quietly, offering Derek a small, appreciative smile. “Thanks for asking anyway.” You tried to sound convincing, but your heart wasn’t in it. You didn’t want to delve deeper into this conversation, not now.

Derek gave you a long look, as if he wanted to press the matter further, but instead, he nodded and leaned back in his seat. Emily, too, remained silent, though you could tell she wasn’t ready to drop it. 

The rest of the flight passed in a heavy, unspoken quiet. You kept your attention on your file, reading the same paragraph over and over without really processing any of it.

Hotch was all business as usual, his stern voice cutting through the quiet hum of the jet.

He glanced briefly at his team before issuing instructions, his usual calm demeanor masking the weight of the case ahead. 

“Derek and Emily, I want you to speak with the families of the victims,” Hotch said, his eyes meeting the two of them briefly before shifting toward Rossi. “Rossi, you’ll be with me at the morgue.” 

Your stomach sank at the mention of your assignment. You knew what was coming, and so did Spencer. You exchanged a fleeting glance—brief, but heavy.

Then came Hotch’s eyes, locking onto yours. “You two will handle the geographical profile,” he said, his voice leaving little room for argument. 

Your breath caught in your throat at the assignment. Hotch knew that you and Spencer worked well together, but today, it felt like he was trying to push you into a situation that neither of you were ready for. 

The jet seemed quieter now, as if everyone could sense the unease simmering beneath the surface.

You glanced at Spencer once more, but he was already looking down at his file again, his brows furrowed in concentration, his face a mask of indifference.

You wanted to say something, ask Spencer what was going on, but you didn’t know where to start.

 The jet had finally touched down, and after gathering their things, the team made their way to the station.

You followed behind, taking in the familiar sights of the small town where another case was waiting to be solved.

Once inside the conference room, the rest of the team split off to tackle their individual tasks.

Hotch, Derek, Emily, and Rossi were all busy making preparations, leaving just you and Spencer to tackle the geographical profile.

The police officers handed you a stack of maps—crumpled and worn—offering their best attempt at providing the information you needed. You nodded and murmured your thanks before walking back toward the table where Spencer was already settling in.

You placed the maps down with a soft thud, but before you could sit, you glanced at Spencer.

His eyes were fixed on the maps in front of him, his hands already sorting through them mechanically, as if the world around him didn’t exist. 

“Spence,” you said softly, almost hesitantly. You had hoped this moment wouldn’t come, that the silence would resolve itself, but you couldn’t keep pretending anymore. 

He barely looked up at the sound of his name, but you caught the brief flicker of his eyes—a fleeting glance that was almost too quick to notice. 

“Hm?” he responded absently, his focus still on the maps as his fingers traced over the inked lines of streets and neighborhoods. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, a quiet plea hanging in the air between you.

Maybe it wasn’t you. Maybe it was something else. Something outside of you that had put this strange distance between the two of you. 

Spencer’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for the briefest moment, you saw it—something in his gaze that made your chest tighten. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t frustration.

It was hurt.

Pain that you hadn’t expected to see in his eyes. 

He seemed to freeze for just a moment, and you felt your heart hammer in your chest, suddenly unsure of what to say next. 

He shook his head, his face hardening slightly, as if he was trying to pull himself back from whatever had just flickered in his eyes.

“Talk about what?” he asked, his tone a little colder than usual. His voice was quiet but firm—too firm, almost as if he were trying to put up a wall between you and him. 

You felt a lump form in your throat. "Did I—" 

Before you could finish, Spencer cut you off, his voice tight with something you couldn’t quite place. “We have to get started on this,” he said, his words sharp but careful. 

With a slow exhale, you nodded, though it didn’t come easily. "Right." You lowered your gaze, your fingers gripping the edges of the map in front of you as you tried to focus on the task at hand.

Spencer didn’t say anything more. Instead, he reached for a marker and started drawing a rough outline on one of the maps.

The usual warmth that he brought to these situations—his quiet intelligence, his willingness to collaborate—was nowhere to be found. 

As the moments stretched on, the weight of the silence became harder to ignore.

You both busied yourselves with the task at hand. Every time you glanced at him, Spencer’s face remained unreadable, his gaze focused solely on the maps.

The others trickled in later that night, the sound of the door opening followed by the rustle of bags and the smell of fast food wafting through the room.

Derek and Emily both carried bags filled with food, the scents of greasy burgers and fries a welcome distraction from the heavy atmosphere that had settled over the team. 

"Seems like it’s gonna be a long night," Rossi sighed, his voice deep with the exhaustion that had already begun to settle into his bones. He dropped down into one of the chairs around the conference table. 

You barely looked up, your stomach growling in protest. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until the smell of food hit you.

