#the freelancer of course and the whispering and the profiling and on and on

[whumpacabra]

Day 15: “Who did this to you?”

Angst, knife wounds, bruises, rope burns, scars, shivering, crying, brief fear of homophobic hate crimes, vaguely referenced internalized homophobia, referenced death of a minor, referenced murder, firearm mention, implied past torture

[Directly follows Mouse]

Jackson was going to be in so much trouble for dipping before back-up could arrive. He was going to be in trouble for frisking a corpse without gloves. He was going to be in trouble for forgetting to re-enable his comm when chasing after a target of unknown threat level.

But mostly, Jackson thought he would be in trouble for taking that target to a quaint hotel at the edge of the city. If he was a less valuable agent, he might not be allowed to get away with a stunt like this.

The walk was long, cold, and dreary - at least Jackson’s heavy trench coat kept everything but his head dry. The stranger - ‘Wolf’ - didn’t seem to mind the weather, or at the very least didn’t complain and wonder aloud why they couldn’t flag down a taxi. He always kept a pace and a half behind Jackson, just out of arms reach. The same way he had followed Agent Smith when Jackson watched them from afar.

Curious.

Half the reason Jackson was willing to get in trouble was this stranger’s curiosities. The gun he had shot Smith with was Smith’s own weapon - Wolf himself appeared to be completely unarmed. (Not that a man of his physique needed a weapon to be lethal.) That was the first curiosity. The second was…everything after Jackson opened the closet door. He expected an ambush - a trap made from expired chemicals or improvised weapons. Not a man curled on the floor, trying to make himself as small as possible. Like a child hiding from a wrathful parent.

Jackson still wasn’t completely sure what a freelancer was, but it sure as hell couldn’t be this - skulking behind him like a shadow, avoiding eye contact, speaking so low he almost couldn’t understand the man. Command hadn’t been forthcoming on his identity - and Jackson knew they were keeping him in the dark, at least until the mission was done.

He was curious.

It wouldn’t kill him.

Probably.

—

The hotel wasn’t the best, but it was nice enough. Low profile, but off Command’s active radar for illegal activity hot-spots. Any good agent worth their salt had a few personal fake IDs, just in case. They wouldn’t be found here, not anytime soon.

“You can clean up first, I’m sure you could use the hot water more than me.” Jackson flashed a smile, but Wolf’s expression hardened as he nodded in reply, stalking to the washroom like a soldier on a mission.

Another curiosity.

Aside from a well disguised limp, Wolf moved like a soldier. He didn’t have the purposeful poise of an agent - American or otherwise. He took orders white seriously. Wolf hadn’t moved since he and Jackson entered the room, as if waiting for instruction. Blunt, to the point, comfortable in a hierarchy - now that didn’t sound like a runaway spy’s associate.

The bathroom door locked, and Jackson turned to the bed with a sigh. Of course they only had singles left. He paid for a couples room, even if it left his skin buzzing. It shouldn’t have bothered him, but his paranoia was acutely aware of how the secretary had raised a brow at his refusal for separate rooms.

(God, what did Wolf think of that?)

(...)

(What did they care? It was 2004 for God’s sake.)

(…)

(He still felt like the eyes of others always seemed to know what he was.)

Jackson tossed the duvet and the spare pillow to the ground. He could sleep on the floor just fine. He didn’t want to make Wolf uncomfortable. (And a small voice in his head whispered he didn’t want to give Wolf any more reason to kill him. How easy it would be for Wolf to kill him here, alone, without witnesses, and for his death to be brushed off as just another murdered poof.)

The agent turned out his coat pockets, setting what he had collected from the dead American on the bedside desk.

A room service receipt - it matched the hotel he had been staying at, but the wrong room number. Smith certainly seemed the type to choose two rooms for two people, but the sheer scale of the bill - the wine, the dinners - it didn’t meet the income of a spy in hiding. He had friends in high places (literally - Jackson would have to case the penthouse tomorrow).

The hotel room key was additional confirmation that Smith was likely traveling within the hotel. It was for the room Jackson had been stalking the last few days. The blinds were always drawn, but he could see light and movement from time to time.

The third item he snagged from the corpse was…odd. It looked like a car’s key fob, or a small, oddly shaped television remote. It only had four buttons. Unthinking, he pointed it at the television in the room, and clicked the most well worn button.

The yelp from the bathroom startled him - more so because he hadn’t expected to hear from his quiet guest. It hadn’t been particularly loud, but it had sounded distinctly pained. The thud that followed was equally concerning.

Jackson bolted to the door, stopping himself from trying the handle he knew was locked. He knocked softly, trying to keep his voice even.

“Wolf? Is everything alright?” When no reply came, he pressed his ear to the door. The sharp, agonized breathing between sobs was enough to spur him into action. “Wolf I’m going to unlock and open the door if you don’t say something.” His lock picking tools were easily slotted into the door’s mechanism. He had it unlocked, but he knocked again. “Wolf, are you alright?” The silence was deafening. “I’m coming in - please say something if you’re…”

The sight shocked Jackson to silence.

It shocked him to being 15 again. 15 and finding the corpse of a girl he had shared classes with stuffed behind the bleachers, obscenities carved into her bloodied and bruised flesh. That moment had led him here, more than a decade later. A professional MI6 agent looking down at a man beaten and bloodied that very same way, but by some cruel miracle still alive.

Jackson dropped to his knees, still processing the flesh in front of him. Bruises mottled from aged yellow to fresh blue along Wolf’s ribs, skin marred by scars and old burns. Cuts were tallied on his shoulder - like someone was keeping score - and the small, circular burns that trailed Wolf’s forearms were difficult to see against the thick bands of bruising from too-tight restraints and red rope burn. Wolf was kneeling next to the tub, keeled over with his back to Jackson. Between the blood and the bruises, the agent could make out two words etched across Wolf’s shoulder blades:

“BAD DOG”

Under the flickering fluorescent light, Jackson couldn’t read what else was carved across Wolf’s back, but those bloodied letters were cut deep into the muscle. Jackson let his eyes wander the room, finding Wolf’s rain soaked jacket and thin t-shirt neatly folded on the toilet seat. But Jackson’s eyes were once against drawn to Wolf when a violent shiver wracked his bare torso. The words contracted and stretched, weeping anew with fresh blood.

Unthinking, he let a shaking hand graze against the butchered carving before him. His words were soft, but the pity blooming in his chest made them waver with overwhelming compassion.

“Who did this to you?”

The trembling body under his fingertips stilled, and reality came crashing down on him as Jackson froze in turn. Wolf sat up slowly, broad back straightened until he sat taller than Jackson. (Blood ran in rivulets from the letters.) Dark eyes peered over his bloodied shoulder, damp with tears and expression unreadable.

Jackson was just about to jump to his feet, to mention that he had a medkit with a sterile suture needle, when Wolf lunged at him.

His brief panic at the sudden movement faded quickly as he realized what was happening. Strong arms had wrapped around him like a vice, but they were shaking - hands desperate and grasping at the back of Jackson’s shirt like he would dissolve without the contact. Jackson held Wolf’s head to his chest as he sobbed. He couldn’t touch his back without hurting him, and right now, Wolf just needed a shoulder to cry on. Jackson carded his fingers through sweaty, tangle hair and hummed soft reassurances.

Any thought of sating his curiosity tonight was discarded.

It didn’t matter who had done this, not right now. All that mattered right now was that they weren’t here.

[Directly before New Tricks]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

[imyourplusone]

Lizzington Week // Day 1// One-shot Ao3

~Spark ~

“You asked a very important question that night in Montreal. You could ask me again.”

He swallows and replays their conversation in his mind, not for the first time since they shared a cocktail and he found himself falling.

“Why would I do that?”

“Lizzy! This is a…”

“Surprise?” she asks in amusement and takes a seat next to him on the bench. “Or are you wondering how I knew where to find you?”

His smile at seeing her had quickly turned to confusion, realizing there was no earthly reason for her showing up out of the blue. Especially since Dembe is still at the safehouse and has no idea of his ramblings this morning.

“It has suddenly crossed my mind.”

“I’m a profiler, Raymond.”

He watches her a moment as she turns her face up and closes her eyes to the sound of the wind rustling through the trees overhead.

“Care to expand on that?”

“Today is the day.”

For what he has no idea, but he could conjure a thousand of them in his mind that include her next to him. Something he has vast experience with after all this time. The days of exploring new landscapes or visiting old haunts without imagining her there, wanting her there, are long over.

“You didn’t slip a tracking device into my pocket did you?”

“Not this time,” which earns her a chuckle and she turns back smiling. “Don’t you feel it?”

He feels everything at once, which is always the way with her, and can only shake his head. “You really will have to be more specific.”

“It finally feels like fall. There’s a bite in the air today.”

“Yes, there is,” he says quietly. Watching. Waiting.

“And I know it’s your favorite season and that you always roam about on that first day of autumn.”

But how would she know? He’s always alone on these crisp mornings when he gets a little lost, enjoying the freedom before winter sets in.

“Contrary to what you may think,” she continues, seeing the question in his eyes. “I do listen to your stories and saw the pattern emerge.”

There is no recollection of it, the clues that led her to this park on this day, but she somehow collected them and chose this morning to test her theory. And judging by the satisfied smile lighting up her face, she is quite pleased with herself. As she should be.

“But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

It’s almost like the wind is waiting for her answer, as well. Suddenly it is impossibly quiet while he waits, tilting his head ever so slightly to study her.

“Because I didn’t want to be cooped up in the Post Office when I could be walking along the river with you.”

And that’s all the answer he will get as she stands rather abruptly and makes a point to zip her jacket for longer than necessary.

He will wonder about it, of course, but not right now. Now they will continue on his course toward the water, a route he hadn’t really been aware of until she mentioned it. But he is more than aware of other things. There is the pressure of her hand that eventually slips through his arm and the flush that occasionally rises in her face…..that must be from the chill in the air and the wind that has returned to whip about them as they walk.

….

“I hope you like popcorn.”

“Lizzy, what….”

“...am I doing here?” she asks when he stops, eyes narrowing, as she plops down in the seat beside him. “I came for the movie. Here, hold my stuff.”

The popcorn is handed over, and a drink along with candy and more candy, until her hands are free to remove her jacked and get comfortable.

“Dare I ask how you knew where I’d be at this particular moment?”

“Raymond, we’ve already been through this routine. You see, I’m a profiler.”

“You could humor me this once.”

It makes her laugh and she explains, while reclaiming her purchases from the snack bar. “Well, you are appallingly clueless about current television or film, but have an affinity for the classics. Would you like some of my M&M’s?”

“Perhaps later. Go on.”

“There’s not much to tell. You were reading the paper and something made you smile, which turned out to be the announcement for this theater’s classic movie day. However, knowing you wouldn’t want to come at the regular showing, I figured you’d make a deal with the manager and here we are, nine in the morning on a Tuesday, ready to watch North By Northwest.”

There it is. A clue within the story. What she left out, but what he sees so clearly. She wanted to know what caught his attention, made him smile. She must have found the paper, the exact page, and searched it out until she came across the notice. She was curious and so is he. More than curious. He is fascinated.

He is also a little speechless to say the least, actually he’s thoroughly speechless which causes her to hesitate and the furrow on her brow is there before he can reassure her.

“Perhaps I should have-”

“Did you get butter on the popcorn?” he asks quickly, by way of reassurance.

Her worry goes as quickly as it came and she relaxes back with a grin. “What kind of question is that?”

“I take it back.”

“Hey, you know there’s a mysterious Mr. Kaplan in this movie. That’s a curious coincidence don’t you think?”

“Is it?” he asks with a mysterious smile of his own. “You’ll have to ask Mr. Kaplan about that some time.”

“I just might if I ever get the nerve up,” she mutters, making him chuckle at her honesty.

She leans into him long enough for him to know it’s not by accident just as the lights dim and Hitchcock’s classic springs to life. They’ve seen it before, but never like this. Alone and closed off from the world, even for a short while. Together. It’s difficult to ignore the charge running between them that sparks their awareness of the other. The nearness of their hands and if only one of them would reach out....

But not yet.

Not with their nervous energy as they wonder at these strange turning of events. Ones that she has turned to her liking. And his. Where it will lead them, they can’t possibly know. The answer remains elusive, especially when they are distracted by the two improbable lovers on screen, hiding amidst the monuments of granite, searching for any mode of escape. 

Not unlike themselves.

…..

It’s becoming a habit.

Quite unexpected in a way that he now anticipates, looks forward to that sudden thrill when she materializes at his side or endures the disappointment when his solitude goes uninterrupted. There are times he forgets to ask the how or why of it until much later, for it is so natural, so incredibly easy to share these small nothings with her that now seem anything but small.

It is also easy to reciprocate.

“It’s getting late, Agent Keen, and the case, as they say, is closed.”

She sits up with a jolt at her desk and flinches as the muscles in her neck complain at the sudden movement.

“What are you doing here?”

“I ask myself that question on a regular basis and I assure you the answer is always the same.” He walks the rest of the way inside her office and drops into a chair, his fedora coming to rest on a knee. “You.”

The scowl is gone, replaced by something in her eyes he would not dare to name, something he wants to hold close for fear of losing it.

“I’m okay.”

That may be, but it was a disturbing case, the kind that will linger and rob them of sleep. The kind that makes this most difficult of jobs worth doing.

“I know you are, LIzzy,” he murmurs. “But I find myself a little out of sorts tonight and could use the company.

“And Dembe isn’t company?”

The trace of teasing in her voice makes him smile and he returns it in kind. “He’s gone off to BINGO with Mr. Brimley.”

She rolls her eyes and closes the file she has been reading, setting it firmly aside. At least for tonight. This is what they need, the solace they always seem able to find when it is only them. It is later, after dinner, when they are strolling about the neighborhood that she takes his arm and gives him a little pull.

“Where are you taking me?”

“There’s an ice cream place up ahead. If we hurry, we can get a scoop before they close.”

He makes no argument at either the prospect of ice cream or the pleasure of her company for awhile longer. Perhaps that is the reason for her suggestion, not wanting the evening to draw to a close.

But there goes his mind again, running away with him as his thoughts tangle in a knot. That is, until they enter the shop and he stops in his tracks, looking around and then back to where she is watching him.

“Remind you of anything?” she asks with a smile.

“Yes, I’d say so.”

If he didn’t know better he’d swear they were in the little bistro in Montreal. From the tiled walls and checkered pattern on the floor, antique mirrors and even the golden hue of the lighting.

“How long have you known about this place?”

“A few months. I was waiting for the right time to bring you here.”

God the way she can make his head spin and he says nothing more until they have their scoops in hand and take a seat at one of the small tables.

“You could ask me again, Raymond.”

The spoon stops halfway to his mouth and slowly makes a return trip to his bowl. “I don’t understand.”

“You asked a very important question that night in Montreal. You could ask me again.”

He swallows and replays their conversation in his mind, not for the first time since they shared a cocktail and he found himself falling.

“Why would I do that?”

Her words from that long ago night that he borrows, whispering them as she did then, and sees her smile ever so briefly.

“Ask me.”

“Tell me my profile, Elizabeth.”

As complicated as their lives have become, how treacherous the path that has led them here, but how simple it is to tell him.

“You’re a loner. You keep your distance,” she says, drawing from her first impressions of him, only now there is infinitely more. “Except with those you hold dear. Except with me.”

“Lizzy….”

“Even now, you long to hear it, but are afraid of the words you can’t possibly make yourself believe are real.”

He will never be able to ask what they are. He will never have to.

“I love you. That’s what I want you to know.”

Words that would have been impossible to believe in Montreal, but settle in his soul in an ice cream shop in DC. There are words of his own that he has held onto so tightly until this very moment.

“I-”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but the shop is closing.”

The kid behind the counter gives them an apologetic shrug and Raymond laughs out loud. “That is excellent news.”

With a flurry, he drops a rather large tip on the table and takes her hand, leading her back onto the quiet sidewalk.

“Things do seem to have a way of interrupting us,” she comments rather dryly.

“Not this time.”

Not ever again if they have anything to say about it, but they will think about that later. It is all a blur when his hands cup her face and he kisses her as he has wanted for a very long time. As they have both wanted, time and again, but it took a little turn and twist of fate to close the circle.

“I love you,” he whispers, when they finally pull back.

“I know,” as her arms reach up to link behind his neck, waiting for his hands to drop to the small of her back, drawing her in closer. Just as she knew they would. “I’m a profiler, after all.”

[knucklescum]

Ink - Matt Murdock x reader soulmate au

Pairing: Daredevil Matt Murdock x reader

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, mentions of violence

Blank. Your entire body had been completely blank for your entire life. No scribbled notes on the back of your hand, no absentminded doodles and drawings up and down your arm. Nothing.

You’d had your own markings there, of course; appointment times hurriedly jotted on your hand as your doctor hangs up the phone. Hell, your arm was frequently covered in various flowers, eyes and a multitude of dicks as your old school friends showed off their artistic ‘abilities’. You dread to think what your soulmate had thought of you back then.

It had been a while since you had thought about your soulmate, their lack of interest in inking themselves up causing you to pretty much forget their existence entirely. They only came up in conversation when you’d go out for drinks with your friends or when someone you knew finally found their soulmate. You hadn’t given up searching, you’d just given up giving a fuck.

Today, you started a new case. It wasn’t often that your firm took on clients who were undeniably evil - sure, some were a little cheeky sometimes - but you guessed that this client in particular was paying the big bucks.

You had originally started at Hastings & co. as a freelance private investigator, working with Everett Hastings to find the best clients or, more correctly, the clients with the easiest cases to defend. It wasn’t long before Everett’s offers were too hard to ignore, the financial stability of working for a firm providing you with far more long term solutions to all of your daily struggles. That had been six years ago now. Now you had your very own office and effectively the freedom to find your own cases once again, as long as you stayed within Hastings’ admittedly lenient guidelines.

This case, however, you had no say in. 

Lost in thought, you barely notice the intern standing in your doorway until he gives two gentle knocks on the doorframe.

‘Miss, the client has arrived. Everett has requested that you introduce yourself.’ 

‘Yes, yes of course,’ you look up, quickly jumping out of your seat and snatching your pen and paper from the edge of the desk. ‘Is the client by themselves? Or is there a whole entourage like last time?’ 

You both begin walking down the hallway before the intern starts again, ‘No, it’s just him. But,’ he pauses, coming to a stop and leaning in to whisper, ‘I think he’s wired. He keeps fiddling with his ear.’

You nod as you make your way towards the office, ‘Okay. Thanks, dude. See you later.’ The two of you exchange small waves before you turn to open the office door, forcing a polite smile on to your face. 

Immediately, you recognise the client. His perfectly polished face had been all over the news recently - this was an extremely high profile case. You don’t hesitate in sending a smile his way, sticking your hand out to meet his.

The two of you shake hands as you introduce yourself, the situation surprisingly pleasant until you share your role at the firm with him. He scoffs as the words ‘private investigator’ leave your mouth.

‘Ralph Spentsworth. You can call me Raffie, though I doubt we’ll be interacting again.’ He laughs again, shooing you away with his hand. ‘I have no interest in communicating with an unqualified, wannabe detective.’

Turning to Everett, you shoot him a look for him to support you.

Everett coughs, nodding at you before looking back to Ralph.

‘I can assure you, Raffie, she is very much qualified for your case. She’s your best bet at walking away from this situation unscathed.’ 

‘Thank you, Mr Hastings,’ you say before gesturing to the door, ‘Should I get started?’

Everett glances around the room before giving you a curt nod, ‘Yes, Miss, that’ll be all for now. All of the files regarding Mr Spentswor- sorry, Raffie’s case should have already been emailed over to you. Good luck.’ 

-----

It was way past the end of your shift. Almost everyone in the office had said their farewells to you for the evening, although you had no idea how long it had been since you had said goodnight to your last colleague. You were completely and utterly lost in the research for Ralph’s case. It had been obvious that he was in fact guilty of a crime right from the get-go, but you had no idea just how horrific his crimes had been. As with most of the big bad clients, there was more than one crime spanning over multiple weeks, but Hastings and co. were only defending him for one particular set of crimes. Thankfully, each of these cases were heavily reported on by local news stations and papers which aided your moral judgement - but it made your job increasingly more difficult.

Shares holder Ralph Spentsworth suspected of grievous bodily harm after money laundering scheme goes bust.

Local businessman Ralph Spentsworth allegedly spotted beating woman to death.

Eyewitnesses report local business owner ‘Raffie’ Spentsworth breaking and entering before damning emergency call is made.

Shit.

How on earth are you supposed to find evidence for this guy? Wherever you look, you could only find more and more incriminating evidence. Extremely obvious evidence.

As you continue your search, Everett makes his way into your office.

‘Fantastic, you’re still here. I need to discuss something with you.’ Everett plants himself into one of the seats opposite your desk, leaning himself over to peer at you.

‘I didn’t think you’d still be here,’ you laugh as you check the time. 

23:46

‘I didn’t plan on it,’ he laughs. ‘I’m just going to confide in you, I’m asking politely that you don’t say ‘I told you so’, okay?’.

‘Hmm.’ You nod, encouraging him to continue.

He shifts his eyes around the office, clearly debating whether to continue. 

‘I shouldn’t have taken this case.’

You shake your head in both amusement and understanding as he stutters to support his statement. 

‘I’m being serious. He’s fucking evil. He doesn’t feel guilty at all. No remorse whatsoever. I’ve seriously fucked up.’

Cutting off his ramblings, you rest your hand on his as you think of something, anything to say to make him feel better.

‘Look, Everett. You’re right, we shouldn’t have taken this case,’ he looks up at you, a sad smile on his face. ‘But there’s things we can do to fix this. To make things right.’

He suddenly springs up in his seat, drumming his hands on your desk.

‘Okay, okay. I have an idea. Won’t be monetarily great for us but it’ll ease my conscience.’

‘Oh?’ You tilt your head at him, clicking the pen in your hand, ready to take notes in your now wide open notepad. 

‘We find the victim’s lawyer.’ He says, before you interject.

‘Victim? Is the victim not, you know, dead?’ You ask, confused as to just how a dead woman can be defended in court.

‘There were 3 victims. A family. The bastard killed the wife and daughter but the husband is still alive. Got a few life changing injuries, as one would, but he’s alive.’

‘Fuck. Okay, this could work,’ you say, scribbling down information onto the paper. ‘Do we know the guy’s name?’ You turn to your computer, opening google with your fingers hovering over the keyboard.

‘Leo. Leo Baker.’ Everett confidently utters to you, resting his head on his fist as you frantically type.

‘Found him. Okay-y,’ you say, pausing to write Leo’s name on your hand. Important information goes on the hand. 

It takes a good while before you find a news article specifically about Leo. You scan the article for any information at all regarding a lawyer or anything to do with the legal system, ultimately with no luck.

You continue to scour the internet for more information, eventually landing on the Facebook profile of an elderly woman who appears to be a neighbour to the Baker family, with frequent updates and statuses on the case.

‘I think I’ve got a lead.’ You say, ushering Everett over to your side of the desk with your pen. He quickly makes his way over, peering at the screen.

He seems to be a few posts ahead of you as he points at the post furthest to the bottom.

‘Lovely Leo has found himself a very friendly pair of lawyers. Not a fan of their office though, needs an upgrade!’ Everett reads, ‘Maybe send her a message? She might be able to give us the address of Leo’s lawyers.’

Everett returns back to his seat, promptly pulling his phone from his pocket.

‘Shit, I’ve gotta run. You work on that message though and keep me updated, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Goodnight, Everett.’ You wave your hand at him, gesturing for him to leave. ‘I’ll lock up on my way out!’ 

‘You’re a star!’ He shoots a finger gun at you before quickly leaving the room, closing the door behind him. 

Not long after Everett left, you formulated the perfect message for Leo’s neighbour. You hadn’t been expecting a response at such an unreasonable time, but you had received a notification in no time at all.

You frantically search for your phone in the depths of your bag, fishing it out to call Everett. You ring twice to no response, opting to text him instead.

