#but the next day his brother pinned this dude against the wall and made HIM apologise to my cousin

[chmydarling]

.

[shellshockedgay]

Curvy Boi

Reader: Cis-Male (he/him).

Summary: Reader found himself in a situation. Luckily! The guys can come save there butts while also noticing the reader's butt.

Warnings: kinda smutty 👌. The idea is AMAZING. PLEASE. This is so shameless, honestly. Under the cut; just in case.

He was leading patrol when he heard a scream and a few pewpewpews that where far too familiar.

The four came rushing to your aid and they saw you paying down, but didn't recognize you due to the nice fit clothing and collectively agreed to help.

Leo straight up called you ma'am-

He can only see your ass, thighs and curves and basically went "Ah, woman need my help". Don't hold it against him.

And he pulls the whole superhero-saving-someone bit.

The speech, the pose, and he'd go bright red when he realizes it's you.

So he swipes his katana through the Kraang and walks up to you in slow struts as to not frighten the "unknown women" picking "herself" up off the gross alley way ground.

"I've got you, miss, no need to thank m- aAH- (Y/N)??" "Oh, Thanks Leo! I really apprec- wait, did you call me ma'am?" "NO!!"

It's actually kinda funny because he gets all squeaky and his eyes are darting around and his brothers are cackling. It's great!... For everyone but him-

Spends the next 45 seconds shrieking about how he did not fall you ma'am on purpose.

He literally forgot there were robots about to end you and goes back to fighting while his bros keep joking about him.

No, he does not live this down, ever.

"Maybe you should check on your boyfriend, Leo! He seems a bit scuffed up!" "Just make sure you use the right pronouns." "Yeah, bro. That's very important. Respect him!"

If he wants to get you away from the fight quickly, he YEETS you over his shoulder and just kinda leaves like "YOU GUYS CAN HANDLE THIS"

His hand would be on the back of your thighs and the other on your ass, fight me.

He panics when he realizes it tho and quickly sets you down at your apartment or house or whatever and is FLUSTERED.

He's also probably apologizing and rambling.

But he walks home like "I touched the butt"

He definitely texts you on the way home, apologizing home more time and saying he'd like to hang out the next day and prepare yourself for a slightly more put together, slightly more cocky and slightly less embarrassed Leonardo to meet you on your rooftop.

-

You had the audacity to accidentally call Leo because he was the most recent contact while your ass was close to getting kicked and you didn't even call him?

How dare you.

So, they get there to see the Purple Dragons and it's a quick fight.

However.

During said fight, Raph is almost too angry to notice your ass and curves 👌

Key is, almost.

Probably does a double-take mid-fight because your not wearing your usual hoodie and sweats and gets decked.

Literally. Just kinda like blocking hits and looking between you and the Purple Dragon goon kinda just bapping him because you keep distracting him.

If he gets shit for this from Leo, he will definitely blame you for merely existing.

Dudes not sure if he should be pissed at you for getting yourself in this situation or thank you for wearing those tight. ass. jeans.

Raph really hoped whoever made them has a nice and fulfilling life because you sure be filling out those jeans.

"You're a smart man, right?" "I guess?" "Not anymore, you dumbass. Why'd ya take this short cut?! You should know this is douche territory! Donnie, didn't you send him a map of the gang territories?" "I did." "SO, WHY ARE WE HERE??"

Yes, he yells at you like a mother, but he means well.

"AND YOU COME OUT HERE DRESSED LIKE THAT?" ".... What's wrong with my outfit?" "I... IT'S... GODDMANIT-"

Listen. He really does mean well.

And his bros know exactly why he's upset about your outfit. They totally saw him distracted during the fight.

Raph just wants you to stay safe. You are his friend.... Whom he currently wants to pin against the wall, but a friend none the less!!

He sighs and apologizes and the dudes are like ".. It takes us days to get an apology... He got one in 30 seconds..."

Anyway, Raph offers to take you home and patch him up but you refuse so over his shoulder you go. Instantly. Like *boop* there ya are.

And he will take you straight home and probably instinctively bap your butt lightly and just kinda nod and spRINT AWAY.

-

You guys where face timing when he noticed you try to take a short cut down an alley and is like "No, that's the dumbest thing you could do in NY, (Y/n)" and suddenly the Purple Dragons are behind you.

He sees you trying to sass them away, but it only makes them mad and he knows where you are so he hands up and comes to get ya ass to safety.

Comes skirting up behind them in the Shell Raiser to come hell.

So he throws hands, hits with sticks, and uh, yeah. They're the Purple Dragons. They're morons. Donnie obviously wins.

And when he wins in like the 3 minutes he was fighting, he walks over and helps you up.

That's when he notices the tighter clothing you chose to wear today over the looser, comfier clothes you usually wore and he's.

Yeah. He's dead now, so that's FUN.

His bros show up to see what happened and he tries to explain while you dust yourself off and check for cuts and he just

Literally keeps looking over at you to check out your ass and thighs and curves and he's 🥴

Donnie was blushing from the moment he realized it was you but ends up bright red when he tries to talk to you.

Constant. Stammering.

"A-are you ok? Did y-you get hurt? Did-did-did-uh-" "I'm fine, D." "O-oh, good-good"

Secretly a bit disappointed because that means he won't have to bandage you up and possibly see you with your shirt off, but you didn't get hurt so that's good!

You're his bisexual awakening, good luck.

Tries to be smooth, but oh my god he fails. Like he leans against his staff but loses his balance and just kinda lays there after he falls. It's cute but his brothers laugh at him.

And he makes sure your safe and they escorts you home and he totally isn't turning his phone wallpaper to be your face, shh.

Anyway, they head home and he... He can't stop thinking about you.

Probably lays awake that night just thinking about the events of today.

Bye-bye April crush. Hello (Y/n) crush.

God, those jeans did YOU SO MUCH FUCKING JUSTICE AAAAAA

No, he does not get sleep that night.

-

So, he gets an SOS text from you saying something about the Kraang and surrounded in an alley.

Mikey sprints out the lair with the guys, him at the front and fully determined to fuck shit up.

However when he lands in the alley, knocking a stupid droid down in the process, and they all go their own ways in the fight, he notices something.

You're not in your usual kind of outfits.

Usually you wore baggie, comfy clothes: sweat pants, big hoodies, even sandles.

Mike dodges a punch and notices you bend over to grab your phone that got knocked out of your hand after sending the text and he literally just stares at your ass.

Notices the curves that come with and just goes "😩👌" and definitely gets smacked for it later by Raph.

Dude outright tells you you have a nice ass.

No joke.

"Whooaaa! How come you never told me you have an AMAZING ass, (Y/n/n)!" "MIKEY-!"

And yes it's an accident, but it's also the truth so forgive him.

Everyone is fighting off the fucks but he's licking his hand to slick back hair he doesn't even have while strutting over to you with confidence even Raph doesn't have.

It's so funny, please.

Flirts so fucking hard.

"Hey, baby. Are you the sun? Because you just lit up my day." "Mikey! We're kinda busy at the moment!" "Shush, dude! I'm tryin' to get some! Are you free tonight?"

and he'd take your hand and kiss your knuckles while winking.

Like he knows he's cute, so he's cocky as shit.

Granted, he's cocky, but he genuinely likes you so if you flirt back, he just giggles and blushes like a school girl.

You make his little pansexual heart go budbudbudbudbud very quickly.

He punched a droid without looking while flirting with you and it's actually impressive because the head popped right off.

Blows you a kiss before returning to the fight.

At the end of it, the offers to escort you home for two reasons.

One; to avoid getting chewed out by the others.

And two; to raise his chances of getting a thank you smooch from you.

He literally sweeps you off your feet and runs off to your apartment.

-

It's actually 2:30 am as I finish this and I hope it lives up to how you wanted it but I had so much fun with this-

[the-atlas-sister]

Making Out With The Haikyuu Boys (And Getting Caught) (Karasuno) Part 1

Nishinoya:

You frowned as Nishinoya missed another receive. You had come to watch him practice with Tanaka and Ashai but he had been missing a lot of receives, which seemed to get him extremely frustrated.

"Damn it!" he yelled, slamming a fist against the ground.

"Let's call it a day," Ashai said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"No!" Nishinoya exclaimed, standing up. "We need to keep practicing!"

"Noya, we're going to stop for today," Tanaka said, already walking towards the gym doors. "Sorry, dude. You need some time to chill."

"Guys!" Nishinoya exclaimed as Ashai and Tanaka left the gym. He groaned loudly, clenching his fists.

"Noya, Love, maybe you should take a break," you said, approaching Nishinoya.

"Y/N! Practice with me!" Nishinoya said, spinning around, grabbing your shoulders.

"No, Noya," you sighed. "Please just take a break."

"I can't!" Nishinoya frowned. You sighed, trying to think of a way for him to calm down and take a break. You then rolled your eyes before grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him towards you. You heard Nishinoya let out a hmph as your lips connected.

"Still no break?" you cooed.

"Little one," Nishinoya grinned, grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the gym's storage closet. You chuckled as he pushed you inside before entering himself. He closed the door, then was quick to pin your wrists against the wall you stood in front of.

He quickly reconnected your lips, trapping you in a passionate kiss. You leaned your head forward to deepen the kiss. Nishinoya licked your bottom lip, but you denied him entrance. He let out a small growl before removing his hands from your wrists and moving them to your ass, giving it a squeeze.

You let out a small squeak in surprise. Nishinoya used this as an opportunity to slip in his tongue, easily taking control. You hummed gently, letting him lead. Then, suddenly, he stopped the kiss.

"Why'd you- ooh~" You let out a small whine as he moved his lips to your neck. You started running your hands through Nishinoya's spiked hair, not minding the gelled feeling.

"Y/n," Nishinoya groaned, as your nails scrapped across his scalp. He bit down on your neck, before licking and sucking over it. You let out a small moan. "May I?" he asked, removing his lips from your neck to look at you. He gripped your shirt, implying that he was asking if he could remove it.

"Mhm," you hummed.

Nishinoya grinned, like a kid on Christmas before tugging it off. "You're so beautiful," he grinned smiling at your chest.

"Shut up," you mumbled, flushing a bit.

Nishinoya sent you a boyish grin before dive down, kissing across your collar bone.

"Noya, Tanaka, and I- OH MY GOODNESS!" the voice of Asahi was heard. Your eyes widened as you saw Asahi standing at the doorway, looking traumatized. "MY VIRGIN EYES!"

"DUDE- get out!" Nishinoya yelled, his face going a deep red.

"I'm sorry! I didn't- I mean- AH!" he let out a scream before running out, slamming the door closed behind him.

"Jeez, Asahi," Nishinoya frowned. He turned to you, smiling softly. "Thanks for the break."

"Of course, Love," you grinned, cupping his cheek. "Wanna continue at your house?"

"Can we!?!" he exclaimed, smiling widely. You nodded. "I love you," he smiled, hugging you tightly.

Tanaka:

"Y/N!" Tanaka grinned upon seeing you enter his classroom. He had been late to meet you after school so you had decided to see if everything was okay.

"Hi, I wanted to make sure everything was alright," you said, sitting at the desk in front of his.

"Yeah, my teacher just made me stay back to retake a test," Tanaka pouted. You turned your head to see no teacher.

"Really?" you asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yeah, he just saw a hot teacher and ran after him," Tanaka scoffed.

"Oh," you chuckled. "Where's your test?"

"In the trash," Tanaka admitted.

"You can't just throw it away, dumbass," you stated, flicking his forehead.

"I know, I know," Tanaka frowned, standing up and walking around his desk. You turned, following his movements. "But I think I need to get my mind off things." He stood in between your legs. You smiled slightly, pressing your lips against his. He grinned against the kiss, grabbing your hips. He pulled you closer, licking your bottom lip.

You opened your mouth, letting Tanaka's tongue slither in and draping your arms over his shoulders. You fought for dominace before letting Tanaka win.

"I love you," you mumbled, pulling away.

Tanaka grinned, feeling happier then he ever had before. "I love you too," he exclaimed before pulling you into another heated kiss.

"Enough you two!" Tanaka's teacher exclaimed, making you both jump and pull away. "Go home L/N," he said. "And Tanaka, get back to your test."

"Sorry sir," you said, getting off the desk. You bowed apologetically before running off.

Kageyama:

"It's 2:00 AM," you exclaimed, seeing Kageyama at your front door. He was wearing his Karasuno jacket and held his Jersey in his arms.

"Let me in," Kageyama demanded.

"Why? Why are you here?" you asked a little frustrated at the emo-looking boy.

Kageyama was silent for a second. "I wanted to see you," he mumbled, his cheeks going red.

"AW!" you exclaimed, all frustration disappearing. "My Emo Boy wanted to see me!"

"Shu-shut up Boke!" Kageyama yelled, his face going completely red. You smiled, continuing to tease him as you pulled him inside.

"Your lucky Shoyo is the only one here," you chuckled, pulling Kageyama into your room. He sat down on your bed, getting himself comfortable. "Why'd you bring your Jersey?" you questioned, noticing Kageyama still holding his number 9 jersey.

"Wear it," he ordered, throwing it at you. You caught it smoothly, confusion written across your face.

"Why?" you questioned, pulling off your pajama shirt.

"I-I thought you'd look cute in it," Kageyama admitted, turning his head to the side to give you some privacy.

"Aw, Kags," you cooed, jumping on top of him, wrapping your arms around his lower waist, and pressing your face against his chest.

"I was right," Kageyama added under his breath, resting his arms on the small of your back. You smiled into his chest happily.

You looked up at him, placing your chin on his chest. "I like you," you smiled, leaning forward and pecking his lips.

"Shut up, dumbass," Kageyama scoffed, blushing deeply. He sat up, pulling you with him. He leaned forward kissing your collarbone gently. "I like you too," he mumbled, kissing up your neck.

You blushed at his boldness before grabbing his face and pulling him into a kiss. He smiled into the kiss, tilting his head so you could have a better angle.

"Y/N!" Hinata yelled, bursting into your room. "GET AWAY FROM MY BOYFRIEND!"

"SHOYO!" you yelled, glaring at your brother.

"WE'RE NOT DATING DUMBASS!" Kageyama exclaimed, grabbing something random off the floor and throwing it at him.

"DON'T DENY OUR CHEMISTRY!" Hinata screeched, running off.

Hinata:

"Time to eat," Hinata sang as he walked back into his room, where you sat. He had invited you over after his sister and parents had left.

"Food!" you cheered as Hinata sat across from you, spreading the snacks out.

"Food!" Hinata mimicked.

You noticed a pack of Pocky with the other snacks. You blushed but decided to ignore it.

Hinata had other plans though. He had made the mistake of telling Nishanoya and Tanaka that he wanted to kiss you. They had told him to play the Pocky game with you and lead from there.

"What first?" you asked, crossing your legs.

"Pocky game!" Hinata exclaimed, his face turning pink as he grinned.

"You know what that is, right, Bubba?" you giggled.

"Yeah," Hinata grinned, grabbing the Pocky packet. "We take a Pocky, each bite into one side, and whoever pulls away or meets in the middle first loses?"

"Uh, yes actually," you said, surprised a bit.

"So let's do this!" Hinata exclaimed, fairly eager. He stuck the Pocky in his mouth, leaning forward. You blushed but placed your mouth on the other side of it. Hinata held up three fingers before counting down on them.

As soon as he reached zero, you began. You both chomped on the chocolate stick. Neither of you closed your eyes, staring at each other with determination. As you both got closer to the middle, you began to blush and Hinata began questioning his actions.

His eyes widened as you were inches apart before he felt a rush of adrenaline. He cupped your face and leaned forward, capturing your lips and finishing the Pocky. But he didn't pull away he away after he swallowed the sweet stick. He pulled you closer, closing his eyes.

You let out a small hmph as Hinata wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his lap. You quickly kissed back although, loosely hanging your arms over his shoulders.

"Shoyo!" Hinata's sister exclaimed bursting into her brother's room.

"Natsu!" Hinata exclaimed, pulling away from you. "Knock!"

"Sorry," Natsu mumbled before walking out.

"This was your plan all along," you smirked, looking at Hinata.

"For my sister to find us?" Hinata asked, tilting his head. (Ya know, like his cute little head thing? Ya know... the thing? Yeah... he does that)

"No dummy!" you exclaimed. "The Pocky thing."

"Oh that," Hinata blushed. "Yeah."

"Just ask next time," you giggled, resting your head on Hinata's shoulder.

Tsukishima (Tsukibadaba):

"Tsuki," you said, sitting bored on your asshole of a boyfriend's bed. You had gone to his house to work on homework, which you had thought meant, hanging out and cuddling. But no... Tsuki actually meant homework. "Tsuki," you repeated. Tsukishima ignored you. "Kei." Nothing. "Tall asshole." Still nothing.

You huffed before getting up and spinning Tsukishima's chair.

"What do you want?" he questioned as you stood in front of him.

"Attention," you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

"No, I'm busy," he said, mimicking your stance.

"I'm not trying to be clingy but please?" you frowned, climbing into his lap.

"No," Tsukishima frowned, although he loosely wrapped his arms around your waist.

You frowned, leaning forward and kissing Tsukishima's cheek. He blushed slightly. You leaned over and kissed his other cheek.

"Stop it," he said.

"Nuh-uh," you grumbled, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his adam's apple. You kissed from there up to his chin.

"Fine, you want attention?" Tsukishima asked, pulling you closer. "I'll give you attention." He gripped your chin and pulled you into a rough kiss. You smiled into it, happy to have what you wanted. That was your mistake. Tsukishima took the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth, slipping his hands to cup your face. Your tongues fought for dominance, with him ultimately winning. "You're so annoying," he said, pulling away. He tilted your face upwards, kissing down the front of your neck.

"Kei, come on!" Tsukishima's brother exclaimed, barging into Tsukishma's room. "Oh-" His eyes widened as Tsukishima pulled away from you. "I- that's- oh- holy shit- um, use protection!" He shut the door and ran out, leaving both you and Tsukishima a blushing mess.

Tadashi:

"That was amazing!" you cheered as Tadashi ran to you. The team had just won against Aoba Johsai, and Tadashi had successfully completed his first floating serve. Tadashi gasped gently as you wrapped your arms around his neck and legs around his waist. "You were amazing!" you exclaimed as Tadashi wrapped his arms around your waist.

"I didn't do much," Tadashi said, although he was extremely proud of himself.

"You got those serves!" you grinned, leaning your head away from his neck.

"Yeah..." he agreed, blushing and smiling. He bit his lip, his eyes scanning your face. With a sudden boost of confidence and adrenaline running through his veins, he leaned forward, placing a tender kiss on your neck. You froze, blushing at your shy boyfriend's boldness. "I'm sorry-"

You cut him off with a passionate kiss. His eyes widened before they fluttered closed. You licked his bottom lip as his hands moved from your waist to your thighs. He opened his mouth, gladly letting you take control.

Tadashi let out a small whimper as your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently.

"Can you two please stop your foolish behavior?" Tsuki scoffed, coming up behind you, making you both pull away with red faces.

"Sorry Tsuki," Tadashi said, watching as the team walked by. You stuck your tongue out of them as they smirked and teased you two.

"I am really proud of you," you grinned, looking back at Tadashi, cupping his face gently.

"Thank you," Tadashi grinned, blushing wildly. "Can we continue when we get to your house?"

"Of course," you grinned, pecking Tadashi's lips gently.

I take requests btw! <3

I take requests for the following fandoms:

Demon Slayer

Haikyuu

Hunter x Hunter

My Hero Academia

Studio Ghibi films

IT (the films and book)

Percy Jackson

DC

Marvel

Umbrella Academy

Harry Potter

Star Wars

Most Actors (not a fandom, I know)

Rise of the Guardians

Disney (some people like reading Disney character x reader things)

I do fluff, smut, lime and angst.

[hangovercurse]

Nothing

Part i of the Without You series: When Colson and Megan break up, the boys count on Y/N to piece Colson back together, which only leads to disaster.

Colson x Reader

Warnings: Colson being kind of a dick, cursing, a little bit of aggression/ violence. This one’s definitely angsty.

A/N: This was supposed to be just a one part fic. Then that turned into 2 parts. And then 3. And then all of a sudden I had written 5 parts and over 10,000 words. Enjoy 😊 (also this is v unedited so if you see a mistake... mind ya business)

Word Count: 2084

| ii | iii | iv | v | vi |

masterlist

When you got the text from Rook, you knew it was probably gonna be bad. 

Megan just left him, for good. Not gonna be pretty the next few days so maybe don’t come by anytime soon. 

Your heart broke for your best friend. Colson had been really in love with Megan. And as much as you hated seeing them together for your own personal reasons, you could tell he was really happy. 

Ok. Let me know if you guys need me. If it gets bad I can take Casie for a few days. Take care of him for me pls. 

You and Colson had been friends for years now. You knew almost everything about each other, you told him everything. He let you crash at his place after your ex kicked you out, and you had spent many hours curled up with him, watching stupid movies to distract him from his most recent breakup or mental breakdown. 

But this was different. Colson told you he wanted to marry her at some point, and you knew he wasn’t lying. And you couldn’t blame him. As much as you hated no longer being the only women (other than Casie) in his life, you couldn’t dislike Megan. She was just one of those people who everyone loved. 

The thought of texting Colson crossed your mind, but you weren’t sure if it would hurt or help. From the sound of it, he was a wreck.

So, naturally, you texted Pete. 

Have you talked to Cols yet?

With Colson came Pete, or came you, you weren’t really sure. Somewhere along the way you and Pete had become close friends. He was like the older brother you’d never asked for, and he would probably say something similar about you. 

You couldn’t really explain it, Pete could read you like a book. And because of that, he knew everything. He was the only one to catch on to the way you sometimes looked at Colson for too long, or got irritated when he’d bring a new girl around. 

I’m heading over there right now. You should talk to him.

You rolled your eyes.

Not sure that’s the best idea. You guys are better at handling... all that. Once he gets a little less angry then I’ll take him. 

Pete texted you back a few minutes later.

Thanks for the support, kid. I’ll keep you updated. Just pulled in.

Good luck, Petey.

You tossed your phone on your bed, a sigh leaving your lips. You decided worrying was a problem for another day.

No more than 12 hours later you were getting a phone call from Rook. 

“Dude it’s like 4 in the morning, why are you calling me.” 

“Y/N, we’ve tried everything. He’s locked up in his room and every time one of us tries to talk to him he blows up. Literally he almost punched Slim a few hours ago.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, groaning at the predicament. “So now you want me to come over?” You asked, “What do you think I’m gonna be able to do?”

“Well he’s not gonna try and hit you for one. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but he’s significantly nicer to you than to anyone else.”

“What do I even say to him? “Sorry that the love of your life broke up with you but at least we can smoke pot and watch Spongebob?” I mean come on, man. I’m not good at this.”

“Please.” He pleaded, “We’re all out of options and I can’t stand to see him get any worse than he is.”

You moved off your bed and towards your dresser. “Fine, I’ll be there in 15.” 

You threw on the first pair of sweatpants you could find and slipped on shoes, grabbing your key and heading out the door.

True to your word, you pulled up to the house 15 minutes later, parking on the side of the street and heading straight into the house. When the guys saw you, they visibly brightened up. 

“You guys are such fucking wimps.” You rolled your eyes as you made your way towards the stairs. 

Baze chuckled, “We love you Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes and continued on your way, stopping by Casie’s room to see if she was asleep. To your surprise, she wasn’t. 

“Hey sweet girl,” you whispered as you entered her room, “why are you still up?”

She smiled a little when she saw you. “Couldn’t sleep. I’m really worried about Dad.” 

You leaned on her doorframe, sending her a sad smile. “I am too. But he’ll be okay. Your dad’s pretty tough.”

“I know,” she sighed, “but he really liked Megan.”

“Did you?” You ask, trying to gauge her emotions. 

“I mean, I guess so. She was nice to me. Most of his girlfriends aren’t that nice to me.” 

“That’s a pretty shitty way to measure if you like someone or not.” She giggles at that. “Don’t tell your dad I said that word in front of you.”

“Ok. She was nice. And she made him happy so, yeah, I guess I liked her. Not as much as I like you but...” Casie’s voice got higher as she dragged out the last word and you just rolled your eyes with a chuckle. 

Casie had this fantasy of you and Colson getting married one day, but you always told her it would never happen. 

“Ok kiddo, whatever you say.” You teased her, “try and get some sleep, okay?” 

She nodded with a smile. “Are you gonna go talk to Dad?”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you later, okay? If you need to come over and talk or stay the night or anything just call me, okay?”

“Okay. Love you.” She said quietly. 

“Love you too, Case.”

You shut the door to her room, moving down the hallway to Colson’s door. You took a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare for what was about to happen, and knocked. 

“I told you guys to go the fuck away.” A muffled yet angry voice said from the opposite side of the door.