Without a second thought, you grabbed one of the boxes of fries from Derek’s hand and sat down, your back against the cool metal of the chair as you dug into the food.

“Thanks,” you murmured around a mouthful, not looking up as you continued to eat. 

The others began settling in, the murmurs of conversation filling the room, but there was one sound that was noticeably absent—the sound of Spencer's voice.

It had been hours since the awkward exchange between you and him, and you hadn’t had a chance to talk since.

You barely noticed when Spencer walked past the table until he mumbled something under his breath, barely audible over the low hum of the team settling in. 

"I'm not hungry." 

You kept eating, trying to distract yourself, but your heart ached in a way you couldn’t explain.

You missed Spencer’s warmth,the way you’d work side by side, always in sync.

But now, there was nothing.

You had no idea what had happened—what had gone wrong. And that uncertainty gnawed at you, making your chest tighten every time you thought about it. 

You glanced up, watching as Spencer’s figure slipped quietly out of the room, his back to you as he moved toward the hallway.

Rossi, who had been watching the scene unfold, raised an eyebrow at the silent exchange.

Derek, who had been digging into his food, finally looked up at you. His face was usually so open, so easy to read, but right now, there was something in his expression that mirrored Emily’s. 

“Hey,” Derek said, his voice gentle but direct. “You alright?” 

You nodded quickly, not trusting your voice to answer. You were trying so hard to hold it together, to focus on the task at hand, but all you could feel was Spencer’s absence.

"Yeah," you finally murmured, forcing a small smile. "Just hungry."

The case was wrapped up by the next day after a grueling night of work, punctuated by greasy fast food and a few stolen naps here and there.

The sense of relief was palpable as the team boarded the jet for the flight back home. The usual hum of quiet conversation and rustling papers filled the cabin, but you didn’t participate.

Instead, you sank into one of the plush seats and fell asleep almost immediately, your exhaustion taking over the moment you closed your eyes. 

Spencer sat across the aisle, his book open in his lap, though his eyes weren’t scanning the pages.

Instead, they were fixed on you.

The rise and fall of your chest, the way your head tilted slightly to the side as you rested—he couldn’t help but watch. It was a habit he’d developed over the years, this quiet observation of you. But now, it was tinged with something heavier. 

He missed you. 

Usually, these flights home were his favorite part of the job. You’d either challenge him to a card game, always finding new ways to try and outwit him (and sometimes succeeding), or you’d sit beside him and attempt to read over his shoulder.

He could still hear your exasperated sighs whenever he turned the page too quickly, knowing you barely managed to finish the first paragraph before he’d already moved on.

He could only sit there, the book forgotten in his hands, as he replayed the words that had been haunting him since the case started. 

“I don’t like it.” 

He hadn’t meant to overhear the conversation between you and Derek, but he had.

The way Derek had said, almost teasingly, that Spencer would do anything for you—it had been the truth.

Spencer would do anything for you. He cared about you in ways that he couldn’t fully articulate, in ways that went beyond logic or reason. But it was your response that had cut through him like a knife. 

“I don’t like it.” 

Those four words had been replaying in his head, over and over again, like a broken record. At first, he tried to rationalize it.

Maybe you were just joking, or maybe he’d misunderstood the context. But no matter how he tried to spin it, the meaning stayed the same. 

You didn’t like it. You didn’t like him caring about you. 

The realization had been like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t meant to be a bother, hadn’t realized that his presence, his actions—his feelings—might be unwelcome.

It tore at him, the thought that his care might have been suffocating, that it might have pushed you away instead of bringing you closer. 

He closed his book with a soft thud, unable to focus on the words anymore. His gaze drifted back to you, still sleeping.

He wondered if you had any idea how much you meant to him. If you knew how much he valued every moment you spent together, every smile, every laugh. 

But maybe that was the problem. Maybe he’d cared too much, given too much of himself. And in doing so, he’d crossed some invisible line, made you feel something you couldn’t say aloud. 

Spencer sighed quietly, leaning back in his seat as he stared out the window. He wanted to talk to you, to ask what you’d meant, to understand.

But the fear of hearing the truth—that he was a burden, that you didn’t want his care—kept his words locked tightly inside. 

So, he sat in silence, watching you sleep from afar.

Emily’s gentle touch on your shoulder roused you from your nap. The hum of the jet engines had stopped, and as you blinked yourself awake, you realized that nearly everyone else had already left.

You grabbed your bag groggily, trailing after Emily as she led the way off the plane. 

Once back at the BAU, you headed to your desk to grab a few last-minute things before heading home. The bullpen was mostly empty now, the soft glow of desk lamps casting long shadows across the space.

But your steps faltered when you noticed Spencer still seated at his desk, his focus seemingly glued to a stack of papers in front of him. 