Got the address. Nelson And Murdock. You heard of them? Heading over in the morning

Tossing your phone to the side, you pick up your pen and write the number for Nelson and Murdock on your hand, along with the building name and number.

-----

08:00

You awoke to the blaring sound of your alarm, sleepily reaching over to your bedside table to turn it off, instead knocking your phone from its place on the edge of the furniture. Sliding out of bed, you pick up your phone and turn the alarm off, preparing to start the day.

It doesn’t take long for the hour to pass, your 09:00am alarm reminding you to call the two men that you had been researching the night before, Nelson and Murdock. 

The notes on your hand were slightly faded but still legible. You rushed to enter the number into your phone’s dial keypad, bringing the phone up to your ear.

After a single ring, the phone is answered.

Before you or the person on the other end can speak, you hear a bellowing voice from somewhere in the background.

‘-op secret information is on your hand today, Matty?’ 

‘Hello, Nelson and Murdock, attorneys at law. Karen speaking.’ A woman’s voice chimes, letting out a small chuckle at the suspected madness going on around her.

‘Hi Karen,’ you quickly introduce yourself, ‘I’m the PI from Hastings and co. , we’re defending Mr Spentsworth in Leo Baker’s case. Am I right in thinking that your firm are the ones defending Mr Baker?’

‘Um, y-yeah. Sorry, why are you calling?’ Karen is understandably confused, but you’re not sure that this particular conversation is suited for a phone call.

‘This is going to sound really weird, but would it be possible for me to visit and speak to Mr Nelson and Murdock? It’s really important.’

Karen hesitates before responding, ‘I-uh, sure. Could you be here in half an hour?’

-----

You totally overestimated how long it would take you to get to their office. You had found yourself standing in line for the bakery across the street with fifteen minutes to spare, now armed with an assortment of baked goods as you made your way up the narrow stairs towards the firm. 

As you made your way down the hallway towards the door with a fairly new looking plaque on the front, you readied yourself for the oncoming conversation. 

This should be fairly simple, you thought. I’m on their side.

You barely get the chance to knock before the door swings open, a friendly, slender, blonde woman holding it open as she introduces herself.

‘Hi, come in, come in! I’m Karen, we spoke on the phone.’

You can’t help but smile at her as she excitedly beckons you inside, taking the box of treats from your hand, staring at the scribbles on your hand as she does so.

‘I bought some snacks! Consider it a peace offering. I have no idea how this is going to go.’ you anxiously admit, already feeling relaxed in Karen’s presence. 

She laughs in response, ‘Mr Nelson and Mr Murdock are just in their office at the moment, discussing something or other. They shouldn’t be too much longer.’

The two of you stand awkwardly in the reception area before Karen jolts across the room, gently creeping open the office door. You can’t make out their hushed whispers as they hurriedly end their conversation, Karen turning to face you and gesturing for you to come inside. 

You take a seat opposite the two men, sending them both what you only hoped were warm smiles. You introduce yourself as you look between them. 

‘It’s great to meet you, (y/n). I’m Foggy. Foggy Nelson. This,’ the blonde man gestures to the dark haired, bearded man beside him, a pair of dark tinted glasses balanced on his nose. ‘This is Matt Murdock, my associate. How can we help?’ 

Both men edge in closer to you, almost comically, each arm folded and resting on the desk.

You pause, considering what to say next, how to go about this conversation.

These guys seem okay. Seem reasonable, you think. You bring your hands up to the desk, immediately gaining Foggy’s attention. His eyes are drawn to the faded ink that litters your hand, seemingly trying to…read it?

You peer down at your hand before clutching it with your other, looking up to Foggy in apology.

‘I’m so sorry, it’s just notes from last night - it won’t come off.’ you say, an anxious laugh escaping your lips.

‘No, no. It’s no issue, just looked familiar.’ He utters, gently nudging Matt’s leg from under the table.

‘Oh, yeah. It’s your phone number.’ you laugh. Nervously, you shoot a glance up to Karen who has remained at the edge of the room. She offers a shrug in response before casting her eyes back to Matt.

‘So, anyway.’ Matt starts, sitting up in his chair as he rubs the back of his hand. ‘What is it that you’re here to discuss with us?’

You quickly recollect yourself as you start, ‘Oh shit, yeah. Ralph Spentworth. H-he’s-’

‘Evil.’ Matt cuts you off.

‘Y-yeah, exactly. My boss- his lawyer, Everett Hastings doesn’t want to win the case. Is there anything in particular that we can do that would benefit your defence?’ you ask.

‘Drop the case?’ Foggy retorts, earning a light chuckle from Karen.

‘No, you’re not understanding. Hastings wants this man put away. He needs absolutely zero chance of winning this case.’ You explain, your hands moving as you speak. ‘We’re on your side.’

‘You expect us to believe that the man with the highest paying client I’ve personally ever seen doesn’t want to win?’ Foggy says. ‘He just wants to hand us the case?’

You hold your head in your hands momentarily as you think of how to assure these men that you truly want to work alongside them.

‘Spentworth’s crimes are horrific. No morally sound person would even attempt to defend that man.’

‘So why did Hastings take him on?’ Matt asks, tilting his chin up ever so slightly.

‘My guess? The money. It always looks nice at first glance.’ you shrug. ‘But Hastings has realised his mistake. He can’t go through with it.’

The pair decide to discuss the topic further between themselves, leaving you and Karen in the office. Barely a minute passed before you noticed Karen analysing your hand again, embarrassedly pulling your hand to your chest. 

She looks awkwardly to the floor, shuffling her feet against the carpet. 

‘Sorry, (y/n).’ she laughs, before joining you at the desk. ‘This is so rude, oh my god, I’m sorry. But I have to ask, what does it say on your hand?’ 

Gesturing to your ink smeared hand, she looks up at you expectantly.

‘Oh, um, don’t worry about it.’ you laugh. ‘Leo Baker,’ you read. ‘And then the office’s phone number.’ 

You awkwardly extend your arm to reach Karen, showing her the notes on your hand.

‘Okay, don’t freak out. Matt’s hand- This,’ she points at your hand. ‘This is exactly what is on Matt’s hand.’

‘We clearly have the same way of remembering things!’ you nervously chuckle, trying to ignore the vice-like grip that Karen has on your wrist.

‘Matt doesn’t- Matt can’t read things from his hand. He’s,’ Karen leans in. ‘He’s blind.’ she whispers.

You make a sound of shock as she covers her mouth with her hand.

‘I- Karen! I know! I suppose I, well I guess I didn’t consider how he’d go about writing on his hand - shit. I feel so bad, I’m so sorry.’ you stammer out, desperate for this whole encounter to be over.

Before you can discuss it further, Foggy and Matt make their way back into the room.

‘Okay,’ Foggy starts, slapping his arms against his sides. ‘We wouldn’t usually, y’know, work with the opposition. But this seems justified,’ Foggy side eyes Matt, a smile gracing the brunette’s face.

‘We’ll work something out,’ Matt smiles, returning to his seat at the desk. ‘Foggy has informed me that we have another thing to discuss?’ he questions, causing you to look between Foggy and Karen for a response.

Foggy turns to look at Karen expectedly, to which she nods in return.

‘It would seem,’ Foggy begins, reaching one arm out to your hand and the other to Matt’s, ‘you two are soulmates.’

You turn to Matt in surprise, gazing at his face before moving your eyes down to his hand.

There it is. Unmistakably your handwriting, rushed and scribbled, in the exact same spot as on yours. Faded, but there.

‘Are you sure?’ Matt questions, pulling his hand back in to brush his fingers over it. ‘Maybe it’s just a coincidence?’ 

‘No,’ the three of you respond in unison.

‘That’s definitely my handwriting.’ you mutter, still unable to get past the shock. 

This man, beautifully crafted and delightfully polite, is your soulmate?

You had no idea what could possibly be running through Matt’s head right now.

A tense silence filled the room, Karen and Foggy looking from you and Matt, desperate for something to happen.

The silence continued and it was beginning to affect Foggy. He couldn’t handle the awkwardness.

‘Why don’t we, uh,’ Foggy pauses to think. ‘Let’s go for drinks?’

You turn to Foggy, a puzzled expression dancing across your face.

‘Drinks? It’s not even noon.’

Foggy offers nothing but a laugh in response as he picks up his bag from the floor.

‘Let’s go.’

-----

Maybe drinks weren’t such a bad idea. Sure, you’d mainly stuck by Karen’s side in order to avoid any potential awkwardness but, as a matter of fact, it wasn’t too bad. You were a few shots down before you ended up alone at the booth with Matt.

He held himself with such composure, charm may as well have been oozing from the man. You couldn’t help but admire him, your eyes taking in each and every detail. You were staring, and part of you sensed that he knew it.

‘I can’t believe it. You’re my soulmate!’ you exclaim, earning a chuckle from Matt.

‘I’m your soulmate. Unless this is some elaborate ruse created by the three of you to get me into your bed - I’ve been told I’m quite the catch.’ He cuts himself off, fanning his face with his hand in jest.

‘Oh yes, Mr Murdock. I am here simply to bed you, nothing more.’ you retort, joining him in his laughter.

‘So,’ Matt pauses to recollect himself. ‘How long have you been with Hastings?’

‘Everett?’ you ask in shock, ‘I’m not with Everett, not my type. Too blonde.’ you say, snatching your glass up from the table and taking a mouthful of the watered down remnants of your drink.

‘No, no,’ he laughs. ‘I didn’t mean that, (y/n). How long have you worked for him?’

You rub your forehead in embarrassment as you think back on your career.

‘Three and a half years, ish. It’s not too bad.’ you reply before taking another sip of your drink.

‘How about you? You and Foggy seem like you’ve worked together for years.’

‘Foggy and I went to school together, never really separated since. We haven’t had our own firm for long,’ he pauses, ‘but it’s been long enough to end up in some deep shit.’

‘I hear you,’ you nod. ‘I couldn’t cut it as a lawyer - I think I’d get too attached.’ 

‘How so?’ Matt interjects, turning his entire body to face you. His sudden interest in what you had to say catches you off guard.

‘Oh, well, you know.’ you say. ‘I’ve been told I care too much. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost a case, if I let someone down.’

‘It happens.’ Matt nods. ‘But it gets easier. There aren’t enough lawyers who care.’

You shrug before finishing off your drink. 

‘This rounds on me. What do you fancy?’ you ask, taking Matt’s empty bottle and placing it inside your glass.

‘No, no, don’t worry about it. That’s enough for me.’ he says, motioning to stop with his hands.

‘Can I tempt you with a cola instead then?’ you ask, desperate for an excuse to stay and chat with him.

With some pleading, you manage to convince him, taking your empty glasses over to the bar. As you make your way to the bar, you see Foggy and Karen leaning against a pool table, seemingly deep in conversation.

Karen notices your presence as you walk towards them, waving you over.

‘How’s it going with Matt? We thought we’d leave you two to yourselves for a while.’ she excitedly grabs your shoulder, pulling you in closer.

You turn back to face Matt, his head vaguely looking in your direction as he presumably waits for your return. 

‘I should get back to him.’ you say, gesturing to the man you had abandoned at the booth.

‘Yeah of course.’ Foggy laughs as you turn to the bar, shaking his head at Karen in amusement.

Once you were out of earshot, Foggy and Karen resume their giggly, hushed conversation over the pool table.

‘Two Pepsis! Pepsi is okay,’ you pause, ‘right?’

‘Absolutely.’ Matt laughs.

As you slide yourself back into the booth, your eyes are drawn to your penmanship on Matt’s hand. Slowly, you reach out to touch his hand, to hold it, to inspect it.

‘May I?’ you ask, forgetting that he probably has zero idea as to what you’re asking. ‘Sorry,’ you laugh. ‘May I touch your hand?’

Matt nods in agreement with no hesitation, pushing his arm outwards further into your reach.

Your fingers barely graze his hand before a sharp spark jolts through your entire body. Instinctively, you pull your hand away and stare at Matt with a look of amazement. 

His hand reaches out into thin air in an attempt to find your hand again.

‘That has to mean something.’ you utter (mostly to yourself) as your hand meets his in the middle of the distance between the two of you.

He shakes his head, a soft smile filing his features.

‘I’m almost certain I know what it means, (y/n).’

You look up at his face, realisation dawning on you as you piece it together. That was undeniable evidence that couldn’t possibly be coincidence.

‘We’re soulmates.’

[babycharmander]

Looking back on Loboto’s backstory, it makes me wonder if he was sheltered. Even before his psychic powers were revealed, he wasn’t allowed to play with other kids his age and not go anywhere else unless one of his parents were there with him. He probably still did go to regular school. From research I’ve done: sheltered kids become stunted in their maturation to independently functioning adults. Even though he is a grown man, he’s not psychologically an adult given his childlike mentality.

I don't doubt that he was sheltered. From what we see of his parents, they come across as snobby, and they'd probably be picky about what kids he got to interact with.

As for the note on his maturity though, I don't agree. Loboto acts childish, but he is not a child. Being sheltered can certainly stunt someone in certain ways, especially socially, but it doesn't prevent them from becoming an adult psychologically. It doesn't stop your brain from developing entirely!

Even if he weren't sheltered, he was still massively abused by his parents, and the lobotomy sure didn't help things. But I would argue that those things didn't permanently or completely stunt his overall maturity.

In his mind, we see him as a child, and we see him as Monstroboto as well, who acts extremely childish. But we also see him as First Mate Loboto, who acts a fair amount more mature than the others (if not, uh, severely more emotionally distressed, to put it mildly). That alone proves that he's definitely an adult.

On top of that, Loboto has also been able to function on his own. Not in a healthy way, of course, but he can live on his own and hold a job. He is, in his own words, a "freelance contractor," and has been working for multiple clients for some time. We don't really know how long, but enough for an arguably high-profile client like Gristol to want to hire him. He's also survived in Thorney Towers long after its closing, and is the only resident with some degree of freedom, essentially bossing the rest of them around.

Socially though he is rather a mess. We haven't seen evidence of the poor guy having friends of any kind (other than the mutant fish creatures he created in RoR, if those even count), and any relationship we've seen that he does have is not a good one. He's abusive to Sheegor, terrified of Gristol, and whether he got along okay with Oleander or not, Oleander planned to kill him to cover his tracks and/or if things went south, which doesn't seem indicative of any sort of closeness. His last line in Psychonauts 2 indicates that he may have a child of some sort, but it's questionable just who said child is, or even if he's telling the truth. If he is telling the truth, and it's an actual human child that was left at Whispering Rock (as opposed to an animal or plush toy, which is my own headcanon), then it's worth noting that he doesn't have a partner, and given he de-brained every child at camp, he probably doesn't have a great relationship with whatever kid might have.

That said, I do have hope that post-Psychonauts 2 he'll get the chance to grow, developing more healthy relationships from there on out (especially now that he's found his moral compass again).

But, yeah. I would say that sheltering plus abuse plus the lobotomy definitely led to screwing him over as far as social relationships go. He's not a healthy adult, but he is very much an adult.

[agustdakasuga]

Between The Bloodshed | Chapter 6

Genre: Mafia!AU, Angst, Romance, Fluff

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: Doctor!Reader, Gangster!Namjoon, Gangster!Seokjin, Gangster!Yoongi, Gangster!Hoseok, Gangster!Jimin, Gangster!Taehyung, Gangster!Jungkook

Summary: Being a freelance doctor, this was just supposed to be any other job, helping a private client and taking care of him through his recovery. But you were not expecting to get caught in something so much darker that would change your life entirely.

The boys patiently waited for you to give them an answer. Were you really going to leave like nothing happened? Or bite the bullet and continue, possibly putting your life at risk?

Warning: This story is fictional and has nothing to do with real life events or the actual members of BTS. It may contain depictions of violence, blood shed/ gore and mentions of abuse. Please read at your own discretion.

The next morning, you sat up in bed. You went to bed rather late last night, even after the dinner ended. It was hard to fall asleep like normal. In the end, you decided to head into your office again to try and make yourself sleepy like the night before. 

Kookie just sat there obediently, being a nice, quiet companion. There was a knock on the door, making your head shoot up from your book. You hummed and the door opened, a head poking through. 

“Hey.” You smiled softly. 

“I was passing by and saw your office lights on. Can’t sleep?” He came in with a tray. You shook your head. 

“I brought some hot chocolate. Mind if I join you?” He asked. You repeated your action, gesturing to the chair on the other side of your desk. Placing the tray with the two mugs down, he took a seat. He held out one of the mugs to you. You graciously took it into your hands, enjoying the warm, sweet beverage before resting it on your lap. 

“Ah, Kookie, don’t do that.” You pulled him away as he started to nibble on the corner of your book.

“I still can’t believe you and Jungkook got this fella together on a whim.” He chuckled, crossing his legs as he sipped from his own mug. You smiled softly, stroking Kookie’s ear. 

“I still can’t believe I let Jungkook name him Kookie.” You snorted. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked. 

“My wrist is fine. It’s not even a strain, just a little bruised. I’m just as human as you, I get hurt too.” You joked. He smiled at your response. 

“I know. But that’s not what I was referring to. I was talking more... mentally and emotionally. I guess we were all shocked because these things happen to us on a daily basis... So we never thought how much it would affect you or anyone else.” He confessed. 

“I was shaken. But... I’ll get over it.” You looked away. 

“It’s okay to be scared, (y/n).” He said softly, not in a teasing way. His voice was laced with patience and understanding.

“Do you want me to stay?” You asked randomly. 

“You and I both know that it doesn’t matter what I want or what the others want.” He raised an eyebrow, knowing that you were just deflecting. You shrugged, chewing on your bottom lip like a pouty child. 

“We’re still shocked you haven’t left. We thought you’d just pack and leave the moment you got home.” He confessed. 

“Well, I’m not exactly one to make impulsive decisions. I usually put more thought into it. Every decision is important to me. Whatever the outcome is... affects me and the clients I work with.” You rolled your eyes slightly. The male gave you an amused look, laughing and raising his mug in agreement. After the drinks were done, you separated to head to bed. 

“Thanks.” You saluted before parting ways with him, a sleeping Kookie curled up in your arms. 

You rolled around your sheets for a while before getting up. Going to open the curtains, you saw Jimin in the backyard, swinging a wooden bokken around, hitting a plastic dummy.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

“Come in.” You cleared your throat. Jungkook appeared, yawning and rubbing his eyes, half asleep. Without a word, you watched as he dove into bed. 

“Jungkook?” You called out. 

“Shhh, hyungs are too naggy. You never saw me.” He mumbled into your pillow, slowly falling asleep again. You sighed with a shake of the head, this was the real side of the boys. You went into the bathroom to wash up and change. Jungkook was snoring softly when you came back out. 

“Good morning, Kookie.” You whispered. Kookie’s ear twitched before hopping over to sniff your finger. 

“Hungry?” You asked. He merely turned around and huddled back in his corner. You scoffed, standing back up to fill his food bowl anyway and change his water. Jungkook and Kookie remained asleep. 

*KNOCK KNOCK*

“Coming.” You stood up and went to open your door. Namjoon stood there with a displeased look on his face. 

“He’s there... isn’t he?” He sighed.

“Uhh...” You turned around to see Jungkook still fast asleep. 

“I have no idea who you’re referring to.” You smiled innocently. Namjoon squinted his eyes, obviously not convinced by your act. He tilted his head, trying to peak into the room but you just stepped to the side to cover his view of the youngest, passed out in your bed. You crossed your arms, raising your eyebrow at him. 

“I can tell you’re not going to have a problem integrating into the family then. I’ll look for Jungkook somewhere else. Thanks, doc.” He gave you a lazy wave and walked away. You closed the door. 

“Jeon Jungkook, get up. Go to your own bed.” You crossed your arms.

“No.” He replied, pulling the blanket over his head. You tugged the blanket away from him, making him whine.

“Why are you even here? I’m sure your room is much bigger and your bed is much more comfortable than mine.” You shook your head. Jungkook buried his face further into the pillow.

“Because hyungs keep nagging me to do things. And now you are doing the same.” He mumbled. Well, his profile did say he was the hardest to wake up. 

“I’m going. Don’t snoop.” You threatened and grabbed your things, leaving your bedroom. You went to make your morning coffee and sat down in the dining room. It was just Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok and a sweaty Jimin. They all acknowledged your presence in their own ways. 

“How was your sleep?” Hoseok asked. 

“It was fine.” You shrugged, dipping your toast into your running eggs. The breakfast was rather silent, with only occasional conversation being passed between the boys. 

“Namjoon, may I speak with you later?” You cleared your throat. 

“Of course.” He nodded. Jimin cast you an uneasy glance before side eyeing Namjoon, who nonchalantly continued to eat his food. 

“(y/n), you forgot to bring Kookie down. And by the way, you’re wrong, your bed is nicer than mine.” Jungkook came in, stretching his arms. He yawned, placing Kookie down before taking a seat. 

“What?!” Hoseok and Jimin yelped. Even Yoongi’s eyes widened slightly at Jungkook’s comment. 

“Liar.” Namjoon coughed. 

“I was held against my will, Namjoon.” You smiled innocently. Namjoon chuckled with a shake of his head. Jungkook lazily dug into his breakfast. The other 3 at the table were still stunned at Jungkook confessing that he slept in your bed and you being okay with that. It also seemed that Namjoon was in the know of it. 

“You... you...” Jimin pointed at Jungkook than you. 

“Oh, hell no! Get your brain out of the gutter. I’ll have you know, I am a woman of principles. I’m insulted you would even assume such a thing, Jimin.” You glared at him. 

“Then why was Jungkook in your bed?” Yoongi asked. 

“Escaping you guys to get a couple more minutes of sleep.” You revealed and Jungkook choked on his food. 

“Hey! You didn’t have to go exposing me!” 

“Well, that’s what you get for making it sound like we slept together. I’m not having my morals questioned because of you.” You scoffed, crossing your arms. Jungkook shot you an offended look. 

“Yoongles, I’ll see you in the clinic after I speak to Namjoon?” You tilted your head. Yoongi rolled his eyes. 

“Alright, alright. Geez, I know you’re excited but calm down.” You waved him off. The others stifled a laugh. Yoongi would never admit that he only lets you play around with him like that. Anyone else would definitely get a bullet to the head if they tried to tease him like you. 

“Shall we?” Namjoon wiped his mouth, standing up. You nodded your head. 

“Do I have to sing how we’re off to see the wizard?” You blinked. Namjoon chuckled at your ‘Wizard of Oz’ reference. You walked out with him and headed to his office. 

“I’m guessing you would like to discuss whether you will continue working here with us or not?” Namjoon asked as he sat down. 

“Is there any other reason I should be coming?” You raised your eyebrows as you sat down. 

“I will never know if you think I need a psychiatric assessment or intervention so I was just making sure.” Namjoon chuckled with a shrug. You laughed, Namjoon would probably be the last person in the house that needs an ‘intervention’. Namjoon was someone you knew was serious but he always played along with your sarcastic jokes. 

“I’ll stay, at least until my contract ends.” You spoke, getting to the actual reason why you were sitting in his office. 

“Right... Here, you might need this then.” Namjoon nodded, taking a box out from his drawer and sliding it over to you. You didn’t even open it. 

“A gift? That was quick.” You scoffed. 

“Just take it. It’s actually more important than you think.” Namjoon said, a smile on his face. You nodded, placing the box in your lap, you’ll open it later when you’re alone.

“I heard Jungkook say you’ll be busy friday night?” 

“I knew that little bunny was eavesdropping... But yeah, just a little family thing I can’t really escape from. I can trust you guys not to get killed while I’m not around, right?” You crossed your arms. 

“Maybe not killed but gravely injured... I’m not making any promises.” Namjoon mused.

“Well, as long as you lot don’t die before I get back, you can get as gravely injured as you’d like. Who knows, it may be more fun for me than you’d think.” You chuckled. Standing up, you turned to get ready to leave Namjoon when he spoke from behind you.

“So what made your decision?” 

“Let’s just say some late night hot cocoa is good to clear your mind.” You said briefly, remembering what happened in your office last night with your mysterious person. 