“It’s me, Cols. Y/N.” You said, hoping he could hear you. 

When you got no response you asked, “Can I come in?” 

A few more seconds of silence followed, and then the lock clicked and the door opened. You stood face-to-face with your best friend. His hair was a mess, falling in his face. The bags under his eyes were darker than ever, and the frown he wore made him look even more pathetic. You felt your heart breaking. 

As you met his eyes, you gave him a sad smile. “Hey Cols.” 

Instead of responding, he wrapped his arms around you, leaning down and resting his head on your shoulder. You reached up and ran your fingers through his hair. 

He started walking backwards, pulling you with him as he continued to hug you. One of his hands pushed the door shut and he sat on his bed, finally letting go of you. 

You looked down at him, grabbing his hand and holding it in your own. It was something you had done before, you two were very touchy people and so half of your friendship was just you two cuddling or play fighting or holding hands.

“So we can do one of three things,” you started, “We can talk about it, we can cuddle and watch something stupid and pretend nothing’s wrong, or we can get high and do something stupid.”

For the first time in what you would imagine to be all night, Colson smiled. it was a very small smile, but you took it. 

He looked up at you through his eyelashes. “And by stupid you mean...”

You rolled your eyes, “I mean we can go set off bottle rockets in the backyard or try to jump off your roof and into the pool.” 

“Oh damn. I was hoping you were gonna say you would suck my dick.” 

Your eyes widened at his bluntness and the implication. You shoved his shoulder, “Colson! That’s gross!” You giggled, but his expression was unwaveringly serious. 

“I’m being serious.” He deadpanned and you furrowed your eyebrows. 

“Colson what the fuck?” Your mind was spinning trying to figure out if he was joking. 

You got your answer when he stood up, grabbing your waist and leaning over you. “I thought you’d want to...” 

You took in a breath at the sudden proximity, trying to back away from him but his grip remaining firmly on your waist. “Colson, stop. Please. This isn’t funny.” 

You could smell the alcohol on his breath and you had to keep reminding yourself of that fact. He’s drunk, and sad, and doesn’t know what he’s saying. 

“I thought you’d want to, cause it’ll make me happy. And you’ll do anything to make me happy.” One of his hands reached up and grabbed your jaw, making sure you couldn’t look away.

“Colson you’re being a fucking weirdo, let me go.” You raised your voice. Your heart was racing at this point and the thoughts flowing around your head were not pretty. 

You were always anxious for the day he’d figure you out. When he’d finally realize how you felt for him. But this was worse than anything you’d thought of. 

“You’ll do anything to make me happy because you love me, right?” 

You felt tears stinging in your eyes, wanting nothing more but to look away from his sinister expression. The way he was looking at you made it very clear that he was enjoying your discomfort, your embarrassment. 

“Colso-” 

He walked forwards, pushing you gently against the wall. His arms went to either side of you, his face inches from yours. You tried to look away, but his hand on your jaw forced you to face him.

Any other time you would have loved for Colson to pin you against his wall, but this was wrong. 

“Just say it. Say you’re in love with me, and I’ll drop it.” 

“Colson, what the fuck are you on right now?” You tried to steer the topic away from you, but he wouldn’t have it. 

“Say it.” 

You reached up to try and push his chest away from you, but he was much taller and stronger than you, so you did nothing. 

“Just tell me!” He yelled at your silence. A tear slipped down your cheek as you trembled under him. His face was red and his eyes were watering. 

 “Why are you doing this?” You whispered. This all felt like a bad dream, like a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. 

“Because I need to know if she was right.” His voice got a little quieter, but he still wouldn’t move away from you. “I need to know if the reason the love of my fucking life just left me is true.”

You were shaking, your breaths getting shorter. “What are you talking about.” Your words were choked. The grip on your jaw started to get a little too tight.

“I defended you!” He yelled, tears falling from his face. “She told me that you were in love with me and I defended you.”

“Colson you’re hurting me.” You whined, trying to wriggle your way out of his grasp. He ignored your statement and continued talking, but his grip loosened slightly.

“And then she told me that she thinks I’m in love with you.” His voice was getting darker. “And that’s why she left. So I want to make it very clear to you.” He paused, leaning closer to your ear. “I will never love you. Ever. Not now, not in a million lifetimes. You mean nothing to me.”

Your vision was blurry from your tears, so you blindly reached out to push him away from you. His body seemed to have given up, as he moved backwards out of your way, stumbling slightly. Through your tears you could make out a smug smile on the man before you ran out of the room, slamming the door behind you.

You ran down the stairs, the guys waiting for you to give them good news, but their hope turned to concern once they saw you. You walked straight past them towards the door, not trusting yourself to say anything without breaking completely.

As you reached for the door handle you heard a faint yell from upstairs, followed by loud banging, and then silence. You sniffled, turning the handle and leaving the house, much to the protest of your friends.

[sock-ness-monster]

Excuse is granted. Please. I beg of you. Infodump away

Thank you so much I love telling people about this guy

So, to preface this, I'll be telling this story exactly how it was told to me by our camp counselor at a Caveing camp I went to, so it's very much an oral history that maybe can't be fact checked but the broad strokes are genuinely 100% true

TRIGGER WARNINGS: DEATH, DARKNESS, CLAUSTROPHOBIA, GRAVE DESECRATION, CRICKETS

Now that that's out of the way (and please mention if there's any other TW's I should add) the story of

Floyd Collins, The Man Who Was Buried Six Times

This story begins in Kentucky in 19very early, a young Floyd was plowing his family's field when he suddenly dropped through the ground and discovered an unknown cave system. Super cool! Now, people back then did not have television, keep in mind, so caves were really big deals and they were a brand new and lucrative tourist escapade. Floyd's family seized the idea and quickly made a little tourist attraction out of it and started raking in the dough. But they weren't the only ones who had a cave you could tour, Kentucky's geology is super unique in that it has tons of limestone and sandstone which is perfect for underground rivers to carve cool caves out of. They are everywhere in Kentucky and the surrounding area, there was a lot of competition for who had the best, the biggest, the longest cave. And Floyd and his brothers were seized by cave fever and were exploring all around looking for new tunnels and chambers. A large part of this business, unfortunately, was not just walking people through the caves but was letting them take home souvenirs. People could carve their names in the wall, take a stalagmite or stalactite or whatever cool rock they found. Destroying the sensitive ecosystem of the caves. Floyd, the cool dude that he was, was one of the only people who was against this at the time. Good for him! Salamanders are important!

Anyway, Floyd and his brothers are always on the lookout for new opportunities, and there were tons in that area. But, not all of them would pan out. Floyd had heard rumblings about a new cave system called Sand Cave that wasn't far from his family's original cave, which by now had been dubbed Crystal Cave. It didn't seem that promising to most, but Floyd was hoping it actually connected to Crystal cave, and they could tack on so many feet to how big their cave was. So he set off to see if he could find a connection.

He had been surveying the cave for a few hours, and decided to call it quits. He was crawling through a tight tunnel upwards toward the opening of the cave when a rock slide pinned his ankle down tight. He was laying flat with his hands reaching upwards, and there was no way for him to reach back behind him to free his ankle.

He had gone on this expedition without telling anyone.

This was the first time he got buried.

Three days pass, and his brother Homer finally finds him. He tries everything he can think of to free floyd, to no effect. Realizing that this may be a bigger endeavor than he can pull off, he crawls back out to go and find help. It is January of 1925, what else is there to do but go to the newspaper? They publish the story of the man trapped in a crawl way, and it's a huge hit!? People are fascinated by Floyds predicament. They want to help, they want to see, they want to know more. It even makes it on the radio! The three biggest news stories of the time were

1) the war (oof)

2)Charles Lindbergh (will come up again later)

And 3) Floyd in the hole

Everyone in America is anxious to find out how they rescue Floyd. "They" being everyone from the local cave experts to the military corps of engineers to the freakin freemasons, they're all trying to figure out how to free Floyd. Who, ya know, is just chillin in the cave, because caves stay at a constant temperature of ~54° , not too bad for January. His brothers and a reporter take turns crawling down to deliver him the three essentials; food, whiskey, and news. The reporter, "Skeets" Miller, would later win a Pulitzer Prize for his correspondence with floyd in the shaft. Now, as mentioned before, it is a cold and snowy January, but people (nearly 10,000 according to some reports) are so fascinated by the goings on at Sand Cave that they travel from far and wide to be there at the triumphant moment when Floyd emerges. Weeks have gone by at this point. Radio stations are reporting every day, Charles Lindbergh is hired to take photographs of the terrain from above. It's like a big party up top.

They camp out around the cave mouth.

They build fires for food and warmth.

The snow melts.

The cold water trickles down into the cave.

Floyd....... starts to cough.

The cave's already sketchy structure is further compromised.

There's another rock slide.

Floyd is now cut off from contact with the up side world, and the engineers panic and go with a last ditch effort they had been debating beforehand. They can't go around they can't go behind, the only path left was straight down. They drill a hole that reaches the 150 feet from daylight to Floyd's prison. They are too late. He was estimated to have died three to four days before they reached him. His leg is still stuck, and half his face has been consumed by cave crickets. And they just.....leave him there. Whatreyagonnado they shrug, he's already gone we can stop now. They fill in the shaft again.

This is the second time Floyd is buried.

Homer, his closest brother, can't accept this as his final resting place. A few weeks later, they un block the hole and carry Floyd to their family's funeral plot and have a small service with just his closest friends and family present.

This is the third time Floyd Collins is buried.

A few years go by, and the Collins family sells their farm and cave. Unfortunately, they did not see the part of the deed that entitled the new owners to everything in and under the property. Floyd's body is now legally theirs. He is exhumed and placed on display in a glass coffin in Crystal Cave (which years and years later would eventually be proven to connect to Sand Cave).

This is the fourth time Floyd is buried.

If you haven't pieced it together yet, caves were a pretty big deal. We now enter a time in Kentucky history known as the Cave Wars, and they are brutal. How brutal, you ask? Well, to answer with one scenario that happens to be related to this story, the owners of nearby cave were jealous of the attention Crystal Cave was getting from their cool exhibit of Floyd's body, against his family's wishes. Why, the only logical thing to do is steal the man's body and throw it off a cliff. Crystal Cave's new owners would recover it, though minus the left leg. And the next logical thing of course is to put him back on display but this time with a bunch more chains.

This is the fifth time Floyd Collins is buried.

Then, the 60s roll around and Crystal Cave and Floyd are purchased by the National Parks Service on the grounds of being connected to the Mammoth Cave System (the longest cave system in the entire world now). Floyds family is still fighting for his body, and in the 80s they finally get their wish. Floyd is removed from the cave in a 15 day trip and buried at a real cemetery again.

This, is the sixth time he is buried.

A pillar is constructed in honor and perhaps in reparations to all he's gone through, but it is struck by a semi truck and demolished less than a week after its unveiling.

Floyd.......went through a lot. All he ever wanted to do was see some cool rocks and support his family. And to this day, cavers do their best to do right by him. When entering Mammoth Cave, they often ask the darkness to look after them. They aren't talking to the darkness, of course, that darkness that can never be described properly. They are talking to Floyd. Asking him to watch over them as they wish he had someone to watch over him. In the caves everyone is above you, but that's not what they mean. And when they hear a whistle through the tunnels, they like to imagine it's Floyd. Floyd, who was right. The cave was so much more than people thought, in so many different ways. To this day, there's a saying in the caveing community.

"Floyd Lives"

It's like the geology version of "Eddie Would Go". As long as we carry on his legacy of exploring bravely, daring to go where noone has gone before, and do our best to preserve the natural beauty and habitat of the caves, floyd will live on. Floyd lives in our memories and hearts and the drips of water that will one day be pillars.

I don't really know how to end this. Here's a picture of the man himself;

(the picture above is not the tunnel he was trapped in, to be clear)

[hotpinkhoshi]

kiss it better | five

pairing: mark tuan x reader

genre: angst, eventual smut, brother’s best friend au (sort of)

warnings: tw for death, death of a parent, reference to drug addiction

word count: 4.5k

summary: you were off limits for more reasons than mark could count. but everything changed for him the day you walked into his tattoo shop with those big innocent eyes and a laugh like his favorite song. he couldn’t. he wouldn’t. and yet…

a/n: hi babies thank you for your patience, i know it’s been many many months since i’ve updated! the last time i posted for kib was all the way back in may, which is crazy, i know. but life has been weird and it’s been difficult for me to find the motivation to write. it’s slowly coming back for me and i’m so glad you guys have stuck around with me even if i haven’t been consistent. i’m more grateful than you know!

✩ index here ✩

“She did what?” Dahyun asked, her bite of gimbap nearly falling right out of her mouth. 

Youngjae threw his head back and broke into laughter entirely at Mark’s expense. 

Mark ran his tongue over his teeth and refused to look up at his friends, focusing awfully hard on the sketch he’d been working on in between appointments. He quickly realized that they had absolutely no sympathy for him. 

“Yeah.” 

It had been two weeks already since that night, and Mark was just now feeling comfortable enough to spill what had happened after he took you home. He liked to take his own time to process his thoughts before he revealed them to others, and quite frankly, he hadn’t even wanted to tell anyone. But he was starting to think maybe he needed an outside perspective. 

“She has guts,” Youngjae said, after finally pulling himself upright in his chair. “Was it good?” 

“Dude,” Mark warned, far from amused. 

Dahyun cut in. “It’s a good enough question. From what I’ve seen, you guys have some intense sexual tension. If the kiss was hot, maybe it’s worth exploring.” 

“We don’t have sexual tension,” Mark defended. 

Youngjae snorted. 

“Sure. But, let’s say if you did, and the kiss was good…” Dahyun trailed off, wiggling her eyebrows. 

Groaning, Mark tapped the end of his pencil against the desk. He glanced up at the wall, his eyes naturally drawn to the photo of your shoulder, of the tattoo he’d designed and permanently inked onto your skin. It wasn’t the only photo he had pinned up of his previous work, but it was the one he looked at the most. 

“She’s a kid,” he said, little to no conviction in his voice. 

But you weren’t a kid. Mark knew in every way, you were an adult. Even mentally, emotionally, you seemed more mature than he felt most days. Packing up your belongings because you refused to live a life you weren’t satisfied with? He couldn’t imagine anything more grown up than that.

“Mark,” Youngjae’s tone was firm, serious this time. “It’s not the worst thing in the world if you have chemistry with someone. I know it may not be the most convenient girl for you, but… you’ve been by yourself for a long time. You can’t tell me you aren’t lonely.” 

He hadn’t thought he was lonely until you came into his life. He had been fine, so fine, living on his own. Waking up alone, eating dinner alone, focusing on his work and living one day to the next. 

But now, he looked forward to the sound of your keys in the door when you got home from your evening shift. He bought your favorite brand of orange juice instead of his. He didn’t mind watching outlandish and obviously fake reality shows if it meant that he got to hear your commentary along with it. More than anything, he’d gotten used to the way you made him feel. In the simplest of terms, he was happy. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Mark said. “I already fucked it up.”

Dahyun narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?” 

He rubbed some of the tension out of his forehead, relaying the conversation he’d had with Taehyung that night to his friends. The exchange wasn’t longer than a few minutes, but it was long enough for Mark to potentially ruin everything you’d built for yourself in the last couple of months. 

“I didn’t tell him everything - I couldn’t do that. But I told him I’d seen her in the city, that I thought maybe she worked in one of the restaurants near the shop…” A knot of guilt coiled in his stomach. “Fuck.” 

He’d just wanted to do the right thing. You were young, you couldn’t see that your parents cared about you. Taehyung cared about you. They deserved to know where you were, especially after everything they had done for him. He could at least point them in the right direction. 

“Well, shit,” Youngjae offered, a sympathetic frown on his face. 

“I fucked her over, and I haven’t been able to look her in the eye since. We’ve just avoided each other for the last two weeks and I-” Mark heaved a breath, leaning back in his chair. “I hate it.” 

He missed you. Even if he couldn’t say it out loud.

“I have an idea,” Dahyun said, her whole body perking up. “Don’t look at me like that, sometimes I have good ideas. Why don’t you invite her along for Yugyeom’s camping trip?”

“You mean the couple thing?” 

Dahyun sighed. “It’s not a couple thing. It’s just… everyone there is part of a couple. Anyway, it might be a good way to make things less awkward.” 

Mark blinked a few times, waiting for Dahyun to say ‘just kidding’ because it was an absolutely ridiculous idea. “What? How would that make things any less awkward?” 

She shrugged. “I mean, it’s a great opportunity to break the tension. If you know what I mean.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Mark scowled. 

You spent your entire shift thinking about Mark. Thinking about how you had completely messed up your relationship, and trying to figure out how to fix it all. It had been a stupid, drunken mistake, and you would take it back in a heartbeat if you could. 

The past two weeks had been torture, tiptoeing around and trying your hardest to avoid him. You’d picked up extra shifts almost every day, figuring that if you were working, at least you didn’t have to pretend like everything was normal. 

All you wanted was to come home, curl up on the couch with Milo and watch your favorite ridiculous TV shows while Mark snickered next to you, entertained by the disgustingly wealthy families on the screen no matter how much he pretended to hate it. You wanted to be able to lean into him, feel the body heat radiating off of him when his shoulder brushed yours. 

You missed Mark. Even if you couldn’t say it out loud. 

After much debating, you decided that the best way to apologize started with food. And you owed him, anyway, after he opened his home to you and let you stay there free of charge. A dinner was the least you could do. 

You could tell once you walked into Paradise Tattoo just before closing time that Mark hadn’t been expecting you in the slightest. He was at the desk, going over papers with Dahyun, when the bell dinged to signal your entrance. 

In his ripped jeans and muscle tee, all of his tattoos were on display for you, even the large quote he had inked onto his ribcage. You gulped and shoved your feelings down. That would only make things worse. 

“Hi,” you said, greeting both Mark and Dahyun. 

“Hey.” Mark scratched his head and straightened his posture. “What are you doing here?” 

“Well,” you started, wringing your hands in front of you. “I wanted to see if you wanted to get dinner? On me. I owe you, anyway.” 

Dahyun piped up, a mischievous smirk on her lips, “That’s a great idea. Mark was just talking about how hungry he was.

Mark cleared his throat and shot his co-worker what looked suspiciously like a glare. “No, I’m fine. You really don’t have to-” 

“Come on,” you said, hiding a smile. “How about burgers? There’s a good place around the corner. It won’t kill you to let me pay, will it?” 

You could see Mark weigh his options as he chewed his lip. Either end up hungry, settling for some quick frozen food later on, or bite the bullet and let you pay for his dinner. You knew it would hurt his pride to do so, but you wouldn’t back down. It was more than just the free room and board that you wanted to make up for. 

“Alright,” he finally agreed. “Let me grab my stuff.” 

It only took less than ten minutes for you to walk down to the burger place, but it felt like an hour as awkward silence hung around the two of you. It wasn’t until you were both seated at a corner booth inside the restaurant that you finally spoke up. 

“Listen, Mark,” you said, looking up from the packet of ketchup you’d been nervously squishing between your fingers. “About that night…” 

“No, you don’t-” Mark was quick to interrupt, but you held your hand up. 

“Just let me, okay?” You sighed. 

You’d rehearsed these words countless times in the bathroom mirror, and right now it felt like they were slipping right out of your fingers. Where were you supposed to start? With the kiss, straight away? Or getting so drunk that you’d needed to be taken care of in the first place?

“I’m just… really sorry. I was stupid to drink that much and it’s not your job to watch after me. I should be able to take care of myself.”

Mark stopped you again. “I didn’t mind taking care of you.” 

“But it’s not your job, Mark. I’m an adult, and you’re letting me stay with you and asking for nothing in return. The least I could do is make it easy on you.”

“Y/N, if you could have seen me at your age, you wouldn’t feel so bad. We all get drunk and stupid sometimes,” Mark said with a shrug. It almost relieved some of your guilt until you remembered the kiss in the bathroom. 

“Well...” You shook your head and looked back down at your hands. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him for this one. “I really shouldn’t have ki-” 

“Hi! My name’s Lana, I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you two something to drink while you look over the menus?”

A cheerful brunette appeared in front of you, a pen behind her ear and a wide grin plastered on her face. You glanced at Mark, then up at your waitress, not sure if you were grateful for the interruption or not. 

“Um, can I just have a water?” you asked, voice small and uncomfortable in your throat. 

“Same for me,” Mark agreed. 

“Perfect! Let me know if you have any questions about the menu!” 

You let out a long breath before you were able to look at Mark again. He was biting his cheek, his lips all twisted and holding back a laugh. 

“What?” you asked. 

“Her timing,” Mark got out, just as he let go of his laughter, throwing his head back. 

To your own surprise, you found yourself shaking with laughter as well. Either from Mark’s contagious laugh giggle or the simple ridiculousness of the situation. Here you were, in a burger restaurant, apologizing to your older brother’s best friend for kissing him while you were heavily intoxicated.

You covered your face with your hands to suppress your own laughter, letting your back slump against the cushions of the booth. It all came to you then, just how silly you’d been the last two weeks. 

“I am sorry, though,” you said, after you both settled down. 

Mark’s eyes glinted as he watched you from across the table, the ghost of a smile still on his lips. “It’s alright. I mean it. Last time I was that drunk, I’m pretty sure I ran around the block in my underwear singing the Canadian national anthem.”

You giggled again at the mental image. “What? How did you even-”

“No idea. It’s like I was possessed by a drunk Canadian mischief demon.” 

It was strange to imagine Mark and Taehyung in their teen years, since you’d been so young at the time, you could barely remember anything from that time of your life. You remembered Taehyung wearing the same pair of purple skinny jeans for three months because a girl at school had told him she liked them. 

You remembered Taehyung letting you sit in the basement in your favorite cushioned chair while he and Mark played video games on the big screen. It had been your favorite place to read then, tuning out the rambunctious cries of defeat while you got lost in other worlds. 

“So we’re okay, then?” you asked, after Lana had come back to take your order and left once more. 

Mark nodded, a genuine smile on his lips. “We’re okay.” 

“Maybe it’s weird, but…” you began, staring down at the wrapped silverware on the table instead of looking Mark in the eye. “Even though I grew up seeing you as Taehyung’s friend, that feels like a lifetime ago. And now I just kind of see you as… my friend. Like somebody I can trust.” 

When you finally looked up at Mark, his expression was unreadable. His bottom lip was between his teeth, but his eyes looked somewhat uncomfortable. You worried for a second that you’d crossed a line. 

“I owe a lot to your family,” Mark said after another long moment passed. 

Even though you didn’t remember much about Mark from your childhood years, you knew his upbringing had been rough. His parents had been addicts, the kind that never should’ve been together, let alone bring a child into the world. 

You’d never met his mom, but your own mother had made enough snide comments about her after Mark had gone home for you to understand just what kind of person she was. 

“One of those low life, worthless drug addicts. Sleeping around with anyone that can help her out, if you know what I mean. Never should’ve been a mother.”

She had a funny way of showing her compassion sometimes. 

Taehyung brought him over once after school and your mother had gotten one look at his threadbare clothes and hollow cheeks and taken him in as her new project. At first, he ate dinner with your family almost every night, and then she started making Taehyung pass over his any extra clothes he’d gotten that didn’t fit properly or that he simply didn’t like.

Mark did owe a lot to your family. 

You didn’t know what to say. You’d been so young there was no way you could take credit for anything your parents had done for Mark, but still, you itched to comfort him. Even now, with the unsaid words lingering in the air, you sensed that he had never been able to fully open up to anybody. Though you didn’t deserve it, you wanted to be the first. 

“Your mom,” you found yourself saying. “Is she…?” 

Mark shook his head. “She’s gone. Passed away a couple years ago.” 

Your face fell. If anything, you had expected her to have taken off for good or maybe gotten into some trouble she couldn’t get herself out of, but you hadn’t expected her to be gone. 

“Oh, god, Mark. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

To your surprise, he only lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I hadn’t seen her in a long time before that. Maybe two, three years. Then my aunt showed up on my doorstep with a box of her things and told me she OD’d in a gas station parking lot a week before.” 

His voice wavered only slightly, but enough to tell you he cared more than he let on. You could only imagine how painful it would be to hear of your own mother’s passing a week after the fact. 

“I’m sorry,” you said again. 

Mark shook his head. “Don’t be. It’s weird,” he said, tongue running over his lower lip as he paused. “I’d stopped seeing her as my mother so long ago that… I felt like I’d already mourned her death. Fuck, that sounds bad, doesn’t it?”

“No,” you answered as you reached across the table, fingers laying across the back of Mark’s hand. “It doesn’t. At all.”

A moment passed between the two of you. You caught Mark’s eyes glancing down at your hand resting on his skin, but he made no move to avoid your touch. 

“I never even went through her things. The box is just sitting at the back of my bedroom closet collecting dust.” 

“Do you want to go through her things?” you asked. 