You hesitated, debating whether to say something. But you couldn’t stop yourself—it was instinctual, this pull to check on him, to make sure he was okay.

Because you cared about him. 

“You should go home, Spence,” you said softly, standing at your desk across from his. The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, and you winced, worried it might irritate him further. 

Spencer’s head jerked up at the sound of your voice, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before they darted back to the papers on his desk. “Still need to get some paperwork done,” he mumbled, his voice low and distant as he picked up his pen again. 

That was it. That response—cold, dismissive, and completely unlike him—pushed you to your breaking point. You couldn’t take it anymore, the distance, the tension, the ache of not knowing what you’d done to make him pull away. 

“Spencer, did I do something? Or did—” you started, your words tumbling out in a rush, driven by the desperate need for answers. 

His hand froze mid-sentence, the pen hovering above the page. Slowly, he set it down, his movements deliberate as he leaned back in his chair.

For the first time in what felt like days, he looked directly at you—really looked at you. 

His expression was a mix of weariness and pain, and it stopped you in your tracks. 

“Did you do something?” he repeated quietly, almost as if he couldn’t believe you’d asked the question. A bitter laugh escaped his lips, but there was no humor in it. “No, you didn’t do anything. Not really.” 

“Then why—” You gestured helplessly between the two of you, your frustration bubbling over. “Why are you acting like this? Like you don’t even want to be near me?” 

Spencer’s jaw tightened, and he glanced away, staring down at his desk. 

“I don’t wanna seem like I care too much,” Spencer said, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and hurt.

You stared at him, trying to make sense of what he was saying. The silence stretched, broken only by the soft hum of the neon light above you, its flicker almost mocking the distance now between you. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked, your voice trembling slightly. 

Spencer stood abruptly, his gaze sharp as he grabbed his bag, avoiding your eyes. “Nothing,” he muttered, his tone flat.

“Hey, no,” you said, walking toward him, your steps firm despite the tightening in your chest.

“No, you don’t get to do this, Spencer.” You stood in front of him now, blocking his path, your heart racing as he glared down at you. “You can’t just shut me out and then expect me to move on like nothing happened.” 

He didn’t respond at first, but you could feel the tension rolling off him, his anger simmering beneath the surface.

You bit your lip hard, the pain sharp as you tried to keep your composure. Blood welled up, a bitter tang on your tongue, but it barely registered as you looked into his eyes, searching for something—anything—that would tell you where you stood. 

Spencer’s gaze flicked down to your lip, his eyes softening for a moment as if the sight of you hurting made him hurt too.

He closed his eyes briefly, taking in a slow breath. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, tinged with regret. 

“You said you don’t like it,” he murmured, his words hesitant. 

Your heart skipped a beat.You had no idea where this was going, but you felt the space between the two of you growing heavier with each passing second. You swallowed, your eyes flitting nervously across his face as you stepped closer to him. 

“Don’t like what?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper, afraid of pushing him further away with a raised tone. 

Spencer’s gaze fixed on you, his disappointment clear. “You don’t like that I would do anything for you,” he said, his voice breaking just slightly. 

The words struck you like a punch to the gut, and you took a step back. Memories of your conversation with Derek came flooding back—his words, the concern in his voice.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts that you barely registered Spencer’s disappointed stare. 

“I heard your conversation,” he added, his voice distant, wounded. 

“Did you hear all of it?” you asked, your eyes searching his, the confusion on your face undeniable. 

“What?” he muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly. 

“The rest of what I said,” you clarified, your voice softening as you felt the distance between you begin to close.

You gave him a small, tender smile, one that barely reached your eyes. “I assume you didn’t hear what I said after that.” 

Spencer's shoulders slumped slightly, the tension draining from his body, but the disappointment remained. “I heard enough,” he replied. 

You sighed, your hand reaching out to gently touch his.

“I also told Derek that you care too much.” Spencer flinched at your words, as though they pained him, and you felt a flicker of guilt. But you weren’t done yet. “I’m not finished.” 

He looked at you, eyes wide with something close to fear, as if bracing for the words that might break him.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your emotions. “I said that I’m worried you endanger yourself for me. Look, Spence…” you hesitated, your throat tightening, “I don’t like making you worry. That’s why I said what I said. It scares me that you put yourself in danger. For me.” 

As your words lingered in the air, Spencer’s face softened, and his eyes flickered with a sudden realization.

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, and for a moment, he looked almost fragile, as though the weight of everything had suddenly hit him. 

“I… I didn’t mean—” His words caught in his throat, and he stumbled over his apology. “I’m sorry. I misunderstood everything. I should’ve listened better. I shouldn’t have assumed…” His voice broke. “I'm sorry.I shouldn't have pushed you away like that. I care about you so much, and I… I just… I’m sorry.” 