“I see... Have a good day, doc.” Namjoon wished. You smiled, giving him a backwards wave before leaving. 

“Yoonie~” You hummed as you entered the office. Yoongi was already sitting on the therapy bed, looking at his finger nail with a bored expression. 

“So, any pain from our last session?” You asked. 

“No.” He replied, letting you help him unstrap the bulky cast form his body. You nodded your head. Yoongi’s condition was improving rather quickly. He was quite the compliant patient. You started the physiotherapy session with him, noting down the improvements that you observed. Yoongi also didn’t seem to be in as much pain. 

“Are you staying?” He asked. 

“What do you mean?” You asked, scribbling down on your notepad. 

“You know what I mean...”

“If you’re referring to whether I’ll still be working here, then yes. I told Namjoon that I’ll work at least until the end of my contract. Besides, it may prove to be a new experience working here.” You shrugged. 

“Don’t regret it.” Yoongi sighed. 

“Aww, are you worrying about me? Don’t worry, Yoonie. I know you would have missed me if I left.” You wiped a fake tear, making Yoongi give you a weird look.

“It’s not easy working for this family, (y/n). We face death and danger every day. I want you to take this seriously. It’s not a joke. You could seriously get hurt. You should seriously consider it before making any decision. It’s only going to get harder as the days pass.” Yoongi frowned. 

“I am taking it seriously, Yoongi. What you saw the other night... it was just a moment of shock. I’ve mentally prepared myself.” You stared straight into his eyes with a firm voice. 

“Okay. It’s your decision.” Yoongi nodded. 

“Anyway, you don’t have you wear your sling 24/7 anymore. You can take it out for short periods of time. But you still shouldn’t be using your shoulder as normal and you should wear it to sleep.” You informed. 

“Right...” 

“Soon, you’ll be able to get rid of it entirely.” You gave a small, comforting smile. Yoongi nodded as you helped him put the sling on. 

“Bye~” You hummed as Yoongi left wordlessly. You sat at your desk, leaning back in your chair, scrolling through your emails. There were still forwarded emails from your parents. 

“Delete.” You scoffed, dragging the pile to the trash. 

*KNOCK KNOCK*

“Come in.” You sat up. Taehyung walked in, using the back of his hand to rub his cheek. He shut the door behind him and walked past you without another glance. Settling on the bed that Yoongi sat on earlier, Taehyung proceeded to lie down with his back facing you. You blinked at his sudden, wordless entrance but shrugged, continuing to do your work. 

“Taehyung?” You called out, typing away. He let out a soft hum from his spot. 

“Are you injured?” You asked. 

“...No..” He replied after much contemplation. Sighing, you stood up from your chair and headed over to him. 

“Taehyung, you’re bleeding. And you say you’re not injured. Hold on a sec.” You saw the smudged blood on his temple. Just as you were about to turn away to get the first aid kit, he grabbed your wrist. 

“It’s not my blood...” Taehyung said softly. 

“O-Oh.” Was all you could say. Taking your wrist out of his grip, you went to sit in your chair, continuing to do whatever was on your computer screen. 

“I forgot about this.” You looked at your desk and saw the box that Namjoon gave earlier. You cast a glance at Taehyung’s back before opening the box. Your eyes widened slightly as you stared at the chain bracelet with a pink diamond charm and a wing charm. 

“It’s for you to wear.” Taehyung spoke. Your head shot up and you saw him sitting on the bed, swinging his legs back and forth. 

“Here.” He hopped off, taking the bracelet and clasping it around your wrist. You were a little stunned by his actions but just blinked at the new weight around your wrist. 

“Don’t take it off...” He whispered. You nodded your head, still staring at the bracelet. 

“Why?” 

“I have to go for a meeting.” Taehyung looked up from his phone, tucking it into his back pocket before leaving and heading out of the office without answering your question. You sighed, lifting your wrist up and jingling it. You stood up and walked to the big window in your office. Jimin and Jungkook were in the backyard, sparring one another. 

“(y/n)?” A voice called and you turned around to see Hoseok standing there with a small smile on his face. 

“Namjoon told me to pass these to you?” He held a stack of files out to you. You nodded, waving for him to come in. As he placed them on the desk for you to go through, he sat down.

“New profiles?” You raised an eyebrow.

“There’s a little bit more truth in them.” Hoseok shrugged. You nodded slowly, going through the profiles. He was right, there was a little more “truth” in them. 

“Come, I’ll give you a full tour of the house.” Hoseok said excitedly, shutting the folders before you could read them all. You chuckled, following him out of your office. With your hands tucked into your lab coat pockets, you followed Jin into the other wing of the house. 

“Business people come through here. The entrance you came through is only for residents of the house. We don’t want different groups of people mixing.” Hoseok showed you a smaller foyer. 

“I see.” You nodded. 

“You’ve been to Namjoon’s office. But the rest of our offices are also in the same general area. He showed you the conference room on the top floor.

“This is our main conference room. The others are downstairs. These are used for our own people, between the other 6 boys and I. Meetings with outsider clients usually take place in our offices.” He explained. 

“There shouldn’t be a need to come to this wing, except for medical injuries.” Hoseok chuckled. 

“Yes, this isn’t a place I would like to wander in my free time either.” You rolled your eyes. He threw his head back in laughter. 

“Let’s head back then.” 

-

“Doc?” Jin came in. You looked up from your computer. 

“I was gone the whole day but Namjoon told me to good news!” He grinned, closing the door behind him. 

“Is it really good news?” You raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, it is to me! Which is why, I insisted on having a celebration tonight! To celebrate you joining the family.” Jin held your hands and pulled you up from your seat, despite your protests. He brought you out of your office and into the dining room. The other 6 were already sitting there, waiting for you patiently with glasses of wine. 

“Hey.” You lifted a hand to greet them.

“(y/n)!” Jimin cheered, pushing you to sit down by your shoulders. You blinked at them. Yoongi even had a smile of amusement on his face. 

“Wine?” Jungkook offered. You would have said no but considering they were having this ‘celebratory dinner’ for you, it would be rude of you to decline. 

“Sure. Thank you.” You sighed but nodded your head. Jungkook shot you a bunny smile before pouring some wine into your glass. You clinked glasses with all of them. 

“Welcome to the family.” Namjoon smiled. 

“Thanks?” You were unsure of what to say. After all, you were still here as an employee under them. 

“It’s going to be a wild ride. Things won’t be normal anymore.” Yoongi added, sipping his wine, as the staff served the food. You nodded your head, poking your steak. 

“No need to scare her further, Yoongi. She’s already proven her strength and made her decision. Let the girl breathe for a while.” Jin chided softly, making Yoongi grunt in annoyance. You knew he wasn’t trying to scare you, he was merely warning you. 

That night, you were sitting under the gazebo, relaxing and enjoying the night breeze. Jimin laid on the seat opposite you, just like the first night that you came to the house. 

“Scared?” Jimin asked. 

“No.” 

“It’s okay to be scared, (y/n). I’m sure we all were, at some point, when we first joined.” Jimin shrugged. You tilted your head in confusion. 

“Only Namjoon hyung and Yoongi hyung were the original members of the family. The rest of us were recruited by them. But I guess you will find out each person’s individual story from them.” He chuckled. 

“What’s yours?” You asked. 

~

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[itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto]

Sleeping with the director.

A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first Matthew Gray Gubler fiction, so I hope y’all enjoy it! This was requested by @hercleverboy​ and I made a few additions to your request bebeh so I hope you like it! I really enjoyed writing it!

It's another week on the set of Criminal Minds, and Matthew is back to being Spencer Reid. Despite what the press says, you fell in love with Matthew, for well, Matthew. You met him at a Halloween store a few years ago, when you worked there as a temporary store assistant whilst you were at University studying to be a film director. Skip to 3 years later, and after a year of dating, you are now Matthew’s girlfriend, but also his best friend. Before you were a couple, you actually appeared on a few of Matthew’s unauthorized documentaries as his ‘personal assistant’ and the only person Matthew was actually nice to on those documentaries. All of his fans adored you, saying how cute as a button you were and how Matthew just had to ask you on a date.

Today, it’s a big day on set, Matthew has to kiss a witness on a case, and as much as you know Matthew would never cheat on you, you can’t help but get jealous at the idea of Matthew kissing another woman, but at least the actress is married. It’s been on your mind since Matthew got the script, and even though you said its fine, part of it isn’t fine for you.

You smile to yourself in Matthew’s trailer, putting up some Halloween decorations to surprise him, and the fact you didn’t tell him you were on set visiting him. The cast have kept him busy all morning, and away from his trailer. “Okay, whenever you’re ready, send in the Gube.” You text AJ, who was the first person you told you were visiting today.

“Anyways, so see you at lunch and for the next scene.” AJ says outside and goes back to do a scene.

“Yeah, see you.” Matthew says, a little down as he hasn’t seen you in a few weeks. There’s only so much a Skype call can do.

He opens his trailer as you quickly lie on his bed, wearing one of his hoodies which could double up as a dress on you. He sighs not seeing you at first, but smiles at the lights assuming Kirsten did them, he then hears a cough and sees you lying on his bed.

“Hi Gube.” You smile, as a few tears form in his eyes.

“Hi pretty face.” He says and takes his shoes off, mis-matched socks of course and scoops you up and peppers your face with little kisses. “I missed you so much. What a lovely surprise.” He says

You giggle at the kisses, “I missed you too.” You say kissing his lips softly which he returns and deepens it quickly.

“Later Gube, I know you have tomorrow off so we can do whatever your dirty mind has planned then.” You wink as he nods just enjoying you being in his arms.

“Nice hoodie.” He says, as much as you’d both love to have sex, you prefer to enjoy it when Matthew doesn’t have a tight schedule and you can fully enjoy each other’s bodies.

“Borrowed it off my boyfriend.” You smile, as he continues kissing your face.

“Hey.. Y/N..” He begins, needing to tell you it’s the kiss scene today.

“Yeah Gube?” You smile, putting your hands on his cheeks, knowing he loves it.

“It’s that scene today…” He whispers as you nod looking down. “Hey.. You know I love you right? She’s just an actress... and you’re so so much more than that.” He says lifting your head gently. “I love you.” He says softly.

“You do?” You say, as a tear rolls down your cheek. Even though last time you saw Matthew you said ‘I love you’ for the first time, him saying it, either in person or Skype, never gets old.

“I do.” He smiles, rubbing your tear from your cheek with his thumb.

“I love you too.” You smile, kissing him again. “Can I watch the scene today?” You ask, you recently graduated and have been freelance directing a few small adverts and short sketches, but Matthew bravely asked the crew if you could direct a few episodes after showing them you’re work and they agreed to let you direct one every five episodes, as you did some work experience on set whilst studying, and formed close friendships with everyone.

“Of course, you don’t need to ask. Are you hungry beautiful?” Matthew asks as his tummy rumbles

“Yes. I didn’t eat breakfast this morning.” You say biting your lip. Some mornings you aren’t hungry, especially if you are due on.

“Aww.” Matthew says, knowing exactly what it is and stands up, holding his hand for you. “Just eat something now and we can get ice cream later, ok?” He offers as you nod.

At lunch, you chat with the cast members, mainly about the next episode you’re directing, and you have brought your big file with you with all of your notes. When Matthew directs, he does drawings of each scene whereas have about a page of notes for each page of the script. “It’s like looking into your mind.” Paget says admiring your handwriting.

“I can’t wait to see if you wear a director scarf.” AJ says, knowing Matthew always wears one when he directs, as do the fans of the show.

“I wear fluffy jumpers and hoodies.” You smile, snuggling into Matthew’s hoodie as a breeze hits you.

Matthew puts his arm around your waist and puts a slice of pizza in front of you.

“Here pretty face.” He says and eats his pizza.

You smile, and eat the pizza noticing he got you the piece with the most cheese on it. “Thanks.” You say kissing his cheek, as the actress who Matthew is kissing in the afternoon walks in. She’s perfect. You try to focus your mind on what Matthew said earlier, but it still likes to pop up every few minutes.

The set bell rings

“You ready lovely?” Matthew asks, holding his hand out for you.

You nod, putting your file back in his trailer quickly and skip over holding his hand.

“You got tomato sauce on your cheek.” You giggle wiping it off with a tissue.

On set

“Okay so Matthew, if you stand here.. Elizabeth.. Here please. So, remember she’s distraught about her terrible date and Matthew, Spencer, offers to make it better.. and you both kiss.” The director says, as you bite your lip to prevent you from saying anything you shouldn’t.

During the kiss, you notice Matthew seems a little off and a little nervous, which is strange as he has done this show for ten years, he knows what he is doing.

“ACTION.” He calls and the scene starts and finishes with the kiss. “CUT. Now, a different angle.” He says as everyone gets back into position.

“Can I suggest something?” You ask the director, Sam.

“Sure.” Sam smiled, always happy to listen to your thoughts. “Jemma, can you do Elizabeth’s make up please?”

“Don’t hate me.” You began as Sam laughed, “But what if I was the witness? Matthew looks really uncomfortable kissing Elizabeth, I’m not saying that because I’m Matthew’s girlfriend, but if you watch it back, you can see how tense he looks.” You say

“Now who’s a profiler in real life?” Matthew chuckled sipping his coffee. “But you’re right my queen… I feel a bit odd kissing a woman that isn’t my girl. Sam, can we give it a shot?”

Elizabeth kicks up a scene, and Sam rolls his eyes at her. The actress has a history of making a scene if things don’t go the way she wants.

After a quick change, you walk back on set. “How do I look?” You ask giving a twirl.

“Adorable but I do prefer you in my hoodies.” Matthew said

Sam gives you some stage directions and Matthew’s stay the same.

“ACTION.” He calls and after a few takes, “CUT!”

But you and Matthew are still kissing, Sam doesn’t say anything and neither does anyone else.

After a few moments, you break the kiss. “I’m sorry.” You say to Matthew looking down.

“Why are you sorry boo?” Matthew asks, putting his hands on your waist.

“Because I got jealous… and well, I didn’t like watching what I saw.” You pout.

“Hey.. When I kissed her, between us, it was awful, and I’d much rather get paid to kiss my girlfriend than some actress. But, kissing you is payment in itself.” Matthew reassured you.

“You’re an idiot, but you’re my idiot.” You smile

“I love you.” Matthew says

“I love you too.” You smile.

The rest of the day, you re-shot the scenes with you being the witness on the case and starting to go through your ideas of how you are going to direct the next episode. In the evening, you and Matthew had your ice cream date, followed by watching a film and having sex a few times.

“Wow.” You say lying next to Matthew and snuggle into his arms after you come down after your orgasms.

Matthew laughs, kissing your forehead admiring your naked body as you kiss all over his chest. “It’s adorable how you assumed we’d be having sex tomorrow... Not tonight.” He said

You roll your eyes and giggle, “Can’t help it when I’m dating a sex god who got horny watching me lick an ice cream.”

Matthew laughed kissing your forehead again. “I can’t believe I slept with the director!”

You roll your eyes, “Just don’t tell your girlfriend.” You say, giggling after trying to keep it together.

“I love you.” Matthew smiles, kissing your lips softly and he waits until you close your eyes before he closes his.

“I love you too.” You smile and go to sleep.

A/N: Well, I hope y’all enjoyed that! My requests are open if anyone has any requests for either Matthew or Spencer. Please comment below, or send me a message if you’d like to be on my taglist!

Taglist: @pumpkin-goob​ , @jpegjade​ , @andiebeaword​ , @hopebaker​ , @hotchsbabygirl​ , @hercleverboy​ , @cupcake525​ , @gubetube​ , @aperrywilliams​ , @cosmic-psychickitty​ , @marleyhotchner​ 

[fanfics4all]

Running After Him

Request: Yes / No  6, Emily prentiss Anon

Send me a request, please look here first! <3 Have a nice day/night

Emily Prentiss x Male!Reader

Word count: 2133

Warnings: Almost dying, talk of injuries 

Y/N: Your Name 

Prompt(s): Get the same injuries as your soulmate does

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

Ian Doyle was back and after Emily. She ran away to do this on her own, but I was worried about her. Her team had contacted me to see if I knew anything, but I didn’t know how much I should tell them, after all this was a dangerous mission. I wanted Emily safe, of course, but would she be upset that I gave the team information? That’s a risk I’ll have to take. I told them about Ian and what Emily did in the past, just enough for them to get the ball rolling. I had to stay out of this, but they wanted me to come with them. After all, I was her soulmate and they were pretty much just going to use me as a way to see if she’s hurt or not. A few hours into it I got two large bruises on my stomach. Which Garcia answered the question as to why. Emily was shot, but had a vest on to protect her. 

Emily’s POV

Ian took me to his hideout, I supposed. He tied me to a chair and left me in a room. I’m not sure for how long, but I heard his footsteps behind me, coming closer. He came up behind me and gently grabbed my neck. 

“Where’s my ring?” He asked. 

“I flushed it.” I said and he chuckled, and I laughed with him. 

“I spent seven years in hell because of that ring. So now, I’m going to give you another gift, one you won’t get rid of so easily.” He said unbuttoning my shirt. 

“A four-leaf clover should be a nice addition to your other tattoos.” He said bringing a tattoo machine over. 

“You still have two, right?” He asked. 

“Yep. And that’s enough ink, thanks.” I answered. 

“Ink?” He asked with a laugh. 

“The North Koreans can’t afford ink. No, no. They brand themselves. Your soulmate will love this.” He said with a smirk. He walked over and grabbed me by the hair, hovering the pen over my chest. 

“The more you fight, the more this will hurt.” He said and started burning my skin. 

Y/N’s POV 

We landed and the team was all over it. They even brought in Jack Fahey. I knew this was going to get interesting. Rossi was sent to interrogate him. I started feeling pain on my chest and Garcia noticed my discomfort. I opened my shirt up and there on my chest was a four-leafed clover burned into my skin. 

“Son of a bitch.” I growled and Garcia’s eyes widened. 

“Oh dear, poor Emily.” She said and helped me deal with the bit of blood that came with it. Rossi and Seaver asked me to step outside with them, they thought it might throw Jack off to see me. 

Emily’s POV

He finally finished and was buttoning my shirt again. I thought about Y/N and how he must know who was doing this to me. 

“Why are you doing this? Why are you keeping me alive?” I asked. 

“Hey. FBI grabbed Fahey.” Someone said walking into the room. 

“Her people. It won’t be long before he started squealing and they’re banging on our door.” He said and I heard him pull out a gun. 

“Do what you have to so we can get the hell out of here.” He said. Ian got up and stared at him. 

“I know what you want.” I said. 

“Do you, really?” He asked. 

“You want Lauren Reynolds back. I can do that. I can be her.” I said and he looked down at me. 

“You think that’ll save your skin?” He asked and I shook my head. 

“I have no illusions. But I’m tired of this. Of being afraid.” I said. 

“We don’t have time for this.” The guy said. 

“We’ll make time.” Ian said. 

“What about Fahey?” He asked. 

“I’ll take care of Fahey. He smokes, right?” Ian asked. 

“Aye.” The guy answered. 

“Looks like you earned yourself a reprieve.” He said and I watched him leave. After a bit he returned and sat in front of me. 

“What is it you do, Lauren?” He asked and I smirked. 

“I’m looking to get into business with a former I.R.A. Captain. Who’s gone freelance. Valhalla. But since this is sensitive… il vaudrait peut-être mieux en discuter en privé.” (It might be better to discuss this privately.) I answered. 

“Vous êtes juste plein de surprises, n'est-ce pas?” (You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?) He said with a smirk. I smiled and giggled. 

“Laissez-moi sortir de ces derniers.” (Let me out of these.) I said motioning to the ropes. 

“That’s not how it went.” He said, smirking. 

“Je ne peux pas te rendre heureuse avec des menottes.” (I can’t make you happy in handcuffs.) I said as he got up and walked around me. He grabbed my neck and placed his mouth against my ear. 

“You really think I’d let you fool me twice?” He asked.

“I just wanted…”

“I know what you wanted- A way into my head. But I changed the locks. So you’re gonna suffer the way I suffered. This won’t be the first time you’ve killed an innocent, but it will be the first time you have to watch.” He said and I was confused. 

“Liam!” He shouted and he walked in with a laptop. There was a sniper pointed at Rossi, Seaver, Y/N, and Jack. 

“You got him?” Liam asked. 

“Acquiring. Which one’s the target?” The man on the radio asked. 

“No! This was about you and me! That’s what you said! You and me!” I shouted. 

“Then why is your team here? ‘Cause I didn’t leave a trail.” He asked. 

“Ian… Whatever you want to do to me, I accept, but leave them out of it.” I begged. 

“Yes, except I didn’t bring them into it, did I?” He asked. I felt my heart clench and I didn’t care about looking strong anymore. 

“What are you thinking?” Ian asked Liam. 

“Y/N first, then the woman, and then the goateed fella. Then Fahey if he has a shot, if not, he’ll shut up.” He answered. 

“Yeah, sounds about right.” Ian said. 

“Shoot Fahey. If he dies, my team doesn’t have anything.” I said and I heard Ian chuckle lightly. 

“Hello, Lauren. Good to see you again. 

Y/N’s POV

Fahey was loosening up and it was only a matter of time before he spilled where Ian was hiding. That was the one thing I didn’t know. But he was hurting Emily and I needed to find her. 

“Wow, I bet you’re his hookup, aren’t you? I mean, after all, you’re the man.” Seaver said in a slightly flirty tone. 

“I could show you how much of a man I really am.” He flirted. Rossi walked closer and he backed off a bit. 

“Alright, alright, alright, jeez. What’s with the sexy cop/ bad cop routine?” He asked with a laugh. 

“What do you three think-” He was cut off by a bullet going through his shoulder. He looked up at us in shock. 

“Down!” Rossi shouted and pushed Seaver to the ground and I ducked. He was shot again in the chest and I looked to see where the bullet was coming from, but the person was already gone. 

Emily’s POV

Ian had left with Liam once Fahey was killed. I was left in that room to think about how I just killed him. No he would have killed him anyway. I did it to save Y/N and my team. 

“When Fahey told me you were in the city, he said you already knew where I was. If that;s the truth, you know what this is about.” Ian said, returning. 

“Game’s over, love. Time for your last confession.” He said and pointed a loaded gun at my head. 

“Take me to where he died. I want to see it.” I said. He uncocked the gun and started untieing me. 

“Breath. Just breath. 4...5...6...7…” I whispered and remembered when I found out Declan was actually Ian’s son. When he asked me to be his Mother. I remember I wanted so badly to be my soulmate, but when I met Y/N I knew all of that was a mistake. Ian was walking me down the halls, I knew this place now. 

“”Go to your father.” that’s what you said. I never told anyone the truth about Declan. You were the only one and you put him in your profile, didn’t you?” He asked. 

“Yes.” I lied. 

“For two years, I didn’t talk. The North Koreans used everything you gave them against me. It wasn’t until they showed me these…” He said, pulling out pictures of Declan and Louise bound and looking scared. I remembered those so well. 

“They laughed at me as I wept. And you cause all of this, didn’t you?” He asked. 

“Yes, I did.” I said. 

“That corner right there, that’s where he died. And that’s where I’m going to kill you.” He said and pushed me against the wall and pulled out his gun. 

“There’s something you don’t know, about those photos.” I said.  

“After your arrest, I relocated Louise and Declan. And then I got a call. Interpol had sent back our profile. The head of the terrorism division wanted more dirt on you so they could break you.” I said. 

“So you used my son as a promotion.” He said. 

“No. I wouldn’t let him be a pawn. The things they would have done to him to get you to talk… But I knew even if I didn’t cooperate, they were gonna find him eventually. So I had to-”

“Had to what!?” He growled moving closer to me.

“I had to end his suffering before it could begin.” He said and smacked me. 

Y/N’s POV

“Hey, we think we know where Doyle took Emily and we’re preparing to get her back.” JJ said walking into the room I was in. 

“He’s hurting her.” I said, staring at the floor. 

“We know, just stay here, I’ll be with you.” She said and I nodded. I knew there was no way I’d be able to go, I’m not trained, but I wanted to see my Emily again, safe and sound.