Mark paused, chewing at the inside of his lip before he answered. “I don’t know.”

You nodded, somehow understanding exactly what he meant. Though you hadn’t gone through the same thing, you were familiar with avoiding a potentially painful and uncomfortable situation by simply pretending it didn’t exist. Hence why you had four unopened voicemails from your brother and parents. 

You found yourself stroking the back of Mark’s hand with your thumb. It didn’t feel wrong to touch him like this, even though maybe it should have. All you wanted was to bring him a shred of the comfort he had deserved to have for much longer than you’d known him. 

“Alrighty, and here we’ve got the bacon cheeseburger and sweet potato fries for the lady,” Lana exclaimed, immediately bursting your bubble as she returned to your table with your food balanced on a tray. You were quick to snatch your hand from Mark’s. “And a BBQ cheddar burger with curly fries for the handsome man.”

You didn’t miss the way Lana winked as she placed Mark’s food in front of him. This girl was not getting a generous tip from you, that was for sure. 

“I told you, after that depressing dinner conversation, we need to do something fun,” you told Mark as you carried your skincare basket out from the bathroom into the living room.

“And this is fun for who?” 

You threw him a playful glance and plopped down onto the floor in front of the couch on your knees, setting your basket on the cushion and sifting through it. 

“Both of us. Just trust me.” 

Catching the skeptic look on Mark’s face, you could only grin to yourself as you pulled out a tube of your favorite clay mask. He didn’t know just how relaxing a good face mask could be, but you were willing to show him. 

“I’ll even go first,” you told him. 

Mark lifted his feet to prop them up on the coffee table as Milo curled up like a tiny ball of cotton on his lap. You’d both changed out of your work clothes into comfy clothes, and you couldn’t help noticing how warm Mark looked in his white joggers and oversized black hoodie. You wouldn’t mind snuggling up into that space between his side and the couch cushion… 

You sighed and shook your head, attempting to clear the less-than-platonic thoughts from your mind. If you were going to make this friendship work, you would need to stop thinking about him like that. Immediately.

“Can I ask you something?” Mark said after a beat of silence as you popped open the cap to your mask. 

“Hm?” you asked, propping your personal sized makeup mirror on the couch so that you could see yourself while you applied your mask. 

“Yugyeom’s family has a yearly pass to this campground, and every year he does this weekend camping trip…” he trailed off for a moment and you forced yourself not to react, instead focusing on applying your charcoal mask to your cheeks. “This year, it somehow ended up as a couple thing, so Dahyun suggested I invited a friend along. So…” 

Lifting your eyes from your own reflection, you watched as Mark struggled to finish his thought. 

“So…” you said, helping him along. “Are you asking me to come with you?” 

Immediately, a neon flashing red alarm screeched in your mind. ‘This is a terrible idea! You must say no!’ it screamed.

“Only if you want to. I mean, it’s a cool place. Their lot is right by this swimming hole and there’s a fire pit, so we normally bring a ton of booze and cook our own food over the fire…” 

Mark ran his fingers through his deep red locks of hair, his nerves displayed clearly on his face. You weren’t sure why he was so nervous to ask you, but it came off as incredibly endearing. Despite the warnings blaring in your mind, you found yourself nodding. 

“Okay.” 

Mark looked at you then, his eyes finally locking on yours, and the corner of his lips lifted in a hopeful smile. “Really?”

You couldn’t help grinning as well. “Yeah. I mean, on one condition…”

“Oh?” 

“Mhm,” you replied, holding up the mask tube and popping the cap back open. “You let me put this mask on you.”

“Aish,” Mark said and shook his head. “No way. Not worth it.”

“Oh, come on, you big baby!” 

You stood from the floor and climbed onto the couch, crawling to his side and squeezing some of the mask onto your index and middle fingers. “It’s not that bad!”

“Get away from me!” Mark exclaimed with a laugh, dodging your fingers. Milo hopped up onto the arm of the couch, stomping his cute little paws a few times. 

“Just let me pamper you, Mark!” 

He let out another laugh, louder this time, trying to reach for the mask to steal from your grasp, but he wasn’t fast enough. You giggled, ducking to miss his hands as he grabbed for your wrists. 

Somehow, you found yourself straddling him, thighs resting on either side of Mark’s waist. 

“Real men wear face masks!” you exclaimed with a shout of victory as you finally managed to smear a good amount of the clay mask across Mark’s left cheek. 

“Oh, you little-” he replied, hands reaching for your sides underneath the long sleeved shirt you were wearing. He tickled your sides, a joyful laugh falling from his lips when you started squealing. 

Milo yapped a few times from the arm of the chair, presumably because he thought that you were hurting Mark or vice versa, but his protective barks only made you laugh harder. 

“Mark! Stop it!” 

You gasped for breath, wriggling on top of him and dropping the mask tube, fighting between giggling and trying to swat his hands away. 

“It’s what you deserve, you sneak,” he said, his hands still squeezing and tickling your sides, unknowingly drifting further up your shirt to your ribs. 

Twisting and turning, you finally managed to grab his wrists and yanked them from under your shirt. You held them firmly in between your bodies, even though he could have easily overpowered you. 

Your chest heaved up and down with the last of your giggles. Mark stared up at you, still smiling and out of breath. The air suddenly became thick as you held eye contact, your hands falling from his wrists to his chest. 

“Y/N,” Mark whispered. 

‘Danger! Danger!’ your mind yelled. 

Mark’s hands, now free from your hold, landed on your hips. You felt his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt, stroking the bare skin of your stomach. Your heart pounded beneath your rib cage at his gentle touch. 

“Mark,” you said, intending on telling him to stop, but it quickly died in your throat. 

His chin tipped up, making you realize just how close you were to him now. You weren’t sure who had leaned in first, but only a few mere inches separated your lips from his now. If you only bent forward a bit, you could… 

It reminded you, all of the sudden, of the kiss in the bathroom. It had been quick, but long enough for you to slide your tongue past his lips. You remembered the shock to your system the moment you had felt the cold metal of a tongue piercing. 

“Y/N,” Mark said again. “Tell me to stop.”

His voice was quiet but you felt like you could read between the lines. He didn’t want to stop, and the only way he was going to stop was if you made it clear that you didn’t want this. 

But you did. You’d wanted it from the moment he ran his fingers over the tattoo he’d inked onto your skin one of those first nights, a soft ghost of a touch that made goosebumps form on every inch of your skin. 

You weren’t stupid, you knew that this was all wrong for a variety of reasons, the least of which being that he was your roommate. But that meant nothing to you compared to the way his hands felt on your skin.

Before you could open your mouth, tell him that you didn’t want him to stop, an 8-bit version of the Mario Kart theme blasted from somewhere behind you. You jumped, your heart skipping several beats from the surprise. 

Mark took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, blinking a few times before he gently guided your hips to climb off of him. “Sorry, I should…”

The ringtone felt familiar but you couldn’t figure out why. Even as you watched Mark grab for his phone off the coffee table and immediately silence it, you wracked your brain to try and remember where you had heard that ringtone before. 

It was as if Taehyung had known, the moment that Mark quieted the little voice in his head telling him not to be so close to you and that this was wrong in so many ways, and finally accepted his feelings for you.  

Maybe he had a sixth sense. 

The moment that had passed between you then had been effectively ruined as soon as he was reminded of two things: you were his childhood best friend’s little sister, and he had already ruined your life even if you didn’t know it yet. 

But he’d been so close to giving in. You’d been on top of him, smiling in that innocently beautiful way that you did, your thighs caging in his hips. He hadn’t missed the fact that he could feel you with every inch of him, considering how he’d begged his body not to react, not to harden beneath you. Between the thin layers of his sweats and your sleep shorts, there was no way you wouldn’t notice. 

Later, after you’d grabbed a washcloth so you could both wipe the face mask off your faces and awkwardly watch TV for an hour before enough time could pass for you to realistically head off to bed, Mark listened to the voicemail Taehyung had left. 

“Hey man. I just wanted to let you know that uh, I’m going to try and head to the city and look for Y/N in a few weeks. If you see her again or have any idea where she might be, let me know. I really appreciate it, my mom’s been going crazy… anyway, maybe we can grab a drink or something once I’m in town. I’ll hit you up. Thanks again, Mark.”

Mark was glad he was in the privacy of his own bedroom when he listened to the message so you didn’t see the way he threw his phone down on the bed, muttering curse words to himself and trying to forget how heavenly you had felt on top of him. 

It was impossible. All he could think about was your skin under his fingertips, how your lips had been so soft and smooth and close to his, and how the weight of you on top of him had been enough to make him hard. 

His only option was to shut himself in the bathroom and crank the shower all the way to the coldest temperature that he could stand and pray that it would be enough to keep him from sneaking into your bedroom that night. 

[just-my-fandom]

Rocky Road P8 (JJ Maybank x Routledge! Reader)

Part 8

Summary; Reader and JJ make up. After going fishing with Ward, John B reveals the truth suddenly to the reader about their father. The chief is now dead. John B and Sarah run away.

Warning(s); Mentions of death, mentions of getting sick (vomit)

A/N; PLEASE READ. There’s a lot of scenes I really didn’t feel like writing, such as the whole death of the chief, etc. So, I combined episodes 8, 9, and 10 together. So technically, this is the last part. But I will include an epilogue

Taglist; @bibliophilewednesday @sexualparkour @jjpouggues @poguestyle17

“So we’re okay?”

It’s the morning after. You and JJ sit on opposite edges of the hot tub, legs knee deep in the warm water.

“Yeah,” Your lips tilt in a small smile, JJs arms propped on his knees as his hands take your own, “Only if you promise to stop acting psycho,”

“Oh, totally,” JJ nods, releasing one of your hands to run it through his hair, “If me getting super drunk and having a terrible hang over last night doesn’t change me, then I don’t know what will,”

“J,” You warn, JJ huffing a short laugh before he nods, leaning forward so your faces were nearly inches apart,

“I promise,” He murmurs, raising his hand to cup the back of your neck and pull your lips against his, “Because I love you. And I’m not going to let my stupidity make me lose you,”

“Good,” You hum, raising your own hands to his hair, his body leaning forward enough to where he steps into the hot tub, arms wrapping around your waist,

But before he can pull you into the water yourself, Kiaras call to your brother causes you to pull away and look over your shoulder, JJ looking around you to watch as John B stomped across the yard of your home with a stone look on his face,

“John?” You call as Kiara did, sliding off the edge of the hot tub to slide on your flats, watching your twin brother move inside the Chateau, “JB,”

“Uh, what’s that all about?” Pope asks, as you shrug and move up the steps to the front porch, pausing as John B desperately searched for something,

“You all right, man?” Pope questions, “What’s up?”

“What’re you looking for?” Kiara rushes, irritated at the silence your brother gave to the group,

You watch as John B pulls the hand gun from under the couch cushions, “John B, what do you need the gun for?”

“Talk to us-,” JJ demands, and you move forward as soon as John B shoves JJ away, onto the pull out mattress,

“John B, what the fuck are you doing?” You shout, moving after John Bs retreating form to the backyard, “If you’re still mad at JJ from yesterday, we’re fine! We made up!”

“I don’t give a damn about the two of you,” John B grumbles, and you pause to watch him climb on JJs motorbike,

“Dude!” JJ shouts, John B finally turning with an angry snarl,

“Ward knows about the gold!” He shouts, and you huff a breath, heart nearly stopping at his next words, “He killed dad,”

“What?” You whisper, JJ quick to move up to you as John B sped away, JJs hand at your upper arm.

Your eyes leave John Bs retreating figure to look at JJ, hand resting at your stomach as you watched JJs mouth move, but no words were heard,

“Baby,” JJ calls, lifting a hand to caress your face as you swallow, thickly, “Hey, hey. Look at me,”

Quickly, you shake your head, exhaling sharply as Kiara moved up next to JJ, “She’s going to be sick-,” Kiara and Pope watch, alarmed, as you duck behind the parked van, JJs hand running down your back as you cough, violently,

“Hey, alright,” JJ murmurs, pulling you into him as his gaze shifts up to his other friends, watching Pope run a hand over his head and look in the distance where John B had left.

“Okay, I’ve never seen John B like that. We should honestly be going to the cops,” Kiara speaks from her spot at the front end of the HMS Pogue, your brows pinched as you look at her,

“And what would we say, Kie? Ward Cameron killed Big John? They’re going to think it’s some- fucking grieving mechanism for me and John B,” You huff, face hot and eyes puffy,

“They’re not gonna believe us if we tell them anything revolving Ward,” JJ states, and Pope raises his goggles,

“Hey, I see Ward,”

“I don’t know if I should be glad he’s alive for John Bs sake or not,” You mutter, tossing a rock that was in the boat into the water,

“Looks alive to me. Let’s go,” Pope orders, and you look up in confusion,

“Wait. What?”

“Obviously Mr. Cameron is fine, and even if John B was here, he isn’t now, okay?” Pope shakes his head, “Plus, I have the biggest, most important moment of my life in six hours,”

“Yeah, well, our friend is in trouble,” Kiara states, Pope shrugging his shoulders,

“I’m in trouble! Guys, I haven’t been home in three days. My dads probably put all my shit on the street by now,”

“So, you’re just gonna bail?” Kiara asks, and you look at JJ with pinched brows so the blonde moves up, protectively, “This is about friendship, this is about Pogues for life!”

“Where were you when Big John went missing? Huh?” Pope hisses, your eyes watching as Kiara glanced at you, “You weren’t there. You weren’t there for John B, or Y/N,”

“Guys,” You plea, pressing yourself into JJs front, “Kie, just let him go home,”

“No, I want her to remember,” Pope snarls, finger jabbing at Kiara, “Remember your kook year? You forgot about us. Y/N lost her best friend. Her dad goes missing and you werent there for her,”

“Give me a break!” Kiara demands, shoving Popes front so Pope shoved her back, JJ quick to release you and move between his two friends,

“Guys, cut it out!” JJ orders, your arms wrapping around yourself as you blink away the burn in your eyes, “If I’m the one mediating then we’ve hit rock bottom,”

“Let’s just go home,” You murmur, JJ looking at you as you move to the wheel of the boat,

“I’ve got it,” JJ soothes, pointing to the front end of the boat where Pope departed to. “Pope, we’ll drop you off,”

You inhale a deep, slow breath, raising your hand to rub at your eye in exhaustion.

“John B, you have to go,” You stare at your twin brother. Peterkin was dead. John B was framed for her murder. “I’m sorry I was such an ass. To you, and to Sarah, but I can’t let you go to jail, for a murder you didn’t commit,”

“You weren’t an ass,” John B forces himself to chuckle, attempting to pull a smile to your face. He fails. “You were being a protective, annoying sister,”

You huff your own laugh, licking your lips, “I’m serious, John. Get Sarah, and go,”

John Bs movements are swift. His arms slide around you in an embrace, tightening around you when hearing your sniffle.

“I love you sis,” He mutters, “Seriously,”

You lean back, hitting his chest, “I love you too. Dick,”

You step away, watching John B step onto the boat JJ lended to John B. “Remember dude,” JJ steps up, arm sliding across your shoulders, “Brownsville. We’ll see you in Mexico in two months,”

“Got it,” John B smiles, watching you slide your arm behind JJs back and take his hand with your free, “Take care of her, JJ,” JJ glances down at you, “I mean it,”

The boat pulls off with a heave. Your eyes blur, looking up at JJ with a smile that matched his.

“Hands up!”

Twirling around, you barely catch a glimpse of Shoupe raising his gun before JJ pushes you behind him. In unison, the group of four raise their hands, your eyes wide,

“Where the hell is he?” Shoupe asks, roughly, “Where the hell is he?!”

“JJ,” He continues, “I see you’re living up to your name. Pope? How about you? This isn’t a fucking game!” Shoupe eyes shift to yours, “Your father would be really disappointed in you young lady,”

“Dont ever bring up my father,” You step up, one of JJs arms dropping to grasp your waist, but immediately pulls it back when Shoupe pins your hands behind your back.

“Let’s fucking go,”

“Sit down. Don’t move,” You look up from your spot inside the tent. Cops, everywhere. You felt sick again.

JJs hand takes yours, squeezing enough to guide your attention to him, where his blue eyes meet your own. JJ shifts your intertwined hands to his lap, thumb brushing across the back of your hand.

You flinch at the rough crack of thunder.

“We lost them,” Shoupe mutters, almost as soon as your ears began to ring. Like the day prior, you see everyone’s mouths moving, but no words.

Except JJ. “What do you mean you lost them?” JJs hand leaves yours as he stands, and you suddenly zone back in, “You had them on radio!”

“The storm cut out their signal,” Shoupe sighs, dropping the talkie in his hand. His head shakes, “We lost them,”

JJ is first to turn to you. Just as quick, your ears begin to ring, not hearing him call out to you. Lost them. Lost, as in, dead? Like Big John?

“Baby,” JJ tries, again, the large group watching as he knelt in front of where you still sat and raised his hands to your face, “Hey, can you hear me?”

JJ is forced to watch as you gasp in a deep breath. With a shattered sob, you nearly fall forward, JJs arms quick to catch you and pull you up into his arms.

“He didn’t do it,” You heave, eyes wide despite the tears that blocked your vision, “He didn’t- didn’t kill anyone,”

JJs arms tighten around you, before he slides his hands back to your face a second time, thumbs attempting to wipe the tears from your cheeks. Forehead against yours, he exhales a shuddered breath as you began to break down.

“Sweetheart-,” Kiaras mom barely leans away from Kiara to extend her hand to you, your head shaking as your eyes finally pinch shut in defeat,

“No,” You whisper, JJs own face crumbling, “No, no. JJ-?”

JJs arms slide around your shoulders, ducking his nose into your hair as your own grab at his button up, feeling Kiaras mom press herself behind you in another wall of comfort.

First Big John. Now, John B and Sarah?

A/N; Well that ended like shit, lol. Again, yes. I did skip a lot of scenes revolving the last three episodes. But honestly? They were unnecessary. But leave ALL feedback as you can, and I hope, pray that you enjoyed this story. It’s been a pleasure.

[cloudybarnes]

Birthday Presents | S.S

Pairing: Stefan Salvatore x reader

Summary: Stefan hasn't seen his two best friends y/n and Lexi for years. Upon his return to Mystic Falls (set in season 1), Lexi and Y/n decide to surprise him for his birthday.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: none

Masterlist

A/N: this will not follow exactly how Lexi met up with Stefan for his birthday!

✰  ✰  ✰

You couldn't stop the grin that was eating up your face as you packed your small bag. Lexi stood leaning on the doorway, watching you with a smirk. "I don't see why you're even packing. We could just get new clothes when we get to Mystic Falls."

You shook your head, still smiling, and turned to her. You zipped your bag shut, and sauntered over to her. When you were close enough, you poked her nose. "You silly goose, I'm not packing clothes. These are for Stefan's birthday." You placed your bag down and unzipped it, crouching to open the flap and show her what you packed. "A framed picture of the three of us from 1948, the first letter I wrote to him in the war, a framed photo of him, Damon and I, and this," you pulled out a dangling sword pendant.

Lexi gasped, crouching down next to you. "You didn't." She grabbed the necklace from you and very gently examined it. "There's no way you could have found this. I watched Stefan throw it into the ocean during one of his ripper phases. Is it a dupe?"

You smirked and lifted the matching one you wore out from under your shirt. Grasping the necklace back from Lexi, you held them side by side, and looked at her expectantly. "Come on, put yours here, too."

She grabbed hold on the tiny sword that was dangling around her neck, and brought it closer to the other two. When placed together, the tips of the swords linked from a magnetic pull, and changed colors. Lexi laughed, "Oh my god, this is amazing. How did you ever find it?"

You shrugged, zipping your bag and standing up to leave. "After Stefan threw it into the ocean, I just swam down for it. Honestly, I forgot I had put it in my box for when he was back to normal, so now his lost friendship necklace is a birthday present."

Lexi shook her head a grinned, slinging her arm over my shoulder. "You're amazing, you know that?"

You chuckled, "Yes, but keep reminding me; it inflates my ego."

She cackled, and shoved your shoulder away from her. In a flash, the two of you started on your run to Mystic Falls.

Once you arrived in Mystic Falls, your first place to look was the old Salvatore Boarding House. At the front door, you turned to Lexi. "We aren't actually going to knock, are we?"

She chuckled, "Hell no. I say we give Stefan a scare. Nothing like lurking vampires to get your blood pumping, right?"

You smirked. Lexi and you together were a devilishly good combination. You get into trouble, pull pranks, and just have a load of fun. "Let's do it."

You silently opened the door of the boarding house, and used your vampire hearing to locate those inside. You could hear Stefan talking, and after waiting a few seconds, you heard the sounds of his brother Damon arguing with him.

You snickered, and Lexi rolled her eyes at the sounds of them bickering. You set your bag down in the living room, and motioned up the stairs for Lexi and you to get up with the Salvatores.

You used my super speed to get up the steps and into Stefan's room where the brothers stood. Lexi trailed behind you. Without them seeing, you sped in between them so they could just make out the flash of someone running by. Then, you hid behind a dresser waiting for your time to come out again.

"Looks like we have company, brother." Damon stated, looking around the room wide-eyed. "Guess your rant will have to wait."

Lexi sped behind Damon, causing him to spin around, trying to see her.

Stefan growled, "Show yourself! Quit playing games and come out."

His eyes scanned the room, as Damon not-so-stealthily grabbed a wooden stake and threw it to Stefan.

You rolled your eyes and super sped up to Stefan, pushing him back against the wall, pinning the hand of his that held the stake against the wall. You grinned as he took in the sight of me, "Hello, Stefan."

His eyes were wide, but his smile was even wider. "Y/n," he breathed out.

Next to him on the wall, Lexi pinned Damon, hitting his head in the process. "Ugh," Damon groaned in pain, "and Lexi."

You giggled, releasing Stefan from the wall so you could give him a hug. "Happy Birthday, Stefan! Lexi and I missed you and wanted to celebrate together."

Lexi released Damon, and you stepped out of Stefan's hug so he could greet her as well.

Damon came up to you and lightly punched your shoulder. "Finally decided to come pay us a visit, Y/n?"

You grinned, and jokingly slapped him upside the head before pulling him into a hug as well. "Yeah, yeah. A girl's got a life, Damon. I've been really busy these last few years."

Damon chuckled as you pulled back and walked over to Stefan to give him a light punch in the shoulder. "I missed you, dude. It's been too long since I've actually been able to come with Lexi and celebrate with you."

Stefan grinned, "Yeah, finally you decide to pay your best friend a visit."

Damon shook his head, "Are we sure Y/n is really here to see you, Stefan? I mean, we all know she likes me more than she likes you."

You rolled your eyes, "Sure, Damon. That's why in 1942 I pushed you off that cliff; cause you're my favorite Salvatore." You teased with a light smile.

Damon chuckled, "knew it."

"Anyway," Lexi grinned, "Stefan, because it is your birthday, we're spending the entire day together!"

You perked up, "Oh! I also got some things for you for your birthday."

Stefan groaned, smiling. "You didn't have to get anything for me, Y/n/n. Just you two being here is good enough."

Lexi scoffed, "Yeah, right. Y/n, go get the presents."

You giggled and super sped out to the living room and back, returning with your bag in hand. "Okay, I didn't have time to wrap anything, so just close your eyes and I'll place things in your hand one at a time."

Stefan rolled his eyes, but complied. Once his eyes were shut, and his hands were outstretched, you placed the first gift in his hands.

Opening his eyes, he saw the framed photo of him, Lexi, and you. Stefan stood in the middle of you two with his tailored suit. You and Lexi stood wearing old dresses, and matching hats. Your hair was perfectly curled to the style of the 40s.

"Wow," Stefan gasped. "I can't believe you have this picture, thank you so much, Y/n."

Lexi peered over his shoulder to look at it. "Wow, we looked so posh in the 40s, Y/n."

You smiled, "Yeah we did. And you're welcome, Stefan. Now close your eyes again; I have a few more gifts for you."

He closed his eyes once more, and you put the framed photo of you, him, and Damon in his hands. This peeked Damon's interest, because he was now the one to look over Stefan's shoulder.

"Well would you look at that." Damon sighed.

Stefan looked at the picture and smiled sadly. Things must not be going so well with Damon, especially after that arguing you walked in on. "This is great, Y/n. It's nice to look back and see us all when things were simpler."

You nodded, "I'm glad you like them, but I have two more gifts for you, which I think you'll like more than the photos."

You giddily handed him the first letter you wrote to him before he even had the chance to close his eyes.

"The first letter you wrote to me when I went off to war." Stefan stated, amazed. "How do you even have this? I thought it got burned up in battle."

You grinned, "Have more faith in me, Stefan. You know I never lose important things."

"Brother, read it to us. I want to know what Y/n said while you were away." Damon said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.