The rawness of his apology struck you harder than you expected. You could feel the sincerity in every word.

But before you could say anything, the urge to hold him—comfort him—overwhelmed you. 

Without thinking, you stepped forward, your arms reaching around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, the warmth of his body grounding you, and for the first time all day, the chaos inside you started to settle. 

Spencer stood still for a moment, clearly surprised by the sudden closeness. But then he hesitantly wrapped his arms around you, his grip tightening as he pulled you closer.

You could feel the rapid beating of his heart against your chest, mirroring your own. 

You closed your eyes, your voice soft but steady as you spoke into his neck, your words laced with emotion. “Spence… I care about you more than you’ll ever know,” you murmured, your hand gently stroking the back of his head as if to comfort him. “I don’t like being away from you. The thought of you putting yourself in danger for me… it’s just too much.” 

You felt Spencer's breath hitch against your skin, and he tightened his arms around you, as if trying to reassure himself that you were really there, that you weren’t going anywhere. 

“I know I should’ve said it better,” you continued, your voice trembling slightly with the weight of your words. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t care.” 

Spencer’s grip tightened. For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Finally, he pulled back slightly, his hands lingering on your waist.

His eyes searching yours with a mixture of tenderness and uncertainty. “You mean everything to me, you know that? I just… I just don’t want to hurt you. I don’t know how to stop myself sometimes.” 

You smiled softly. “I know, Spence.” 

He nodded slowly, a faint but genuine smile tugging at his lips as he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, but you shook your head. 

“Yes, you do,” you whispered back, holding him even tighter, as if reaffirming your place in each other's lives.

[shortnspidey]

SILENT RIFT

jj maybank x fem!cameron!reader || WC: 4.5K

SUMMARY: The Pogues finally find the gold they've been searching for after countless obstacles. However, when it comes to actually succeeding, the universe has other plans. Held at gunpoint in the middle of nowhere, a spontaneous decision changes everything. In the heat of the moment, words are said that reveal hidden feelings. Emotions run high, leading them to confront not only their enemies, but also their own emotions.

WARNINGS: established relationship, cursing, mild angst, talks of drugs, typical OBX level violence, suggestive towards the end but no smut!

A/N: Happy OBX 4 release day! This one shot is one of my old Wattpad drafts from when I was writing a JJ story. Enjoy this drabble as I try to publish another chapter of broken record or collateral hearts soon! This ended up being a long one, enjoy! Divider by @marvelstoriesepic

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"Hell of a job melting it down, Dr. Frankenstein," JJ scoffed, narrowing his eyes at Kiara as he stepped out of the Twinkie. He clutched the melted piece of gold tightly in his hand, its weight a tangible reminder of what everyone was expecting him to do. As the group arrived outside a shabby pawn shop on the outskirts of the Outer Banks, the rundown aspect and the graffiti on the walls made your skin crawl. The shops window's were smeared with grime, making it impossible to see inside, and the peeling paint revealed patches of weathered wood.

Kiara shot JJ a glare, her frustration evident in the tight set of her jaw and the clenching of her fists. "Like you could have done any better." She retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. JJ stepped closer, standing toe to toe with her, not backing down from her challenging gaze. "I could have done much better. I took a welding class," He sassed, a smirk playing on his lips. "Woah, woah, hey!" John B chastised, stepping in between his two friends.

His presence seemed to diffuse some of the tension, his calm demeanor acting as a buffer between the two. You followed his lead, grabbing JJ by his arm and rubbing comforting circles with your thumb on his forearm knowing that he was anxious. You could feel the taut muscles in JJ's arm slowly beginning to relax under your touch, the rhythmic motion of your thumb providing a small measure of comfort.

"Chill out, okay?" John B coaxed, his voice gentle but firm. You watched as Kiara's eyes softened slightly, her earlier anger giving way to a mix of concern and frustration. She took a step back, her shoulders sagging as she exhaled deeply. "It's easy for you to say that," JJ scoffed, his voice tinged with bitterness. "You're not the one that has to pawn off this piece of shit." He emphasized his point by holding up the gold bars that were now melted in a unrecognizable shape, the once gleaming metal was now a twisted, misshapen lump.

"How did I get this job anyway?" JJ muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Cause you're the best liar." Pope replied nonchalantly, his tone matter-of-fact. Letting out a sigh JJ turned to you, his cerulean blue eyes locking with yours. His eyes were a stormy sea, filled with a mix of frustration and determination. He turned his head, tapping his cheek. "Kiss, for you know, good luck." He grinned, his usual mischievous spark returning momentarily. You rolled your eyes at your boyfriends antics yet leaned in to kiss him nonetheless.