Emily’s POV

Ian grabbed me by the neck and lifted me up. 

“You put him in the profile. What else did you do?” He growled at me. 

“I put him in the profile, after the pictures were taken.” I said. 

“You don’t know when those pictures were taken. You don’t know that.” He said. 

“Yes, I do. I’m the one holding the gun.” I said. He stared at me and I saw his anger growing. He tossed me into a shelf and then slammed me to the floor. 

“You want to hear his last words to me?” I asked, I just needed to buy more time. He kicked me in the stomach, hard. I’m so sorry Y/N… 

“He said, “I looked pretty good for a dead kid, didn’t I?” and then he got on the plane and I never saw him again.” I said.

“He’s alive!?” He shouted and kicked me again. 

“Just because I held a gun to him. Doesn’t mean I shot him. I only had to make you and the North Koreans believe he was dead.” I said and he grabbed me by the neck and slammed me into the wall. 

Y/N’s POV

I felt another one of my ribs crack. He was really beating her. My nose was definitely cracked, there was a large cut on my cheek and I felt a good amount of bruises forming. But the worst thing was when a large stab wound appeared into my stomach. JJ and Garcia started freaking out and they quickly got me to the hospital. 

Once Emily and I were out of surgery JJ had come to the both of us and told us she was going to help us go into hiding so Emily could get Ian once and for all. We were to meet her in a few weeks, once the two of us were officially pronounced dead to the world. 

Finally that time came and JJ sat down and placed the folder on the table. We were in a little cafe in Paris. 

“Passports from 3 different countries, and a bank account in each one to keep you comfortable.” She said. 

“Thank you.” Emily said. 

“Good luck.” She said and we walked off. 

“Where to first?” I asked. 

“There’s a lot of options, we’ll have to explore them all.” She said and I smirked. 

“Sounds like we have a lot of work to do.” I said and she nodded with a smile. 

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[imaginationintowords]

Wanderlust Adventures

Chapter 16

Reader x Bucky!Travel Blogger; Social Media AU

Series Masterlist

[a/n: This will be the second to last chapter of the series. Thank you for supporting this series! Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. If you reblog I will comment back. This is a sub-blog so I cannot reply back to replies. Again thank you for all the love on this series.]

Y/n arrives outside of Bucky's mom's house in Brooklyn. Steve was waiting for her outside, like he said he would. He helps her with her baggage.

"Thanks." She says.

"No, thank-you." Steve replies.

She notices his appearance, very different from how he looked in Europe. He was clearly trying not to break down himself. Y/n gave him a hug, he let out a short sigh and hugged back tightly.

"How is he?" Y/n asks.

"Not good. He hasn't eaten anything since we've been back. Sam and I have been taking turns keeping an eye on him." He tells her as they walk up the front steps of the house.

Steve abruptly stops right before the door.

"Just want to give you a heads up. It's a bit of a mess in there. He went on a bit of a rampage and broke a few things," He warns her, "And Bucky doesn't look how he left you."

She nods her head, understanding what he was telling her.

Y/n started to feel like maybe she shouldn't be here. Who is she to Bucky? Who is she to come in here and help a man she only met two weeks prior. But if the people closest o him thinks she can help, then it's worth the shot.

As they walk into the door she's greet with someone yelling and banging on a door. She and Steve move farther into the house, Steve placing her luggage in the living room. She quickly took a look around to notice the damage Bucky had done, trying not to step on broken cups, plates, or picture frames.

"Bucky, open the door!" Sam yelled, as they found him in the middle of the hallway outside a door.

"What happened?" Steve asked.

"He locked himself in there and refuses to let me in. Or answer me." Sam explains, finally noticing Y/n with Steve.

"Thank- you for coming." Sam greets her with a tight hug.

Steve looks at her with pleading eyes, then back towards the door.

"I can give it a try." She whispers.

"Thank-you." Sam says, "We'll give you two some space."

"We'll be cleaning up out there. Just yell." she nods.

Sam and Steve left her alone in the hallway. Y/n took a deep breath and knocked on the unknown door.

"Bucky. Hey it's Y/n." she said, pressed against the door.

On the other side of the door, sat Bucky frozen at the sound of Y/n's voice.

"Bet you weren't expecting to hear my voice." She tries to keep it lighthearted.

"Steve called me. He and Sam are really worried about you. He also told me what's going on. I am so sorry James. I can't even imagine what you could possibly be going through." She paused for a second, "I'm here if you want to talk, or you just need someone to sit with you."

She waits outside the door quietly for a minute, before she hears some quiet movements from the other side. Then she hears the unlocking of the door, and some more shuffling around.

She took another deep breath, before opening the door.

She walked in and softly closed the door behind her. She took a look around to discover that this must've been Bucky's childhood room. She then notices Bucky sat on his bed, facing the window, his back towards her.

She made her way towards him, and took a seat to his left.

"Hi." she softly said, looking at his side profile.

"Hi." He very quietly said, that she wasn't even sure if he said anything.

He looked at her. She finally understood what Steve meant. He looked so broken, clearly having not slept since arriving, the dark bags under his eyes letting her know that. The sight alone broke her heart. 

She slowly brought her hand up to his tear stained cheek. Gently caressing his cheek. Bucky closed his eyes at the gentle touch, leaning more into it as she softly rubbed it with her thumb.

No words being said, just a comforting silence enveloping them. Y/n not wanting to push him to talking when he clearly didn't want to.

Bucky stopped her hand, she was taken back until he rested his head on her shoulder. She relaxed at his touch, wrapping her arm around him as best as she could. Just holding him.

After a few minutes of silence she looked at her shoulder to find Bucky had fallen asleep.

She smiled, finally he'll get a moment of peace. She slowly moved his head off her shoulder, laying him down on the bed, then placing his feet up as well. She grabbed a blanket at the foot of his bed to cover him with. Placing a soft kiss to his forehead before walking away.

As she was starting to leave his side, she felt a hand grab her wrist, she looked down then back to the man it was connected to.

"Stay with me. Please." he sadly said looking up at her.

"Of course." she softly smiled at him.

Y/n took her shoes off and climbed in next to him, where he had scooted over making room for her. She laid with her back to him as he wrapped his arm around her, cuddling up against her.

"Thank-you for coming." he whispered against her neck.

"Anytime." she replied, lacing her fingers through the ones that held her.

[Social Media AU]: Y/n is a popular travel blogger, and a freelance travel writer for a magazine. She travels the world with her two best friends, Valkyrie who is a freelance graphic designer that the reader “drags” out of bed to see the world, and Carol who’s a new up and coming model. This is the first time in a year all three girls are traveling together due to Carol’s new busy career. A month long European excursion, that might end up being their last trip together due to their lives taking them elsewhere. Bucky Barnes used to be a model but now travels the world with his best friends. He has a hard time commiting to one thing, which is why he loves to travel so much. He travels the world with his two best friends, Steve who runs a gym in Brooklyn and Sam, who works for a popular food magazine where he gets to travel and eat all the food he wants. Bucky has once again convinced his childhood best friends to join him on a month long trip to escape the trapped feeling of being back in New York. Steve and Sam are worried about Bucky and his constant need to runaway from his issues, they’re hoping this trip will be an eye opener for their friend. Inspired by: @geosaurusrrex’s social media AUs.

To support my ko-fi

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[Permanent tagged: Permanent tagged: @definitelynotafangirl @1awesomeash @princess-evans-addict @geeksareunique @sebbbystaaan if you’d like to be removed just ask and I’d be happy to do so]

[breathlester]

Three for the price of one

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

summary: ‘the holiday’ inspired au where Dan and Phil spend a promising first date until Phil leaves in a hurry, dropping his wallet. Dan returns it the next day hoping for an explanation, but gets more than he bargained for.

genre: angst and fluff, angst with a happy ending, parenting, halloween/autumn

cw: references to minor character death, car accidents and trauma/injury; mentions of alcohol

"Soo ur still good 4 tonight?"

Dan taps away at his laptop nervously, waiting for the reply that comes seconds later.

- "I am indeed. x] Why, are you having second thoughts?"

He exhales, a smile forming on his face. Phil has a way of combining perfect grammar with strange emojis that makes Dan’s stomach flip over in the most pleasant way. And thinking about the effect Phil will have on him when they’re face to face for the first time in a couple of hours does absolutely nothing to calm his nerves.

"Nah just making sure haha :D" he types, ignoring the fact that he is nowhere near as relaxed as the casual “nah“ suggests.

Phil just sends a "♡" in response and Dan promptly chokes on his own saliva, hurrying to replicate the symbol, accidentally adding a second 3 to the heart. Hopefully Phil won’t think he’s overly eager. Although he is, but Phil doesn’t need to know that.

- "Can’t wait to see you, but you will have to let me leave now if you want me to be on time! ^-^"

"k, see u in 3 hours!"

- ":)"

Dan stares at the smiley face for a good half minute, his own face mirroring the expression, before he pulls himself together and logs out of the dating website.

„Right, time to choose an outfit.“

He turns around to consider the assortment of clothes laid out on his bed. His two favorite pairs of black skinny jeans, four different black t-shirts, one button-down (black) and two jackets (both black as well). At least the colour won’t be a problem...

-

Hushed beats of a slow-paced indie song sound softly through the walls and the lights are comfortably dim, the pub warm and buzzing with people, but it doesn’t have the same relaxing effect on Dan as it usually would. His eyes scan the room anxiously and his teeth torment his bottom lip. He’s about to make his way over to the bar when someone calls his name and he halts, turning and catching the eye of a tall black-haired man on the other side of the room. “Phil,” Dan says under his breath, exhaling in relief, and starts towards him.

His date is sat on one of the sofas in the corner, looking absolutely gorgeous. Even though they’ve skyped a handful of times before to make sure neither of them is a 60-year-old pervert, Dan finds himself speechless at the sight of Phil. His denim shirt is unbuttoned to reveal a turquoise t-shirt that brings out the various colours in his eyes and his black hair is pushed back to reveal his forehead. His features are clear-cut, skin as pale as if he’s carved out of marble, and he’s smiling at Dan.

“Hi,” Dan breathes, feeling himself blush and his heart beat quicken.

Phil gets up to greet him and they behold each other for an awkward moment before Phil chuckles and leans in to hug him. “Hi,” he says softly next to Dan’s ear, and it takes all of Dan’s self-control not to melt right there in his embrace, butterflies tingling his stomach. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with a delicate flowery scent.

“You smell really nice,” he blurts out as they pull away, blushing even deeper when Phil’s beautiful eyes widen.

“Oh, thank you. I don’t wear cologne a lot. It’s not too much?” he asks abashedly, glancing up at Dan, who to his own surprise is slightly taller than him.

“Not at all! It’s, uh, it’s perfect.”

Phil answers with another bright smile that catches Dan off guard and giggles when it takes him a moment to sit down.

“So, do you feel more like dancing or talking?”

“How about a drink first?” Dan suggests and Phil waves a nearby waiter over to them. “Two margaritas, please. - Unless you need to drive?”

Dan shakes his head quickly and Phil adds with a playful little wink, “They’re on me.”

-

It’s been four months since Dan stumbled across Phil’s profile on the dating website and three since he’s worked up the courage to message him. Phil, who described himself as a “wanna-be writer and muse enthusiast”, replied a day later and from then on they’ve been chatting almost non-stop. Although Phil is four years older and lives on the countryside whilst Dan is a film student from central London, they’ve bonded over a similar taste in TV shows and music. However, it has taken Dan a while to coax some more personal information out of Phil and even longer until Phil agreed to their first date – even if the other man assured him that this was only due to being busy and not because he was hesitant to meet him. To be honest, that didn’t really convince Dan since he could not imagine a self-employed writer and editor to have an immovable time schedule.

All that aside, if tonight goes well, Dan is more than willing to forget about this tiny drop of bitterness.

And so far, it’s going great.

They’ve sipped their drinks and Phil has interrogated Dan about the internship with the BBC he is currently diong in the course of his studies. In turn, he’s let Dan in on his work as an editor and his new-found obsession with house plants.

“I’ve got quite a nice garden, but there’s not much to do out there in the cold season, so I thought, why not get some green inside? Big mistake. Turns out house plants are a lot more high-maintenance! I’ve already killed two!”

Dan giggles, taking another sip of his drink. “I couldn’t even keep a cactus alive. I guess student digs just aren’t the most healthy environment.”

No matter what he’s talking about, Dan finds himself drawn in and fascinated by Phil. He’s got a uniquely funny way of telling a story that has Dan giggling like a teenager and hanging on his lips like snake bite piercings.

And his eyes sparkle when he laughs. “Oh, I like that song! Fancy some dancing?”

Feeling warm and pleasantly tipsy, Dan nods and takes the hand Phil offers him. More like I fancy you, he thinks as they take their place among couples and singles on the dancefloor in the adjoining room and after some stumbling around fall into an easy rhythm.

Phil’s arm is resting on Dan’s shoulder and it feels both casual and meaningful, like a careful experiment. The exhilarating beat of Muse’s Madness pumps through Dan’s veins and lets his spirit soar, makes him throw his head back and grin at Phil whose eyes are reflecting the flashing spotlights like lighthouses. He’s beautiful and he’s mouthing the lyrics at Dan, pulling dramatic faces, and Dan feels so good, so alive and amorous…

When the song fades into a slow-paced one, Phil’s arm slips down from his shoulder and snakes around his waist, and Dan gently pulls him closer until the other man’s chin rests on his shoulder. They sway on the spot, engulfed in each other’s presence like a small bubble in a sea of people. The butterflies in Dan’s stomach have doubled and are swirling uncontrollably.

“Hi there, again,” Phil whispers, and Dan runs his hands up his torso, feeling him shiver under his touch. “Hi.”

Slowly, his hands move from Phil’s shoulders to his cheeks and he gives him a questioning look. Phil’s forehead is pressed against his as they lock eyes and he smiles, all flushed skin and the tickling of soft hair, of warm breath. Dan glances down at his lips…

A ringtone disturbs the ballad now playing in the background and Phil recoils, his right hand darting into his back pocket immediately. Dan releases the breath he’s holding, feeling disappointment seep through him like a sudden downpour.

He catches sight of Phil’s phone screen for a second and registers against his will that the caller is a pretty blonde woman saved as “Louise” in Phil’s contacts.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Dan, I have to take this!” Phil says loudly to make himself heard above the noise, offering him a quick apologetic smile before he pushes through the crowd, away from Dan.

-

He waits for one song, then another, moving awkwardly on his own along to an unknown beat. But when the third song spins into the fourth, Dan gives up his position and goes on a search. Another couple is snogging on the sofa where they had their drinks, and Phil’s not in the queue for the toilets, nor is he sitting at the bar. Perhaps he’s outside, Dan thinks and debates whether or not it would seem intrusive to go look for him if he’s still on the phone – but then the bartender waves him over.

“You haven’t seen a man with black hair done like mine, about my height?” Dan asks hopefully.

The heavily-tattooed, rather beefy guy nods and adds, “Told me to tell you he had to leave. Seemed terribly sorry about it.”

Dan’s heart sinks in his chest like a coin dropped in a fountain. “Did he say anything else?”

The bartender shrugs, continuing to rinse the glass he’s holding. “Was in a hurry. And besides, do I look like an answering machine to you?”

“I – no. Sorry,” Dan stutters, feeling his face grow hot with disappointment and embarrassment.

The barista’s face softens slightly. “Hey, better luck next time, mate, alright?”

Yeah, Dan thinks bitterly. Except there won’t be a next time after he’s let me down like this.

There’s no point in staying if Phil’s gone. Trudging to the front door, all excitement seeped out of him, he’s close to wallowing in self-pity when his foot catches on something on the floor.

Someone’s dropped a wallet. Not just any wallet though – it’s an Adventure Time themed one.

A grin has already halfway spread across Dan’s face when he bends down to pick it up, unfolding it carefully. What kind of adult would use an Adventure Time wallet on a date in a pub?

His assumption is confirmed when his eyes fall on the card tucked into the front pocket. “Philip Lester, editor and freelance writer,” it reads, and listed below are Phil’s phone number, email and home address.

I’ll give him one more chance, Dan decides as he pockets the wallet and pushes open the door, the chilly October wind ruffling his hair. Tomorrow I’ll drop the wallet off at his place and see if he’s got an explanation for me.

He hates to admit it, but he really hopes Phil does.

-

Dan looks down at his phone once again, double-checking the small blue dot that indicates his position. “This is the middle of fucking nowhere,” he declares out loud.

Behind him, though long out of sight, lies the city of London. To the left – nothing but fields. To the right a forest is climbing up the gentle curve of a hill. And ahead there’s this bumpy path he’s been following for the past thirty minutes that was most definitely not built for motorcycle trips. He’s beginning to regret his impulsive action.

And yet the app on his phone insists that he is on the right track. Dan takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the sweet-smelling autumn air.

“Okay, let’s give this one last shot. Another half mile and if nothing turns up then except for more scarecrows and creepy abandoned barns, I’m going to turn back and send him his wallet by mail.”

He snaps the visor of his helmet shut with a sort of final resolution and mounts his motorcycle again.

The frosty head wind makes him wish he’d worn a jumper underneath his leather jacket and Dan is about to give up when the path leads through a small grove and turns a corner – and there it is, appearing seemingly out of nowhere.

A single small, ancient-looking house, leaning alarmingly to one side, its uneven stone walls covered to a large part by rampant roses, some of them still in bloom.

There’s no fence surrounding the cottage, but the letterbox in front of it bears a wooden sign that dangles in the wind and states in ornate letters “Rosery Cottage”.

Hesitantly, Dan clambers off his bike and retrieves his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket. “You have reached your destination.”

The narrow path of cobblestone that leads up to the door is framed by a couple of crooked walnut trees whose leaves are scattered across the lawn. To the right, an old battered VW Golf is parked on a makeshift driveway. A pair of wellingtons stand guard on the wooden patio.

Dan takes a deep breath and starts towards the house, thinking as he rings the bell, this better be Phil and not some misanthropic old hag.

-

What he certainly does not expect is a little girl in dungarees and a yellow jumper opening the door. Her copper brown hair is braided in two rather messy pigtails, her round face dotted with freckles and there’s a bit of chocolate in the corner of her mouth.

“You’re tall,” the girl remarks casually after looking him up and down, pinching her chestnut eyes as if he’s blinding her.

As perplexed as Dan is, the comment makes him chuckle. “Am I really?”

“Yeah… you’re like, taller than my daddy.”

The last word makes Dan’s heart pick up speed and he’s about to say, “I’m sorry, I must be in the wrong place,” when a voice drifts through the hallway, accompanied by the dulled noise of a blow-dryer.

“Who’s at the door, Liv?”

It can’t be Phil, Dan tells himself. This guy just sounds similar because the noise distorts his voice.

Phil doesn’t have any kids - right? The image of the beautiful blonde from Phil’s phone screen reappears in front of Dan’s inner eye and he draws in a sharp breath –

“A man in a leather jacket, Daddy,” the girl yells back. “He’s very tall,” she adds after a second, almost reproachfully.

There’s a moment of silence, then the noise of the hair-dryer stops abruptly and the man who sounds like Phil shouts, “I’ll be right there!”

The girl keeps her eyes trained on Dan, making him uneasy, so he lets his gaze drop away from her face. She’s holding a furled newspaper in her hand, Dan can just make out an advert proclaiming “Three for the price of one!” and underneath it a crossword, partly filled in with wonky letters.

Someone clears their throat and Dan looks up, feeling his heart take a leap.

The man facing him is wearing mismatched socks and his black hair is still wet and ruffled, but it’s unmistakably Phil.

His eyes are wide and he looks like he can’t quite decide whether to smile or not. He looks a little bit guilty, Dan thinks with a selfish trace of satisfaction, but the feeling fades when he remembers the elephant in the room – although elephant is perhaps too large a word.

“I’ll take it from here, Olivia, thank you,” Phil says to the girl and her eyes flicker from Dan to Phil and back before she turns and skips off into another room.

“Olivia,” Dan repeats, avoiding Phil’s eye until he hears the other man sigh.

“Yes, her name’s Olivia, and she’s my daughter, as you might already have guessed.”

I’d be concerned if other children than your own called you daddy, Dan thinks, but he doesn’t say it because this is not the time for a joke. It’s time for an explanation.

“So who’s Louise?” he asks at the same moment that Phil asks, “So what brings you here?”

They finally look at each other.

“Shall I go first?” Dan offers. “Right. Last night, when you, er, bailed on me – you lost something.”

He tries to sound casual but the guilt becomes more evident in Phil’s face for a moment until Dan pulls the wallet out of his pocket and holds it out to Phil, whose eyes grow comically wide.

“My wallet! Thanks, I hadn’t even noticed – oh man, I owe you -”

“An explanation? Yeah, I’d say so,” Dan says with newfound confidence.

Phil exhales. “You’re right. I have some explaining to do. - Oh god, I haven’t even asked you in yet, I’m the worst -”

He steps aside, holding the door open. “Please, make yourself at home. I know you’re probably less than elated by me right now, but I promise I can explain if you let me.”

Dan looks down at the threshold in front of him. The welcome mat he’s standing on has a pattern of sleeping cats on it. One small step for man, one giant step for Dan, he thinks dryly. If he steps into Phil’s house now and more than that, into his life, it will never be this easy to leave again.

For some reason, the image of the newspaper the girl was holding appears to him. If only life were as simple as a crossword puzzle, with only one right answer to every question.

“Tell me one more thing before I come in,” Dan asks. “Seven letter word, starting with M, or eight letters starting with D?”

Phil stares at him for a moment, then his smile falters as he gets the hint.

“Seven,” he says quietly.

Married, then – Dan thinks, a sick feeling rising in his stomach, and he’s about to turn away and leave for good, when Phil adds in an even smaller voice, “But the first one’s a W.”

-

Seven letters, starting with W. It’s just like a crossword, but it’s not an easy solution at all, and having solved it doesn’t make Dan feel any better, instead it makes him feel awful.

Widowed, he thinks, and bites down hard on his bottom lip. Widowed. Of course, that makes sense. It explains the careful pace at which Phil went about their blossoming relationship. It explains his inability to be spontaneous, and the fact that he didn’t want to talk much about his past.

Phil’s a widower, and he’s got a child, and Dan is so, so insensitive.

He looks up at Phil slowly, afraid of meeting his gaze. But Phil doesn’t look angry or as if he’s about to cry. His face is painfully composed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Phil replies, and somehow that is all it takes for Dan to step inside and pull the door shut behind him.

He hands Phil the wallet, but instead of letting him pull his hand away, Phil holds on to it.

“Thank you,” he mutters and Dan gently presses his hand.

“Daddy, Micah keeps trying to take my pen!”

The bright voice from the right makes them both flinch, and Phil gives him a little smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “This way, please.”

The room to the right that they enter is the kitchen. Sunlight falls in through the windows and illuminates the large wooden table at which Olivia is sat, facing the door. The newspaper is spread out in front of her, opened to the kids’ page.

A small boy, a toddler at most, is squirming in his high chair, reaching out across the table for the pen Olivia is holding. As Olivia pulls it away from his grasp, he whimpers.

“Micah, hey!” Phil rushes towards them and takes the boy’s chubby little hand in his. “This is Livy’s pen, okay? Here, those crayons are for you. - And you, Liv – don’t be so harsh on him, you hear me? He doesn’t understand that it’s yours.”

He turns to Dan again, his face relaxing slowly. “Dan, these are my children, Olivia and Micah. Kids, this is Dan, who I was meeting up with last night.”

Dan smiles nervously as Olivia observes him, then she gives him a sudden toothy grin and turns back to her crossword.

“Here, take a seat please”, Phil says. “Do you want to drink anything? Coffee, tea?”

“Coffee would be lovely, if it’s not too much trouble,” Dan replies, sitting down on the wooden chair next to Olivia.

“Not at all.”