Stefan looked at me, seemingly remembering what you had written on that sheet of paper. "Are you all right with me sharing this?"

You nodded, "Of course. It's your letter, you can do what you like with it." You smiled. Lexi came over and wrapped her arm around your shoulder, placing her head on yours. Seems like she remembers what you wrote on this as well.

"Okay then," Stefan cleared his throat and began reading.

"My Dearest Stefan,

We have not been a part from one another since before our initial meet, so you may be able to see how this is effecting me. I truly miss your presence more than anything the world has to offer. Your smile, your laugh, your wit, and your charm are all missing from my life, and I do not wish for it to be that way. I do not want to ever see another time we are not with each other. Alas, I sided with Lexi on the decision to send you off in search of finding your self, or I would be right beside you.

Lexi and I are taking care of Damon for you. (More so me; you know how Lexi feels of him). I will do my best to make sure he is someone you can depend on for when you return. If I am unsuccessful, and Damon is still Damon, you will at least have Lexi and I for the rest of eternity. (While I do think the time I am spending with Damon is helping, he is still ruthless. I will do my best to show him humanity and kindness before your return).

Though I do thoroughly enjoy my time spent with Damon, I tremendously miss my favorite Salvatore man. Lexi is great company as well, but she does not make me feel the way you do, Stefan. My heart aches to be with you again, and maybe when that day comes I will be able to confess how I feel. I am counting down the days til we meet again. For now, I leave you with this letter, and a piece of my love.

Yours,

Y/n Y/l/n"

A faded lipstick mark is left on the bottom of the stained paper.

Damon hummed, "Intense. I like the talk of me, though I thought you were spending time with me because you liked me."

You giggled, "I do like you Damon. You're a good friend when you want to be, and the time I spent with you while Stefan was away made my days more fun. I was never forced to spend time with you, Damon. You were my friend, not my experiment."

He smirked, "I know, I was messing with you. Now how about we talk about that little love confession at the end of your letter? I take it Stefan didn't feel the same? I don't recall you two ever getting together."

You rolled your eyes, "We just never brought it up when he came back."

Stefan lightly smiled at you, "we can talk about the letter later. Let's see my last present, yeah?"

You grinned and looked to Lexi who smiled back at you. "Okay, but you actually have to close your eyes this time. This is the one I've been waiting to give to you."

Stefan playfully rolled his eyes, but still shut them and held his hands out.

You giggled as you placed the sword necklace into his hands. When he opened his eyes and saw what it was, Stefan gasped.

He started slowly shaking his head, looking from the necklace, to you, to Lexi, then back to the necklace. "There's no way. There is literally no way this is my necklace from 1874. I, I threw it into the ocean. How did you get this?"

You smirked, and grabbed it from him. You walked over and stood behind him to fastened it around his neck. "I told you Stefan, I never lose things that are important."

Taking out your necklace that dangled under your shirt, you motioned Lexi to come over. She grinned and pranced over to us so we stood in a close triangle. You stretched yours out and touched tips with both of theirs. The metal sword tips stuck together, and the necklaces started to glow different colors.

Pulling yours back, you looked at Stefan who couldn't stop the grin from eating up his face.

You giggled, "I take it you like your birthday gifts?"

Stefan didn't respond. He instead pulled you into a tight hug and whispered in your ear. "These are amazing, Y/n. You're amazing; I can't believe you're here and you brought all of this back for me."

He pulled away and stared into your eyes. With your  super hearing, you noticed Lexi and Damon leaving the room.

"I never did get to address your letter. I was scared to talk about it when I got back home in fear of your mind being changed." Stefan lightly smiled.

You stared up at him, your heart beating. Stefan definitely heard your heart rate pick up because he chuckled. "I still have feelings for you, Stefan. I know not seeing each other for a little while may have put a strain on our relationship, but I feel as if we never parted."

He grinned, "I feel the same way. I've loved you since you first said hello to me, Y/n, and I'd be a fool to turn you away now that I finally have my chance to be with you."

You giggled, "Technically you had a chance back when you came home from war, but I'll let it slide."

Stefan playfully rolled his eyes and cradled your cheeks in his warm hands, "Good. That means I can do this."

Stefan confidently closed the distance between your lips. You eyes fluttered shut as you felt the soft touch of Stefan's lips. You trailed your fingers up to his hair and got lost in the moment. Kissing Stefan was like riding on top of clouds. He was soft and light with his kiss. It was confident but not overbearing.

Out of breath, you pulled back from him, but kept your faces close by resting your forehead on his. Your eyes slowly opened and saw his already staring back at you.

He grinned, "I think that was my favorite present of them all."

[disgruntledspacedad]

The Rules of Engagement (3/5)

The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do. 

words: 3.4k 

warnings: 18+ for alcohol, language, smut, violence, body horror, general trauma. Please, please heed the warnings on this chapter, guys. It gets pretty intense.

a/n: Unbeta’d. I know I said this was going to be three chapters, but I lied. Sorry, my dudes - this one got away from me. Inspo credit goes to @tiffdawg​, as always.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Well, fuck. You bite back a massive sigh.

You really, really don’t want to walk through that door.

It’s been a month, and you life has changed profoundly.

For one, you’re not at the office as much anymore - Stechner had made good on his promise to consider you for more flyovers, and boy, has Centra Spike been busy. Some new vigilante group is terrorizing Medellín, and while it’s not Search Bloc’s priority to go after them, they’ve undeniably kept Pablo and his sicarios busy. The radio frequencies are hot right now, and you’ve been doing eight, sometimes ten flights a week. 

You absolutely love it. The hours are less predictable and definitely more shitty, but listening to a radio from the cockpit of a plane is much more fun that listening to a radio in a stuffy basement office, so you consider it a fair trade.

It keeps your brain busy, too.

Your social life has taken a massive kick to the nuts. Ana is back at university, and you miss her more than you thought you would. You’ve reverted to communicating with Emilio with gestures and smiles more than words. It’s nice because he’s nice, but you miss actual conversation, stilted as it was. Ana wasn’t all that bad, either.

And then there’s Javi.

You haven’t spoken to him since That Morning, not even a polite 'how are you?' in the hallway. Granted, you’re not seeing him as often anymore, given your new position and hours, but then again, you haven’t exactly sought him out, either.

The memory claws at you every time you relive it - and you relive it often. That anger, that wounded expression. The slammed door, his retreating footsteps. Each time you’re in that building, the walls seem to close in on you, and you have to stop yourself from looking for him, actively keep your gaze from roaming straight to his desk.

God, as if you could make it more awkward.

You’d had one nasty conversation with Murphy about a week after the incident - you’d told him in no uncertain terms that he could either mind his own business or fuck right off, you didn’t care which. He’d left you be, throwing his hands in the air and muttering something about how “you two deserve each other.”

Asshole.

Still, that aborted conversation haunts you - so many aborted conversations haunt you - and you wonder what would have happened if you’d just taken the bull by the horns and addressed the issue with Javi head on.

I’m sorry you caught me rubbing one off on the morning after you almost died, Peña. I can assure you, it won’t happen again. Your friendship means the world to me.

Yeah, right.

God, though, but you miss him.

You miss him so much it aches, a gaping hole that reaches right down to the core of you, but there’s nothing to be done about it. You’d fucked this one completely and thoroughly - any chance of restoring your friendship had drained away with the shower-water, and the more time you spend fretting over it, the more awkward - and pathetic - it would be to say anything.

So, you’d cut your losses, held your head high, and tried not to waste too much time wishing you’d have just kept your fucking fantasies to yourself.

Now, though, you’ve got no choice.

You’d been on Centra Spike’s early morning flight, just another routine scan over Medellín. The shift wasn’t intended to be more than a training run for you, but as luck would have it, the Medellín cartel’d had a busy night, and you’d been caught in the crossfire.

Your plane had just touched down half an hour ago, and now you’re standing on the front steps of the embassy building, fingering a shoebox cassette player loaded with a freshly taped recording full of juicy intel destined for the desk of DEA Agent Javier Peña - an entire, private conversation featuring none other than Verdugo himself.

You’d know that voice anywhere. You’ve studied it for hours, what few snatches you’d been able to glean from the embassy archives. It’s almost as if Verdugo is smart enough to steer clear of the city, or to just avoid phone conversations all together, the absolute fuckwad.

Until early this morning.

On the plane, you’d intercepted a new signal and tapped in on a whim, intending to practice your Spanish more than anything, but what you’d overheard was a fucking gold mine of information.

Verdugo is in Medellín. The sicarios are getting ready to move Escobar. He didn’t say where - fucking bastard knows not to spill all of the beans in one conversation - but apparently the plan requires a rendezvous in El Centro first. Verdugo is en route, and will be there until the next morning.

You’d worked frantically all night, tracing and retracing the signal, triangulating potential addresses, then back-tracking to account for environmental distortion. Each calculation had led you to the same place - an unassuming little house right smack in the middle of Medellín.

Bingo.

“You take it in, Aarons.” Torres had declined your offer to do the honors. “It’s your intel.”

So here you are, bleary-eyed and running on less than two hours of sleep, cassette player clenched tightly to your chest, summoning up all of your courage just to go speak with your ex... well, ex whatever-the-fuck Peña is.

‘This is your job,’ you remind yourself fiercely. ‘You can do this.’

As pep-talks go, it isn’t very effective.

Fuck it. You toss your head back, wishing you’d had time to at least grab a cup of coffee on the way in, and breeze around the corner.

“Agent Peña.”

He glances up lazily, thoroughly uninterested in whatever you have to say. When he realizes it’s you, he blinks once, dropping his cigarette in the ashtray and sitting up to eyeball you with a wary expression.

"What can I do for you?” he asks cooly.

You remember him saying that once before, but the context was totally different.

You shake it off. “Centra Spike has new intel that you’ll want to see right away.”

He purses his lips, tilting his head to indicate the growing pile of bullshit on his desk. “You can leave it here.”

Oh, so that’s how it is, then?

“I can’t.” You pin him with a stare, and he meets your gaze evenly, raising his eyebrows in silent challenge. You clear your throat and clarify. “I won’t.”

He scoffs as you carefully rest cassette tape on his desk, along with a map of El Centro. “We intercepted a four minute conversation with Verdugo this morning. He’s here.” You point to the safe house on the map, which you’ve already circled in red ink. “Feo and Limón are with him. They’re leaving early tomorrow.”

Peña frowns down at the spot where your finger rests. “And can you corroborate that information?”

Oh, the motherfucker. “I verified his voice personally, Peña,” you say carefully, doing your damndest to keep the annoyance from your tone. It’s well within his right to ask questions, after all. “It’s a direct match for the audio samples we have.” You tap the tape for emphasis. “You’re welcome to listen for yourself.”

He doesn’t make a move for a long time. Something hot and painful burns in your gut as you wait.

God, he knows you, knows you better than anybody else in on this goddamned continent.  He knows that you know your shit, that you want to catch Escobar as desperately as he does. And this evidence that you have spread across his desk, recorded on tape and marked plainly in red ink, is irrefutable, undeniable - it’s a huge break. He knows that, too.

His apathy is palpable, and it’s driving you up the fucking wall.

When he finally glances up at you, it’s with a doubtful little smirk on his face. “Hmm.”

And oh, wow, you’re shocked by just how much that hurts.

All your life, from the moment you were born into a family of brothers, you’ve had to fight tooth and nail to be taken seriously. It was a fact of life as early as you can remember - ‘look after your sister,’ or, ’she’s just a girl,’ or ‘wow, you’re really great at math, for a woman!’ You’d settled on your career as an analyst because you’d wanted it, not because you’d had something to prove, but still, the military is a male-dominated field, and from the start, the odds had been stacked against you.  Landing this CIA gig had been the achievement of a fucking lifetime. Still, the bar is set high in the Colombia, and it’s set that much higher for a woman. You’re well aware of this; you’re reminded every single day.

Point being, you’re used to defending yourself and your abilities; it comes as natural as breathing.  

But until now, you’ve never had to fight this battle with Peña. He’d taken you at face value from the moment he'd laid eyes on you, treating you like just another operative. Sure, he might take a crack at you every now and again, but that's all in good fun, and you’ve never been one to shy away from a laugh.

Christ, you never realized just how much that respect meant to you until suddenly, it’s gone.

“If you have something to say about my skills and qualifications, Agent Peña, then I suggest you say it.” You lean over his desk, speaking quietly, enunciating each syllable with deadly precision. “Otherwise, I think we both know that it’s in the best interest of Search Bloc and the Colombian people that we collaborate quickly, so we can put boots on the ground and land this motherfucker behind bars where he belongs.”

Peña’s eyes narrow, and he cocks his head, studying you. You meet his gaze, biting back a snarl. You won’t back down. You won’t allow him to intimidate you.

When he nods sharply and reaches for his phone, you know you’ve won.

♠

Ten minutes later, you’re situated in a conference room with Peña, Steve Murphy, Martinez, and a couple of the other higher ups of Search Bloc whose names you haven’t memorized. Your maps are spread over the table, your tape displayed for all to see, and every eye is on you.

“Verdugo is here,” you say, leaning over the map to indicate the marked house. “He and his entourage arrived late last night, and they’re planning to leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Plenty of time to get a team together.” Murphy interjects, glancing between you and Peña with open curiosity.

You narrow your gaze at him. Drama-mongering bastard.

Peña’s not moving. He’s standing with his hip cocked toward the desk, frowning down at the map with his fingers curled to his chin like he’s totally oblivious to everything happening around him.

You know he’s not, though. That’s Javi’s thinking face, the one he makes when he wants people to shut the fuck up and forget about him until he can work something out. You’re pretty familiar with that one.

The others are babbling in Spanish, discussing logistics and the likelihood of this being another trap.

It’s not. You know this deep in your bones. You’d heard that conversation in real time, had translated, triangulated it.

This is legit.

You’ve just decided to leave them to it when Javi snaps his eyes open.

“I agree with Aarons,” he announces out of nowhere. You’re startled by the confidence in his tone. Curious, you glance up, but it’s difficult to get a read on him. He’s pinning every person in the room except you with a hard stare. “We need to move out now.”

Several of the others make noises of protest, but Peña shuts them all down, one by one. Finally, his eyes flicker up to meet yours, just for a brief second, but there’s something different in his gaze, something new and heavily guarded.

You think it might be an apology.

“Let’s end this.”

♠

He’s on a plane to Medellín within an hour, wearing that stupid bullet proof vest. For just a split second, you wish that you were going, too. You don’t have enough experience, though - you’re not an agent; you haven’t handled a gun since basic. You’d be useless in a real fight, a liability, even.

Still, you feel some ownership in this operation, today more than ever. You don’t even try to kid yourself about Javi anymore, either. Those fucking feelings haven’t faded in a month, not a bit, not even after the awkward conversation you’d had in his office.

‘But he stood up for you, too, afterward,’ something whispers in the back of your mind. You replay that little glance in the conference room over and over as you watch Search Bloc board the plane.

He’s looking for you this time, standing on the ramp with his eyes shaded like he knows you’ll be waiting. He doesn’t nod and you don’t wave, but you make eye contact for a lingering moment, and again, there’s something in his expression that you don’t recognize.

Then the plane takes off down the runway, and you feel as if your heart is swooping away with it.

♠

You volunteer for the late shift at work, monitoring the radio lines in case something comes up. It’s an unusually quiet night, as if all of Bogotá collectively holds its breath, and you mostly spend it watching the clock, calculating the hours in your head.

One to land in Medellín. Two more to mobilize the men. Another half to get in location.

From there, your speculation gets fuzzy. There’s no way to predict the outcome once Verdugo is engaged. Javi’s told you a million stories, each more unbelievable than the last - car chases and rooftop shootouts, standoffs in the street, a fistfight in a church sanctuary, bodies of children littering dark alleyways… you cut off the recollections. They aren’t doing you any favors.

Verdugo is a dangerous man. Anything could happen.

By seven am, your brain is mush and your eyes are hyper-focused in that bleary way that happens when you’ve gone too long without sleep. Your third cup of coffee has gone cold, and people are starting to trickle in. You wave half-heartedly to Torres as you slip out of your headset, rubbing your fingers over your scalp to ease the tension that comes from wearing heavy earphones all night. A shower sounds nice, you decide, and maybe a quick nap afterward.

Somebody will page you with news.

Getting out of the building does a lot to wake you up. There’s something oppressive about the CNP headquarters that seems to abate when you step into the streets of Bogotá. The city buzzes with life even in the early morning, and air is warm in a way that seems to energize rather than sedate. Optimism is easier to invoke as you walk down the street in broad daylight.

Javi had looked at you, at least. He’d listened. He’ll call in to the office as soon as he can. Your intel was good, and they’ve flushed out the rat, he’d promised you that.

Everything will be okay.

You round the corner of CRA 70 and Circular, waving to Emilio, who is working the register of the pharmacy today.

“Orejas!” He shouts, reaching below the counter to hold aloft another bottle of aguardiente. “¡Mira! Solo para ti!”

You grin back at him, raising your voice to shout a greeting, and then, with absolutely no warning, the store explodes.

A loud boom.

A whoosh of impossible heat.

A massive orange fireball billowing from the windows.

Your body flying, flying through the air.

Bright blue sky, and then darkness.

♠

You find yourself lying flat on your back in the middle of the street. Your ears are ringing. There’s a pat-pattering in the air, soft like falling rain.

You blink hard.

It’s not rain, you realize dizzily.

It’s fucking ash.

The air is dark with it, hot and heavy. It coats your tongue and stings your eyes. It’s hard to catch a breath. Your throat hurts, your chest aches. You cough weakly. The smell is terrible, acrid and bitter like burned metal. You can taste it on your tongue.

Slowly, you tense your muscles. Your chest is still burning, but there’s nothing sharp to suggest a serious injury. Your back is sore, your head fuzzy.

You sit up, wincing a little, relieved to realize that you’ve just had the wind knocked from you. You’ll have some bruises tomorrow, but that’s all.

Sound slowly filters in. The hiss and crackle of flame. A shout in the distance. Further away, a wailing siren.

Reality slams into you all at once.

Emilio!

You stand, wobbling more than you think you should, but you push past it. Reality seems to pitch and roil, as if the ground is hitching its breath beneath you. Rubble coats the street, dust clouds the air.

Oh god.

A gaping, smoking crater is all that’s left of Emilio’s pharmacy. The windows are blown out of the businesses on either side, their outer walls bowing under the pressure. Your apartment on the top floor is demolished, the roof caving in, flames licking at the the collapsed floors.

You gasp one long, shuddering breath, taking it all in, and then you’re running, sort of, picking your way through hunks of concrete and twisted metal.

“Emilio! Emilio!”

Your voice is hoarse, the world hushed. Nothing sounds quite right. Your legs are shaking and you can’t catch your breath. Some of the rubble is hot to the touch, and you feel like you’re moving underwater, slow and awkward and stupid.

You approach what’s left of the store, and the smell hits you first. Like cooked meat - charred, greasy, heavy.

You press your hand to your mouth to stifle a scream.

You found Emilio. He’s pinned beneath part of the collapsed roof. You look away quickly, but not before you catch a glimpse of blackened flesh, of bone, blood, and pink frothy tissue.

Acid rises in your throat, and you stumble to your knees, stomach clenching painfully into your ribs as you vomit onto the street. It goes on and on, over and over for an eternity, tears and snot and bile and ash leaking mingled down your face until there is nothing left in you to expel.

The encroaching wail of a siren draws you to your senses. You glance up, suddenly painfully aware of your situation. The ceiling is arching above you, just to your right, and it’s creaking ominously. The fires are still burning, and your shirt is clinging painfully hot against your back. You stagger to your feet once again, dizzy, almost drunkenly. A small crowd has gathered, pointing and gawking, calling out to you in Spanish that you are far, far too overwhelmed to translate.

Gasping, you raise your hands and side-step away, careful of the debris that litters the street around you.

A firetruck arrives on the scene, squalling to a stop between you and the onlookers, and you leap at the opportunity, ducking down the nearest alleyway before anybody can follow.

♠

You aren’t sure how much time you waste in the alleyways of Bogotá.

Seconds?

Minutes?

The time after the explosion is all a blur, and you run until you literally can’t anymore, until you’re doubled over and wheezing, coughing, hacking, panting.

Some primal survival instinct clicks in your brain then, and suddenly, your mind is clear. You glance around, swiping at your cheeks and brushing the ash from your shirt.

Now what?

You take a shaking breath and think.

Okay, first order of business, you’re absolutely disgusting. You need a shower before you can even think about doing anything productive.

Your bathroom just went up in flames, along with all of your clothes. Your heart clenches as you think of Ana - she’s at university, so that’s out. The embassy has a nice bathroom, but no showers that you’re aware of.

There’s only one place you know to go, and that’s Javi’s apartment.

You glance up at the sky. The sun is still pretty low - it can’t have been more than an hour since you’d left work, and that was around seven am. Javi obviously isn’t home, and you don’t have a key, but if you hurry, there’s still a chance that you could catch Murphy before he leaves his flat.

It’s a long shot, but you decide there’s nothing to lose for trying.

[deniigi]

So @petrichordiam and I are menaces and giggled over our ideal dinluke flower shop AU for like 4 hrs and then I wrote this.

Title: murderer next door

Summary: Din works as a florist and Luke works as a bookseller and they’re both assassins trying to keep the other off their turf.

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

Two times now, Luke had crashed past that flower shop, and two times now, the fucker inside had taken out his mark. Now all Luke had to say about the whole thing was that it was too bad that he was going to have to kill the guy.

Han told him not to turn back. The mark was dead; the mark was gone. They weren’t fast enough this time, but there would be others.

Luke just couldn’t let it go, though. He had rent to pay, and McFloristApron over there was smashing through all his targets and making that nigh impossible—regardless of how many marks there were in the area.

Luke waited until Han had closed up shop for the night and remained there in the dark with his arm slung over the back of the chair in the backroom, surrounded by books. He rolled his shot of whiskey in its tumbler. The sound against the old wood table offered no comfort.

He stood up and left the glass to get his laptop.

He wasn’t losing to some florist, Han, sorry. Only one family could take innocuous cover on this street, and it was them.

 ---

McFlorist’s name wasn’t listed on the florist’s staff page, but then again, none of the people on that page had names. In fact, the website’s whole vibe was all wedding-chic until you clicked on the ‘staff and contacts’ tab. Then, it may as well have been a line of mugshots.

Luke squinted along the row of increasingly involved headgear until he got to someone with a reasonably-sized neck with no tats. The ladies on either side of him appeared to have sapped all the ink out of McFloristApron. He wore a mask over the lower half of his face and gave a stoic thumbs up to the camera.

Under his picture was the number fifteen.

Damn.

Luke was only making eight per pop. Who the hell was this guy eating up all the feeder fish, huh? Them lower division folks had to eat too, you know.

Well.

‘Lower division’ in a sense of the word. Being two times undercover wasn’t super glamorous, Luke had to say. But when your dad fucked it up for the first family, sometimes you had to take what you could get.

Luke pointed at Fifteen on the screen.

“You and me, pal,” he said. “You and me.”

 --

 Step one was to get paid first.

Luke chased down three marks on the other side of town to pay the rent and the medical bills for now. His hand’s new sleeve felt like a dream. It didn’t overheat like the nylon black one did, and the hand was far less shiny now as a bonus. That had certainly reduced the number of people catching something move out of the corner of their eye.

Was it worth fifty grand?

No.

Was it worth the last nine that Luke had left to pay on it?

Yeah. It was definitely worth the nine.

 ------

 Step two was to go make it clear to Fifteen McFlorist that he and his folks needed to back down in the face of the established guard.

Luke put on his biggest sweater and the thickest glasses he could find. He stole Chewie’s messenger bag with all the pins on it. He slung it over his shoulder and rolled the hems of his jeans up just a smidge too much, then scurried over to the florist’s across the way.

Fifteen was off to the side of the register, fucking around with something in the refrigerator. Luke busily and noisily looked through the wall of foliage on the side of the shop nearest the window. He hummed. He hawed. He made anxious nerd-sounds until a voice asked, “Hi, can I help you?”

Luke glanced out of the corner of his eye and found that Fifteen was standing facing his way now. His mask was gray this time. His apron was orange. His boots were too heavy-looking for florist work.

“I’d love that,” Luke gushed breathlessly. “See, my mom just got engaged and I’m on the way to her house.”

Fifteen lifted his chin slightly.

“What’re her favorites?” he asked tonelessly.

Terrible customer service skills, dude.

“Roses,” Luke said.

“Ours are shit today,” Fifteen said. “How about dahlias?”

Luke didn’t know what those were but sure.

“That sounds great,” he said. “You have any in pink?”

 --------

 He watched Fifteen brutalize some pink, orange, and white flowers into a bouquet wrapped with a silver bow and was sure to smile every time the guy looked up.

“That’ll be $37.59.”

Sir, these are dead flowers. There is no need for that price.