Just as your lips were about to collide with his cheek, he turned his head at the last second, smashing his lips with your in a kiss that was way too passionate for it to be in front of your friends. The warmth of his lips, the sudden intensity, made your heart race. You could have sworn you heard your sister mutter an "aww" while everyone else fake gagged, their exaggerated sounds filling the air. Pulling yourself away from the kiss, much to JJ's dismay, you smiled, leaning up and pressing one more chaste kiss to his pouting lips.

The brief contact left a lingering warmth, a promise of more to come. "You got this," You reassured him, squeezing his bicep in emphasis, feeling the tension in his muscles. "Showtime," He mumbled to himself, mentally preparing. Straightening his shoulders, he took a deep breath, and gave you one last look before stepping forward. Behind you, Sarah reached out and squeezed your hand, her grip offering a silent message of solidarity and support. The warmth of her touch was comforting, grounding you in the moment.

Everyone followed JJ into the empty shop, the jingle of the bell on the door announcing your arrival. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet space, a stark contrast to the tension that hung in the air. "Afternoon, ma'am." JJ greeted, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of anxiety. The shop was dimly lit, with dust particles dancing in the beams of barely there sunlight that filtered through the windows. Shelves lined the walls, filled with various trinkets and curiosities, each one telling its own story. “Afternoon.” The pawnbroker, an elderly woman with a stern face and piercing eyes, looked up from behind the counter.

Her gaze swept over your group as you spaced yourselves around the room, lingering on JJ for a moment longer. JJ stepped forward, trying to maintain his composure under her scrutinizing gaze. "I see you buy gold," He emphasized, his voice steady but with a hint of nervousness. "That's what the sign says, don't it?" She retorted, her lips curling into a sneer. She glanced at the sign hanging in the window, its letters faded and worn. "Well, I sure hope you buy a lot of it, because I am about to blow your mind." JJ carefully opened his bag, revealing the items inside. The pawnbroker's eyes never left his hands, watching his every move with a hawk-like intensity.

"I ain't got much mind left to blow, so have at it," She challenged, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of defiance and curiosity. "How about them gold apples," JJ replied, his voice steady as he placed the melted gold onto the counter with a thump that echoed throughout the shop. The sound seemed to reverberate off the walls, adding a weighty finality to his action. The pawnbroker chuckled cynically, shaking her head. "That ain't real," She declared, her voice filled with disbelief and a hint of mockery. Her eyes flicked to the gold, then back to JJ, as if daring him to prove her wrong.

"That ain't real?" JJ scoffed, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. He leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "It can't be," The pawnbroker pressed, her voice faltering slightly as doubt began to creep in. She reached out a tentative hand, her fingers hovering just above the gold, as if afraid to touch it. "Feel how heavy it is," He countered, his voice firm and confident. He nudged the gold closer to her, the metal glinting under the dim light. The pawnbroker hesitated for a moment, her eyes locked on JJ's, searching for any sign of deceit. Finally, she picked up the gold, her fingers curling around it.

Her expression shifted from skepticism to surprise as she felt the weight of the metal in her hand. The shop fell silent, the only sound being the faint creak of the floorboards as she adjusted her stance, the gold weighing heavily in her grasp. "Mhm, here let's get some light on that." The group watched intently as she narrowed her eyes, but nevertheless picked up a nearby magnifying glass with a light, inspecting the chunk of gold closely. "Spray-painted tungsten." She concluded, her voice laced with doubt but still firm.

"Really, okay?" JJ rolled his eyes. "Why don't you see how soft it is." He suggested. "You mind?" The pawnbroker asked, holding up a small mallet, her eyes seeking permission. "No, go for it." JJ urged, his gaze unwavering as he watched her. She brought the mallet down gently, making a small dent in the gold, then pushed down on it for further inspection. "Wow. Would you look at that." JJ remarked sarcastically, a smirk playing on his lips. "Hold your horses, we ain't got the acid test yet." She shot back, her confidence wavering slightly. "Ooh, the acid test," He turned, his eyes locking onto yours, a mischievous glint in them.

"My favorite, baby." He added with a wink, grinning as he noticed how the simple action made you flush. You pretended to be distracted by a limited edition book on the shelf, your heart racing as you tried to avoid his piercing gaze. This was certainly not the place or time. Everyone held their breath as the woman dribbled a few drops of acid on top of the gold. The liquid sizzled slightly, emitting a faint, acrid smell that filled the small shop. "Well, it ain't plated, and it ain't painted," she assessed, her tone now more serious. "Ma'am, I'm telling ya, this is as real as the day is long," He insisted, growing tired of the back and forth, his patience wearing thin.