As Phil is busy with the coffee machine, Dan’s gaze drops to the table. Opposite of him, Micah is scrawling something undefinable with crayons. His hair is thick and darker than Olivia’s, his eyes azure and large in his round face. He seems to have trouble controlling his crayon, his small hand is clenched in a fist around it. Dan doesn’t have a lot of experience with young children, but Micah has to be at least two years old…

“I need a word with four letters for this flowery thing, daddy,” Olivia pipes up, catching Dan’s attention. “It’s not a tree, but plant and flower don’t fit.”

He peers at the crossword she’s working on. It has pictures in front of every line instead of questions.

“Give me a moment, Liv,” Phil says, rummaging in a cupboard for a mug.

“Have you tried rose?” Dan suggests charily.

Olivia looks up at him in surprise, then back at the paper. Her letters fit neatly in the boxes. “It works! Thanks, Dan.”

He smiles charily. “You’re welcome.”

Phil places the mug of coffee down in front of him before he sits down next to the high chair. Leaning on his elbows, he hides his face in hands for a moment.

When he emerges, he looks up at Dan. “So,” he says, clearing his throat. “You wanted to know about Louise.”

Dan, who’s about to take a sip from his coffee, puts the mug down, barely avoiding a spill of the scalding liquid.

“She’s a friend who occasionally takes care of my two rascals when I’m out. She was here last night and called to tell me Micah had banged his head. Turned out to be half as bad, but I tend to panic about my baby.” He reaches out to gently brush the hair back from Micah’s forehead, revealing a small reddened bump near his hairline.

The young boy reacts promptly. “Owie.”

A caring smile lingers on Phil’s lips. “Yes, you had an owie. Does it still hurt?”

“No more owie,” the toddler babbles, shaking his head.

“Good.”

Phil withdraws his hand, turning his attention back to Dan. His smile fades. “I’m sorry I left so abruptly, I overreacted. It’s just – Micah, he was in the car when…”

His voice trails off, but Dan’s fairly sure he can finish the sentence for himself. Phil must have lost his wife, the mother of his children, in a car accident.

Before Dan can think of what to say, Phil leans towards him across the table. “That’s why he’s a bit behind in development,” he adds in a low voice.

Dan glances at the toddler who’s clearly in his own world, scribbling away at the paper in front of him (and occasionally straying over the edges onto the wooden plate of his high chair). He tries to find something to say in reply, but quickly comes to the conclusion that there isn’t anything.

And Phil doesn’t seem to be expecting an answer. As Dan looks back at him, his eyes have gone out of focus, the iridescent blue glazed over with a hazy dolour that’s impossible for Dan to grasp. With a leap of his heart he reaches out one hand and places it on top of Phil’s that’s resting on the table.

Phil’s starts, blinking at him. He doesn’t smile, and yet there’s a glint that returns to his eyes as he becomes aware of Dan’s touch. When Dan dares to gently run his thumb over the back of his hand, he doesn’t flinch or pull back.

Silence settles into the room, not empty but filled with the sound of pencil scraping against paper and the strangely reassuring noise of an old house, alive with the creaking of wood and rattling of wind at its window panes.

The mug of coffee sits in front of Dan, gradually cooling down, forgotten in the moment.

-

It’s Micah who breaks the silence eventually.

“Daddy,” he says, and Phil startles, looking up and withdrawing his hand gently from Dan’s. “Yes, darling?”

But Dan observes with a hidden delight the faint flush of pink that’s settled on his cheekbones.

“Doggy,” is all Micah says in response, and Dan thinks he’s beginning to see what Phil meant earlier. Although children are more or less a novelty to him, surely a two-year-old would be able to form simple sentences?

He is torn out of his pondering by Phil’s voice. “Go on, take it.”

Dan looks up, finding that Micah is holding a sheet of paper out to him. There’s a bunch of brown crayon lines in one corner that vaguely form the shape of an animal, but that might be just interpretation because he knows what it’s supposed to be.

“For me?”

Micah nods, his blue eyes sparkling.

Dan smiles. “That’s… very kind of you, Micah. What a beautiful dog you’ve drawn there!” He takes the edge of the sheet between his fingertips; Micah lets go with a satisfied expression on his round face.

Phil reaches out to kiss the top of his son’s head. “Good boy, Micah.”

Dan looks down at the drawing, blinking, trying to conceal how touched he is. He really isn’t accustomed to children, doesn’t know how to behave around them, but his reaction to Micah’s drawing seems to have made the boy happy.

“Daddy, when are we leaving for London?” Olivia asks. She doesn’t seem to have noticed the change of atmosphere before, much to Dan’s relief. He has no idea how she feels about him getting to know her dad. Surely it can’t be easy after she’s lost her mother…

“Another two hours,” Phil says after a glance at his wristwatch. “Are you hungry yet? We can have lunch in a bit.”

Olivia nods, putting her pen away and folding up the newspaper. “I’m done with the crossword. Correct it for me, daddy, please?”

Phil smiles. “Of course, honey. Later, yeah? Though I’m sure there won’t be much to correct.” He takes the paper from her.

“You’re going to London today?” Dan asks.

“The therapist has her office in the city,” Phil replies, adding, “can we offer you a ride?” as if the thought has just occurred to him.

“Oh, thank you, but I came on my motorbike.”

“You’ve got a motorbike? That’s so cool! Daddy won’t let me get one,” Olivia pipes up.

Dan laughs. “Oh well, you see, motorbikes are very dangerous, so your father’s right about that. You’ve got to get a license so they’ll let you drive one. And for that license you’ve got to be of age.”

Olivia pushes out her lower lip. “That’s not fair. I’m so old already. Much older than Micah who’s just a baby.”

Phil, whose face has tightened up again, reaches out and strokes a strand of hair back behind her ear. “Patience, darling. Why don’t you draw a nice picture for the therapist before we leave? I’m sure she’d love that. And I’ll go have a chat with Dan – if you don’t mind?”

The last part is directed at Dan. He shakes his head, looking at Phil.

“I’m not in a hurry.”

-

He lets Phil lead him down a hallway framed with pictures. Some are drawings by Olivia, showing what is unmistakably the cottage, or a field of flowers – or a family, complete with a stick figure in a dress and long flowing hair.

The others are photographs.

Olivia in a nice dress with her schoolbag in hand and a wide grin on her first day of school. Micah lying in his crib, smiling up at the camera. The two of them playing in the snow together.

Phil reading to Micah who’s cuddled up to him. Phil braiding Olivia’s hair. Phil with his arms around the two of them.

Phil holding a newborn baby with flimsy hair and a reddened face, a younger Olivia leaning into the picture, curiously gazing at the small human. But they’re not the only ones on the picture – there’s a woman lying in the hospital bed behind Phil, her face out of focus, but the radiating smile still clearly visible.

There are more pictures of her. Ones of her baking biscuits with Olivia kneeling on the counter, stealing batter. Her rocking Micah in her arms, her mouth opened as if she’s singing a lullaby. The woman wearing a white dress and flowers in her hair, stood next to a beaming Phil in a suit. The two of them kissing.

Dan averts his gaze. He feels like an intruder.

“In here, please.” 

Taking a deep breath, Dan steps into the room.

It’s an office, complete with an old mahogany desk and shelves of books framing the walls instead of photographs as Dan notes with relief.

There are two armchairs near the window to which Phil guides him. They sit down, and Dan waits for Phil to speak, anxious suddenly about what he will have to say.

A moment of silence stretches at Phil looks around the room, letting his gaze wander as if he were the visitor.

“Okay, here’s the thing,” Phil begins with a sigh, looking at his hands. “I’m not an easy person to date. I’m not your average single person – I’m a package deal.”

The newspaper advert comes back to Dan’s mind and he mutters, “three for the price of one.”

Phil chuckles, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he looks up. “You could say that, I guess… though the price might be higher I fear… You should know - in fact, you deserve to know, the truth. I’m a single father. I work around the clock. I get up at six. I cook, I clean, I comfort, I play, I sew, I fix. And at night when the kids are in bed, that’s when I find time for my actual job. I never have any free time except for when I get someone to watch my children, and I can’t do that very often, considering how far out in the country we live and…”

He breaks off, lowering his face into his hands. “I don’t like leaving them. I can’t be at ease when I don’t know exactly that they’re safe. I know they probably seem fine to you, but Olivia has nightmares and Micah rarely sleeps through. Sometimes he has crying fits that last for more than an hour. Liv has days when she’ll only speak to a photograph of her mum. Some days it’s almost alright. But it’s never easy and we’re not a perfect family. When I lost… when we lost Sophie, when she was brutally torn out of our lives by a careless driver -” his shoulders quiver as if in a quiet sob, and Dan holds back from reaching out and touching him.

“It was very hard for all of us. It’s been two years, and sometimes it still feels like there’s a hole we’ll never be able to fill completely. Once a month, I take the kids to a therapist in London. They stay there for an hour – meanwhile, I’ve got my own therapy session.”

He lifts his head slowly, keeping his gaze fixed on his hands as if they’re particularly interesting.

“I’m a man in therapy. I’m four years older than you, and I’ve got two children who demand a lot of care and attention. I barely make enough money to scratch along. I guess what I’m saying is… Dan, I really like you.”

That’s when Phil looks up to meet Dan’s eye. Dan sits transfixed, blinking in surprise. He didn’t expected that, not after the speech Phil’s just given.

The other man looks earnest, but his eyes are misty and his face contorted in regret.

“You must have noticed that I do. Talking to you over these past months has made me happier than I’ve been for a long time, and I’m so thankful for that. Meeting you last night was a dream. I’ll never forget it. I really do like you, Dan.”

Dan swallows hard at the repetition of the statement. His eyes have begun to sting. “Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming on?” he asks, willing his voice not to shake, willing his gaze not to stray from Phil’s sorrowful, beautiful face.

Phil takes a shivering breath. “I want nothing more than to get to know you. But I can’t leave my children, and I can’t have you come here and let them get used to you. They’ve already lost their mother. If we find we’re not meant to be, when we break up – they’ll get hurt. I can’t do that to them. I won’t let my children go through the pain of separation again, Dan. That’s why I have to say, I’m sorry. I like you, Dan, but I’m sorry, I can’t do this. And I know it’s not fair, and I probably shouldn’t even have agreed to meeting you, but I just -”

“Okay, Phil, hang on - ” Dan interrupts him, and Phil stops mid-sentence, his lips still parted. “What if we don’t?” he asks.

Phil’s staring at him. It’s so quiet Dan can hear him breathe. The moment feels extremely intimate and Dan wants to kiss the fear and worry off Phil’s face, but he remains where he is.

“If we don’t?” Phil repeats blankly.

Dan leans forward. “What if we don’t break up? Who’s to say it wouldn’t work out? What if we do, we click and we stay together…”

Phil’s eyes shut slowly, drawing ragged breaths.

“I mean, I guess I’d understand if you didn’t want to take the risk…,” Dan continues, but Phil cuts him off.

“Say I was willing to do so,” he replies, “would you want to bear with us? I’m in no way eager to send you away, but you’d have to be absolutely sure, Dan.”

He wants to say yes, but the word gets stuck in his throat. It’s not easy. It’s not as easy as he wants it to be. So he sits staring at Phil, mouth opened but no sound coming out, and Phil gives a sad little smile, not reproachful, but understanding.

Dan lifts his hand to prevent him from jumping to a conclusion.

“I’m going to need… time… to think about this,” Dan says slowly, looking Phil in the eyes as he speaks. “Because – I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned it – but I really like you, too.”

There it is again, that sparkle in Phil’s eyes, the one that makes Dan’s stomach churn and the back of his neck prickle.

This time, it’s Phil who reaches out to take Dan’s hand. “I can give you time,” he says, and then, after a moment of contemplation, he adds, “You know what? How about this. Olivia is currently obsessed with dressing up” - a small smile curls the corner of his mouth upwards - “so we’re having a little gathering on Halloween. PJ will be there, the kids’ godfather and incidentally also author of the book I’m currently editing, and Louise with her husband and daughter. If you want to come, you’d be welcome to do so. If you don’t…” The look he gives Dan is gentle, and so is his voice when he finishes the sentence. “… then we’ll know.”

It’s two weeks until Halloween. Dan’s fellow students have already begun talking about the parties they’re going to attend.

He presses Phil’s hand. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” He manages a small smile.

Phil smiles back, carefully, his eyes still not entirely free of pain.

“I believe,” he says then, very quietly, “there was something you wanted to do before my phone so rudely interrupted us last night.”

Dan’s eyes widen as realization hits him.

Phil’s face is close due to the fact that they’ve both leaned forward during their conversation, and his eyes are half-shut. There’s a tender smile still playing on his lips, and Dan’s eyes flicker down to them as he takes a shuddering breath.

Then, carefully, he closes the distance.

Phil’s hands move up to his cheeks. His lips feel warm and chapped against Dan’s, and he’s shivering ever so slightly, Dan feels it when his hands come to rest on Phil’s shoulders. He tastes like apples and cinnamon, as if he’s made of autumn spices.

The butterflies in Dan’s stomach are back, swirling like leaves in a thunderstorm. He tips his head to the side, deepening the kiss, drinking up Phil’s fear and sorrow, his sadness and his fondness, all of him.

The kiss doesn’t last for more than a few seconds, but it lingers in the air, tickles in their lips and their hearts after they part.

They stare into each other’s eyes for a moment, not saying anything because there’s nothing to say, yet there’s a sort of intuitive understanding between them that fills Dan with hope. Maybe they will be able to work this out. But he needs time to think. He’s only twenty-four, still a student – a family hasn’t really been on his agenda until now, much less one that’s already sort of complete in itself.

“I should probably go check on Micah and Liv, see if they’re hungry,” Phil says, still so close his breath brushes Dan’s face. Melancholy has already worked its way back into the creases of his forehead and Dan wants to wipe it away, but he knows that he can’t, not yet.

So he says, “And I should probably head back, look into some work for uni.”

“Well,” Phil pulls back and the moment is gone. “Thanks for bringing me my wallet -”

“Sure -”

“I’ll walk you out,” he stands, holding his hand out to Dan who grasps it.

“- and the kiss,” Dan adds, “I owed you that, too.”

His playful words manage to conjure up another one of Phil’s smiles, and he doesn’t let go of Dan’s hand until they’re at the front door. Outside, the wind has picked up, sending swirls of crimson leaves across the yard.

Dan and Phil stand facing each other, drawing out the moment of their parting. Finally, Phil averts his gaze and opens the door, and Dan zips up his leather jacket.

“I’m glad you came, Dan,” Phil says honestly.

“Yeah,” Dan replies, shivering slightly, though not from the rush of cold air.

“Me too.”

-

The last day of October is clear and bright, the sky a pearlescent grey. A strong breeze chases leaves across the country lane, making the trees sway and rustle. It’s cold, but this time Dan’s wearing a woolen jumper underneath his leather jacket, and anyway, he’s positively buzzing with a vibrant energy that warms him from the inside – and tickles him to push his foot down further on the accelerator, but he’s a responsible driver. He smiles to himself, feeling the wind and excitement drive him towards his destination.

When the cottage comes into sight behind the tree line, Dan’s smile grows wider. Two unfamiliar cars are parked outside the property on the side of the road, but he lets his motorcycle wheel past the post box and to a stop next to Phil’s car.

Taking off his helmet, Dan inhales the frigid, exhilarant autumn air. His pulse is throbbing both with adrenaline and anticipation. As he approaches the house, he picks up on snatches of cheerful conversation and hushed music that seep through cracked windows.

Two large pumpkins stand guard on the patio this time, their expressions hardly threatening. Dan feels like he must look somewhat like them – glowing with excitement, grin unalterably carved into his face.

Standing in front of the door, he takes a deep breath. He’s nervous, but not because he’s uncertain. He’s made up his mind, he’s decided to come here tonight for a reason. It’s just that it might be the biggest decision he’s ever made, and that does scare him quite a lot.

Okay, Dan. This is your last chance for turning back, he thinks, but instead he reaches out and rings the bell.

The sound seems to resonate in his chest.

A face appears briefly in the door window and with a squeal of excitement the door is wrenched open.

“Hi Dan!” says a cat the size of a young girl. She’s wearing an Alice band with cat ears on it and someone has painted crooked whiskers across her cheeks.

“Hi Olivia. Nice costume.”

Olivia grins. “Thanks! You too.”

He’s opted for a jumper with ghosts and pumpkins on it rather than a full-on disguise.

Stepping aside to let him pass, she adds, “Daddy’s in the kitchen.”

There’s a familiar twinkle in her eye that makes Dan wonder how much she knows, but he just smiles back and follows her inside.

As he closes the door behind himself, Olivia skips back down the hall to where the music is playing, but Dan remains where he is.

There’s a clanking of pots coming from his right. He swallows nervously, taking a final deep breath of courage before he steps into the kitchen.

Phil’s standing at the counter with his back turned to Dan, wearing a vampire’s cloak. His pale skin certainly fits the image, Dan thinks, feeling a grin tug on his lips.

For a moment he wonders how to announce his arrival, but then Phil turns around and flinches violently.

“Jesus, Dan!” he exclaims, blue eyes wide with shock, stumbling back against the counter. “You scared me!”

“Kind of the whole point of Halloween, isn’t it?” Dan asks, taking a few steps into the room. “Though I must say, your appearance is a lot scarier than mine.”

Phil’s face relaxes and he smiles, which entirely refutes Dan’s statement.

They stand facing each other for a moment, the realisation of what Dan’s presence means prickling like electricity in the air between them.

Then Dan clears his throat. “So, uh… Trick or treat?”

Phil laughs. “I’m afraid the treats are reserved for the children,” he says, biting his lower lip. His eyebrows are raised as if in a challenge.

“That’s too bad,” Dan’s about to say when Phil adds, “But I might have kept a special treat for you.”

They’ve gravitated towards each other almost subconsciously so that when Dan speaks again, he can see the sparkle in Phil’s eyes, the smudged red paint below his lip and even a few faded freckles that are dusted across his nose and cheeks.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

Phil’s gaze drops and Dan feels his heartbeat speed up again. Instead of replying, he slowly leans in. Licking his lips, Dan lets his eyelids flutter shut in expectation.

They snap open again a mere second later, accompanied by a gasp when he feels Phil’s hot breath fan his neck.

“Ph-phil, what are you -”

“Never trust a vampire, Dan,” Phil mutters, lips ghosting over a patch of skin, not quite touching it.

Instinctively, Dan’s hands have shot up to hold onto Phil’s shoulders. He moves them now, his breath hitching, heart thudding, to Phil’s face and tilts it gently upwards.

“You sneaky little shit,” he murmurs affectionately.

Phil’s grinning widely, his eyes scrunched up and lucid like the pumpkins outside.

“Now I have no choice but to trick you,” Dan continues quietly, “seeing as you wouldn’t give me,” he leans in closer, “my…” his mouth brushes Phil’s cheek, making his breath stutter. “…treat,” Dan completes the sentence against Phil’s lips.

They kiss slowly, unrushed, lips parting and reconnecting again in sync with their breaths. As if to prove his previous statement, Phil eventually takes Dan’s bottom lip between his teeth and nibbles on it gently, causing Dan to let out a small moan. They’re stood pressed together from head to toe now. He can feel Phil’s heart beat against his own and the gentle touch of his hands on the back of his neck.

When Phil begins to pull away, Dan whimpers in protest, holding on to him tighter, and Phil smiles against his lips, his fluttering eyelashes tickling Dan’s cheek.

“Happy Halloween, Dan,” he mumbles, winding his fingers into Dan’s hair.

“I’m glad you came.”

*** this used to be on my ao3 page (softiejace). i’m taking down my phan content for personal reasons but reposting it here so people can still enjoy it :) ***

[destiel-love-forever]

The Set-Up

In Claire and Jack Novak's opinion, it's been far too long since their dad went out on a date. Castiel Novak doesn't think it's an issue. His children disagree.

So, they make a plan.

Enter a dating app, a fake profile, and an unsuspecting Dean Winchester. What could go wrong?

Read Below or on AO3: The Set-Up

The Set-Up

The plan is simple. Only 3 steps.

Stage One: Make the dating profile.

The first thing the app asks is what picture or pictures they’d like to include. Claire wants the picture to be more on the attractive side, while Jack thinks it should be goofy. They decide to add three in order to cover all the bases. The first is of their dad when they went on a hike last month. He’s wearing that light blue shirt that makes his eyes bright. It was a weekend, so his stubble is grown in. The smile on his face is carefree, showing off his dimples and eye wrinkles. They both agree that he’s handsome - even sexy, if it were possible for their dad to be sexy - and use that as his main photo. The second picture is of their dad at an outdoor concert. He’s wearing his blackRebel With A Cause shirt and his sock monkey winter hat with the strings hanging down. The third is a picture of the three of them at the ocean. Uncle Gabriel had taken the photo just after a huge wave knocked them over, so everyone’s hair is all over the place. They’re standing together haphazardly, arms wrapped around each other so they can smile for the picture. You can practically hear the laughter.

“Perfect,” Claire announces, clapping her hands together after this part is done. “Now they see he’s a hot, goofy, single dad.”

“Do we want them to know the single dad part?” Jack asks nervously.

“Uh, duh! This isn’t Tinder, Jack. This is looking for a long-term thing. I think it’d be a little hard to do that while keeping his sixteen-year-old twin teenagers a secret.”

Jack shrugs, unable to argue. He clicks the NEXT button and they continue filling out the profile. It takes them thirty-four minutes, and a lot of arguing. It’s a relief when they finally submit it.

“Now what?” Jack asks as they stare at the finished profile.

“Now,” Claire pauses dramatically, giving Jack a crazed smile that makes him wonder if this plan was actually a good idea. “We wait.”

----

When Dean gets home from work after pulling a double-shift, he grabs a cold beer from the fridge and plops down on the couch. He kicks his feet up and turns on the TV to watch the football game that’s about to start. As the announcers go back and forth on what team is going to win, Dean starts messing around on his phone. His thumb hovers over the dating app Sam convinced him to install last week. He hasn’t looked at it since the first night. It’s not that he doesn’t want to find someone, he’d love to, but it’s such a time-consuming process.

After glancing up at the TV to see that there’s still ten minutes before kick-off, he figures he might as well scroll through the thing. What’s the harm in looking? It might even be entertaining.

Case in point: The first profile Dean sees is of a man maybe ten years older than him with a black Santa beard, who has wrapped himself in a strange-looking rainbow towel and is holding what looks like a pet mouse. Dean doesn’t even read the description of that one.

The next isn’t terrible. A younger guy with a cute smile. Dean rolls his eyes when he reads the blurb on the guy's profile. Every achievement in his life is written out for Dean to read - from winning his highschool talent show to getting a masters in business. He then lays out his dating history, in which each situation he was the victim.

Next.

Dean's breath catches when he flicks his thumb to a picture of an absolutely beautiful man. He's standing on what looks like the top of the mountain, grinning at the camera. Despite the hiking clothes and messy, sweaty hair, he still manages to be Dean's wet dream.

Holding his breath, Dean starts to read the blurb on this guy's - Castiel, Age 38 - profile. He's praying this guy doesn't suck like all the others.

I'm a freelance photographer, a terrible singer, and have a set of 16-year-old twins that make my world chaotic. When my kiddos graduate I plan on doing a lot of traveling. My Hogwarts house is Hufflepuff - yeah I'm a 38-year-old man who cares about his Hogwarts house, fight me - and my patronus is a guinea pig. I'm allergic to guinea pigs though, so not sure what that says about me. Message at your own risk if none of that scares you off.

Dean reads the paragraph two more times, grinning like an idiot. He scrolls through the rest of the pictures, each one sporting an equally good looking Castiel, and decides this one is worth a shot.

He opens up the chat feature but then his thumbs freeze. What does he even say? He rereads Castiel's paragraph before typing out what he hopes will be a response the guy likes.

Dean spends the rest of the game checking the app every two minutes. When he finally gets the checkmark that Castiel read it, he holds his breath and stares at the screen. Then it tells him Castiel is typing. Dean's heart races. He decides it'd be a good idea to grab another beer while he waits.

This Castiel guy has him feeling like a damn teenager again. If Dean's being honest, he kind of missed that.

----

"Dad got a new message!"