“Can I put it on card?” Luke asked. “How long have you worked here, if you don’t mind me asking? I work just across the way is all.”

Fifteen’s dark gaze flicked up. His hair was covered by a gray beanie two shades darker than the mask.

“At the club?” he asked.

“The bookshop,” Luke corrected him with a shy, but widening smile.

Please be gay. Please be gay. Please be gay. Leia wasn’t going to want to cooperate. She thought it was beneath her to establish boundaries like this.

“Blue paint,” Fifteen said. “Yeah, that place. How long have you been there?”

“My brother-in-law’s place, actually,” Luke said. “I started there last year after I finished college.”

Or, you know, maybe even eight years ago when he’d finished college. No one had to know. Baby faces don’t kiss and tell after all.

“Huh. You must like it there,” Fifteen said.

“It’s fine,” Luke hummed. “You like it here?”

“The kid does.”

“Oh, you’re a father?” Luke asked. “How old?”

“He’s three,” Fifteen said. “Godson. His folks were in an accident; didn’t make it.”

“That’s terrible, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Luke said. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Fifteen handed him his card back. Luke’s hand didn’t close in time to catch it and it fell onto to the wooden counter.

“Sorry about that,” Luke said, reaching for it with the other hand. His knuckles bumped into Fifteen’s when he went for the card at the same time. They both paused and went for the card again with the same result. Luke laughed.

“Slippery, am I right?” he asked, flattening his fingers on top of the piece of plastic and snatching it away.

“Very,” Fifteen said. “I hope your mom likes them.”

“Me too,” Luke smiled. “I’ll see you around—What was your name?”

“You can call me Armando,” Fifteen said.

“Armando,” Luke sounded out. “It suits you.”

It was a falsie.

“And yours?”

“James.”

“It suits you.”

It didn’t.

“Bye now,” Luke said. “Thanks for your help.”

He let the door fall closed behind him with the tinkle of the bell.

 --------

 He informed Han that “Armando” had a toddler and received only a warning look and a scolding for all his effort. Han told him not to get jealous. If there was a kid in the balance, then Fifteen, for better or worse, was going to have to see each day after the next until there was no longer a kid in the balance.

Luke offered to call CPS and report “Armando” as an assassin.

“You do that and those folks across the street are gonna call the VA and tell them I’m an assassin,” Han said. “Lay low, Luke. Lay low.”

Never.

“Christ. At least until that thing’s yours then.”

Luke glared at his right hand.

“Gimme a double,” he told Han without looking away from it.

 ------------

 It was never easy to hunt in the daylight, but Luke wasn’t here to do easy things. He needed to get Mark No. 1 alone. The man took the train once a week to a gentleman’s club on his lunch break. Luke needed a change of clothes.

He had a rainbow windbreaker, white boots, and fishnets all ready to go.

He got on the same train as the mark and dropped his phone nearby. It clattered loudly and the case came off. Luke swore and squatted to drop it at the same time that two girls next to him decided to become good Samaritans. They crouched with him and one of them caught the phone first. They handed it back with a smile.

“I like your jacket,” she said.

Luke let his face struggle to find a smile at her kindness to him, a sweet little twink trying to find the pride parade that happened two weeks ago.

“Thanks,” he said. “I like your bracelet.”

He stood up. The girls were pleased with themselves. Luke glanced back to find Mark No. 1 turn his head abruptly away.

Come here, Markie.

Do you like what you see?

  Mark No. 1 didn’t make it out of his hotel room. A pity. Luke took the elevator down and huffed and puffed about a cheap date when he passed the front desk. He stopped abruptly and went back to ask the receptionist what the cross street was. She judged his go-go boots.

He told her she wasn’t his type. Her manager gave him the cross street.

Mark No. 2 had different parameters.

 ----------

 Mark No. 2’s parameters involved chasing him through a maze of boiler rooms and dumpsters. He was chump change towards a hand that Luke hadn’t wanted in the first place, but alas. The anger still roared.

Luke cornered him, still in go-go boots—no need to sacrifice style for speed—and watched those pale eyes look every which way as Mark No. 2 realized that there was no getting out of this.

“You got options, friend,” Luke said. “I can bring you in hot or I can bring you in—”

“—cold.”

His head snapped up and he lurched out of the way just as the crack of a bullet exploded in the alley. A car backfired around the corner in a sympathetic cough. Luke stared at the body then twisted around just in time for a thick glove to latch onto the back of his neck.

“Well, look who it is,” Fifteen drawled.

Luke glared out of the corner of his eye.

“Hands off, Armando,” he warned.

“I like your boots.”

“You’re gonna love ‘em when they’re on your dick,” Luke warned.

“Back off, Nayberry.”

Fucking hell, Han. This is why they should have set up boundaries weeks ago.

“I prefer ‘James,’” Luke said sweetly.

The glock levelled at his face didn’t care.

“You took my mark,” Fifteen said.

“Aw, poor baby,” Luke pouted. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you took mine.”

Fifteen’s orange apron was gone. He’d swapped it for an old leather jacket—something he could more easily wipe clean. He should’ve gone for patent leather. The brown really wasn’t working with his grey mask-beanie situation.

“Stay in your lane,” Fifteen warned.

“Only if you stay in yours,” Luke beamed.

Fifteen huffed.

“Bookstore,” he scoffed. “Who’d you give the flowers to?”

Luke tsked.

“Myself, jackass,” he said.

“Do you even have a mom?”

“What the fuck business is that of yours? You even got a kid?”

Fifteen’s stare was deadly—the cooling body before them notwithstanding.

“Take one step near him and we won’t be talkin’ so friendly, yeah?”

Mm. Yeah.

“You owe me four grand,” Luke informed Fifteen as the glock went down and Fifteen left him to go take a pulse.

The man’s back stiffened.

“Four?” he asked. “You took this job for four?”

Luke rolled his eyes.

“I got bills, Armando,” he drawled.

“How do you keep that shed open? Have you sold even one book?”

Rude. Luke was a great sales associate. If he actually cared to put his mind to it, he’d be worthy of a promotion to manager.

He pulled the rising legs of his shorts down and adjusted the weapon in his windbreaker. He couldn’t leave the alley the way he’d gone into it. Someone might have seen. He was going to have to take a side street. Hmmm, which one? Choices, choices.

“I’ll give you a Dad’s discount. Gimme two grand, and you can have him,” Luke negotiated as he thought.

“Two.”

Hey, no need for that tone. This was a great deal.

“What’re you gonna do with two?” Fifteen asked, already knelling down to heft the body over his shoulder as proof for payment.

“Buy some more tights,” Luke deadpanned. “Two, final offer.”

Fifteen stood up all the way and gave him a weird look. A long look. His beanie was pulled down low, but Luke got the impression that he was frowning at him.

“Take the four,” he said out of nowhere. “I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

Luke recoiled a step at first, then recoiled another when the reality of the situation hit him full in the chest.

“Forget it,” he snapped.

He spun around and started to leave.

“Wh—hey. HEY. Where are you goin’?”

“I don’t need your fuckin’ pity,” Luke called ahead of him as he set to climbing the chainlink fence separating him from the adjacent dead-end alley.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” Luke said.

He jumped down. His left hand found his right wrist and squeezed as he walked.

 -------

 The phantom pains kept him up all night, and it was definitely that and not the humiliation that made him call in sick. Han told him to answer his therapist’s emails. Luke told him to go do something useful and hung up. He rolled onto his back on his bed and focused on letting his body relax, his jaw unclench, his joints go limp.

There was sunlight finally streaming through his apartment windows again. It had been months.

Spring was almost here. He just had to hold out a little longer.

 --------

 He came in to work the next day and found an envelope on his chair in the backroom. It was thick.

“McFlorist dropped it off,” he said between aggravated sounds at his spreadsheets.

“Is it tax season already?” Luke asked him as he tried to burn a whole in the center of the envelope with his mind.

“Sure fuckin’ is.”

He stepped forward and snatched up the envelope, then deposited it squarely in Han’s lap. He made an unattractive noise of confusion and alarm.

“For the taxes,” Luke called as he went out to grab his lanyard and name tag. “Gotta keep this place open for another six months at least.”

 ------------

 There were new books in. A new shipment to shelve. Two kids’ displays to set up. And Luke was actually good at this stuff, thanks; he started stacking.

He got peace until he nearly got to the end of the second display, and then what he had was a heart attack. Two liquid brown eyes surrounded by an ocean of ringlets stared up at him from between his knees. The child curled a hand in and out in hello.

Luke jerked himself up to locate the thing’s parents immediately, and promptly found himself in deadly eye-contact with Fifteen.

Armando.

“You were gone yesterday,” Fifteen said flatly.

Luke looked between him and the kid. He was pinned between two enemy parties. How to escape, how to escape.

“Are you sick?”

How to escape. How to escape. How to escape.

“Are you hurt?”

H—what?

“I’m fine, stalker,” Luke snapped with more heat than this present cover allowed. He caught himself and pulled it back. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “Thank you for asking. Is this…?”

Fifteen blinked once. The child blinked once as well. It was creepy.

“He’s mine,” Fifteen said. “And apparently the only thing that will get us through the next two hours is a book.”

Dude.

“Kids are kids,” Fifteen said. “You got any books?”

Luke stared at him, then checked the shelves to make sure he hadn’t teleported into another dimension.

You always had to check.

“We’re in a bookstore,” he said.

“He can’t read,” Fifteen said, pointing.

The kid grinned. His teeth were gapped in that toddler sort of way. He was kind of cute.

“You can’t read?” Luke asked him.

“Hi,” Baby said.

Oh no.

Luke loved him.

“How much?” he asked Fifteen.

“Touch him and you’ll be permanently comatose,” Fifteen said.

“Not if I died out of spite,” Luke said.

There was a long pause. Then Fifteen started laughing? Kind of hard?

“Oh my god, that was so unprofessional. I am so sorry,” Luke blurted out.

Fifteen collected himself and shook his head. His little one giggled and reached for Luke’s fingers.

“Boo,” he said.

Luke couldn’t feel the hand, but he could feel all the heart.

“Book?” he asked, crouching down. “Do you want a story?”

“Mmmm.”

“I have the perfect one,” Luke told him. “It’s about a caterpillar. Do you know what a caterpillar is?”

He got a slow, exaggerated head shake back and forth, back and forth. He stood up straight.

“I’m conducting a temporary kidnapping,” he informed Fifteen. “Do I have consent?”

Fifteen looked from him towards the front entrance and mulled over the merits of leaving his kid with his rival assassin. Then he shrugged.

“Consent granted,” he said. “Luke.”

Luke’s heart stopped.

“James,” he said.

“Your name tag says ‘Luke.’”

Well, fuck.

“Luke Nayberry. It suits you.”

Hhhhhhh. This was karma, wasn’t it.

“Thanks,” he gritted out. “And yourself, Armando?”

“Din.”

Woah, look out. Mr. One-Syllable-Cool-Man had entered the building.

“Din, what?” Luke asked as his arm registered tension. Din’s kid had latched onto his fingers and started pulling incessantly with a chubby hand gesturing in the direction of the wall of children’s books.

“Don’t you worry about it,” Din said.

“Fine, go trip then,” Luke said.

He swore that there was a smile under that mask.

 ----------

[bookwormsid1015]

Operation: Baby Talk [1/3]

Hizashi pounds his fist against the mahogany door rapidly while Shouta and Oboro stand behind him, Shouta with his standard bored expression and Oboro with shifting, anxious feet. Beside them, a small white cloud floats drowsily with a small grocery bag full of chili bean soup and medicine inside it. 

Unlike the three boys, Nemuri is already living alone in a small apartment complex a few streets away from UA High School, working two jobs to keep up with rent and her own chaotic interests. Although her independence gives them a great place to hang out to play video games on weekends, it also draws most of her attention away from them most of the week. Despite this, Nemuri has always been a punctual, upstanding student who turns in her homework on time and always makes room for friends. Nothing has ever stopped her before, and it still amazes Oboro to see her act like such an… adult. 

Bottom line: Nemuri is a busy bee and it’s not uncommon to not see her for days on end. What is uncommon, however, is discovering she hasn’t been at school or internship for the past three days and apparently called off work for the next two weeks.

This knowledge has been bothering Oboro nonstop. Is she okay? Did she get hurt while on patrol with His Purple Highness? Did she get sick? Is she all alone? Her parents live in Saitama Prefecture, a whole three hours away from Musutafu. If she is sick, knowing Nemuri and her stupid habit of hoarding her burdens to herself, she didn’t tell them or anyone else. Oboro knows for a fact she didn’t tell him, Shouta or Hizashi; the only reason they know of her strange absence was through Iida Tensei, who Oboro shares his math class with. 

“Oh, she called His Purple Highness and told him something came up and that she wouldn’t be coming in for a while,” Iida had told him casually. “Why? She didn’t tell you?”

It pissed Shouta and Hizashi off that Nemuri wouldn’t let them-- her best friends-- know about her getting sick, but it just worried Oboro. It took a lot of convincing, but he managed to drag them with him to the local grocery store, grab Nemuri her favorite soup and some medicine, and come all the way over here. Shouta and Hizashi kept on glancing at Oboro strangely and whispering to each other, but Oboro doesn’t understand why they would act so weird about it. He’s Nemuri’s friend! Friends are supposed to look out for each other, right?

“Nemuriiii!” Hizashi shouts through the door between rapid knocking. “I know you’re in there, I can smell hoe for miles! Open up the mcfuckin’ dooooorrr!”

Shouta lifts an unamused eyebrow at Hizashi. “Dude, what the fuck?” he deadpans, and Hizashi glares at the ravenette from over his shoulder. 

“We’re friends! I’m allowed to call her a hoe.” Hizashi turns back to the door. “Nemuri! Open the DOOR!” He emphasizes “door” with a high pitched shriek, and Oboro shoves his palm into his face to stifle his snorts.

“You guys are both assholes,” Shouta grumbles, though it’s obvious he’s smiling.

The door swings open in a quick arc that slams into Hizashi’s forehead with a comical bonk. Nemuri is standing in the doorway, clad in her pajamas with baggy pink sweatpants and a white tank top with spaghetti straps. Her red glasses sit on the bridge of her nose, her deep indigo hair tied up into a short messy bun atop her head, and her tired blue eyes glare at the boys with exhausted irritation. Seeing Nemuri without her usual playful smile is surprising in and of itself, but Oboro’s sky blue eyes widen at what she’s holding against her chest with one arm. 

A small baby dressed in a cute little sailor suit is leaning into her chest, snoozing quietly with one thumb in his mouth. He looks like the splitting image of Nemuri, with a matching mole under his right eye and pale skin. The only thing that differs from her is the baby’s hairstyle, which is short and curly. 

Nemuri releases the door knob and readjusts her grip on the baby, still glaring at the boys. “What the fuck, guys? You couldn’t even call in advance?” she hisses at them. 

Shouta and Hizashi stare between Nemuri and the baby, speechless, while Oboro’s brain turns like slow moving gears. After a solid three seconds, he suddenly utters a horrified gasp that attracts the eyes of all three friends. “Nemuri! You were pregnant?!” he shrieks.

The accusation breaks the shocked spell in an instant, and suddenly Hizashi is lying flat on his ass, howling with laughter. Even Shouta ducks his face away, trying to stifle his giggles; Nemuri narrows her eyes at Oboro pointedly.

“Oh yeah, I got pregnant and gave birth in three days. Of course I wasn’t pregnant, dipshit.” Nemuri readjusts her grip on the baby again, holding him up a little higher. “This is my older sister’s kid. Say hello to baby Haito, everyone.”

Not knowing what else to do, everyone waves at the little baby, and the baby lifts his head drowsily. When he opens his eyes, Oboro is surprised to find the baby’s eyes are a light blue that matches the hue of the sky above, with faint freckles dusting over his cheeks. Upon seeing the newcomers, the baby fusses anxiously and buries his face in Nemuri’s bust. 

Nemuri’s attitude changes in an instant, from tired and angry to worried and tender. She lifts one hand to gently pat the baby’s back and she rocks him from side to side. “Shh, shh, shh. It’s okay Haito-baby. It’s okay. Auntie Nemi’s here. You’re safe with me,” she coos into his hair, and the baby’s whines quiet down. Her voice is so soft and gentle it warms Oboro’s heart just by hearing it, and he can tell Hizashi and Shouta are just as shocked by her motherly tone.

After the baby quiets down, Nemuri lifts her head to peer at her friends, suddenly tired all over again. “Sorry for being a bitch, guys. My sister and her boyfriend had to go abroad for some job interview in South Korea, and since my parents think her boyfriend is a deadbeat, they want nothing to do with him or the baby. So she gave Haito to me,” Nemuri explains, punctuating her words with a tired sigh. “I’ve had, like, no sleep for the past three days. Damn… and my rent’s due next Thursday…”

Shouta and Hizashi look between themselves, unsure of how to react. Only Oboro is willing to meet Nemuri’s eyes, and worry pangs to life in his chest at the dark bags under her eyes. “When will they be back?” he asks her.

“Hm? In about two weeks, I think,” she says, and Oboro can almost feel her invisible walls rising, guarding her from their worry. “Don’t worry, guys. I’m fine. I’ve pulled all-nighters before, this is nothing.”

“You weren’t taking care of someone’s kid, though,” Oboro gently protests. “Have you been eating anything? Anything at all?”

Nemuri pries her eyes away from his concerned stare. “I had a protein shake yesterday,” she replies stiffly.

Oboro’s brows lower into a frown. “For breakfast or dinner?” he presses.

Nemuri sighs. “Breakfast…” she mutters in response, then quickly shakes her head as a wobbly smile forces its way onto her lips. “It’s nothing. I mean it. You guys don’t have to worry about me.”

Oboro is already shaking his head. “That’s bullshit,” he tells her, and when he sees her shoulders haunching defensively, he quickly adds, “I know you can take care of yourself, but as your friend, I still worry about you. I mean, look at you! You look like you could pass out any second now!”

“I’m fine,” she replies, her tone harder this time.

Oboro stares at her incredulously. Why can’t she just let them help for once? She has it in her mind that she has to be the strong one, the responsible one. Why can’t she see that she’s a kid just like the rest of them? It frustrates him to no end, yet in the depths of his exasperation, an epiphany comes to mind.

“Why don’t I help you take care of him?” he offers, and his friends’ eyes fall on him in surprise. 

“You? Help me? Take care of… a baby?” Nemuri echoes, her words slow and meticulous as if she were taking her time tasting a treat, figuring out whether she liked it or not. She glances down at the baby in her arms, then to the small cloud floating beside the taller boy, eyeing the small grocery bag full of medicine in particular. Oboro has never seen her look so… anxious before.

Assuming she’s just not used to being offered help, Oboro goes on cheerfully, “Yeah! I have a little brother, remember? I’m a pro at babysitting!” Something about his words is bothering him, the reason flapping seamlessly in the back of his mind, though Oboro can’t pin down why. He just smiles joyfully at her, hoping his smile is convincing enough.

Finally, Nemuri sighs. “Come around six tonight,” she tells him, her tone strange. “Haito usually gets fussy around dinner time.”

Oboro flashes her a thumbs up. “Bet!” he cheers.

Nemuri smiles at him, and Oboro’s heart gives an unexpected beat; somehow it feels different from her usual broad, gleaming smiles. He doesn’t have enough time to decipher it before Nemuri quickly bids them goodbye and closes the door, disappearing back into her apartment. 

A long beat of silence passes between them, and Oboro doesn’t dare move his eyes away from the front door. He can feel the hot stares of Shouta and Hizashi on his back, pinning him in place like a butterfly on a bulletin board.

“Holy fucking shit. Did you just…?” Suddenly, Hizashi’s face splits apart into a bright smile, and he latches his arms around Oboro’s to shake rapidly. “Dude, I can’t believe you did that! You’re so smooth!”

Oboro blinks at him owlishly, still not comprehending what just happened. The flapping in the back of his mind is deafening, now. “Eh? What’d I do?” he asks.

Hizashi laughs loudly. “Don’t play coy with me, bro! You totally went, ‘fear not, my love. Even if this child is not mine, I shall support both you and the baby!’ That was so domestic it made me blush!” he squeals.

The puzzle pieces finally fit together in his brain, and a blush hits him with the speed of an oncoming train. Suddenly, he remembers the faint blush on her cheeks, and the tender pull of her smile. Although Nemuri is the type of person to extend a helping hand out to anyone in need, she rarely accepts help from anyone else. In spite of that, she’s letting him help her with taking care of her sister’s baby? 

Oboro has no idea what expression is on his face right now.

“Oboro.” Shouta’s stern voice reaches his ears, grounding him before his brain could float into the sky like a balloon. He slowly turns to face the ravenette, and finds Shouta watching him with dark, serious eyes. “Do you have any idea what you just did?” he asks, his tone flat.

Oboro blinks slowly, his brain slow and muddled yet filled with thoughts moving at the speed of light. “I… said I’d help wit’ da baby…” he murmurs dumbly, the words feeling alien on his tongue. Shouta sighs.

The trio finally gather their wits and begin walking away from Nemuri’s doorstep. Oboro is suddenly thankful her apartment is on the first floor; he doesn’t think he has the motor skills to walk down stairs right now. “I know you said you have a little brother, but it’s been seven years since you had to change a diaper. Do you think you can handle this?” Shouta asks the taller boy, and Oboro wrings his hands together tightly. 

“I mean, yeah, why not?” he replies, more so to convince himself. “Between me and Nemuri, how hard can it be?”

[robinsdearest]

Ketchup Packets

Tim Drake x Reader

Peanut Butter and Oreos (Part 1) They’ll be okay (Part 2) Bobby pin (Part 3) Ketchup Packets (Part 4)

Tim threw another piece of notebook paper into the trash. It hit the other balls of wadded up notes and bounced away. How long has he been hunched over his desk? Tim glanced up to look at the clock. A couple days, maybe. A couple hours since the last cup of coffee, definitely. He groaned and slid a hand across his face. Stubble scratched his fingertips.

Jason’s voice almost scared him. Almost. “Timmy, my dude, you have to stop working.” He kept scribbling as Jason walked over to lean against the wall adjacent to the crumbling despair that was Tim. Jason poked his face. “I didn’t even know you could grow facial hair.” Tim slapped his brother’s hand away and continued to write his notes down. 

It had been three months since your plane went down. Three months since your parents had died. Three months since you slipped through Tim’s fingers. He dove into work to try and figure out what happened the morning of your plane crash. He hasn’t stopped working to find you in three whole months.

Parts of your plane sat scattered around the BatCave. Background checks for everyone at the airport that day, the days before and after laid loosely on the ground by Jason’s feet. Everything and everyone was clean. The owner of the plane your group borrowed publicly stated there was a fuse shortage in the engine causing it to explode, and subsequently, sent your plane barreling down into the ocean. News reporters claimed everyone from that flight deceased- the five supposed survivors not even missing anymore, all reported to be lost at sea. But Tim knew better- he knew you were alive. He knew it, had this gut feeling. Bruce always told him to trust his gut. Or did Superman say that? No, it was definitely the main bat. Or was it Diana…

Jason whacked the back of Tim’s head. Tim finally looked up at the Red Hood, scowling. Jason had to bite back a laugh: he knew how much pain Tim was still experiencing. Hell, he was dead for a while and no one bothered to search for him like Tim was doing for Y/N. “Come on man, let’s go get some grub. You look like you haven’t eaten in weeks.”

“Only a day.” Tim corrected. Another whack to the back of the head.

With the drive from the mansion into Gotham City and eventually to some burger joint, Tim couldn’t believe he was wasting time when he should be out searching for you. Even after three whole months of investigating, Tim was still coming up short. Every lead finished with a dead end. Every tangent lead to a backwash story that was publicized to explain the crash. Tim stared down at his tray of fries as Jason flirted with the cashier. Tim sorted through the files of his brain as he continued to work each angle of the investigation. Everything fit together but nothing made sense. Jason flung packets onto the table stirring Tim out of his trance. Jason was flaunting how he got a phone number from the cashier and waved around the receipt where it was written. Tim stared down at the packets on the table. Ten- what an odd number to grab. Tim counted five mustard packets and five ketchup packets. Tim reached for a ketchup packet, grimacing when he picked up the one that was busted open leaking on to the table. Of course he would grab the one that…

Tim immediately shot up and grabbed Jason by the collar. Jason choked on his bite of food as he dropped the rest of his burger. “Oi, dunce face, what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jason fumbled into the passenger seat of the car as Tim shoved him forward, sprinted around to the driver side, and then started the car. Tim started rambling. Jason had a hard time keeping up.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” “Think of what? How you ruined my burger?” “Of course I wouldn’t have looked into the victims.” “Me. I’m a victim, you burger murderer.” “All of those doctors, all seemingly connected in one way or another.” “Doctors?” “Doctors, Jason! God, I’m an idiot. The one that wasn’t connect has got to be the leak. The leak that doesn’t fit but allows everything to make sense.” “Alright, I’m calling Alfred. Timmy, we need to get you checked out.”