"It looks like someone tried to melt it down," she raised a brow, her eyes meeting JJ's in a challenging gaze. The air seemed to crackle with unspoken accusations. "My mom," You stepped in, linking your arm through JJ's as the pawnbroker eyed you both suspiciously. "She had all this jewelry laying around the house, and she thought it was best to melt it down to "consolidate" it." You tried to sound as convincing as possible, your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. The lie felt heavy on your tongue, but you pushed through, hoping it would be enough to satisfy her.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sarah bite her lip to stop the laugh that she almost let out at your evident lie. The pawnbrokers gaze flickered between you and JJ, her skepticism evident. The silence stretched, each second feeling like an eternity. Turning around with a sigh, she placed the gold into a small scale behind the counter, the scale creaked under the weight. "Seven pounds," Her eyes widened. "That's a lot of earrings." Her voice had a hint of disbelief, and you could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to piece together your story.

"Okay, to be honest, ma'am," JJ spoke, clearing his throat and adopting a more somber tone. "It's really hard to see my fiancé's mom fall apart with Alzheimer's. Breaks my heart, truly." His voice wavered slightly, adding an authentic touch to the fabricated story. "Give me a minute." She tsked, walking towards a secluded office. JJ nodded solemnly, playing into the act of the heartbroken fiancé. "Take your time, ma'am." As soon as she was out of earshot, you turned to give JJ a look of disbelief. "Alzheimer's really?" You whispered, trying to keep your voice low. The absurdity of the situation was almost too much to handle, and you could feel a nervous giggle bubbling up inside you.

"So I talked to my boss, and this is what I can do." The pawnbroker returned, holding a piece of paper with a price written on it. Inspecting it, JJ raised his brows. "Fifty thousand?" He repeated, his voice tinged with incredulity. The offer was far lower than what you had hoped for, and you could see the frustration building in JJ's eyes. "You think I walked in here not knowin' the spot price?" JJ retorted, his voice firm. "I know for a fact this is worth 140 at least." His confidence was unwavering, and you could see the pawnbroker's resolve starting to crack. "Well sweetie, you in a pawn shop. This ain't Zurich." Her voice was firm, but there was a hint of concession in her tone.

"Ninety, or I walk," He bargained, his voice steady. "Seventy, half price, and I don't ask questions about where you got this.” JJ clenched his jaw, looking over at John B, who nodded his head, giving him the green light. "I'm gonna need that in large denominations, please," JJ agreed, his voice calm but resolute. "Well, here's the snag, I don't have that much denominated. Not here anyway, but I can write you a cashier's check." JJ immediately shook his head. “No ma’am, I want the cold hard, that’s what that sign says. Cash for gold, and that’s what I expect.” He pointed to the sign on the wall as emphasis.

“Well, I have to send you to the warehouse. I have the money there. Is that alright?” Everyone in the room held their breath, watching as JJ mentally weighed his options over in his head. “Where’s this warehouse?” He finally asked, his voice steady but with a hint of skepticism. That is how the group found themselves further into the middle of nowhere following the pawnbroker's instructions to the supposed "warehouse". The road was rough and winding, lined with tall, ominous trees that seemed to close in on them as they drove deeper into the unknown.

To say you were on edge would have been a complete understatement. Every creak of the van and small jolt from where you were seated on JJ's lap made your heart race faster. "So, they keep money out here?" Pope voiced aloud the question everyone was probably thinking. His voice broke the silence, but instead of easing the tension, it only seemed to heighten it. The unease in his tone mirrored the anxiety that had settled in your chest. JJ shrugged, attempting to lighten the mood. "That's what she said," He chuckled at his own joke. "That's what she said." His snicker was met with silence, the gravity of their situation overshadowing any chance of humor.

"Stop," Pope warned, his expression hardening. The seriousness in his eyes was a stark contrast to JJ's attempt at levity. "That was cute, but definitely not the time, J," You exasperated, your voice barely above a whisper. The fear and uncertainty in your tone were unmistakable. The blonde boy nodded, his playful demeanor fading. He held onto the melted gold in one hand, the other resting reassuringly on your thigh. The warmth of his touch was a small comfort in the midst of the overwhelming tension. "I've never even heard of Resurrection Drive." Sarah inquired. "That's cause your rich." JJ mumbled under his breath.

"You've never heard of it either." Both you and Kiara retorted in unison. "Thank you." Sarah replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "There's nothing but weeds back here." Kiara informed the group, looking out the van's window and seeing nothing but shrubbery. JJ was about to retort with another sarcastic comment, yet he was interrupted by the sudden, piercing sound of a siren. The noise sliced through the tense silence like a knife. Sure enough, John B looked in the rearview mirror, his eyes widening as he saw the flashing lights of a car behind them, signaling for them to pull over.