"Oh god, is it another creeper?" Jack asks, hurrying over to where his sister is sitting on the couch. It's a valid question. They've had some real wackjobs message their dad. One asked upfront for a dick pic. Another told him he'd like to bring him on a walk in the forest at night. Suffice to say, those got deleted.

"No, he's hot!" Claire grins at Jack, showing him a picture of a very handsome man that looks to be a little younger than their dad. He has kind green eyes and a warm smile. The picture shows him at what seems to be a barbecue, people blurred in the background as he stands there wearing a faded flannel and holding a beer. Relaxed. Casual. Not full of himself.

"What's his profile say?"

Claire clicks on the button that makes the profile blurb pop up and read out loud, "I'm a pretty laid back guy, but I still squeeze in adventures every once in a while. Nothing's better than a lazy Sunday on the couch watching football - though kayaking down the river is a close second. If those kinds of things sound good to you, feel free to message me."

"He sounds good," Jack muses.

"Good? How about great. He's perfect. I mean, dad isn't a huge football fan, but he could read a book or something as they cuddle! And dad loves kayaking and stuff like that."

Jack lifts his hands. "I'm sorry. You're right. He sounds great. What does his message say?"

After a second, Claire reads, "Your chaos doesn't scare me. Life should be messy after all, right? Plus, I don't own any guinea pigs, so we're batting a thousand so far. Look at us go - and then a wink face."

"He's funny. That's good! Dad needs to laugh more."

"Dad needs to do what?" Castiel asks, strolling into the living room while looking at his twins suspiciously.

"Oh. Uh." Claire and Jack exchange a look. Then Claire says, "Sleep more. We were just talking about how you're always up late and up early. You need to relax more."

Castiel chuckles. "I'll keep that in mind. Don't worry about your old man, kiddos. I'm fine."

As Castiel flips through the channels on the TV, Claire leans in to whisper in Jack's ear. "He's not fine, but he will be." She shows him the message she sent back to Dean, grinning mischievously.

"Stage two?" Jack asks in excitement.

"Stage two."

Stage Two: Arrange a meeting.

After seven messages stretched over 36 hours, Dean asks if they can meet. He suggests something low key and public, making a joke about serial killers, and Castiel (A.K.A. Claire and Jack) says he knows just the place. They agree on grabbing some coffee on Saturday morning at a little cafe downtown. Ten A.M.

That gives the twins sixteen hours to get their dad to that cafe at that particular time. Unsuspecting, of course.

Stage Three: Get dad to the cafe.

They ambush him at dinner. Claire starts - she’s usually the one to take the reins. Even as a toddler, she was the troublemaker of the two.

“So, dad. What are you doing tomorrow morning?”

Castiel, always very perceptive, pauses halfway through cutting his steak and looks up at his daughter. His eyebrows pull in. “Nothing… that I know of.”

“Perfect! We want to hang out with you.”

“Excuse me?” Castiel looks at Jack, then back at Claire, highly suspicious. “You want to hang out? With me? On a Saturday?” He looks at each of them again. “Without me telling you you have to?”

Jack steps in. “School starts in a week. I’ll be busy with football and student council, and Claire will be busy with dance and drama. We just wanted to spend a little extra time with you.”

Wanting to make this sound a bit more realistic - because they’re teenagers after all - Claire adds, “And we were kiiiiiind of hoping you’d bring us clothes shopping for back to school, too.”

“Ahh, there it is. The motive.” Castiel winks at his kids. “Fine. We can go school clothes shopping.”

“And coffee!” Jack adds enthusiastically.

“Coffee?”

Claire shoots her brother a look for shouting that at their dad instead of being more subtle, then smiles at Castiel and says, “Well, that’s what we wanted to do first. Get coffees and then go shopping.”

“You don’t have to bribe me, kiddos. I’ll take you shopping.”

“It’s not a bribe,” Jack states firmly.

“Yeah. It’s a thing.” Claire shrugs a shoulder. “It’s very New York City. Everyone’s been doing it.”

“Doing what?” Castiel asks, slightly exasperated.

“Getting coffees. It’s way cooler than stupid stuff like bowling or the movies.”

Jack nods. “It’s more sophisticated. Grown-up.”

This makes Castiel smile. “Okay. Grown-up coffee date it is.”

----

Castiel sighs as they walk into the coffee shop. It’s been a morning of overbearing children. First, he planned on letting them sleep-in this morning. What teenagers don’t want to sleep-in on Saturday, a week before they go back to school? Apparently Castiel’s. They made it clear they needed to get their coffee by 10 AM, because the mall opens at 11 and they don’t want to have to wait in lines.

Then what Castiel wanted to wear - old jeans and a hooded sweatshirt - was apparently not cool enough for them, whatever that means. They talked him into his nice pair of dark jeans and a soft grey sweater that’s thin enough for the lingering warmth of summer.

As he started driving them to Starbucks, he was quickly directed downtown instead. His kids love Starbucks. At least, they used to. Now it’s apparently not what everyone is doing. It’s not New York City - something they both keep saying, even though Castiel is clueless what New York has to do with anything.

Now they’re in the coffee shop, and Castiel is sent to get himself coffee while Claire and Jack go talk to a friend. They say they’ll be back in a minute, telling Castiel to just go sit. When he offers to get them their coffees, they both nearly shout at him not to before stuttering something about not being sure what they want yet.

Castiel gets his Americano and slumps down at a table in the corner. He pulls his phone out and opens the chat for Gabriel. He’s the coolest person Castiel knows - which sort of hurts the soul to admit.

Castiel: Do you know what it means for something to be ‘So New York City’? And since when is Starbucks not cool?

"Excuse me?" Castiel puts his phone down and glances up at the man who just spoke to him. He's taken aback. Not only is the man gorgeous - dressed in black jeans and a faded denim-colored button-up shirt that has the top few buttons left open, with a charming smile that involves the prettiest pink lips Castiel has ever seen, a dusting of freckles, and green eyes that feel like they could see into his soul - but he's also standing extremely close to Castiel. Like, if Castiel were to stand up, they'd be chest to chest.

Castiel clears his throat and awkwardly says, "Uh, hey. Can I help you?"

The guy stares at him for a few seconds, then his gorgeous smile fades. "You're Castiel, right?"

"Right." Castiel scans the cafe, confused. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

"Seriously?"

"Well - yes."

The guy huffs, clearly angry now. "I'm Dean."

"Okay." Castiel scratches the back of his head and laughs nervously. "Well, hi Dean. Can I help you with something?"

"Great. I knew you were too good to be true. Just had to be a fucking dick." Dean turns to leave before spinning back around and glaring at Castiel. "Why even show up? Why keep messaging me? Seriously. What the hell is this?"

Now Castiel is really confused. "Messaging you? I'm sorry, sir. I have no idea-" his eyes travel past Dean's shoulder, catching sight of Jack and Claire trying to hide behind a bookshelf. "Oh, Jesus christ."

"What?" Dean growls.

Castiel laughs softly. That's all he can do in this situation. He's so shocked that his kids pulled this off that he can't even be pissed right now. He's sure that will come later, though.

"Let me guess. We met on a dating app or website."

"Dude, what is this? Is this some sort of fucking game?"

"No. Unfortunately, it is not." Castiel points at his twins, who look terrified. When Dean sees them, Castiel explains. "Apparently my pain in the ass teenagers didn't want to accept my I don't want to date right now. I'm assuming they're who you've been talking to."

Dean stares at them before turning to look at Castiel with wide eyes. "You know, it was written on your profile that they create chaos in your life. I was forewarned. Just had no idea I was going to be a part of their troublemaking."

"Okay, I need to see this profile now." Castiel laughs, trying to imagine what his kids would have put. "Can I buy you coffee as an apology?"

"An apology?" Dean scoffs, stepping closer to him so he can speak in a lower voice. "You're not getting out of this one, blue eyes. I'm on their side. You and I are on a date right now."

"We most certainly are not."

Dean winks at him. Winks! "I'm gonna grab myself a coffee. You just stay there."

"But-"

"Need anything? Muffin? Refill?"

"I - but - no." Castiel wipes a hand down his face, suddenly nervous. He's on a date. He's not ready for a date. He doesn't have topics prepared in case the conversation lulls. He didn't ask Gabriel what to do or say in every possible scenario.

Before Castiel can panic further, Dean is back. He puts a gentle hand on Castiel's shoulder and pushes him until he's sitting in his chair, then goes to the opposite side of the table to sit across from him. His grin is even wider than it was when they first spoke. That was a sexy, but nervous Dean. This is a confident, amused Dean.

Great.

"So, Castiel. Let's get a few things straight. Is your patronus really a guinea pig? And how exactly does one get themselves sorted into Hufflepuff?"

Castiel groans. What other embarrassing stuff has his children told this man? He looks over at where Jack and Claire or clearly spying on them from across the cafe. He narrows his eyes and mouths you two are dead while doing a line across his throat with his finger.

When he turns to look at Dean again, the guy is laughing. He's loving this.

"First of all," Castiel begins, letting a large amount of sass into his tone. "If we’re going to try this, you aren’t allowed to bash Hufflepuff. What’s your house anyway?”

“Gryffindor,” Dean states proudly.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Cliche.”

“Uh, I can’t help that that’s my house!”

“Did you take the official test?” Dean doesn’t even have to answer. The look on his face and the way his eyes awkwardly dart to the side give him away. Castiel points an accusing finger at him. “Exactly. So you’re one of those wannabe Harry Potter guys. No giving me shit for being Hufflepuff until you take the test too, asshole.”

Dean laughs softly, looking at Castiel with eyes that practically sparkle. “Alright. Fair enough.”

“Second of all, that right there?” Castiel points a finger at his twins, then at Dean. “Not cool. Not cool. You’re on team dad if you come around. No joining those two to gang up on me.”

The smirk Dean gives Castiel makes it pretty damn clear this rule isn’t going to be followed, even though he says, “Of course.”

Lucky for Dean, Castiel’s already hooked on this man. He’s laid back. Good looking. Funny. Charming. It’s easy for them to talk and tease each other. He’s making Castiel laugh for the first time in a long time. Plus, he already passed the crazy teenager test. If this guy can handle the fact that he was tricked by the twins to come here on a blind date with their dorky, uncooperative dad, then Castiel can give him a chance.

“What’s number three?” Dean asks.

“Huh?”

“There was a first of all. Then a second of all.” Dean puts his elbows on the table and leans closer to Castiel, almost like they’re sharing secrets. “What’s the third of all?”

“Umm,” Castiel looks at his coffee, feeling himself blush. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t blushed in years. “Third of all - ummm.”

“Can I do the third of all?”

Castiel tilts his head, looking at Dean in curiosity. “Sure.”

“Great.” Dean licks his lips, eyes flicking down to Castiel’s own mouth. When he looks back up at Castiel, it looks like he wants to eat him alive. “I'm bringing you to dinner tonight so we can have a proper first date. One where your two goofballs aren't spying on us."

Castiel turns around, laughing when he sees that Jack and Claire have moved closer now, trying to hide behind an open menu that barely covers one of their faces, let alone two. He looks back and Dean and smiles. "Dinner tonight sounds perfect."

[ivebeenmade]

Malcolm Bright x Elliot Alderson (Kinktober Shibari Suspension)

At first, Malcolm had been worried about exploring Elliot’s kinks (hesitant about exploring sexuality completely actually but Elliot assures him...sexuality has NOTHING to do with it), but from the looks of the rearranged bedroom he’d found something that he felt comfortable with. Elliot could only hope Malcolm was as interested in this idea as he was.

“It doesn’t have to be sexual,” Elliot had explained more than once. Relieved, they’d both revealed that they identified as asexual (ok, so maybe Elliot MIGHT be a little Demi but he doesn't feel obligated to define it) after a few dates. “In fact, most of the time, the dom/sub dynamic isn’t sexual at all,” he tells him. “It can be, but it transcends that for me. It’s like morphine, but...better.” Malcolm is a little concerned when he tells him it's almost like a drug but “Its not. I swear. It's...different” 

That was when he found some literature on subspace for Malcolm, who asked lots of questions but still expressed some doubt about what he’d be capable of doing. Elliot trusts him and  wanted him to trust himself, as much as he wanted this to happen again. He’s not ashamed to admit he NEEDS this and It wasn’t often he found someone he could trust to collar him, tie him up.

“That’s a lot of rope.” The hacker remarks, dropping his backpack on the floor. Malcolm skirts around him and nervously pushes it out of the way. He blushes, still a little shy but Elliot kisses him, “Relax, Mal. K?” He kind of does...loves that Elliot has that effect on him. If he’s being honest, that’s kinda HIS kink. 

The bed has been pushed into the corner of the room, and there’s evidence of some partial rigging in the center of the room (and of course Elliot can trust that Malcolm has brought in a professional to install it), as well as a duffel bag full of soft yellow and blue hemp rope. “It’ll compliment your skin tone,” he mumbles. “I might’ve used black but...yeah. ok.” 

“K. Yeah. I get it. I can deal with a little variety.”

Experimentally, Malcolm pushes back Elliot’s hoodie, begins to unzip it. When the other man makes no move to stop, his boyfriend’s face softens. Elliot knows that face. “I trust you.” He whispers, not saying much else as Malcolm gently helps him out of everything down to his underwear. Carefully, everything is folded and laid out on the bed.

The profiler comes back, and takes a length of rope out of the duffle bag, looking into Elliot’s eyes to keep track of his reactions. Unless he absolutely has to he hasn’t really broken eye contact. It’s intense, but that’s Malcolm. Elliot knew he’d be a natural. He can tell that he’s enjoying this already, taking time with each loop and knot, starting at Elliot’s wrist and upper body, checking that nothing’s too tight, restricting blood flow. “You’re a quick study.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of reading.” Later Malcolm would probably love to go over what he’d learned in his reading in excruciating detail. Whenever he found a passion he couldn’t help himself. It would definitely change the late night conversation. Not that Elliot was squeamish about discussing murder. Not that Malcolm didn’t listen intently, however little he understood, when his boyfriend talked about his business and freelance work.

Right now they’re not doing a lot of talking. Malcolm remains dressed, other than rolling up his sleeves and taking off his tie. His pupils are wide, he’s got that look he gets when he’s hot on someone’s trail. But now it’s mixed with a soft smile when Elliot leans into the attention, when he goes practically limp as Malcolm lays him down on the floor.

From here he can work on the lower ties, the connections. By now Elliot is completely lost in the moment, feeling comforted, hugged not so much by the ropes but by the attention and care his boyfriend is taking. 

Malcolm checks the rigging, the ropes again, and then the hacker feels weightless more than conscientiously noticing that he’s being lifted just a few inches off the floor. Malcolm runs a hand through his hair, and then steps away, watching his reactions; Elliot’s eyes fluttering shut, his lips slightly parted. 

There’s nothing sexual in it. It’s beyond that. He’s beautiful, relaxed and peaceful for once. That feeling is shared by his boyfriend. Before what he’s learned is called the subdrop can hit Elliot, he begins to lower him. Malcolm wraps an arm under his head and shoulders before he reaches the ground, then goes to work loosening the ties. 

From his haze, Elliot shakes his head. He needs something else first. Malcolm gently places his head in his lap, not speaking, letting the feeling wash over him. Sometimes there’s tears, he’s been warned, and he watches some fall on his boyfriend’s face while he carefully finishes releasing him. Each knot undone, he massages the spot, checks for anything harsher than the mark of the rope. He’d done well, not causing any damage. He continues rubbing Elliot’s hands and feet, gently returning circulation to his limbs, knowing not to worry even when it seems like the other has zoned out or even blacked out for a moment. 

It’s the intensity of the sensations. His job is to stay close, be available, provide aftercare if the sub is ready. He needs to ride the reactions without interruption.

Just a few moments later, in nothing but his underwear and a pile of rope underneath him, Elliot’s eyes are wide open, a smile plastered on his face maybe bigger than Malcolm has ever seen. He climbs into Malcolms lap, wrapping his arms around him. There’s a chaste kiss as the profiler helps him to the bed, helps his arms into his hoodie and zips it up. 

They crawl under the covers together. It’s the first time Elliot has ever noticed Malcolm not meticulously tidying up his room. He’s left the equipment where it is, all his attention on his boyfriend. They’re under the thick comforter, Malcolm holding him as they fall asleep. 

[suepixels]

28 | Bastien [🔗]

Bridgeport Quays - Skye Fitness “Just chatting” Both went downstairs to the spa area. Bastien wanted to know some stuff how her Social Media Career goes on and how she became so successful and he talks between the line that he wants to hire her as a freelancer to do work on some social media projects for him.

Bastien says: “What do you think? Could you imagine to improve my digital profiles and give me some advice on how to become more successful and be as viral as you are?” He gives her his best charming smile.

“Sure I think we can arrange that. Does that mean we will see us again?” Mik wonders and smiles back.

“Only if you promise to give me your number so that we can meet up for a cafe or dinner even? I leave it up to you but I would rather prefer dinner with you” he smiles.

“Are you asking me for a date, Bastien?”

“Why not, you’re an attractive lady, I do like you and I enjoyed our workout session together. So you need to tell me if you feel the tension between us?” Bastien snickers because he already knows the answer to the question.

“You are pretty bold and upfront, no foreplay, huh?” She laughs nervously. “Let me ask you now a direct question: Are you free to date?

“Foreplay? Naah lol sometimes it has to be quick and dirty he snickers smugly. Uhm, yes I’m free to date but I’m seeing someone currently, nothing serious, tho! Is this a dealbreaker for you?” And what about you are you single? “Oh, okay” she responds disappointed “Of course you do. Me? Um, I am single since yesterday, ha! To answer your question, it depends on what are you looking for? Can you tell?” “Look Mik aka. Mika” he smiles. I see you are just out of a relationship yourself and I’m not forcing myself into a relationship. Never did... if it’s meant to be it will happen and I can guarantee you that I will end all kind of loose dating activities. Once I commit to someone I stick with it. If you feel uncomfy with my way I guess we can start first as friends and see how that goes? Could this be an option you feel better with? I think it’s okay “Friend” let’s exchange numbers and see where the road takes us, right? she pouts hopefully. 

Both exchange their numbers. Mika was about to wink and say goodbye quickly but Bastien came closer and took her in his arms, embraced her and whispers: “Hey pouty face, don’t worry just give us a bit time to get to know each other first, before we label what we are, ok? We just met, right? I just don’t like to force myself into something which is simply not my thing because it has to happen naturally and I like to go with the flow but I do truly like you, okay? Can’t wait even until we can box together again!

Hmm, I guess we will see how it goes? Am I correct? Mika looks into his eyes with a hopeful face. “Yes, we will find it out, that’s for sure”.

With a firm voice, she says: “Okay, Flying Bastien I’m going downstairs I promised my sis to give us some girl-time while we have a yoga class together. See you soon... If you ever give me a call...” she whispers. Mika goes downstairs and she can’t deny her “high” is now “low” and she feels a bit down... It makes perfect sense what he said but still, it did bother her that he wasn’t willing to cut off his affair for Mika. But can she expect that?

“I mean which girl wouldn’t want to date him? It was clear as heck, that he isn’t really a true “Single”. We will be friends for now, I guess" 

she thinks and goes downstairs. 

START | PREVIOUS | NEXT 

[cygnetofthesea]

Absolution in You: Part IV

When Barry meets Iris under unusual circumstances, he never would have imagined just how tangled in her he would become. 

He wasn't supposed to fall for her.  It wasn't supposed to be like this.   But the fates had a twisted sense of humor, it seemed and here he was...

On AO3

Four days later he walks into Zoom's flower shop and tells him he's in.  He threatens to kill him and Darhk right where they stood if anything ever happened to Iris, but he was in.  They had succeeded in manipulating him when they left a funeral flower arrangement with Iris's name on his doorstep.  He had tore up the arrangement in a rage, watching the petals float to the ground in the mid-afternoon breeze. His blood on fire, he marches over to let them know before seeking out Iris.  

It was a Thursday afternoon, three weeks later, and he knew she would be leaving the orphanage around that time and making her way over to the park afterward.  Ever since she quit her job at the bank, Iris had taken to volunteering more full time at the orphanage while she did some freelance writing on the side. And apparently other activities that he had been unaware of.

He watches from afar as she steps out the building and walks over to the nearby park, sitting on a bench in front of the pond.  He takes a deep breath, swallowing the lump in his throat before crossing the street. His gaze is so focused on her that he nearly gets hit by a passing car.  He worries for a moment he’ll draw her attention and she’ll leave before he has a chance to speak with her, but mercifully she seems too deep in thought to look back.  

Ignoring the irked driver, he marches forward, his hands stuffed nervously in the pocket of his coat until he was standingbehind her.  His heart hammers in his chest and he feels as though he can barely breath.

He had been involved in numerous robberies in his life and maintained a calm in the midst of pandemonium and yet he felt as though he was gearing up to freefall from an airplane.  

"Iris."

He knows the moment she registers his voice, her body stiffening.  He walks around the bench, needing her to see his face, needing to see hers..  "Iris, please I just need to talk to you."

She stands abruptly as though preparing to leave and he reaches for her arm without thinking.  She jerks away, finally meeting his eyes.

"Don’t touch me."

He looks at her for a long moment and could see the exhaustion in her eyes.  It had been days since he last spoke to her and she had plenty of time to turn them in but she didn't.  Something in her kept her from doing so and while he wondered what it was, he was more concerned with her knowing the truth.  He needed her to know everything. And whether it meant he was giving her more ammo against him, he didn’t care. As long as she knew.  

"I'm sorry, Iris.  I'm so sorry for everything that I put you through, but I just-I just need you to know the truth.  I will never lie to you again.  Ever. "

"Yeah?  And how exactly do you expect me to believe that?"

"Because you'll hate the answers."  His eyes never waver from her face. “Anything,” he whispers.

She looks at him silently before letting out a slow breath.  "How long were you following me before you approached me?"

"A couple of days."

"How many robberies have you been involved in?"

"Six trucks, two banks."

She pauses, holding her breath.  "Have you ever killed anyone?"

"No," he says without hesitating, looking her straight in the eyes.  "We have a code."

"But you do take hostages."

He shakes his head.  "No. That wasn't supposed to happen.  It was an impulsive decision on Rory's part."

"Who's idea was it to follow me?"

"Rory."

Iris let out a mirthless chuckle.  "Of course it was. The fucking psycho."

"We don’t take hostages because it creates too many ties and makes the job bigger than it needs to be.  He saw you lived in the area and was worried somehow you'd ID us after he saw you talking to the Feds."

She nods, looking away toward the pond.  He watches her profile carefully, trying to gaugue what she was thinking.  Needing to know that she believed him.

"Iris.  I will never lie to you, I will never hurt you and if I lose you…I will regret that for the rest of my life."

Her breath hitches at his admission.  She turns back to him and the look in her eyes makes something flutter in his stomach.  There was confliction and hesitation, but the anger had abated.

"I need to know..."  Her voice was so quiet and soft that he almost misses it in the wind.

"Anything."

"Are you in love with me?"

He cautiously walks toward her.  “Yes.”

Something flickers her eyes and Barry watches her throat bob as she swallows hard.  

“Barry,” she croaks.  “What do you expect from us?  What do you think can happen?”

His heart stutters in his chest and he tries to be subtle as he takes in a deep breath, trying to ease the ache.  

“We-we can come back from this, Iris.  We can start fresh like we’ve been talking about.”

“It’s all been a lie,” she says softly, her eyes unwavering.  Searching.

He shakes his head.  “But, it hasn’t,” he says just as softly.  He looks down at the mere two feet between them and slowly inches closer.  His fingers twitch, resisting the urge to touch her. She looks down away and doesn't appear to want to close the distance between them.

“Iris,” he whispers. “Please, look at me.”

She hesistates before meeting his gaze.

“You see me, don’t you?  You must know it wasn’t a lie.  The only lie in our relationship was how we met.  That’s it. Everything else after that was all real.”

Her eyes glimmer with unshed tears.  “What about that story about your mother?  Was that even real?”

“Every word.”  