Tim slammed on the breaks at the red light. The two brothers stared at each other, neither one moving. The light turned green, but Tim didn’t accelerate.

“Jason I’m talking about Y/N.” Jason’s face turned into a serious frown, and Tim continued. “I never looked into the doctors that were supposed to go on the mission trip. How could they be considered suspects when we see them as victims?” Tim held up the leaking ketchup packet. “One of them is the leak, the cause of the problem.”  Jason’s lips turned into a snarky grin. He nodded his head towards the direction of the mansion, and Tim turned his eyes back to the road.

He finally figured it out. He was going to find you. His brain went into overdrive back at the cave. Jason called Damien and Dick down to help sort things out as Tim furiously worked into the rest of the night. The other boys made calls and printed papers as Tim searched through all ten people on your flight. 

Tim had to narrow down who he couldn’t verify. Nine doctors and one medical school student. Seven doctors, excluding both your parents. Five, excluding the other doctors he knew personally. Four, excluding the doctor Bruce dated a while back- the Russian one, he thinks as he scans over her name. Three left. Damien drops a stack of files next to Tim. The youngest brother briefly puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder before quickly withdrawing and returning to Dick’s side. A quick scan of the discarded stack reveals two of the last three doctors had confirmed deaths, dental records verifying their respective bodies at the site of the plane crash. One left.

Tim stopped typing. Bruce walked down the stairs and stood next to the oversized computer; the main bat was dressed in the suit, cowl pulled off, ready to go on patrol. He glanced around the room to his birdies, and lastly his eyes fell on Tim. Red Robin stared at the screen as the last doctor stared back at him. Tim found his ketchup packet.

Shawn Ramirez. A plastic surgeon from Metropolis- invited to the mission by Mr. Y/L/N. Ramirez was born in Washington and had only lived in the big city for four years: most recent addresses put him in Texas, and before that California. Before California, he moved internationally to practice medicine in Africa. More specifically, Ethiopia. Where the mission was planned to go. Where Y/N was supposed to be. 

Ramirez had worked for the Ethiopian military; a surgeon who traveled the continent looking to heal. At some point in time, Ramirez had visited Europe with the military. No less than a week later, Ramirez was back in the states working as a plastic surgeon. What happened in Europe?

Dick handed Bruce a stack of files. Looking through them, Bruce’s frown turned ever so slightly down. Bruce then handed the files to Tim, who spared a quick glance at Batman before turning his attention down to the file. Flipping through the papers, Tim froze at the known associate. Part of the League of Assassins known to the world only as Abadi- an elitist who weaseled through militaries and governments for fame and fortune in the name of Ra’s al Ghul. Abadi was a known villain amongst the bat and birds as Bruce is the one that nearly took the man’s eye out, leaving a gashing scar from eyebrow to chin, forcing the villain to wear an eye-patch. Abadi’s last known location was a small island off of Cape Verde, just a couple hundred miles from the plane’s crash landing.

Tim turned the chair around to see the rest of the family dressed in their suits: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Cass, Damien, and even Alfred. Alfred held out Tim’s Red Robin costume. “Master Tim.” Alfred was the first one to speak in hours since Tim and Jason returned home from the burger shop. “Please bring them home.” Tim reached for the suit, but was met by Alfred’s hand. The butler squeezed his fingers, and Tim simply nodded in understanding. The group hustled to the Bat Plane; inside, Batman ordered the birds for flight paths, site takeover analysis, and rescue plan. Tim sat at the back of the plane while the others worked. Tim was going to go save you, he was finally going to be able to tell you. And then, like a light switch, everything turned bright.

[dreadpoetssociety]

I Just Want My Brother

TW: Kidnapping, Abuse, Death, Drugs, Mentions of blood. 

Prompt: hi! i loved ur reid x sis!reader!! i was wondering if u could do one with reid x teen sis!reader and maybe she was a witness to something or got kidnapped and survived or something so they have to give her a cognitive interview and she refuses to do it unless spence is there or the one asking her the questions

Note: I really liked this request. I feel like I may have gotten off topic a littttttttle bit, but I tried my best! Also, sorry for any grammatical mistakes! 

()()()()()()

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 3589

You were never really one to defy your elder brother’s rules, given how lenient he was with you, but it was supposed to just be one fun night out with your friends. The night scene that your friends adored was never really your cup of tea due to the horror stories Spencer would come home with. Girls getting kidnapped going on a run, girls being drugged and killed at a party, girls just going missing off the streets never to be found until it was too late, things like that. After a while, he slowly stopped giving you the gory details when he’d noticed the actual effect it had on your own life, whether or not you chose to acknowledge that when begging him to tell you more, but not knowing what was out there did scare you. Especially after stealing one of Spence’s files and looking at the photos that it held.

But, you were feeling daring on this particular night. Your friends finally convinced you to sneak out of the house. Spencer wouldn’t be back from his current job until morning, and even if you did get caught, you were generally a good kid. You bent the rules from time to time, but most high-schoolers you knew were sneaking out regularly, skipping class, doing hard drugs and even getting arrested from time to time. How bad could you be? At least, that was the reasoning your friends put into your head.

So, you thought hey, if you ever have kids, mind as well at least have one cool story to tell them. You didn’t even bother to go through the apartment window, you just walked out the door and met your friends out on the street. It was nearly midnight, but the night had just begun. 

It was hours of going to this person’s house and that person’s apartment, stopping by a random party and making noise in the streets, until finally, your friends made it to a bar. 

“You know,” you laughed a little anxiously, “maybe we shouldn’t. I mean I don’t even have a way of getting in there.”

“Y/N, chill. I know your brother freaks you into obeying the rules, but those things he sees have like a .0001% of actually happening. Like what are the chances really?” your friend, Elliot, smiled at you. 

“Actually, about one out of 300,000 people get kidnapped, which doesn’t seem like a lot, but the actual percentage is-“

“Y/N, we’re fine! Kids do this all the time. Plus, I already paid that Barry kid to make you a fake. Consider it an early birthday gift.” your other friend, Sheila, pulled out her purse and passed you the piece of plastic. Although incredibly concerned, you were impressed by how realistic it was. You sighed. 

“Fine, you’re right.” you laughed, “But there’s no way I’m convincing that bouncer that I’m 21.”

“Confidence is key. Just stroll past him like you know what you’re doing. If you look nervous they’ll know. I swear, Y/N, those dudes can smell fear.” Elliot laughed. The three of you made your way to said club entrance, and although the bouncer did seem suspicious of you, he just let you in anyway. 

The club was loud, there was a band on stage and lasers going throughout the room. Alice and Elliot didn’t hesitate to drag you to the bar first. You’d drank a little before, but you’d never gotten buzzed, let alone completely drunk. It wasn’t really your style, and thankfully, Elliot and Alice respected that. They pressured you to do a lot of things, but not anything like drugs or alcohol. They merely pushed you out of your comfort zone sometimes, and irregardless of whether or not the adults around you thought they were a good influence didn’t matter to you. 

“We’re going to go dance, but we’ll be nearby if you don’t want to join us! Just make sure not to go too far alone, Y/N” Alice stated, knowing you would absolutely not agree to dance with them. You smiled and nodded and the two went off to do their thing within your sight. 

“What can I get you, young lady?” the man at the bar caught you off guard. 

“Oh, uh, maybe just a glass of water?”

“Ah, designated driver I presume?” he laughed.

“Yeah, something like that.” you replied, “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on those two.” you nudged your head towards your two friends who were living it up with some other people in the crowd who you think might’ve been your age, too. You were sort of surprised at how easy it was to get into this club, considering so many of your peers get thrown out of it or get caught. 

The man passed you the water and walked off almost a bit angrily. Understandably, though, because water is free.  You made a note to leave the man a tip later anyway. It was the least you could do. You played with the straw, took a few sips, and watched as your friends danced the night away. 

After a while, though, you began to feel off. Dizzy even, and you couldn’t think clearly. It was a hot summer night in a hot crowded club, the one cup of water you drank all day was right in front of you, so you figured it was the heat. You decided to take a quick trip outside to try and catch some air.

It was when you left the club that it really hit you. The world was turning, and you were barely able to stay awake. 

The club was located in an area that wasn’t super lit other than the one club sign. The bouncers must’ve been in the midst of switching shifts because there wasn’t one outside. 

“Hey young lady, you okay?” a man’s voice was all you could make out of him. You could see him, but you couldn’t, and it didn’t make sense. Someone grabbed you and the world went dark.

()()()()()()

You woke up slowly. You didn’t recognize your surroundings, the walls were concrete and disgusting. The room reeked of something. 

You tried to stand, but something was holding you to the floor. Having looked down, you noticed sort chains attached to both wrists. Your heart sped up, but you didn’t scream.

How the hell. . . you thought. How did they get me here? 

The last thing you could really remember was the water. What was in the water? It was too slow to be ketamine, too fast to be rohypnol. You wondered. Oh my god, gamma hydroxybutyric acid. Or cherry meth. 

You heard someone make a noise and instantly forgot about the debate in your head. Being able to think more clearly, and your eyesight less blurred, you began to take in your surroundings. There were windows in two two of the walls without glass. Taking a look, you noticed three other women in you line of sight. One in the room with you, who was starting to wake up, and two through the left and right windows. Straight ahead was a doorway that showed a room with a table on in the middle.

It was then that you really began to understand what was happening. The exact thing you were afraid of this whole time. Your breath sped up, your heart was nearly coming out of your body, your blood ran cold. 

“Hey,” the girl was awake now, “I’m Charlotte.” you looked at her wide eyed. Here you two were, chained against a wall, she was bruised and bloodied up and down, and she decided that it was appropriate to introduce herself? 

“What’s happening?” you didn’t even think to reply back to her. She could be anyone. She could be the person who took you, acting as your friend. Your paranoid mind raced through multiple scenarios.

“Look, you’ll be fine as long as you listen.”

“Listen? Listen to what? To who? Who took us? What are they-“ 

“You need to calm down.” she whispered, “If they hear you they’ll come. They haven’t been so nice to the noisy ones.”

If anything anybody had never shut you up before, that certainly did. You could feel the fear in every nerve of your body. he other girls around you faced the floor. One was in a party dress, the other in a pan suit. Looking at them, the girls had nothing in common. One had dark hair, the other had her hair dyed a faded blue, and the last was blonde, each with a different eye color and skin tone. You tried your best to think like your brother, but you couldn’t. Unlike him, you weren’t a genius, you were just average.

You heard a door creek open and all the girls instantly looked up. Through the doorway of your room, you saw a masked man walk in. You could almost hear the other girls’ hearts pumping. You watched in terror as he began to step towards you. When he got into the room, though, he turned towards Charlotte, and began unchaining her.

“No, please!” she cried, “Please, I’m sorry.”

“Shut up.” 

Charlotte went quiet. He aggressively picked her up by her arm and dragged her to the table, of which he pinned her down onto and began to strap her in. It wasn’t long before he opened a cabinet out of your view, and pulled out various rusty tools.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you asked. You didn’t even think out what you were doing. What the hell do you think YOU’RE doing, Y/N? you thought to yourself. Unconsciously, you knew that you can’t profile this guy like Spencer could, you couldn’t talk your way out of this, but you could protect the girls around you. How? By pissing him off. 

“Don’t speak, woman.” he growled.

“What are you going to do about it? Kill me?” he slammed a knife-like tool straight down into the table a millimeter next to Charlotte’s abdomen, “What? Did I hurt your masculinity, big boy?” 

He unstrapped her quickly. You figured what was coming for you next, and it wasn’t long before you were on that table. The leather restraints were on way too tight, there were splinters in your back already from the poorly sanded wooden table, which you figured was on purpose. And all you could do was watch, and scream, as this man did whatever he wanted to you. hitting you, cutting you, seemingly testing out tools you’d never even seen before. The camera on the ceiling told you that he was recording this all to watch later.

And all you could do was scream out your brother’s name.

()()()()()()

You didn’t know how long you were there. Hours, days, weeks, you had no idea. Time didn’t exist down there. Ever since your first encounter with the man, you tried to deter him from the other women around you any time he came around. And fortunately for them but not for you, it worked.

All of the pain and screaming left you numb, but it wasn’t until you saw him get angrier with one of the other girls that you weren’t able to comprehend your situation anymore.

She hadn’t been doing well, the one in the party dress. The color in her skin was drained, making her paler, her eyes sunk. And you watched as the man pulled a knife from his pocket, and stuck it right through her heart. The screams from you and the girls flooded the room, and it was like the air in the building was being sucked out. 

You would never forget it.

()()()()()()

You were asleep when suddenly you heard the door open again and your body began to shake. But it wasn’t the man who came in.

“Reid! I got her!” the sound of Morgan’s voice echoed in your ears. Spencer burst into the room, and while Morgan Prentiss, JJ, and Rossi tended to the other three girls, Reid and Hotch came straight to you.

“Y/N? Oh my god, Y/N, you’re going to be okay. We’re going to get you out of here.” Spencer panicked as he tugged at the chains, “Come on!” 

“Y/N, do you know where the unsub went?” Hotch asked. You looked at him, you understood his words, but all you could manage to say was,

“Liquid cherry.” 

“Y/N?”

“No, cherry E.” you were so distorted, either from the pain, or from the shock.

“Y/N I don’t understand.” Hotch said.

“Liquid cherry?” Reid repeated, “Y/N, do you mean Liquid E?” you nodded.

“Cherry meth.” Hotch confirmed. You don’t even know why you brought it up. It wasn’t important, and although that’s what the man used on you, it wasn’t even relevant at this point.

The rest was a blur. Being free had a different meaning to it for you then. But yet, you were brought into an interrogation room after the ambulance had deemed that you didn’t have any truly hospitalizing injuries, just horrible bruises along with scars that would probably never fade away. You looked down at the table.

Emily Prentiss and JJ sat on the other end of the table. 

“Y/N, we know you’ve been through something traumatic, but that man is still out there. The other two girls aren’t conscious, and you’re the only one who knows what he looks like.” Prentiss explained, “You might not remember, but we if you’re able, we want to do a cognitive interview with you. It might help you remember details you didn’t know you picked up on.” 

“I don’t want to be here alone.” you whispered. JJ sighed sadly for you, “I don’t want to do it unless it’s Spencer.”

“I know, Y/N, but your brother is personally involved now. He can’t work on this case.” she said. In your heart you knew why, and you understood completely. But your mind just didn’t follow, and you shook your head. You looked up, and the color of the room and placement of the mirror seemed to eerily familiar, and the scene switched.

There you were, back on that concrete floor, screaming out for Spencer. All you wanted was for your brother to come save you. You saw the man walking towards you. You screamed louder as he got closer.

You felt someones hands on your shoulders and the scene had changed again. You were breathing heavily, the interrogation chair was on its back, and you were in the corner of the room. Emily and JJ were crouched with concerning eyes in front of you.

“Y/N? It’s us.” 

“I can’t do it.” you sobbed, “Not without him. I won’t.”

Emily and JJ looked at each other and nodded. Emily walked out of the room while JJ sat on the floor with you.

“You’re safe now.”

“He’s still out there he’s not going to stop.” you whispered, “I just want my brother. I just want Spencer.”

She held you tight.

“We won’t let anything happen to you. Spence won’t let anything happen to you.” she reassured. 

It wasn’t long after that Spencer finally entered the room and signaled that it was okay for JJ to leave.

“Y/N,” his voice was soft, and you instantly felt safer in the presence of your brother, “are you sure you can do this?” you nodded in response. As much as it terrified you, you didn’t want that monster hurting any other girls. He was still out there somewhere. Spence helped you up and fixed your chair. You sat across from each other.

“Y/N, I need you to close your eyes.” he said. You did so, “Now think. What’s the weather like before you met the unsub? Was it cloudy, light, dark?”

“It was night. The sky was so clear.” you replied, imagining the time in your mind.

“You’re going out. Who are you with?” he asked.

“Alice and Elliot. Spencer, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have broken the rules.” you cried. Spencer hadn’t even considered the thought of you sneaking out until now, but had decided that it was a talk for another time, if he thought you’d ever be able to handle it.

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N. I’m just glad you’re safe.” he said. With your eyes closed, you couldn’t see the tears pricking your brother’s eyes. He’d seen many tragic things, done some of the most gruesome cognitive interviews, seen the most disgusting and vile actions done by the most heartless of monsters, but none of that beat this. His own sister. He’d watched the tapes that the man had recorded , and his heart sunk every time you screamed out his name, but his anger grew just as much, “Where did you guys go right before you met the unsub?”

“The club on 16th street.” you stated, seeing yourself and your friends right outside the doors, “Alice and Elliot convinced me to go in.”

“What are you doing in there?”

“Alice and Elliot went to dance. I don’t like dancing, so they stay near me while I sit at the bar?” you realized that you talked as if you were presently there.

“Who is around you? Anyone you recognize?” he asked.

“No, I’m alone with the bartender.”

“Is he talking to you?” Spencer questioned. It was then that you recognized something.

“What can I get you, YOUNG LADY?” the bartender’s voice echoed in your mind, and aligned with the man who asked if you were okay outside before you were taken. You realized that the size and stature of the man who had tortured you matched with the bartender. You gasped and opened your eyes quickly. You were visibly distraught, so Spencer grabbed your hand in a quick attempt to comfort you.

“Y/N, are you okay? If it’s too much we can-“

“The bartender, Spencer.” you huffed out, “He said something to me and spoke to me outside after I was drugged.”

“Do you know what he looks like? Or his name?” he asked. Your thoughts were so fragmented now that you couldn’t remember, and a few tears slipped down your face as shook your head, “Do you want to try to keep going? You don’t have to Y/N I don’t want to put you through this again.”

“No!” you yelled, “No, it’s okay. It’s important. I can do this as long as you’re here.” He smiled slightly at how much you trusted him, but it quickly faded.

“The bartender,” he started, “He’s talking with you, what’s he saying?”

“He asks me if I want a drink. Calls me ‘young lady.’” you replied, as you saw yourself seated at the bar. The man just looked like a blur to you, and you tried so hard to remember him.

“What’s around him?” Spencer asked. 

“Well drinks, obviously. Alcohol.” 

“What kind?”

“He’s got all kinds of fancy bottles. Jim Beam, Captain Morgan, Patron, Bacardi,” you paused, “The Smirnoff is the same color as his shirt. A red shirt as a bartender. He stands out in an odd way.”

“His shirt, is he wearing anything? A name tag?” 

“He has a lanyard. It’s got pins on it and a picture with his-“ you see his name in big black letters on the end of the lanyard, “Andrew Vaughn. The drug is started to hit me now Spencer I-“

“Hey,” his voice was soft as he quickly got up and hugged you, “you’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

“I’m so sorry!” you sobbed into his shirt, grabbing onto him. He put his head on yours.

“It’s not you’re fault Y/N. You’ve been through something traumatic, you can’t be sorry for it.” he said.

“If I hadn’t gone out like you told me, Spence! And those other girls. The one in the party dress! I watched her die! He just stabbed her and she bled out in agony, Spencer!” you nearly yelled. You almost couldn’t breathe, and your face was wet with the tears.

Spencer’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. Reid knew some what of what you were going through. He reminded himself of what it was like when Tobias Hankel, and tried to think of how he wanted people to treat him then when he was freed, and how long it took for him to be okay again. He never really was, and he was afraid that you would never be able to feel safe again, but understood why you wouldn’t. He just wanted to take care of you, and blamed himself for not being there.

Within the next few hours, Hotch had refused to let a very angry Spencer go with the team to the unsub’s house. The BAU, although, successfully brought your kidnapper into custody.

“You don’t have to worry now, Y/N” Morgan said to you, “We’re gonna make sure he never sees the light of day again. He’ll live the rest of his life behind those bars.” 

“Yeah.” was all you managed to say with the slightest smile as you walked through whatever precinct you were in. 

“Y/N, Garcia told me to tell you that if you ever need anything, she’s here. I think the same goes for the rest of us.” Rossi explained.

“Thanks. I owe you all everything.” you said.

“Let’s get you home.” Spencer put his hand on your shoulder, careful not to touch any of your injuries, and the two of you walked out together.

You would never be the same after that, but at least you had your brother by your side.

[beerecordings]

Okay, here is part three of the latest Marvin's Cage story. Find the whole story so far here Let me know if you enjoy! Thanks for reading. Tws for mentions of possible cannibalism, mentions of past torture, panic attacks, and imprionsment . Light through the side of his box. “Marvin, Marvin,” he mouths, soundless, tears in his eyes. “Brother, brother.” Marvin does not come. “Jameson,” the soft voice is calling. “JJ. We won't hurt you, I promise."

No. This is not right, not right! This has never happened! He clutches at his hair and bites down on the collar of his shirt, tears racing down his face. They need to go away! They're not supposed to be here! They're not supposed to know! Marvin will be so, so, so angry! He can't do it again, can't go back to being alone alone alone alone. His skin so untouched it hurts, so he scratches at it, at his lonely skin, his lonely bones. Marvin will not touch him hold him call him little brother. He can't go back. Makes his brain so numb and then so crazy. Can't can't can't. “Jamie, breathe, Jamie – ” “Give him space, dude! He's scared of us. Jameson... just... he's really just – ” “Marvin did this to him!” He flinches at the loudness of the voice, biting his collar til he feels thread tear. No, no, no. This is Marvin's worst nightmare. His brothers know about him, and they're angry at Marvin. Angry at Marvin who was just protecting all of them, who takes care of him and loves him. This can't be happening. They need to understand. How does he make them understand? How does he even try to explain when his heart is beating so hard it hurts all the way up to his throat and he can't stop crying? This is why you can never fight Anti off, sneer an old pair of hands in his head. You're the most pathetic little creature ever to walk across the earth. Of course Marvin locked us away. Him and Anti are both right. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he signs desperately. “Brother, brother, M! Please! I want M!” “It's been so fucking long since I took that BSL course. I'm the worst brother.” “Don't start, Jackie, shit. I don't think I ever bothered trying to learn for more than, like, two Youtube videos. Schneep would know. He learned it in about three days and he doesn't forget things.” “Brother – that was brother, I remember! Yeah, JJ, we're your brothers, dude. I mean, if you want us to be. Can you just – please, breathe.” No, they don't understand. These are not JJ's brothers. These are Marvin's brothers. It's a term of endearment more than anything technical: the relationship does not transfer. Marvin always made that very clear and JJ understands. Chase and Schneep and Jackie are not dangerous like he is. Chase and Schneep and Jackie do not have to live in cages, and they get to come find Marvin whenever they want, and they can have things like their own money and lots of friends. They can walk around the city at their leisure. See the sky. Have jobs. Walk around stores and talk to girls and make friends. They pick out their own food and books and toys. They're nice people who have never killed anyone or stabbed each other or made Marvin so upset that he burned their faces on accident and left them alone for days at a time. Schneep is even a doctor who saves lives, and Jackie is a real-life superhero, and Chase has babies who love him. Of course Marvin had to keep them safe from JJ. He's just grateful that Marvin never listened to him when he would beg to get out. Marvin even took care of him when he could have so easily left him to rot like he deserves. “JJ, JJ, please. You can trust us. Didn't you say you remembered me? Please, please, I'm begging you – come here.” Yes, of course he remembers Jackie – remembers the warm voice trying to calm him for hours, and the gloved hand in his own, and the presence watching over him as he drifted close to sleep, the safe and loving presence. How could he forget it? Some days, it is all he thinks about. But it's not something he can have. No, he won't come out. He won't risk making Marvin angry, and he certainly won't let Marvin's brothers get hurt because of him. He will stay here alone like he has to. He is a good boy like Anti told him, like Marvin told him. He is good and he is not hurting anyone ever again. He is staying right here. “Fine, I'll go to him,” comes a vehement voice, and then someone is pushing at the broken wood around his door. Jameson sucks in a wheezing scream and darts behind the curtain over his little bathroom, shoving himself between the wall and the toilet