"Cops? Out here?" Kiara questioned, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Are you kidding me!" JJ fumed, his grip tightening on the gold and your thigh, the panic in his eyes was evident. "What did we do?" Sarah questioned, her voice small and wavering, the fear clear in her tone. "Stash that," John B whispered urgently to JJ, who was still holding onto the gold in his hand. You quickly got off his lap and sat next to Kiara, your heart pounding in your chest. The van's interior felt even more confined as Pope and John B coaxed JJ to hurry up. The oppressive weight of the situation pressed down on you, making every second feel like an eternity as you waited for what would happen next.

Your heart sank in your chest upon hearing the cock of a gun and seeing a rifle a few inches away from John B's face. The metallic click echoed ominously in the confined space of the van. "Why don't I go ahead and see them hands in the air?" A gruff voice declared, belonging to a mystery assailant who wore a bandana on the lower half of his face. The fear that gripped your heart quickly morphed into a seething anger. You knew that voice. "All of y'alls hands up in the air right now." Oh hell no, you thought to yourself. This was going to end here and now. "No," You seethed, making direct eye contact with your assailant. You could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew you recognized him, and his cover slipped slightly.

The tension in the van was palpable, like a coiled spring ready to snap. Every muscle in your body was tense, ready to spring into action. The familiarity of the voice only fueled your anger, making it harder to think clearly. You could feel the eyes of your friends on you, their fear and confusion mirroring your own. "Just do as he says, Y/N," John B urged, his voice steady but his eyes betraying his fear. He slowly raised his hands, setting an example for the rest of you. "No," You shook your head, challenging him. The defiance in your voice was clear. The assailant's eyes narrowed behind the bandana.

"Alright, tough girl, come on out here then," He taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. "Y/N, what are you doing?" Sarah whimpered, her voice trembling as she watched you step out of the van, the barrel of the gun trained on you. "It's gonna be okay, Sarah," You reassured her, trying to keep your voice calm despite the fear gnawing at your insides. "Y/N!" This time it was JJ. His voice cracked with desperation. As your eyes met his, you could see he was barely holding it together, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. "JJ, trust me, stay here," You coaxed, trying to project as much confidence as you could muster. The last thing you needed was for him to do something reckless.

"I'd listen to the lady, unless you want your brain scattered here on the side of the road," The assailant threatened, his voice cold and unyielding. The weight of his words hung in the air, adding to the already suffocating tension. "I'll be okay, I'll be right back," You promised, hoping your words would be enough to keep your friends from doing anything rash. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever was to come, and stepped further away from the van, feeling the eyes of your friends burning into your back. Once you were a safe distance away from the van, Barry lowered his rifle, letting out a surprised chuckle. "Mighty brave of you, Cameron, especially 'cause I'm the one holdin' the gun." He mocked.

"Oh please," You rolled your eyes, your voice laced with disdain. "Drop the act, Barry," Addressing him by his name with a tone of authority, you crossed your arms over your chest, standing your ground. "We both know Rafe will kill you if you so much as lay a finger on me." You smirked confidently. "Now, why don't we cut to the chase, shall we?" You proposed, your eyes never leaving his as you reached for the shiny gold diamond ring that adorned your knuckle. Barry watched in disbelief as you slipped it off and held it out to him. "Here," You coaxed, handing him the ring. "This will get you a couple thousand dollars if you pawn it off right." Barry took the ring, studying it in the sunlight. "This covers what you and your friends got, but not what country club owes me, you feel me.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest once more, the frustration evident in your posture. "How much does he owe you?" You asked, your voice tinged with exasperation. "At least two hundred," Barry replied, a smirk playing on his lips. Sighing, you reached into your back pocket for your wallet, picking out two hundred dollar bills. "Are we free to go?" You huffed, knowing that if this deal took any longer, your boyfriend would most likely come and take matters into his own hands, whether Barry had a gun or not. "Tell your boy toy that his attitude's gonna get him in trouble," Barry sneered. "Don't," You spat, your eyes narrowing. "If you even think of touching him, we're going to have a problem. You feel me?" You threw back his previous words with a defiant glare.

Raising his hands in mock surrender "Damn, looks like I hit a nerve." Barry chuckled. "I mean it, Barry," You insisted, your voice steady and unwavering. With one final smirk in your direction, Barry pockets the cash and the ring and climbs into his car without a single look back in your direction. You let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding and turn back towards the van. As you approached, the tension was palpable, hanging thick in the air. "What the hell was that?" Sarah was the first to question you, her eyes wide with concern as you climbed into the backseat as if nothing had happened.

"I handled it, it's over." You shrugged nonchalantly, but the tightness in your chest betrayed your calm facade. Sarah scoffed, clearly unconvinced by your bravado. "That was pretty stupid, Y/N," Kiara scolded, her voice filled with frustration. Everyone nodded in agreement, their faces a mix of worry and disapproval. You shrugged them off, trying to meet JJ's eyes, who had yet to say anything. You could see the worry and anger battling for dominance in his eyes, the tension in his jaw making it clear just how much he was holding back. "Let's get out of here," John B broke the silence, his voice a calm command that cut through the tension. Everyone was unharmed, yet you somehow knew this was far from over.