He looks at her beautiful brown eyes, wondering if there was any hope, but knowing his time was limited now  He wants nothing more than for her to trust him again, to be able to put her faith in him, but it wouldn't be a feart he could accomplish right then.  

"There's something I need to do, but I'm asking you, Iris, wait for me."

She doesn’t say anything, but he hadn't expected her to.  He nods once and takes a step back beore turning away. He gets a few feets when he hears her call out to him.

"Barry?"

He looks back at her.  She was biting her lips, clutching her coat close to her.  She scrutinizes him and there’s something akin to confusion in her eyes.  "Why do you do it?"

He shrugs.  "I owe a debt."

She looks taken aback by that and as much as he wants to remain in her company, time was running out.  

The sooner he got to work, the sooner he could come back to her.

He was strapping on his ballistic vest with Len and Rory when Zoom walks into the warehouse with Darkh.  Barry clips a couple of explosives on his belt, avoiding Zoom’s gaze as he and Darkh stops in front of them, hands on their hips.

"I can't say how proud I am of you boys. You remind me of your fathers, but wiser. Kids these days grow fast and it breaks my heart, but looking at you boys and all that you've accomplished…well, it makes this old man feel relevant."

Barry sours at the mention of his father.  Coming from the lips of the scum that destroyed his family, the words mean nothing.  He bows his head, biting back what he really wanted to say, what he really wanted to do.  

"I know there are some concerns about this job, but I'm telling you we got this in the bag.  You boys reviewed the schematics?"

They all nod.  "Good, so we have everyone in place, alibis been bought off, and we have men working on the cameras as we speak."

"Where's our backup?" Len asks.

Zoom looks at Len and gives him a reassuring smile.  "Got 'em briefed and patrolling the area."

Barry narrows his eyes, watching Zoom lay out a blueprint across the tabletop.  Even though he had spent years working for the guy, he never did quite trust him and now more than ever something feels off.

Everyone gathers around the blueprint as Zoom gives them the play-by-play when Barry feels the burner phone in his pocket buzz.  His hand moves toward his pocket in confusion, not realizing he had brought it with him.

His pulse jumps against his skin and he grabs it, discreetly checking the screen while the others pour over the schematics.

Look up, the text reads.

His eyes flash to the level above, searching, and from the shadows, Iris creeps out.  His heart jumps in his throat as Iris places an index finger on her lips.

She was hidden between boxes and he could only spot her because he knew where to look, but still, his heart bangs thunderously in his chest.  What was she doing there?

He calms his breath.  "I left some of my gear upstairs, be back."

Zoom looks at him for what felt like a long moment before nodding and turning back to the blueprint.

Barry tries to keep his gait calm and steady, making his way to the second level.  He didn’t have to walk far when Iris intercepted. He swiftly wraps an arm around her waist and lifts her against him, taking her to the far end of the level where they would be hidden behind lockers.

"What the hell are you doing here, Iris," he hisses.  He set her down in front of one of the lockers and grabs her arms gently.  "Are you out of your mind?"

She looks at him intensely. "Look, I don’t know what you have planned but I couldn't shake what you told me.  Against my better judgment, I don’t want you to go down with them, but Rory cannot get away with it.  He has to pay for what he did to Martin."

He looks at her stunned even as his heart skips a beat at her concern for him.  But he couldn't focus on that because here she was, standing in front of him while two sociopaths and their trigger-happy lackeys were downstairs.

"You need to get out of here, Iris."

"Just listen to me," she hisses.

"What exactly were you planning on doing? Come in guns blazing and take him out?  And how did you even find me?"

"I tailed you and no I don't plan on killing anyone."  She took out a recorder from her pocket and showed it to him.  "I recorded the conversation between Zoloman and Darhk while the rest of you were getting ready.  Barry, there isn't a backup team in place, they couldn’t secure one. They were fully prepared to let you guys fend for yourself even if it meant taking hits."

"That fucker."  Barry clenched his fists, stepping away from Iris.

"From what I heard, Zoloman’s not happy with you.  Barry, we need to get out of here."

"Why, what's happening?"

"I'm going to tip off Eddie and anonymously send him the recording.  They're going to find Snart and Rory too."

Barry looks at her gently before taking her face in his hands.  He stares into her soft brown eyes and if he looked hard, he could see that flicker of warmth she had held for him in the last few months.  Before everything went to hell.

"Do you hate me, Iris?"  He doesn't know why he asks the question and realizes it wasn’t the most appropriate time to be having that conversation, but he can’t help the words blurting past his lips.

Her eyes well up with tears as her jaws tighten under his hands.  "Just-fucking hell, Barry. I am so pissed at you and I don't know what the hell is going to happen after tonight, but all I know is that I can't let something happen to you.  And now is  not the time to talk about this."

He nods, he'd take what he could get.  "Ok," he whispers. "But, Iris. If I leave with you now and the Feds come for them, it's only a matter of time before they come for me.  They'll know I was connected."

"We'll cross that bridge when it comes, but right now we need to leave before they come looking for you."

Barry looks down at her, battling his loyalty to her and his loyalty to Snart.  He couldn't give less of shit what happened to the others, he hoped they'd rot in prison, but Snart was his brother.  Snart was the only family he really had in this hell-ish life. Snart was the one who had taken the fall for him that sent him to prison for five years.  He wants nothing more than to leave with her, but he needed to tie up loose ends before they could.

'Iris," he whispers.  “You need to get out of here.”

The sound of a gun cocking back jolts them and Iris lets out a gasp as she looks over Barry's shoulder.  Barry's eyes slid to the side as he carefully turns, keeping his body in front of Iris.

"So this is your sweet, new girlfriend, huh?"

Barry turns fully only to be faced with the barrel of Zoom's gun.  Zoom's grim expression showed a mix of irritation and disappointment as he looks to address Iris.  

"Here to join the fun, darling?"

Iris steps forward and Barry has to hold out a restraining arm across her torso.  "Don't," he grits out. He looks at Zoom, praying to whatever entity was out there that could make a difference.  "Don’t do this, Hunter." He knew his uncle hated being referred to his name, but he would never call him by his moniker or uncle.

Zoom exhales exasperatedly.  "Where the fuck is the respect, Barry?"

Iris levels a hard stare at Zoom.  "The likes of you don’t deserve respect."

Zoom stared at her in shock for a moment before a slow grin spreads across his face.  "Holy shit,” he says slowly. “The balls on this gal. Do you know who I am?"

"I know all about you, Hunter Zoloman.  You like to go by Zoom to cover up your criminal acts so that you can hide behind a new name and reputation as a flower shop owner.  But anyone in Central City and as far as Keystone knows who you really are. They're just too afraid to speak because you've bought their silence.  You destroyed families to keep up the façade."

Zoom narrows his eyes at her curiously and even Barry has to wonder how she knew all of this. And then he thought about the days leading up to quitting her job at the bank. Iris had told him how she had wanted to be an investigative journalist once upon a time but had dropped out to work so that she could take care of her dad after he had fallen ill.  It looked like she had returned to her roots and made good use of her newly acquired spare time.

"Who the fuck are  you ?"  He turns to Barry.  "I thought your girlfriend was a bank manager.  She definitely ain't with the Feds, I would've known."

"Don't underestimate a scorned woman, you bastard," Iris spat.  Barry had so many questions and wanted to know what else she knew, how much was she hiding from him—not that it made a difference to him—but there would be time for questions later…or so he hoped.

He never once turns away from Zoom who was still staring at Iris with a hard, questioning gaze, but he allows his eyes to scan the area, searching for a way out.

"Well, as fascinating as this turn of events has been, you darling need to go," he says pointing his gun at her.  Barry's heart leaps in his throat, hammering hard as his body jerks closer to her.

"Hunter, this doesn't have to go down like this."

"I'm afraid it does, Barry."  He looks at Iris again and gestures with his gun.  "Why don't you come out from behind your boyfriend, there?  You sure like to talk and yet you still hide behind a man."

"Fuck you," she hisses venomously.  She makes to step around Barry, who again halts her movements.

"Iris, don't."

Zoom turns the gun back on Barry.  "Iris, do," he says before addressing Barry.  "Do you really want to risk hurting her? After all your efforts in trying to keep her safe, you want to sacrifice all of that now?  Oh and sweetheart, while you're at it, I'll take that recorder too."

Barry clenches his jaws as Iris moves from behind him.  His fingers dig into her side in his continued effort to keep her still.  

“Over my dead body,” he says lowly.  

Zoom looks thoughtful, his face grim.  He lets out a sigh. “Fine.” He raises his gun higher and steadies it on Barry.

Suddenly there’s a deafening bang.  The sound reverberates within the metal lockers, echoing throughout the warehouse.

The sound pops in Barry's ears and instinctively he ducks, throwing himself over Iris and pulling her to the side.  His hands shake as he looks over her only to find her trembling slightly but without a wound in sight.

"Iris?"

She shifts and it was only then that Barry notices the handgun that she was clutching.  He whips around the set of lockers he had taken them behind and there was Hunter's body on the ground, a bright red splotch on his side.

Barry watches as Hunter groans and sits up, clutching his side.  "I'm going to fucking kill you, bitch," he seethes.

Barry leaps up, gripping Iris by the arm as he drags her to the other side of the level.  Gunshots follow in their wake, Zoom screaming in blind rage. It was only a matter of time before the others made their way up there.  As though he had summoned them with his thoughts, he hears the thundering sounds of feet racing up the steps.

He pulls Iris into a dark, secluded corner.  He quickly takes off his armored vest and straps it onto Iris, who fights off his attempts.

"Don't.  You need it."

"Iris," he says in the most stern tone he had ever used with her.  "Please, don't fucking fight me on this." And without another word, he tightens it over her.  He knows the kevlar is heavy on her small frame, but it was the best way to protect her.

He hears the shouts of Rory and Snart and his heart plummets in his chest.  Snart. He was a sinner like himself but not malicious like the others. All he wanted was a way to support himself and his mother, he never set out to hurt people the way Rory did.

"Barry?" he hears him call out.

"The bitch.  She's with him.  Got a gun." Zoom's strangled voice was barely audible as he huffs in pain.  But, if the rumors were true, Hunter Zolomon was a fucking cockroach and wouldn't be brought down with a single hit.

"The fuck?"

There’s an unease in his stomach, his mind shuttling with memories and possible outcomes in which none of them ended well.  Would he be able to save them both? There was no time to wonder because Iris was in his arms, putting her faith in him whether she wanted to admit it or not.  

"Barry!  Where the fuck are you?"

He hears movements coming in closer, he eyes taking in his surroundings. They had a different prep location before each job, not wanting to stay in the same place for too long.  It makes it easier for the Feds to find them if they have a designated basecamp. Barry searches around for anything.  

"Barry!"

"Bastards gone fucking rogue.”  Barry recognizes the graveling voice of Rory.  "I knew this shit was coming."

"Fuck up and let's find him," Snart says, his voice sounding closer than before.

Barry grabs Iris's hand and quietly weaves in between boxes and discarded lockers.  Suddenly a barrage of gunfire goes off, lighting up the darkened corners of the warehouse.

Barry throws himself over Iris before pulling her down as they reached a door at the end of the level.  Barry wrenches it open while bringing Iris’s body closer to his. The screeching metal is drowned out by the gunfire as he pushes Iris through the doorway before following behind and bolting the door.  

"Iris, look at me," he says, the sounds of gunshots echoing in the warehouse muting as he narrows his focus on her.  If only for a moment. He needs her to know because this just may the only chance he gets.

He holds her face in his hands, his long and pale fingers brushing against her beautiful deep bronze skin.  How many times had he stroked her skin, watching in wonder as his fingers drifted along her cheeks, her neck, her body?  It was always in wonder because he could never fathom just how privileged he was to be in her presence, to be given the gift of touching her in such an intimate way.  

Even as he holds her now, he misses those moments, already missing the sensation of her.  She looks at him with frightened eyes, her chest heaving with the adrenaline. But if he looked hard enough, somewhere, somehow, there was trust in her dark eyes that looked back into his.  He held onto it.

"I love you so much."

"Barry, what are—"

"I'm saying it’s not your job to save me.  I can't put that responsibility on you, it's not fair.  Only I can save myself."

"Why won’t you let me help you?"

"Because this is not your fight.  It's mine and it's all my fault that you got caught in the crossfires.”  He looks into her eyes trying to convey how sorry he was. “Run, Iris, run.  Get out of here."

She stares at him, eyes wide and filling with tears.  “I-I can’t,” her voice cracks. “I can’t just leave you behind.”

Panic spreads through his chest, creeping and crawling painfully, it’s sharp claws digging into his caverns, threatening to encompass him.  Had it been any other circumstance or setting, he would have steeled himself and thrown himself into the fray, guns blazing with an unnatural calm in his gait.  Had it been any other circumstances, he would have shoved the innocent bystander into a safe hiding spot before expertly picking off the adversary.

But it wasn’t any other circumstances and the love of his life was standing there while his family was trying to kill them.  He needed her to know that he did love her. Just once before it all went to hell and life as he knew it burned to the ground.  

“Fucking hell, Iris, please.”  He feels the burn in his nose, the thought of her getting hurt choking him.  There was a hysteria deep inside him that he fought to temper, keeping his stance rigid, his voice stoic. “If something happens to you…”

Her shaky hands come up to clutch his wrists.  “How will I know you’re ok?”

“I’ll find you,” he promises.  He doesn’t know if it’s a promise he can keep—he sure as hell would try—but he tells her so anyway.  Her eyes glitter in response with a look of uncertainty and he wonders that after everything that had been revealed, she had decided not to trust his words.  “I will always find you.”

He inhales sharply and surges forward, capturing her lips in a hard kiss.  If this was the last moment he ever felt her lips, he would take it. He swallows her gasp and pulls on her lips desperately, his brows furrowing as he tries to hold onto this moment, but knowing it can’t last any longer.  He’s surprised and relieved when she responds with fervor, her hands coming up to clutch his collar.

He pulls back with a muffled grunt, fighting to keep her with him while trying to get her to safety.  “Go,  Iris.  Please. ”  

The sound of stomping footsteps come closer and they can almost feel the ground tremor beneath them.  They look over at the door, the bolt appearing strong. But Barry knows that it’s only a matter of time before they made their way past it.  

He looks back at Iris.  “Head downstairs, once you get to the second level, get on that floor and—”

“I know how to get out of here.”  He looks at her in confusion for a moment and somehow she manages a small smile.  “I snuck in, didn’t I?”

“Right.” Even in the midst of chaos, he can’t help the pride that swells up inside him.  

Her eyes flit across his and her hands drag across his wrist as though savoring a last touch.  Then, with one last fiery look, she pulls away and heads down the stairs. “Iris,” he calls before she can get far.  She turns back. “Call the cops.” Barry doesn’t wait to watch her disappear down the stairs before he makes his way up the next flight of stairs.  

Armed with nothing more than the explosives and a switchblade, Barry has to find a way to draw them out to him and away from Iris.  He runs up to the next level and shoulders his way through the door. The layout is similar to the floor below and he scouts out the area, looking for anything that he could use.  The rest of his weapons were a floor below and with Zoom, Darhk, Rory, and Snart scouring for him, there was no point in wasting time retrieving them. He’d have to work with whatever is at his disposal.  

He spots a gas tank connected to a pipe that travels along the perimeter of the room when he hears Zoom bark orders at the others.  “You two search the lower levels, we’re going up.”

  Iris

He presses his back against the wall, his ear listening close to gauge where they were before he bangs on the metal door beside him.  The movements stop abruptly just outside the door and Barry takes a deep breath, waiting with his hand hovering over his switchblade.

The door bursts open and Barry barely flinches as it swings over him.  The barrel of a gun pokes out and through the crack in the door, he can see Zoom slide out from behind who he imagines to be Darhk, holding onto the gun.  

With the agility of a feline, Barry grabs Darhk’s arm from behind the door, swinging him around until his gun pointed toward Zoom.  Barry releases the trigger once just as he throws an elbow back into Darhk’s throat, choking him. Zoom falls to the ground and ducks behind a metal shelf, letting out a scream of rage.  

Barry pays no mind to him as he throws Darhk against the wall.  He had bought himself time to deal with Zoom with the wound.

He swiftly pulls out his switchblade and drives it into Darhk’s throat in one fluid motion.  Dark, warm blood spurts out of the wound and lands on Barry, but he doesn’t waste another moment before he lets Darhk’s body drop to the ground.  

Barry lets out a slow breath before bending to pick up Darhk’s fallen gun.  Without looking down at it, he cocks it back and walks toward the trail of blood that leads to his target.  He marches over until he’s hovering over Zoom’s slumped body.

Zoom turns to look up at him with a baleful smirk.  He weakly lifts up his hand that’s holding a gun. “You—”

Barry kicks his gun away before crouching over him and hissing,  “Who’s clipping your nuts now?” He points his gun to Zoom’s crotch and releases the trigger.    

He doesn’t spare another moment before bolting out the door and trampling down the stairs.  Just as he reaches the second floor, piercing shot fires through the air. Barry stumbles back against the stairwell, his ear ringing.  There’s a long moment where the world becomes hazy and his vision blurs as the ringing continues. He lifts his hand in a daze to his head and feels something warm and sticky.  

He barely has a moment to register the blood on his fingers before a large body barrels into him, slamming him against the wall.

Barry wheezes as the wind gets knocked out of him. Disorientated from the gunshot, his limbs flail, sliding down the wall even as the adrenaline courses through him.  His head pounds and feels heavy as he weakly lifts it to look up at his assailant, already knowing who it was.

Rory stands before him, his gun seemingly clattering to the ground when he rushed Barry.  He looks down at him with such disdain, his lips curling into a sneer.

“I knew you were up to no good,” he growls.  “I told Snart you couldn’t be trusted. But did he believe me?  No, not his saint brother. The prince of thieves couldn't possibly betray his family.”

“You’re not my family,” Barry grits while struggling to stand as Rory watches.  The ringing dissipates but only a little and Barry has to squeeze his eyes shut to press against the thrumming pain that bloomed.      

Rory scoffs.  “You got that right.”

Barry opens his eyes again and takes in Rory’s stance.  It was relaxed, but Barry knew his cues and his body language.  He was gearing for a fight and Barry would have to as well.

"Rory, look," he struggles to speak, still trying to catch his breath and calm his rapid pulse.   “It doesn’t have to end this way. We can all leave. Zoom and Darhk are gone, I took them out—”

“Oh you think it’s going to be that easy? That we’re all going to skip merrily out of here like some big happy family?”  He leans in closer and drops his voice. “You betrayed us, Allen. I’m not letting that slide.”

Hot spikes of rage bubbles in his blood.  “I didn’t do shit.  I took out the real enemies, I fell in love, but I did not betray you guys.”

“The hell you didn’t.  You chose that bitch over us and you took out our stability, our source of income.  And I don’t take that lightly.”

“He was going to kill her!”

“So you fucking let him!”  Rory steps closer and grips Barry by his arms. Barry was always on the thinner side and despite the chords of hard muscle that lined his arms, underneath Rory’s meaty and hard grip, he felt small.  He remembers the feeling all too well as a child, but that never stopped him."

He could feel Rory’s grip tightening, he felt the move coming and before he could think, Barry bashed his head against Rory, aiming right for his nose.  Within moments, Rory’s grip falls as he stumbles back with a loud cry.

Taking advantage of the momentum, Barry lands a right hook into Rory’s jaws before quickly jabbing him in the face.  In the throes of adrenaline, he barely feels the impact on his knuckles and gears up to throw another punch when Rory tugs on his shirt out of nowhere and swings him toward the stairs.  

Momentarily thrown off his feet, Barry scrambles to clutch the rails against the wall, disorientated when Rory tries to rush him again.  Ducking out of the way, Barry lands on the ground, his eyes immediately falling upon the gun just a few feet away.

He hears Rory stumbling toward him and quickly lunges toward it, his body dragging across the ground.  His hand struggles to reach it. Just as he hears steps coming closer, his fingers grip the hot Glock and he spins around and pulls the trigger. Barry watches as a bright red spot blooms on Rory’s chest who stills in his movement, his eyes wide. And then slowly as though someone poked him with a single finger, he tips backward and falls down the stairs.  

Barry lets his body sag back down on the ground, the gun falling from his hand with a clatter.  His chest heaves as he tries to get oxygen into his lungs, his mind suddenly numb as his head lolls to the side.  He had just killed his...whatever he was...and Leonard was somewhere out there. Leonard. He had just killed his cousin...

It was a shrill scream that breaks him out of his stupor, his body jerking to life at the sound.      

With energy he didn’t think he had left in him, he scrambles to stand.  His heart thumps in his chest at the decidedly female scream and he leans heavily against the rail on the wall as he rushes up the stairs to the next level.  He shoulders his way out the door and freezes at the sight.

Leonard stands just a few feet away from a startled Iris whose eyes flit over to his the moment he barrels through the door.  But he notes with relief that his gun wasn’t drawn at least.

Leonard, for his part, turns to him with a grim look.  “So I guess you won, huh?”

Barry keeps his eyes trained on the gun in his hand as he slowly tries to make his way closer to Iris.  Leonard tightens his grip on the gun in warning and Barry stops.

“I bet he did that to you, did he?” Leonard says, gesturing at Barry’s sagging body.  The words were unspoken but he knew just who he meant. He feels drained and as though he could drop down any moment, but the sight of Iris, the fear of something happening to her keeps him standing. “Not surprised to see it go down like this, really.  He dead?”

Barry swallows thickly, unable to find his voice let alone the words.  Leonards nods and looks down at his gun.

“I always believed in the saying that the ‘blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,’” Snart drawls as he flips his gun in his hands.  “Mick was my cousin, but you were always a brother to me. Scrawny little kid devastated over losing his father. I didn’t get it myself considering my own was a fucking bastard that beat the shit out of me.  Quite literally sometimes. But you...you were this broken little kid with no meat to his bones and I thought ‘This kid didn’t ask to be born into this shit world only to be chewed up and spat back out.’ That’s what it did to me, but I found a way and I had to show you too. You made me proud, Barry.  And now...”

Barry’s heart thumps painfully in his chest, aching with the fear.  But there was grief. “Leonard, I swear I didn’t mean for this, for any of it.”

“Sure, I believe that.  But here we are. What’s left of us?”

“Len, I know I screwed up so much and...you don’t deserve this, but neither does she.”

From his peripheral vision, he sees Iris turn her head and he allows himself to look at her.  “Barry,” she says softly with caution in her eyes. “The cops are going to be here soon.”

Barry looks back at Leonard, gauging whether the words had an effect on him.  But looking at his still calm demeanor, Barry wonders if he even heard them.

“The cops are coming, Len.  You either drop the weapon and come with me, or you stay and go to prison.”

Snart looks down at his gun with a rueful smile.  His hands caress the surface of it softly as he shakes his head.  “That’s where you’re wrong, Barry. The only two options for me are dead or alive, but I’m not going back to prison.  I’m done with that.”

He keeps his gaze down at his gun with a thoughtful look before shaking his head and letting out a small sigh.  “You little fucker,” he whispers. He looks back at Barry and clenches his jaw.

“Get out of here.”

Barry freezes for a moment, trying to register what he had just heard.  “W-what?”

“I didn’t stutter,” he sneers.  

Barry’s eyes flicker to Iris who looks just as thrown.  “Her too,” Snart says.

In the midst of confusion, Barry had enough sense to take that moment and get closer to Iris.  He slowly inches toward her just as Iris does the same until they’re both standing in front of Snart.  

The moment she’s close enough he scrambles for her waist, pulling her closer as his heart thumps rapidly in his chest.  She had stayed. He didn’t have time to think about the implications of her actions, but he feels it in his chest as he holds her face gently but urgently, whispering if she was ok.

She nods, her own hand trembling as it reaches for his wound at the side of his head.  

“Flesh wound, I’ll be ok,” he reassures.

“You won’t be if you don’t get out of here.”  

Barry looks over to Snart, still clutching Iris close to him.  “I-I don’t understand.”

He sneers at them with a look of disdain and disappointment.  “I’ll never forgive. And I’ll never forget. But I’m not going to kill you.”