and squeezing himself into as tight a ball as he can manage around his little stuffed dog, the first present Marvin ever brought him. Jackie can't come in here – neither of them can! Anti will kill them! “Jackie, he's freaking out, stop, stop!” There's a low howl of frustration, but no one comes any closer. His box falls quiet again with nothing but soft murmuring from Marvin's brothers as JJ sobs, biting at deep scars in his palms, the result of being possessed on repeat by a demon with a passionate love of any kind of blade. His hands raise the knife – no hilt. The blade goes down, goes into his palms, goes down, goes into his palms. Goes into her chest. He can hear her screaming. Can hear himself laughing. There's blood in his mouth that isn't his. His birds are already picking at her as she suffocates around the silver of the knife. The bugs are creeping onto her flesh and crawling up his shirt. No, no, no! If Marvin would come – if Marvin would quiet the memories like he always does – But Marvin does not come. Marvin does not come find him. Alone, alone, alone. “JJ, JJ,” they are calling to him, begging at him, but this is not something he can let himself have. He'd rather die right here. No, no, no, no. He is not going anywhere. Ever. His little stuffed dog is licking at his face. He closes his eyes and rubs its fur til the panic fades. His good dog, good boy. He drifts in his head. He's playing with his dog in the yard. Marvin is on the porch reading. The sun is warm. His dog licks his face. He is staying right here... everything is okay... there you go, JJ. There you go. There's a good little brother. You know how much I hate to see you cry. Cut it out, okay? I don't want to hear that anymore. Be good and I'll come back tomorrow. Be good and stay right here. Yeah, he's good. He's good. And when he's good, Marvin comes back again. Marvin will come back. . The soft scrape of cardboard on wood wakes him. He sits in the darkness behind his privacy curtain. Things are quiet again. “I wish he would just...” “I know. But you can't stay here all day.” “Well, neither can he!” “Shhh, keep your voice low. He obviously does, I mean...” The voices devolve back into incomprehensibility, too soft for him to understand. He wipes at his ruddy, weary face and sniffs, curled up against the side of the toilet. He's a little germ freak, as Marvin says, but he doesn't have to worry. He cleans everything every morning so Marvin will not think he's messy. The decorations are always dusted and straightened. He wipes the toilet and his little mirror down, and the sink too, so it's clean when Marvin comes in to shave him on Wednesdays. He isn't allowed to have a razor in here – Anti will try to cut him up again – but Marvin takes care of him anyway. The bathroom smells like their shaving cream and the lemon scent of his cleaners, stacked neatly on the shelves in his back-left corner next to his laundry: Marvin's clothes and some old t-shirts and sweatpants. He isn't allowed to wear anything that isn't Marvin's. Marvin has to be the one to put it through the wash, and if his brothers saw it, they would ask why he was washing things that did not belong to anyone in the house. JJ lets out a tired sigh, a little soothed by the quiet and the reminiscing. Marvin takes care of him. Still, he wants to know what that sound was. When Jackie and Chase's distant voices stay distant, he squeezes his dog for courage and creeps out from behind the curtain, blinking at the light of his sun lamp. The leaves of his plants and the lead in the drawings on the walls gleams quietly in the yellow glow. His place, his things, his presents from Marvin and pictures of Marvin and his shared space with Marvin. Maybe when he comes to see him, they can lie down on the mattress and have a nap, or play some games, or watch pictures on Marvin's magic screen together. Yeah, he feels better. Yeah, there's my tough guy. Stop crying, JJ, I mean it. He gets to his feet and sneaks over to the sill of his box where Marvin sometimes leaves him

things. There's a little pad of paper on his shelf, the sort of book you might use to make grocery lists or notes to pin up on the fridge. He pulls it towards himself, looking right and left for one of Marvin's brothers to leap out at him, but nothing happens. Hi, JJ,reads the first page, in messy, crooked handwriting. My name's Chase (I'm the one in the grey shirt) and Jackie is the one in the red hoodie. He doesn't know what a hoodie is. He glances down the way Marvin usually comes from and can still hear them talking. I'm sorry if we scared you. We're still figuring out what's going on. You don't have to get close to us if you don't want to (but I promise we won't hurt you if you do). I thought it would be easier for you to have a pen and some paper. Is there anything you need? Or anything we can do to show you we are on your side? Do you remember us? I also left some food by your door. It's perfectly safe, I promise. I will eat some with you if you want. Please don't be scared. We aren't with Marvin right now, or Anti. We are not going to let anyone hurt you. If there is anything we can do to help please tell us. I hope you do remember us a little bit. If you don't, though, we want to say hi! Maybe you can write me back? The paper is all for you. - Chase There are some smiley faces and even a little drawing of the plate of food on the paper. JJ glances over at his door. A dish with rice and meat is tucked on the plate alongside fat slices of oranges, a neat line of bright green cucumbers with ranch drizzled on, and a big sweet-looking roll with pecans. His mouth waters. He listens for Marvin's brothers one more time, and when they're still far away, he steps over to pick up the plate and brings it back to his mattress, sitting down and eating with relish. It's hot and fresh and home-made, better than he remembers food tasting. Most of the stuff he gets is take-out from a restaurant or leftovers. Not that he minds! It's just a lot of tasty food. He's eating faster than he means to, scooping the rice up with his plastic silverware and tearing the soft bread of the roll between his teeth. Meat between his teeth – hot flesh, red blood – Anti's smile is crimson and beaming, his own eyes are wild with delight – cannibal – No, no. He hugs himself for a few minutes and goes through the breathing exercises Marvin taught him. He's okay. He does not eat all the beef, but he eats everything else, scooping up the leftover ranch with his spoon and licking his fingers clean of the orange juice and sticky frosting from the roll. His stomach hurts with how full he is. It's a good feeling. “Jameson?” He jerks upright, pupils blown. A figure leaps back from his window. “Sorry! I just – I was just checking if you wrote me back or – sorry, I'll give you some space...” He backs away again. Jameson grabs at his chest, shuddering. Sudden voices in his box only ever mean Anti until today. And Anti – Anti hurts him. Even when they're playing. He doesn't think Anti ever learned how not to hurt someone. He thinks that's why he plays like that – testing his limits. Interested in human suffering as a primary characteristic. He plays with the edge of Chase's note, trying to think. He hasn't talked to anyone but Anti and Marvin in so long. What would Anti say? Pet, look, he's almost as pretty a present as you were. Oooh, but already a scar in his head. Who wants a scar on him I did not put there? Hm. Still pretty though. He looks like my master. Tell him to come over here and snuggle with us, Jameson. I will wrap my hands around his throat and see if he chokes the same way Jack does. Jameson chews on the end of his pencil, sighing. They need to stay away. What would Marvin say? Who, Chase? He's my baby brother. I guess I was always pretty attached to him. I was all jealous when Jack added Schneep, and I do snap at Jackie a little when he ticks me off. Chase, though, he's my – he's my little brother, you know? He's a special person. Well, anyway, it was him you stabbed the night I had to lock you up. Within about five

minutes of finding you, you stabbed one of us. I started to imagine what would happen if we just let you roam free and... you get it, right? Why I had to? Yes. Of course he does. This is what he needs to express. He clears his throat and sets his pencil shakily to paper. Dear Chase, Thank you for my dinner. It was very tasty. You are a good cook. I do remember a little of that night you all found me, but not much. I was rather unwell. I am dearly sorry for stabbing you and I hope your shoulder has healed well. I should not like to stab you again, but I do not always have a choice. Unfortunately, despite Marvin's best efforts to find a way to help, I still fall victim to possession against my will. Please leave me alone so I do not stab you or your brothers. If you will get Marvin for me he will know how to fix the box. I am not bothered by your presence but the thought of what might happen to you is very alarming. It would be in the best interest of you and your family to kindly exit this place and leave me to my own devices. There is no need to be concerned about anyone hurting me, though I appreciate your worry on my behalf. Thank you for your time and understanding, and, again, for the food. Sincerely, Jameson Jackson There. That's okay, isn't it? Maybe? P.S. I would like to see Marvin very much. Is he all right? Thank you. Okay, there. Then he will not have to wonder. Hopefully everything's okay and Chase can go bring Marvin for him. Then things will go back to normal. Things will go back to... To normal. Normal is good. Normal is... His box is quiet. The light gleams on the leaves and the lead. There are scratchmarks in the wood where he has tried to claw his way out during breakdowns. He closes his eyes. Things will go back to normal. He can never leave. He lets himself drift off in his mind again, walking in circles around his box with his eyes closed. He's on a beach with his dog and a big family... little kids come running up to him and he picks them up and plays with them in the ocean, yanking them back from the waves or ducking them under the water while they shriek in delight. The sun is so warm and the sand is hot between his toes. Marvin is suntanning on the beach while Chase and Jackie play in the sand beside him, and everyone is laughing. His box is dead quiet. Not even the wind to keep him company. Alone, alone, alone. . “I'll kill him, I'll kill him.” “Jackie. Breathing.” “I'll – oh, he – I'll tear him to pieces, look at this, he – I'll kill him, I'll destroy him, how could he...?” “Jackie. Jackie.” Chase is so tired he doesn't even get to his feet to try and calm Jackie down. He's slumped across the couch of the living room with Queenie on his stomach, kneading her claws into his t-shirt and purring. Her belly's all swollen with kittens, but instead of becoming more reclusive like a normal cat mother, she has decided she wants to be on top of someone twenty-four hours a day. Chase scratches her ears and sighs. “How could he do this?” groans Jackie, for perhaps the hundredth time today. Chase still doesn't have an answer. Jackie is clutching JJ's note in his hands tightly enough that he's definitely torn a hole or two in it. “He made him think he has to be – he has to be in this box. He – he won't come out to me. He won't come out to me.” Chase reaches for Jackie's jacket, catching his sleeve, and tugs his brother down onto the couch beside him. “Jackie. This note – it could be good news.” Jackie looks at him like he's finally lost it. “Hear me out! I know it's... not great that he seems to think he really does have to stay in there. But Jackie, look, he's not scared of Marvin! What if we jumped to conclusions about how this went down?” “He locked my little brother in a box,” says Jackie flatly. “But what if JJ asked him to do that?” Jackie blinks and looks down at the smudged note. “He... does seem to think he's dangerous.” “And, well, he is, isn't he?” “Don't say that.” “Jackie, it's just facts. Er, not JJ, I mean. Anti is the dangerous one, but he uses the

little man like a weapon. That's not his fault, but it's the truth. He did stab me that night.” “Anti stabbed you!” “Yes. But he used JJ's hands. Jackie, is it so wild to think that maybe JJ was just so scared by the things Anti has made him do that he actually asked Marvin to help him protect us from him?” Jackie's eyes water. He shakes his head. Chase sighs and touches his brother's shoulder. “It still wasn't right of Marvin to do what he did. He definitely should have talked to all of us about it and not left us thinking something terrible had happened to him. But if JJ really came to you and begged you to keep him away from us – well, maybe, as a temporary solution, you might take him somewhere safe and secluded, and take care of him yourself, right? Maybe not a little locked box, but... somewhere. It's not – Jackie, it's not unthinkable.” Jackie just shakes his head, staring down at that note. “What's wrong?” asks Chase softly. “Wanted to make him feel safe,” croaks Jackie. “I should have – if I had made him feel safe, he wouldn't have thought he needed to be locked away. And Marvin – yeah, should have told me. Even if JJ did beg. My baby brother.” After a long day, the tears are finally coming dripping down Jackie's face. “I know, man,” whispers Chase. Jackie falls against his shoulder. Chase wraps his arm around him. Queenie nudges her way into their laps and sits contentedly down, purring like a little motorboat. “Maybe JJ and Marvin really were just working together to protect us,” mumbles Jackie. “Maybe he did take good care of him. If he had told us, maybe it is... thinkable.” “I shouldn't have told Marvin we weren't brothers anymore.” Chase rubs at his face. “I was too quick to think it was the worst scenario.” “No, it's not your fault,” replies Jackie softly. “It's his for not telling us, so it really did look like the worst scenario – and my fault, for exploding on him instead of listening. I should have been calmer.” “I honestly think you were surprisingly restrained for the situation,” says Chase, a little amused. “If it were true that he just locked JJ up against you will, you oughta have kicked his ass.” Jackie snorts, rubbing at his face. “Yeah. I guess. I don't know, though. There's just... there's something really off about that box. The kids' toys and the – I don't know. I get a really bad feeling. It's hard to describe.” Chase hums and nods. “Well, what we need to do is talk to JJ more, right?” Jackie perks up, glancing over at him. “Right. Figure all this out.” Chase smiles at him. The weight on his chest is so much lighter than it was a few hours ago. This – this makes so much more sense than what they thought before. Of course it was unimaginable that Marvin would lock JJ up like a prisoner against his will and abandon him in there, unloved. What he did was still wrong, but this alternative is so much lighter than that one. Maybe they can still fix this. Marvin could come back with Schneep, and once they were all on the same page Marvin would apologize for leaving them out of the loop. Together, they'll all be able to find a better way to keep JJ safe from Anti. Then they can all be together like they're supposed to be. Yeah. He can see it now. Marvin and Schneep will come back home, and JJ will come out of the box, and everything will be wonderful. Just a few hours ago, that seemed so impossible. “You're crying again,” says Jackie, touching his face. “Chase?” “No, it's okay,” chuckles Chase, wiping at his face. Happy tears. He's so relieved it hurts in his chest. For a few hours there, he really thought Marvin might have done something that cruel. But not his brother. Not his Marvin. No wonder it didn't make sense. It wasn't true. He should have known Schneep was right. Schneep is always right. Chase chuckles, shaking his head. “Just a rollercoaster day, that's all.” “No fucking kidding. I'm going to go write back to JJ. Do you want to come with?” “No, no, I think I'll get started on dinner.” Chase has already moved on to their reunion meal in his head. He'll cook

something Marvin loves and make JJ so much good food they can't even eat it all. Bread, ice cream, pasta, casserole... there's so many options. Maybe he'll just make everything. His heart is light again. It's going to be okay. “Okay, then,” says Jackie, heading back towards the mirror. “I'll be in there with him if you need me.” “Got it,” Chase replies, getting up to head to the kitchen. “Oh, um – Chase?” “Yeah?” He turns back towards his brother. Jackie smiles at him in the evening light. “I'm really glad you're here.” Chase smiles back. “Me too,” he says.

Things are going to be different. But surely, surely - they have to turn out okay. Just this once.

. Dear JJ, I don't really know how to right to you. This is Jackie. I'm glad you remember me a little. I'm your older brother. You don't want to come out of the box? When did that start? Was it your idea to be locked up like that? I guess I can see how you would think you could be dangerous. Trust me, I've encounterred Anti enough times to get it but if you give me a chance I promise I will keep you safe. JJ there has to be a better way then you being locked up like that! I don't even care if you and Marvin thought it was a good idea it's terrible. You do not have to be a prisoner you are my brother. I really want you to come stay with me. What can I do to get you out of there? I will do anything to make you feel safe, JJ. I promise I will keep you safe. Marvin is okay. He's just staying at another house right now. He knows I am talking to you. I'm worried about how he might have treated you, can we talk some more before you talk to him? Tell me about how he treats you. I want you to be able to make your own choice. Don't worry about him, okay? Who decided you should be in that box? I want you to be here with me. I really want you to be here with me and I promise I will keep you safe. Maybe we can talk face-to-face? Even though I'm bad at sign languge. I have wanted to see you for a really long time. I love you. I don't care if you hid from me or if Anti has used you, that doesn't matter now, none of us ever blamed you for Chase's shoulder. I've been looking for you, JJ. I've been looking for you this whole time. I thought about you every day. I would have looked forever if I had to. Every day of my life. If you think you have to stay in that box, please tell me why. I need to understand. I won't lose you again. You won't lose me too. I'm your big brother and I really want you to be here. I promise I will keep you safe. JB . Dear Jackie, Please, just go. You weren't supposed to know. I will be in trouble and I will hurt you. It is my fault. I'm not like you. I can't fight Anti. I'm not what you think I am. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you looked. He said maybe he would tell you I was dead, but he knew you would not stop looking unless there was a body, so he couldn't even though he wanted to. He loves you. He didn't want you to be in pain. But he didn't know how to stop it either. He cried over it so much. Maybe now that you know, you won't have to worry about me anymore, and you and Marvin can be happy again. I'm happy here. Marvin has taken such good care of me. He treats me very well. Please go home to your brothers and don't think about me. I'm sorry I made you all so sad for so long. Sincerely, JJ There are patches of wetness on the pages. . JJ, who decided you should be in that box? Tell me. . This time, there is no answer. Big blue eyes look up at Jackie from the corner of the cage, and all he wants is to go in there with him. But when he moves forward, JJ flinches and flees back to the bathroom, and all Jackie can do is sink down beside the cage, hold his head in his hands, and try not to think about the words he wanted to tell you I was dead. . Chase: Schneep you ok Schneep: Yeah. We're at Stacy's Chase: Did you tell her Schneep: Kind of. Still not sure really what happened Chase: Us either dude. Marvin say anything more? It sounds like maybe he and JJ both decided he should be locked up or whatever Schneep: He is all freaked out still. I gave him something to calm him down and he fell asleep. I am worried though. He insists the Jameson must be kept in the box. I think Anti is pulling strings Chase: I don't have any idea what's happening at this point Schneep: How is he? Chase: Very shy. Scared of us. He also thinks he has to stay in the box Schneep: Healthy? Chase: He kind of hides. Won't let us in to see him Schneep: I come by tomorrow and check on him Chase: Ok, sounds good. Tell me if anything changes? Schneep: Yes I will Chase: And say hi to the kids for me. Maybe not a good idea for me to have them this weekend after all Schneep: No worries. We will figure everything

out, my friend. Take care of JJ for me Chase: You take care of Marvin. I think it's going to turn out alright. Schneep: Yes, it will. See you tomorrow, love you Chase: Love you . There's blood in his mouth. JJ circles his cage, using a rag to clean the walls and wipe down the boxes and sink. When it's clean, he sits down again, reaching for his violin. There's blood in his mouth. He gets up again and wets the rag. Circles the cage and wipes down the walls and boxes and sink. He sits down and rubs at his face, exhausted. There's blood in his mouth. No. The box is clean. He's not going to clean it again. There's blood in his throat. He covers his face in his hands. Stop imagining it, JJ. Distract yourself. His dog licking at his face, warm sand between his toes, Marvin is holding him – Blood in his throat. In his teeth. He picks flesh out from between his molars. Copper tang against his tongue. He feels the weight of the blood settle in his stomach. He bites into flesh. Jameson. I am not going to listen to this story again. That's fucked. Anti isn't here. Stop crying, okay? The corpse is going cold beneath his fingers. Anti is laughing. The blade swirls around in his hands. He is torn between hoping Anti will stop possessing him so he can have even a minute alone in his own head and praying that Anti never leaves again, because when he does, that is when JJ becomes the victim of his curiosity. There's blood in his mouth. JJ gets up and wets the rag. Circles the cage and wipes down the walls and boxes and sink. “Jameson,” murmurs Jackie. “Are you okay?” He's standing just outside the box, looking at him. JJ avoids his gaze, scrubbing the clean right wall with vigor. Jackie doesn't seem to want to hurt him. He supposes that makes sense. It's not Jackie JJ should worry about – it's what Anti might do to Jackie that's concerning. He wishes Marvin's big brother would leave. “Can you show me your stuffed animals?” asks Jackie. “Or your puppets? Why do you have all those?” JJ pauses, chewing on his nails as he glance at his animals, arranged neatly on his mattress. The finger puppets are in their box by the barred window. They're just for fun. For distraction. He knows each of them intimately. All the puppets have names and families and jobs and aspirations. All the animals have their own place in the world in his head. It's just a game. It's just a game he plays for hours at a time. He tells the same stories on repeat. The important part is that he knows they're not real people right now. Marvin was so relieved. There's blood in his mouth. He circles his cage. Cleans the walls and boxes and sink. It's already clean. He knows it's already clean. “Do you play the violin?” JJ pauses again, eyes flickering over to Jackie. Yes, he does. For hours a day. “Would you show me?” asks Jackie gently. JJ hovers. He's not sure he should. But he never gets to show anyone except Marvin and the toys. It would be nice. He never got to show anyone Marvin's birthday song. It's not going to hurt Jackie. It's just his music. He picks the violin tentatively up. Sets it back down again. Jackie is looking at him uncertainly from the window, smiling a faint, confused smile. Fuck's sake, he's – he's weird, isn't he? Not Jackie – JJ. He turns away from Marvin's brother, biting at his nails again. It's been so long since he interacted with anyone other than Marvin and Anti. What must he look like to Jackie? He's treating him like he's so fragile. Maybe he is. But this is how he lives. This is how he has to live. He used to fight. Does Jackie know that? Does Jackie know that there were days that he would come out of possession kicking and striking at Anti, spitting at him and writhing before Anti could stuff him back into whatever hiding place he had found to contain him? Does Jackie know that JJ used to curse at Marvin and demand to be let go? That he eventually crumpled beneath the isolation and the monotony and just collapsed in on himself, sitting mindless for days at a time no matter how much Marvin begged at him to

get up? Does Jackie know that he hates this? There are tears dripping onto the violin set beneath his chin. He can't think like this. This is where he has to stay. He can't go. He can't leave. There is blood in his mouth. This is what he has to do. He can't tell on Marvin, can't tell Jackie that Marvin dragged him into this box and locked him up while he cried. This is what he deserves because he's done so many bad things and he will do so many more if he is released. Oh, there is blood in his mouth. He can't get out. He has to be a good boy – he has to stay – he has to – “Major freak-out,” he signs to himself. This is what Marvin calls a major freak-out. Yeah. Okay. “Have to stay calm, JJ, you can't come out of your cage. “Come hold me, Marvin, please! “If you calm down I'll come in there. Okay? “Please can I come out just for a few minutes? Oh, God, I want to see a priest. Are you going to keep me here my whole life? I'll die here! I'm going to die here? I can't take it anymore! I can't take it! Oh, God, I want to see the sky, I want to hear birds, oh, God, our father, who art in Heaven – “JJ, be good. Penguin, stop that. You know you can't come out. So be calm. I'm working on finding a solution. “But you never do, you never do!” “JJ.” And now the voice does not sound like Marvin's. JJ isn't sure why. He keeps signing to himself, circling his cage, chewing on his collar. He talks to Marvin. Marvin isn't there, but he knows what he will say. Yes, Marvin is here. They're talking and hugging each other, yes, Marvin is making it better. Marvin isn't here. “Jameson, hey. Jamie, can you look at me? Jamie, can I come in there with you?” Yes, yes, he wants that! He hates to be alone for freak-outs. They last hours and sometimes he slams his head against the wall so hard the light hurts his eyes for days. Sometimes he scratches at the wood til his nails split. Sometimes he clings to Anti and begs him to take him away from this place, because even the torture and the killing would be better than sitting in this same – fucking – spot – for the rest of his miserable existence. He hates to be alone. Alone, alone, alone. “Please, please,” he begs. “Please, please.” “Okay, I'm coming, Jamie, I'm coming.” Marvin doesn't call him Jamie, but it doesn't matter, because a moment later, there are arms around him. There's no torture quite like the touch-starvation, and JJ is someone who knows torture. When Marvin started touching him and hugging him and sitting with him, it changed everything. And the most wonderful part about it is how those months of his skin crawling and his brain going numb and foggy with a bizarre and visceral sort of insanity as he rubbed at his own skin and rocked and day-dreamed about being touched til he could hallucinate it – they all just fade into the background when someone puts their arms around him. He latches on like a cat in a tree. Octopuses himself around their body. And in return – joy of joy, he is being squeezed back, squished against their body and rocked. He is scooped all the way off his feet, making him giggle. He buries his head in their shoulder and shakes, pressed so tightly together it's a little hard to breathe. “My little brother, my little brother,” someone is singing. “My JJ. Here you are. I have you back again, I have you.” He's grabbed by the waist and spun in a circle before he's drawn back to their chest. He laughs weakly and hears them laughing back. “Here you are. Chase was right. This is all that matters. You are everything that matters.” Kisses along the side of his head. Hands on his back and cupping his head. He's rocked back and forth, back and forth. Steady and strong. Gloved hands. A red hood. The smell of rain and sweat and coconut on the jacket. And that feeling – that feeling of safety... Yeah. He remembers. How could he forget? When this was what he dreamed about for so long? Jackie is holding him. His awareness comes back to him in pieces as he comes down from the second or third panic attack of the day. Jackie has crashed down onto the

mattress with him. He's being held like a little kid, but Jackie doesn't seem bothered by his weight or his neediness. Jackie just clings to him. Clings to him as tight as he's clinging to Jackie. JJ cries quietly as he comes back to himself. Jackie wipes at his face and hums to him, nonsense music in the air. “My JJ, my JJ.” He doesn't seem bothered by the crying either. “I missed you, JJ.” His voice breaks. Jackie coughs and kisses the side of his head one more time, his voice fading away. “Have to go,” signs JJ, crying into his chest. “Have to go, before he hurts you!” “I'm so sorry, James, I never really got to practice with the sign language, I should have worked harder...” “Go, go!” He points to the door. “Go away!” Jackie shakes his head at him. JJ should push him away, but he just – he just can't. Marvin will kill him for this. Anti will kill Jackie for this! “Nothing's going to hurt you anymore,” whispers Jackie. “Never, you're never leaving my sight again. I'm never going to let anything happen to you ever again.” And he wants it to be true so badly it hurts. He just clings to Jackie, shaking. “Oh! He let you get in there with him!” A new voice in the expanse of the mirrors. JJ feels Jackie nod. “Do you guys... do you want some space?” “Yeah, please,” whispers Jackie. “Maybe he'll let you come in too in a minute, but if we could just... just get a minute...” “Just text me if you need anything.” And it's just him and Jackie in the quiet of his box again. “Nothing matters but this,” sings Jackie, brushing at his hair. “My baby brother. I love you.” Love, love, love. He closes his eyes and holds to Jackie, and just for one moment of weakness, he lets himself have this.