Arriving back at the Château, you watched JJ throw open the door before John B even parked his van. The sound of the door slamming against the wall echoed through the air. You watched as JJ stormed inside, his movements quick and agitated. One hand was gripping his chest, his knuckles white from the pressure, while the other was balled into a tight fist, veins visible under his skin. He didn't look back, his anger propelling him forward. John B, Kiara, Sarah, and Pope turned to you, their faces a mix of concern and curiosity. It was as if they were silently asking if they should get involved, their eyes darting between you and the direction JJ had gone.

"I'll handle it," You sighed, feeling the weight of the situation settle on your shoulders. You stepped down from the van, the gravel crunching under your feet. "Good luck," John B sing-songed, a teasing lilt in his voice. You flipped him off with a smirk, hearing Sarah and Kiara scold him in unison. Their voices faded as you walked through the door, the familiar scent of the Château enveloping you. You found JJ in the spare bedroom, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. His footsteps were heavy, each step reverberating through the wooden floor. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, filled with a storm of emotions - anger, frustration, and a hint of vulnerability.

"JJ, talk to me," You urged softly, stepping closer. Your voice was calm, trying to soothe the tempest within him. He stopped pacing and turned to face you fully. His expression was a mix of anger and hurt, his jaw clenched tightly. "What the hell were you thinking, Y/N? You could've gotten yourself killed!" His voice cracked slightly, betraying the fear behind his anger. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but you took a deep breath to steady yourself. "He's the scumbag who sells coke to my brother. I know him and what he's capable of. As much of a psychotic asshole as he is, he wouldn't hurt me. Not without facing Rafe's wrath." That only made JJ angrier. "How are you so sure?"

He shook his head, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. "Maybe next time you won't be so lucky, or I won't be there to protect you." His voice was low, almost a growl, and you could see the worry etched into his features, mingling with the anger. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his breathing was ragged. "I'm fine," you replied, trying to sound reassuring. "It's over now." "Over?!" JJ's voice rose, and he ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Dammit Y/N, you don't get it!" He screamed, pulling his hair in frustration. "I was fucking terrified. Did you know how scared I felt, watching the woman I love being held at gunpoint?" His voice broke, and you could see the tears welling up in his eyes, though he tried to blink them away.

You opened your mouth, but nothing seemed to come out. The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and significant. "What did you just say?" You finally managed to whisper, your heart pounding in your chest. JJ stayed quiet, almost as if processing the words himself. His breathing slowed, and he looked away, his shoulders slumping. The vulnerability in his stance was palpable, and it hit you just how deeply he cared. This was more than just anger; it was fear of losing someone he couldn't bear to lose. "JJ," You coaxed to stop him from overthinking, knowing that his flight or fight mode was kicking in.

JJ's confession hung in the air, the raw emotion in his voice making your heart ache. You could see the fear and love in his eyes, and it made everything else fade away. The room seemed to shrink, and all that mattered was the two of you, standing there, vulnerable and exposed. "I love you, Y/N," He repeated, his voice softer this time, filled with a desperate need for you to understand. He took a hesitant step closer, his eyes searching yours for any sign of rejection. Your breath hitched, the intensity of the moment overwhelming. Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, your hands reaching up to cup his face. "I'm so sorry, JJ," You whispered, your voice trembling.

"I didn't mean to scare you, but I couldn't just stand there and do nothing either." His eyes softened, the anger melting away as he leaned into your touch. "Just promise me you'll be more careful," He murmured, his forehead resting against yours. "I can't lose you, Y/N." He whimpered leaning his forehead against yours. "You won’t lose me, ever, I promise," You replied, your voice barely above a whisper. Without another word, you both closed the distance between one another, your lips meeting in a kiss that was both tender and fervent. It was a kiss that spoke of all the fear, the love, and the relief you both felt. Bodies pressed together, seeking comfort and connection, hearts beating as one.

“And I love you too,” You grinned the second he pulled away giving you both a moment to catch your breaths. “In case that kiss didn’t make it clear enough.” JJ shook his head, only pulling you closer. "What do you say we seal the deal?" JJ grinned suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. "You're lucky I love you." He didn't even give you a chance to finish his sentence before he kissed you again, wanting to show you just how much he meant it. His hands slid down your back, pulling you even closer, the heat between you growing more intense. The world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you in a moment that promised so much more to come.

[fantasma-espacial]

Would you care for a forth one?

if I had a nickel for every fandom I'm in that has a man being held at gunpoint by his boyfriend. I'd have three nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird it happened three times right?