[milfjensenackles]

devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

2k words | read it on ao3

Cas and Sam sat together in the War Room, attempting to drown out Dean’s screams with tense bursts of conversation.

Sam located Dean a few days ago after discovering that Crowley turned him into a demon. Dean was less than happy to leave Crowley behind for the bunker, so Sam ended up knocking him out and carrying Dean’s limp body to the Impala. Once he’d collected his brother, he called Cas for help. Cas was pissed, to say the least.

“How could you let this happen to him, Sam?”

Sam placed his head in his hands. “I thought he was dead!”

Cas folded his arms across his chest, still angry. He wasn’t really angry at Sam, though. He was angry at himself for not stopping Dean from taking on the Mark of Cain in the first place. All of this could have been prevented.

“Cas, I think the demon cure might kill him.” Sam said, choking up at the thought. “There has to be another way.”

Cas felt a chill run down his spine. Sam was right. “There is… one thing I can think of, but it’s very old magic. There’s no way to know if it would actually work.”

“Well? Spit it out!” Sam was becoming increasingly frustrated.

“True love’s kiss,” Cas said tentatively.

Sam’s eyes narrowed, his face incredulous at the suggestion. “There’s no way that’s actually a thing. And even if it was, who would Dean’s ‘True Love’ even be? Cassie? Lisa?”

Cas shrugged. “I hardly think it could be Lisa, Sam. Dean had me erase her memory.”

Sam huffed at that. Dean hadn’t been romantically interested in anyone in years. He barely even tried to pick up women at the bars they stumbled into after their more difficult cases. Dean hasn’t had a long-term relationship… pretty much ever. The only people he has a consistent relationship with are Sam and his best friend… Cas.

“Cas,” Sam said quietly, “What if… what if you’re Dean’s true love?”

Cas was stunned into silence. There’s no way it could be him. At the very least, Cas knew Dean wasn’t attracted to men. “Sam…”

Sam cut him off. “No, wait a second. Hear me out. You two have been through literal Hell and back for each other. You’re always obnoxiously staring at each other – and don’t try to deny it, I see the way you look at him. You care about Dean more than all of those angels. More than most other humans. You refused to kill Dean, even if it meant losing their support. Does all of this ring a bell?”

Cas was staring off into space, his lips pressed into a thin line. Sam was more observant than Cas had realized. Cas has known about his feelings for Dean for quite some time now. He still had trouble understanding them, though. Sometimes it was overwhelming, how much he cared for Dean. It felt like he might split open with the weight of his desire. Angels weren’t supposed to feel that way, especially about a human, so Cas pushed it away. A problem for another day. He supposed today was that day. Cas shook his head. “What about you? You are his brother. Maybe a kiss on the cheek from you would suffice.”

Sam tossed the idea around in his head before nodding. “Okay. We’ll try that first. But Cas, I’m serious. We’re running out of options here.”

Cas grimaced, but slowly nodded in agreement.

-

Sam and Cas made their way to Dean, prepared for the worst. What they weren’t prepared for, however, was an empty room, with Dean’s chair kicked over and his restraints undone. Sam and Cas looked at each other, mouths open in an ‘O’ shape.

“Fuck,” Cas swore.

Sam nodded. “Agreed.”

Cas and Sam split up, covering each corner of the bunker to try to sneak up on Dean. Cas ended up in a back hallway, praying to whatever might be listening that Dean was still in the bunker. As Cas rounded a corner, his prayers seemed to have been answered, as he runs right into Dean’s chest. The last thing Cas sees is blackened eyes before he’s slammed up against a hard surface.

Dean smirked at Cas. “Aw, the little angel thought he might stand a chance against me. That’s cute.” Dean slid the angel blade out from Cas’ hands, which were pressed above Castiel’s head now. Dean leaned in, only a millimeter from Cas’ face. Cas looked from side to side, hoping to find something that might help him out of his unfortunate position, but Dean had Cas pinned against the wall. Cas was out of options. He had to at least try, didn’t he? For Dean. Cas mustered all of his strength and pressed forward, attaching his mouth to Dean’s. It was clinical, almost. A simple press of lips. And then as soon as the kiss had started, it was abruptly ended by Dean pushing Cas off of him.

Cas slid to the floor, relief flooding him. Cas looked up at Dean. Dean had his hands pressed to his knees as he leaned against the opposite wall. He looked down at Cas, seemingly bewildered. “What just happened?”

Cas’ eyes widened. “Dean?”

“Hey, Cas. Why do I feel like I just got the shit kicked out of me? How did we get here? Why are you on the floor?” Dean reached out to help Cas to his feet.

Cas was speechless. He floundered for a moment, looking for the right words, before deciding to turn away and walk down the hallway, leaving a confused Dean behind him.

-

There was a knock at Cas’ door. He stiffened immediately, not looking forward to a conversation with either Winchester brother. Sam stuck his head in. “Were you gonna tell me you figured out how to fix Dean? He just walked up to me and asked about getting some pie and I almost fell out of my chair.”

Cas sighed. “My apologies, Sam.”

Sam moved to sit next to Cas on the bed, waving away Cas’ apology. “Whatever, dude. How’d you do it? Was it a spell?”

Cas debated his answer in his mind. If he told Sam, Sam might tell Dean, which would be humiliating. If he didn’t tell Sam, Sam would become suspicious of him. Before Cas could respond though, Sam took his silence as all the answer he needed. His face lit up with understanding. “You didn’t.”

Cas held his hands up in an attempt to stop Sam from saying anything more damning. “Sam, please. I don’t want Dean to find out.”

Sam looked confused, his eyebrows scrunching together. “Why not? This is incredible! You two obviously both have feelings for each other. Now you can go for it!”

Cas rolled his eyes. “I cannot simply ‘go for it’, Sam. I took advantage of Dean during a moment of weakness. He has no idea that I was the one who saved him, or how I managed to save him. It should stay that way. I don’t want to ruin our relationship. It’s Dean. He means too much to me to lose him.”

Sam seemed to ponder this information for a moment, before saying, “I think that’s all the more reason to tell him the truth.”

With that, Sam left Cas alone to his thoughts.

-

A few days, Cas was sitting in the kitchen with Sam when Dean rambled in, hair mussed and eyes bloodshot. Cas gave Dean a small smile, which Dean noticed and returned immediately. Cas had been avoiding Dean for the past few days, but luckily Dean didn’t seem to notice.

“How are you, Dean?” Cas asked.

Dean sighed. “Still not a hundred percent, but that’ll happen with demon possession.”

Dean winked at him. Cas felt his heartrate increase, the memory of their brief kiss still haunting him. Sam looked between his brother and Cas, a knowing smile on his face. Cas gave him a warning glare. Unfortunately for Cas, Dean saw this exchange. He pointed an accusatory finger between the two of them. “Are you guys fighting?”

Right as Cas said “No!”, Sam interjected with a louder “Yes, actually.” They both turned to glare at each other again.

Sam held up his hand to stop Cas from saying anything else, before leaning toward Dean to explain. “Cas and I had a… disagreement yesterday.”

Dean sat down across from the two of them. “Lay it on me.”

Cas tried to interrupt, giving Sam a pointed look. “Dean, you don’t want to listen to this. You’re still exhausted.”

“No, Cas, I think it would be good to get Dean’s perspective,” Sam smirked. “So get this, Dean. Cas here did something to a friend who needed his help. This friend might not have survived without Cas stepping in. Cas won’t tell this friend though! I think Cas should tell him. What do you think?”

Cas was furious with Sam and let him know with a single look. Sam looked slightly admonished, which satisfied Cas. Dean, however, was ignoring all of this to ponder what Sam had said. “I think you should let your friend know, buddy. They’d probably appreciate it.”

Sam clapped his hand on Cas’ shoulder, standing up from the table. “See, there you have it, Cas! I’ll leave you two to it.”

“What friends do you got that I don’t know?” Dean asked once Sam was out of earshot.

“None,” Cas responded through gritted teeth.

Dean scrunched his eyebrows together like he was doing mental math that didn’t quite add up. Cas could only imagine it: ‘If 1 + 1 =3, then Sam must be talking about Dean.’ This was the worst day of his very long life. Finally, after many excruciating moments, Dean spoke up again. “Was Sam talking about me?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dean.”

“Is that why you’ve been so cagey about the whole demon thing lately? What did you do? Should I be concerned about some weird angel mojo thing goin’ on inside me?”

Cas sighed. “No, Dean,” He scrubbed his hand down his face. “Sam and I were running out of ideas. We had to save you. I knew of only one way to do so. It is known as ‘True Love’s Kiss’. We were going to have Sam try it out by kissing your cheek, but you escaped. You located me first. I thought you might kill me, so… I had to try, Dean. I hope you can forgive me.”

Dean stood up abruptly, shocked by the information he’d just received. Cas didn’t know what to do, so he stayed seated, uncomfortably waiting for Dean to react. Dean walked over to where Cas was seated, staring at him with a complicated look on his face. Cas couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He didn’t have time to wonder, though, because Dean fisted his palm into the lapel of Cas’ trenchcoat and pulled him out of his chair, covering Cas’ mouth with his own. Cas immediately responded in kind, his hands moving to run through Dean’s hair. Dean’s tongue swiped across Cas’ bottom lip, and Cas gasped, which allowed Dean to better explore him. Dean’s hands travelled down Cas’ sides to his hips and pulled Cas closer. Cas moaned, and Dean swallowed the sound greedily. After what felt like hours, Cas forced himself to pull away and press their foreheads together, both of them breathing heavily.

Cas noticed Dean’s shoulders shaking, and he immediately realized that Dean was laughing. Cas was bewildered. “What’s so funny?”

Dean took a deep breath, trying to control himself. “So… you’re my ‘True Love’, huh? It’s like that fairytale garbage. We’ve been such idiots. All it took was me becoming a demon to figure it out.”

Cas smiled. “You’re the idiot in this relationship.”

Dean raised his eyebrows and said, “Oh, is that so?” before leaning in again, capturing Cas in another kiss that they both grinned into. Cas was overwhelmed. He never thought, in a million years, that this was how their story would come together. Cas still had a lot to learn about being in a relationship, and he knew Dean didn’t have much experience with it either. He understood now, though, that they had plenty of time to figure it out, and his best friend would be at his side through it all.

[brywrites]

Flight Risk IX

Summary: An answer to the age old CM question, “who’s flying the plane?” And the story of a pilot and a profiler. Part IX: In which a profiler and a pilot try their best not to care, featuring an incredibly tacky hotel.

(Series Masterlist) ( Previous |  Next )

----

The case closes. When it’s time to go home, Reid sees her leaning against the wall of the hangar with a book. Their eyes meet. He stops walking, frozen to the ground. And in response, she walks away and disappears into the jet. Neither of them knows what to say. She gives herself over to the sky, he loses himself in paperwork. The jet has never felt so big. Like there are miles between them instead of just mere feet.

Y/N thinks of Peter Pan. “The moment you doubt whether you can fly you cease for ever to be able to do it.” She doesn’t know what they are to each other anymore. Are they still friends? Were they ever at all? Was Arthur right all along? Maybe she simply is made for staying, not with her airplane heart. Hopelessly circling, never quite finding a place to land.

Reid has never had to do this before, to hurt someone in this way. He’s not sure how to reach out to her after putting this distance in place. And so he doesn’t. It doesn’t ease the loneliness. Only Garcia notices the change, when he stops talking about her.

“She told you how she felt, didn’t she?” Penelope asks, her cheerful smile deflating. Reid averts his gaze. The pained look on Garcia’s face mirrors the ache in his chest. “Oh, Reid,” she says. “Do you really still believe that you’re not allowed to be happy?”

“But you looked so happy together,” Yeeqin laments when Y/N tells her what happened. “I just don’t get it.” She and her girlfriend Saoirse offer to key his car, an offer Y/N promptly refuses. They’re both hurting enough as is. And besides, knowing Yeeqin she’d vandalize the wrong car and need someone to bail her out. After the “graffiti incident of 2014,” Y/N has no interest in doing so again.

And so they stay away. Things return to the way they always were – pilots and profilers. Two separate worlds on the same G550 jet. The only exchanges are simply pleasantries or requests from the team to the pilots, but they never come from Reid. Or announcements about takeoff and landing that almost always come from Captain Dobson. On the rare occasions when Y/N’s voice floods into the cabin, he closes his eyes and lets himself imagine that she’s speaking only to him. Sometimes when the agents disembark from the plane, she watches him go from the cockpit window and tries to remember what it was like when they sat so close.

He stops arriving early. She stops reading in the hangar if she’s not on the jet. They both pretend it’s normal. They both pretend it’s possible for them not to care. That it’s easy, that it doesn’t bother them one bit to be apart like this. That it wasn’t better before.

Y/N goes to dinner at Arthur and Malik’s house. Martin and Theresa are there and she runs around the yard with their older children, Carolyn and Benedict, and coos over baby Douglas. They share cocktails and swap stories and it feels so good to be surrounded by her own team, this makeshift family of aviators. She has movie nights in with Yeeqin and goes out with her and Saoirse anytime they invite her along and it’s so nice to be among friends. But then Martin looks at Theresa with all the love in the world and Saoirse falls asleep on Yeeqin’s shoulder in the cab on the way home and it’s acutely apparent to her that something is missing in her life.

Reid distracts himself with work and with books and tells himself that he’s always been just fine this way, with words and obligations instead of laughter over takeout or meetings at coffee shops. But then he discovers Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close in his bottom desk drawer at work, the copy she’d loaned to him and he’d sworn he would remember to give back to her and suddenly he’s trying not to cry in the bullpen and he doesn’t quite know why.

She learns from Arthur, who knew him, that Spencer’s mentor has been killed. And she can see on their next case that he’s hurting. The sadness in his eyes, the exhaustion evident in his slumped posture makes her want to run to him and wrap him in a hug, hold him close like he held her that night on the couch. But she’s not supposed to care about him anymore.

He sees the way she looks back at him as she boards the jet that day, her eyes lingering on him for just a fraction too long, and he thinks that just maybe she’s going to say something to him. But she doesn’t and he’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed. Either way, Gideon’s death seems only to prove his theory – the people he loves get hurt.

When they come home from the bombing case in Indianapolis, he’s drained from a week of mourning and a grueling chess match with Rossi. As Reid stands in the hangar searching for his keys in his bag, he hears, “Doctor Reid,” and turns to see Captain Dobson standing a few feet away.

“Yes?” he asks.

The captain opens his mouth, falters, and then says, “I’m sorry for your loss.” The sentiment is confusing, as he already told Reid this as he boarded the plane three days earlier. But perhaps Dobson has forgotten the conversation. So he thanks the captain and continues on his way.

Y/N and Reid seek solace in their friends, in their books, in the places that make them feel safe. And they try so hard to convince their hearts that they don’t feel anything that they wonder if it was ever even real to begin with. And for a little while, they almost believe it.

But then comes Nashville.

---

“Did you see the picture Martin sent of baby Douglas in his pilot’s cap?” Y/N asks.

“I did,” Arthur says. “It was cute.”

“The cutest thing I’ve ever seen!” she insists. “I wish he could bring the kids by for a visit sometime, I’m sure they’d love to check out the jet. Do you remember being a kid and how they’d let you go visit the flight deck and see how a plane worked? And they’d give you those little plastic pilots wings?”

“Relics of a bygone era,” Arthur sighs. “I’m sure I still have a pair of PanAm Junior Pilot wings stashed in a box somewhere.” The millennium ushered in a new vision of aviation security and sharp pins and strangers in the cockpit simply aren’t considered protocol anymore. “How are we looking?”

Y/N glances at the altimeter and airspeed indicators. “Flying at 46,000 feet. Currently at Mach point nine. Should be about one hour and ten minutes to destination.”

“Let the cabin now we’ve reached out cruising altitude, will you?” Arthur asks. Typically it’s her job to shift the jet into cruise while Arthur makes the announcement, but she nods and takes the speaker.

“Good afternoon passengers, this is your co-pilot speaking. We’ve reached our cruising altitude of 46,000 feet. At this time please feel free to resume using electronic devices and move about the cabin. We expect to be landing in Nashville in about an hour. Skies are clear, should be smooth sailing ahead. In-flight refreshments will not be served, but you’re welcome to help yourselves to anything stocked in the galley.”

A part of her wonders if he thinks of her when he hears her voice. Not that it should matter anymore. Before she can lose herself in her own thoughts, Arthur asks, “Who Framed Roger Rabbit?”

“Lincoln,” she decides after a moment to think. “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”

Arthur says, “The Terminator,” without missing a beat. The captain is well-versed in cinema, which makes Double Feature one of his favorite in-flight games. The first movie must always be a question, and whoever can come up with the best films in response is declared the winner. Arthur almost always wins, and it’s a challenge to think up films they haven’t already used.

“What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?”

“Hannibal.”

“That’s terrible,” Arthur laughs.

“Dude, Where’s My Car?”

“Brokeback Mountain.”

“Oof, that’s gonna be a long and sad trek to retrieve it,” she sighs. “I’m not prepared for that kind of emotional devastation.” But the game does help to take her mind off of what she’s really feeling. She can lose herself in words and not in wishes. They land GEFF gently on the tarmac in Nashville and when they pull around to the hangar, she doesn’t look out the side window. Y/N stares straight ahead at the horizon. The sky fades from deep royal blue to soft pale periwinkle where the distant skyline rises up to meet it and she loves every single shade in between.

Once the team has departed, she and Arthur walk through the cabin tidying up and making note of anything that needs to be cleaned or restocked prior to takeoff. Arthur won Double Feature (“O Brother Where Art Thou?” “Soylent Green.” “Oh, that is incredibly twisted!”) so it’s her turn to clean the bathroom. Fortunately a short flight like this means it’s fairly clean to begin with. She wipes sanitizes the sink and toilet, empties the paper towel bag, makes sure there’s enough soap and toilet paper. Garbage is deposited in the trash can at the back of the hangar and they return to Geff to grab their own go-bags.

“Listen, Y/L/N,” Arthur says as they lock the cockpit door. “About the IRT job.”

“Arthur,” she cuts him off. “I really don’t want to talk about this right now.” When he looks as though he’s about to protest she adds, “Please. I just want to go to hotel and take a nap and watch whatever silly romcom is on pay per view.”

He nods and says nothing more. They catch a rideshare from the airport together and she stares out the window at the buildings and billboards that line the roads. She already knows what she’s going to do about the offer. She made her decision after her conversation with Spencer. The choice was clear. But she doesn’t want to discuss it yet. She’s not ready.

They step into the lobby of the Graduate Hotel and her mouth falls open. It’s hideous. There’s a fuzzy tapestry – a fuzzy tapestry of a woman with a hat against a pink background that appears to be made out of the same material as a shag rug. The lamps at the concierge desk have hot pink floral patterns on them. A neon installation that looks similar to a vintage gas station sign announces vacancies in bright green and red light. The armchairs are blue velvet and the hanging lights look like tulle skirts. There’s too much happening at once.

“This is the ugliest hotel I’ve ever seen,” she says.

“Well the more affordable ones were nearly full – evidently this is a big weekend for admitted students at Vanderbilt – they had to double up all of the rooms for the team. But the Bureau managed to get us a discount here,” Arthur replies as they stand at the desk waiting for someone to check them in.

“I suppose a bunch of special agents wouldn’t blend in well at a place like this,” she admits. Hopefully they solve the case quickly and she’s not stuck here too long. True to her word she spends the first night relaxing in her room. The bathroom is beautiful – black walls with gold accents and a glass shower. The room itself is another story. The carpet is a rainbow of jewel-toned diamonds in a quilt-like pattern. The walls are pink and white striped, a candelabra sits next to a pink television. White curtains with a vibrant floral pattern line the window and form a hanging behind the bed. The bed, mercifully, has the standard white blankets and white pillows, though there is hot pink chevron quilt draped over the end and an eerie portrait of Dolly Parton stares at her from above the headboard. Y/N shudders.

Penelope Garcia calls her that evening. She’s waiting to hear back from the team and could use some virtual company. “I don’t even know if you’d like this place,” Y/N tells her. “It’s so garishly tacky. Like a sorority girl and her antique-collecting grandmother chose items from their storage closet at random.”

“Oh it can’t be that bad,” Garcia says.

“Penelope, I am ever the optimist. I love quirky, whimsical adventures. But this is something else. The Dolly Parton painting keeps staring at me, I swear!”

“Let me look it up.” There is the sound of fingers frantically typing on a keyboard. “Oh come on now, the lobby is way cute! And the patio? I just – oh. Oh my. Oh those rooms. You’re right. That’s bad. That’s very bad.”

“I told you!”

“That went from cute to crikey very quickly,” she agrees. After takeout for dinner and watching Serendipity, Y/N falls asleep under the unnervingly watchful eye of Dolly. The next day is completely free, and she heads out to explore the city. Wherever she ends up, she tries to take advantage of the adventures available to her. Just blocks from the hotel she discovers Nashville’s Parthenon – a full-scale replica of the Greek temple which hides an art museum inside. She wanders the galleries and stands at the entrance staring up at the pillars holding the roof up. What would it be like to visit the real thing? She wonders how many times the IRT has gone to Greece before. Maybe they’ll end up in Athens sometime this year.

Café Coco is the cutest coffee shop she’s seen in any city, and she grabs tea and a scone before returning to Centennial Park. Beneath the barely blossoming trees she sits and reads Dandelion Wine. It’s beautifully written and full of longing. That longing seeps through the pages and she can feel it in her bones. Nostalgia for times past and places far behind and things that cannot be. Everything that Spencer said it would be. As she reads she tries to imagine which lines would have made him smile or elicited a wistful sigh. Are the parts she loves most the same as the parts he loves most?

Her phone buzzes with a text form Arthur to ask if she wants to get lunch together at the hotel bar, and she shoves the book and her longing back in her bag and walks over to meet him.They step from the tacky lobby into a bar that seems remarkably normal. String lights and chandeliers cast an inviting ambient glow over the wooden tables and chairs. Country music is playing over the speakers. But as they she and Arthur move closer towards an open table, she sees it. The stage.

“What is that?” she asks. There’s a bear, a pig, and a fox in a wig atop a stage that says Cross-Eyed Critters. Each holds an instrument. And it’s then that she realizes the music is coming from them. It’s an animatronic band. Their eyes and mouths move as they sing and their fabricated bodies turn and jerk with the beat. “What?” she asks again, completely dumbfounded. “What?”

Arthur too is speechless. Then he shakes his head and says, “It’s nothing a drink or two won’t make more palatable.” She snaps a photo on her phone and texts it to Garcia, who will surely get a kick out of it.

As they sit down, a voice announces a new song over the speakers. A slightly tipsy looking man in a pair of red cowboy boots comes to stand in front of the stage. He has a microphone. The animatronics begin to play the opening notes of a song, and then the man begins to sing. This is not just a bar with an animatronic band, it’s an animatronic karaoke bar. The man in the red boots belts out an uncomfortably off-key version of a Kenny Rogers song –“You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away and know when to run!”– with just a little too much bravado.

“I think I’ll need that drink sooner rather than later,” Arthur admits begrudgingly. She has to laugh. This hotel, it seems is full of surprises. But the captain is right. When she receives a spiked cream soda and Arthur has a glass of bourbon and there’s a plate of tacos between them, it’s easier to tune out the karaoke band. She can just enjoy her drink and the light and the stories of Arthur’s first flights with the BAU that have her nearly in tears from laughing so hard. For someone who maintains such a serious demeanor most of the time, he knows how to tell a joke incredibly well. She’s always appreciated that about him.

“Y/N, there is something I wanted to talk with you about,” Arthur says. His tone changes and she knows the time for joking is over. “We need to discuss the IRT offer.” Before he can continue, her phone rings. She glances at the screen. It’s Penelope. Y/N sends it to voicemail. There will be time to discuss the disconcerting robot band later when she’s back in her room. Right now, she needs to focus on Arthur. She knows where this is going and he’s right. She can’t keep putting this off forever. She has to talk about this, and everything that it means.

“I’ve already made my decision,” she begins to say. But her phone begins to ring again, and her heart drops into her stomach. This isn’t about the picture. This is urgent. Arthur must realize it too. His eyes trail down to her phone and she hesitantly picks it up.

“It’s Garcia,” she tells him, before answering. “Hello?”

“Y/N, oh thank goodness you picked up.” The analyst’s voice is a little higher than usual, a little more strained. “It’s Reid. He’s in the hospital.”