“Then come with—”

Suddenly Snart stops and points a finger up, tilting his head as though listening for something.  “You hear that?”

Barry exhales as his ear perks, trying to catch a sound.  The moment he hears it, dread fills his body. Sirens. By the way Iris stiffens in his arms, he knows she hears it too.

“Clocks ticking and you’re almost out of time.  By my estimation, they’re about twelve minutes away.  So you either accept my generosity or you let the coppers have you.  What’s it going to be?”

“What about you?”

“Like I said, prison isn’t an option for me.”  He pauses and looks toward the doorway as the siren gets louder.  “What’s it going to be, Barry?”

“Len,” he breathes, his heart aching.  “I-I... please, come with us.”

Snart looks back at him with thin lips and Barry tries to decipher the look in his eyes.  Leonard was always hard to read, always seemed calm and collected even in the midst of a tense situation.  He took it all in stride. Perhaps it was a result of his upbringing and living with the torment of his father’s hands that desensitized him and warped his perception.  Nothing was worse than the violence in his home and perhaps everything else felt feasible to him.

But as Barry watches his brother’s eyes, there’s something akin to resolve in them.  He was sure of his fate and there was nothing Barry could do to stop him. The betrayal, the lies...they were all eclipsed by the brotherhood that always remained strong between Barry and Snart.  And it would continue for the rest of their days.

Barry releases Iris, the pain in his chest strong he felt it could choke him.  When he gets closer, he slowly reaches out to touch Snart’s shoulder, feeling the kevlar for his own reassurance.  He hands the weapons he collected over to Snart before looking up at him, meeting his cool blue eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.  “I’m so sorry.”

Snart looks at him for a moment.  “Ride or die,” he says. “Get outta here.   Now .”

Barry nods jerkily, hearing the sirens louder than ever, and backs away.  He whirls around to grab Iris’ hands and runs toward the side door. He takes one last look at Snart who remains watching them even as he faces the front entrance.  He feels Iris tugging on his hand—his freedom, his future—and he finally looks away.

As Barry and Iris make their escape, he stops at one of the floors and searches the wall for the gas pipe.  It only takes a few hits, but he busts it open until the air hisses out. He places one of the explosives next to it, setting the timer.

“What are you doing?”  Iris asks with a look of horror.

“We have to blow this place up.”  Maybe it would buy Len some time. Maybe the explosion would distract the cops away from him.  Either way, he had to try.

“What?   Barry, it could kill everyone!”

It was a risk he had to take.  He doesn’t waste another moment before dragging her away until they’re on the top floor.  He places another one there, setting the timer.

The sounds of the sirens are deafening as Barry and Iris make it up to the roof, but he keeps them low until they’re a safe distance away.

They hold each other tightly once they are and watch as the explosions create fumes, cracking and crumbling the side of the warehouse.  They don’t know whether Snart made it out alive but there was only one thing they could do. Live.

When they make it back to her place, she settles him on the couch before rushing out with the list he had given her.  He’d be ok, but he needed medical attention sooner rather than later and seeing as how going to the hospital was out of the question, supplies from the nearest drug store would have to do.

He calls out to her before she leaves the apartment, his voice raspy with emotion and exhaustion.  “Iris.”

She turns back to look at him over her shoulder, her hand stilling on the doorknob.  

“Are you hurt?” he asks.  

She shakes her head. “I’m ok,” she says softly.  

It’s the reassurance he needed but the fear didn’t leave him as he watches her walk out the door.  He counts down the minutes until she returns safely back to him. His paranoid mind thinks of all kinds of scenarios in which she would be taken from him.  

Taken by who?  Zoom was dead and Iris had no involvement with the criminals as far as the cops knew.  No one should be coming for her, but still, he has to fight to keep calm. He finally let himself breath when she returns, arms heavy with the weight of grocery bags.  

She had brought food too and hands him a chocolate pudding cup as she gets to work.  

“Have you ever patched up a bullet wound before?”

She scoffs, her face drawn as she scrubs her hands over a bucket before drying them on a fresh towel. She slips on vinyl gloves and turns to him.  

“No,” she says dryly.  “But something tells me you have so you’re going to have to walk me through it.  Aside from Grey’s Anatomy, I know jack squat about it.”

He watches her jerky movements and he can tell she’s barely keeping it together.  He wants to ask her again if she’s ok, but the look in her eyes stop him and begins to instruct her.  He closes his hands, letting her gentle hands tend to him as he softly instructs her how to stitch up the open wound on the side of his head.  He grits his teeth in pain but pushes along and within a couple of hours, she’s cleaned him up and patched up his wounds.

She ushers him into the shower and surprises him when she remains by his side, demanding him to strip.  “You don’t have to—”

“I’m not going to let you slip and fall in my shower after everything.  So just get to it.” And without another word, he obeys. At some point, as she’s cleaning his face with a soapy towel, he watches the expression on her face relax.  Her hands tender and slow around the saran wrap she on his head, her eyes look lost in thought. He wants to desperately ask her what's on her mind, wants to know if she really is ok, but the fear of breaking this spell they were in stops him.  This spell that somehow allowed them to be calm despite the storm that was warring inside of them both.

“I’m a criminal now, aren’t I?” she whispers at one point.  He looks at her warily. By the definitions of the law, she was by aiding and abetting.  But was she like him and every other criminal out there? Never.

“You’re going to be ok.”  That much he would promise her as he lets her tend to him.

And he reveled in her touch while he could, in the soft gaze upon him.  It was more than he deserved and yet, here she was, washing away the blood on his hands like a forgiving saint.  And in this moment, while she was with him, he would savor this, stay there with her and push aside the dreadful thoughts at the back of his mind.  Push aside for the moment what he knew he had to do.

She brings her face closer to him, her eyes fluttering as she presses her lips to his cheekbone.  “I’m glad you’re ok,” she whispers.

He lets out a shaky breath, nuzzling against her cheek.  He furrows his brows as the pain in his chest tightens and his arms wrap around her.  “Why did you come back for me?” he whispers back.

He feels her shrug.  “I just couldn’t leave you.  I couldn’t have that on my conscious.”

It wasn’t exactly a love declaration, but he’d take it and while he’d like to press her for more, he remains silent, letting her be the one to reach and staying ready to take her hand when she does.  As much as he wanted to hear the words, this was enough to keep him steady and he’d carry it with him for the rest of his life. It would have to be enough to sustain him when she becomes absent in her life and he in hers.

Hours later, he watches Iris sleep in her bed, her wet hair dampening the pillow underneath her.  He kisses her lips and closes his eyes to savor the softness of them, trying to preserve the taste and imprint it into his mind.  He’d need something for the road.

Pulling away reluctantly, he doesn’t open his eyes until he sets the letter down on her bedside table where he’d left something important for her.  They had done their best to cover up their tracks and DNA, but whether Snart was alive or not, the cops knew his face and it was only a matter of time before they came looking for Barry.  And when they did, he wanted to be as far from Iris as possible where none of this would touch her.

He had already tainted her life enough and asked for more than he deserved, he would do this one selfless thing and leave her at peace. He’d have to leave her. He’d have to give her a fighting chance to live as normal of a life as she possibly could.

But no matter where he went and how far he traveled he knew two things with absolute certainty.  

One, he loved her more than anything, more than life itself.  

And two, he’d see her again.  One day, someday, he knew they would meet again.  

This side or the other.

[djinmer4]

Millions and Billions (Amalgam!verse)

Takes place seven years before ‘Beware the Creeper’ but after ‘Origins’.

It was a good start, but not enough.  His article on the capture of Sly Tolliver and several high placed Sullivan family members had been good, but it wasn’t going to make his career for him.  It wasn’t high profile enough, not to mention most of his recordings and footage had been confiscated by the police.  He needed another lucky break, but the only thing in the underground grapevine recently was the death of old mob boss King Barlow.  Barlow had never been successfully charged for his crimes, but that had been decades ago, and he wasn’t like Whitey Bulger, with a lurid escape story, Barlow had never left town.  If anyone wanted to find him, they had known exactly where he was.

“Didja hear what just happened?”

“Old King Barlow just died- and left the Hyena millions!”

Now that was worth paying attention to.  “Vera, my sweet, what’s this about?”

“Cute, like I hadn’t heard that pun a million times already.  I take it you heard about Old King Barlow dying?”  Kurt nodded his head.  “Well the executor opened the will, and it looks like he left his estate to the Hyena!”

“Really?”

“Really.  The Hyena showed up at the court house and the will was upheld.  The editor wants someone to go and interview him.  You couldn’t pay me a million dollars to do that.”  His rival turned to look at him, but Kurt was already collecting his hat and trench coat.

“I’m not passing in anything for tonight’s issue, sweet Vera.  But look for me come morning and I’ll be . . . tickled green.”

“That’s not the way that phrase works, you kraut.”  Kurt ignored the insult and continued on his way.  He had a maniac to interview and an article to write!

The interview (Iceberg Lounge, of course) had been such a success, he and the recordings had actually featured on the evening news.  Two good scoops in a row, one more and the editor had been hinting that they would take him on a regular basis.  He’d probably still have to freelance (journalist salaries being what they were), but this was definitely a step in the right direction.

But . . . something just didn’t settle right with him about that story.  Not on the Hyena’s part (Creed H. Quinn, he’d have to remember that name), but something about Barlow.  Now of course, Barlow had never been successfully charged; it could also be assumed that no one had ever done a complete audit of his assets.  Sure he had paid taxes on what his declared income was, but could he really have managed to acquire the billions the will stated he had?  There were no major investments made on his part since his retirement, and the man had lingered in the hospital for over a year; that must have eaten into his capital.

So assume the Hyena had less money than he thought.  Clearly some of it had to be real, because the guy had hired a lawyer and was now holding up the courts with rounds and rounds of appeals while he was out on bail.  (How did that happen anyway?)  The man, while capable of planning, wasn’t known for having the best impulse control or making budgets.  How long before he ran through the dough?  And what would he do when that happened?

Kurt raised one hand to tap lightly on the thin cotton patch on his bicep.  Then he lowered it again without doing anything.  Not tonight anyway.  He needed some sleep for what he was doing tomorrow.  But the night after and maybe after that he could spend some time investigating.  He would need to work out a schedule for this.

“Guten abend, Dunkel Klaue.  Quis custodiet ipsa insona?”

Dark Claw turned to look at the speaker, but did a double take when he couldn’t see anyone there.  “Ryder?” he tentatively asked the air.

“The one and only!”

“Where are you?”

“Right here.”  From what appeared to be an empty, shadowed corner a green arm, with a red glove waved out.  Walking over, he finally saw the boots, the other glove, but not the boa.  Also a pair of dark eyes, but only after squinting for a few minutes.   “Are you  . . . invisible?

“Yes, isn’t it wonderful?”

“Are you naked?”

A low giggle emanated from nowhere.  “I’m invisible, not my clothes.  It’s not like it would work otherwise.”

He wasn’t going to think about that.  “Have you been stalking me?”

“Of course not, I’ve been stalking the Hyena.  You were just an unexpected bonus, Mr. Bachelor of the Year.”  With that, Dark Claw froze.  He wasn’t worried about blackmail, but Ryder was a reporter.

“Relax, relax.  I’ve known about this for months now.  The story wouldn’t be worth it.”  A flash of way too sharp fangs in the dark (what had been in that vat?).  “It’s much more interesting to just follow you around and report on all the villains you beat up.  Why if I wasn’t so concerned with other things, I could make my career entirely on your vigilantism.”  That wasn’t reassuring.  But Ryder hadn’t done anything yet so Dark Claw wouldn’t do more than threaten the man.  Later, when he wasn’t so rattled.

“So why are you following the Hyena?  Don’t think the man’s gone straight?”

“A crab may change his home, but a leopard won’t change his spots.  And with the way he’s spending cash like vasser, I’m looking to see what he’ll do when it runs out.”  A whisper of invisible flesh moving against brick.  “I take it you’re here for the same reason?”

Dark Claw grunted.  “Creed coulda gone straight any time over the past few decades.  He’s been poor, he’s been rich, he’s been shown compassion and hit with the worst of his crimes.  Nothing’s changed him so far.”

"Hmm, a good point.  Perhaps you’d like to see one of mine?”

The vigilante gave a wary glance at the supposedly empty corner.  From no where came a red-gloved hand, holding a gold ingot.  “Do I want to know where you were hiding this?”  Smothered laughter is all he got in return.  Carefully examining the bar, he realized something was off about the weight.  It was too light.  He scraped the side, which revealed dull grey metal under a thin coating of gold.  “Gold-plated lead?” he guessed.

“And that’s not all behind door number three!”  In rapid succession the empty corner produced a stack of cash (counterfeit, obvious counterfeit with the Hyena’s symbol printed on them) and a fine painting (too fine, another fake of something Dark Claw had seen in a museum).

“How’d you get all of these?”

“Quinn was arrogant enough to let some paparazzi take photo of the vault.  It was simply a matter of teleporting and landing on the ceiling.”  Dark Claw wanted to ask about the smell, which was one of the few things that could give Nightcreeper away, but the man went on a tangent on what he saw in the vault.  Still, he settled back to make himself more comfortable while listening to his companion’s blather.

The Logan Wayne persona had more than enough money to be comfortable for decades, so it’s not like Creed’s little fortune was actually an inconvenience to him.  But knowing that it was going to run out and sooner than his nemesis would expect was worth listening to his informant’s non-stop chatter for a while.

It took longer than either of them had expected, but the Hyena did run out, right about the time the IRS came knocking.  Nightcreeper sent of a quick signal to Dark Claw (via a one-way transmitter the other had given him), then deliberately landed on the armored car that the Hyena had hijacked.  The sudden appearance of the demon-faced man caused the villain to steer straight into a wall.

The Hyena climbed out of the ruined vehicle, picking up one of his unconscious henchmen’s automatics.  Crazy, but not a complete fool, he knew the only way he’d get away with it was if there were no witnesses.  Not hesitating at all, he opened fire on the green maniac in front of him.

“Hahahaha! Ooh, that tickles!”  

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”  He loaded a second clip and fired again, to know avail.  The lunatic kept advancing.  From behind, one of the goons got up and took a swing at him, only to be knocked out by- was that a tail?

“There’s more wrong here than I thought.  Who are you?”

“They call me . . . green-furred wacky man!  But I prefer Nightcreeper.”  A flash of fangs, a bang of smoke, and an arm like an iron bar was up against the Hyena’s throat, bending his back to a painful angle and pulling him into a headlock.  The criminal struggled, dropping the gun to claw desperately at the imprisoning limb.  Before everything went black he saw the black-clothed Dark Claw, with his peacock-clad assistant step into the alleyway he had crashed in.

“Thanks for the call,” said Dark Claw, firmly pressing a small patch to the other man’s bicep.  Due to the difference in heights, the hero was annoyed to find he had to reach up to apply the counter-agent.

“It was no trouble at all.”  Kurt Ryder watched as the green fur shed then seemed to disappear.  He still wanted to know where it came from and where it went, but no answers would be coming tonight.  “Thanks for bringing my clothes.”  He flashed a smile at Lark that was still too wide and fangy for the apprentice to be comfortable with.

“Yeah.”  The superhero watched as the other quickly discarded boa, gloves and boots to put on his suit.  “Look Ryder, before you go out there?”

“Yes?”

“Are you going to be doing this regularly?  I’m not going to argue about danger or anything, you’re a smart man.  But was this a one-off, or should we be on the look-out for you?”

Ryder fixed his tie, then raised his hand to neaten his rapidly darkening hair.  “You know what, I think I will be doing this in the future.  It’s a concrete way to help people, I can use what I learn to further my career, and being Nightcreeper is oddly liberating in a way.”  He flashed another mega-watt smile at the shorter man.  “Not all the time maybe, but perhaps a regular schedule.”

Dark Claw sighed.  The man actually was fairly competent, but he didn’t think he could take doing another stakeout with the talkative loon.  But if he was willing to help . . . “Here,” he said, handing him a new, permanent two-way communicator.  “If you ever have find that you need our help or need something official, use this.”

Dark Claw had plans to organize New Gotham’s vigilantes into a cohesive force.  This would be the first step.

[t0ngue-tech]

Views

“The view was perfect, but Jimin knew that there was no view that could compare to you, the epitome of perfection.”

↠flufffff ; photographer jimin↞

word count: 2.2k

↠oneshot↞

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR PRECIOUS MOCHI! i’ve been waiting for his birthday to post this huhu. i love jimin so much, he’s my second bias and he’s just so perfect. i really hope you guise enjoy this oneshot ^-^

Click!

The soft shutter of Jimin’s camera instantly caused you to turn around. You lowered the volume of your music to give him a proper greeting.

“Jimin! You made it just in time for the sunset!” You beamed and Jimin took the opportunity to snap a photo of you.

“Yeah, I practically flew up the fire escape.” Jimin chuckled and dragged one of the abandoned crates to stand on. He took multiple pictures of the sky as it morphed into a blanket of orange hues while you turned back to your easel and continued your painting.

Jimin stopped for a brief moment and gazed at the back of your head. You always forgot to tie your hair while you painted and it was one of your worst habits. He watched you push your light pink hair back over your shoulder, trying not to get paint on it and by the time you were done painting, you would have speckles of different colors in your hair; thankfully it easily washes out.

The roof of your shared apartment had become a creative sanctuary for the two of you. Jimin spent his time taking photos of the vast sky at different times of day; sunrise, sunset, and when millions of stars gathered and imprinted the sky. He even took snapshots of the citizens walking below who were window shopping or making their way to the nearby park. While Jimin used his camera, you sat yourself down on a crate in front of your easel to mimic the colors of the sky onto a canvas. Lofi hip-hop would play, but it would usually be drowned out by conversations and laughter.

Jimin sat on the crate and pointed the camera at your back. Whatever what was left of the sunset illuminated before you, turning your body into a silhouette. He smiled sweetly before pressing the shutter, reminiscing the moment he first met you.

↠↞

The elevator of the apartment had been under maintenance since that morning and Jimin was convinced that he did his exercise for the month. After lugging the last couple of boxes up five flights of stairs and bidding his friend a farewell, Jimin celebrated a job well done with a cold glass of orange juice. He stood in front of his refrigerator door and took small sips of his juice until he noticed the sun setting outside of his kitchen window. The basic color of his kitchen was now splashed with warm hues of orange and yellow. The still image was too beautiful to ignore so he quickly ran to the counter to grab his camera. After lifting up the window, he readied himself inches away from the window to take a photo of the first sunset in his new apartment. The only thing he saw as soon as he pressed down on the shutter was an outline of a head and torso and a glimpse of lavender hair.

“What the—“ Soon after the photo was taken, there was a thud on the fire escape so he rushed over. “Holy fuck, are you okay?”

You were crouched on the metal fire escape with painting supplies sprawled around you. “Yeah! Yeah—I uh, I heard the shutter sound of a camera and I got startled.”  You frantically picked up the tubes of paint and paint brushes. “I’m y/n, nice to meet you.”

Jimin skillfully climbed through the window to assist you. “I’m Park Jimin. I just moved in.”

“Well neighbor, I live right below you.” You laughed and took your supplies from Jimin. “And you’re going to be seeing me on this fire escape quite often because I paint on the roof.” He cocked a confused eyebrow at you. “Dude, have you seen the view on the roof? Bring your camera and come up.”

You disappeared up the rest of the stairs with the sound of your shoes hitting the metal fading after you. He didn’t want to take the time to question you, so he did as you said; Jimin reached for his camera on the kitchen counter and followed you up the fire escape.

There was a lot of abandoned furniture and old fruit crates that were kept on the roof. Jimin almost doubted you because he expected something a lot more breathtaking. You were sitting on one of the crates, setting up your painting station when you beckoned your hand at him. Once Jimin got closer, he finally saw what view you were talking about.

The apartment wasn’t a whopping 20 story building, but Jimin had a scenic view of the park and the row of shops across the park; it was a therapeutic view that left him in awe.

“Holy shit…” Jimin whispered.

“Beautiful, right? Since this is an old building filled with older tenants, nobody ever comes up here.”

Jimin never had this kind of view at his previous apartment. When he looked out the window, he was greeted by an abandoned lot that was preparing for construction; this was luxury for him.

“I hope you don’t mind if I join you up here some time.” He asked shyly.

“I don’t mind at all, Jimin. I could use the company.” You smile directly at him and Jimin instantly felt a swarm of butterflies crowd in his stomach. “I hope I didn’t ruin your shot from earlier.”

Jimin scanned your side profile and watched as you delicately painted soft strokes onto your canvas. You seemed like such a gentle soul who waltzed in at the most perfect time in his life. He believed the ‘girl next door’ situation was only meant for movies and books and he never thought he would be apart of it.

“You didn’t, I promise.”

↠↞

Over the course of several months, Jimin was able to get to know you a lot better. You worked at the front desk at your mother’s art studio, but she also gave you opportunities to teach classes and hang up your own work around the studio. You invited Jimin to the art studio to take a couple of classes with you, although he didn’t follow up with a concrete answer, he was already looking forward it.

After switching his major from accounting to photography, Jimin needed to change schools because his previous one didn’t offer photography. The community college he enrolled to was a 45 minute drive from his new living space. One of his friends suggested that he live closer to the college, but he enjoyed the peace and quiet of the neighborhood; now he had another reason to continue living in the apartment.

Besides the roof, you spent time with each other on the fire escape that was in between each of your kitchen windows. Jimin shared photos he took and edited since he was also a freelance photographer and you showed him pictures of some of the paintings you were most proud of. Just like how you offered him to take art lessons at the studio, Jimin offered to take your pictures even if it was just for fun.

Since meeting each other, you’ve changed your hair color twice and Jimin documented the way your hair color faded and when you retouched it. He continuously took photos of you whether they were stolen shots or planned moments. Either way he loved the way your cheeks flushed pink as soon as he points the camera your way. He loved the way your eyes disappeared when you smiled brightly. You always called Jimin the king of eye smiles and in his mind he would always respond with then that would make you my queen.

“The sky looks like your hair, Jimin.” You giggled and it awoke him from his trance.

“You think so?” Jimin replied, walking towards your side. He took a peek at your canvas and instead of a sunset, you painted a small bowl filled with tangerines and oranges. “What’s with the fruit?”

“I don’t know. I guess the sky automatically reminded me of fruits instead.” You laughed and stared back at Jimin who was scrolling through his camera. “Jimin, your hair has been orange since you moved in. Why don’t you change it?”

Jimin chuckled and ran his hand through his bright orange locks. “What’s wrong with orange?”

“Nothing! You look good in orange, but how about another color like…” You stared at him for a while and gust of wind of blew, pushing clusters of your hair in front of your face. “Pink.”

Jimin laughed loudly as you tried to blow your hair out of your face, trying to avoid getting orange paint on it. He reached down to delicately brush the strands away from your face. There was a soft twinkle in your eyes from the sun setting against your face and just like the moment he first saw you crouched on the fire escape, butterflies started rushing in.

“Pink, huh? I don’t think it will look good on me as much as it does on you, y/n.”

“I think you’ll look fine. Let’s color yours when I have to retouch mine.” Jimin still had his hand resting above your ear, keeping your hair out of your face. You lightly leaned into his touch, gazing up at him waiting for an answer. He honestly had no plans on changing his hair color, but how could he say no when you were looking at him that way.

Jimin’s hand dropped inch by inch with his thumb grazing your cheek and nodded.

“Okay, I promise.”

You smile at him with lightly flushed cheeks and continued to add the finishing touches of your painting. You messily signed the corner of the brown bowl and stood up to stretch. Jimin gawked at the still painting of your bowl of fruit and noticed the scribble if his name beside yours.

“I call this painting, Jimin, My Fruit.” You said proudly. “I was planning on giving this to you, but I think this would look great in the studio.”

“I think so too.” Jimin watched fondly as you strolled towards the edge of the building. He shortly joined you with his camera slung around his neck.

Honestly, Jimin was never really upfront about his advances towards you. He never once asked you out to dinner at a restaurant or even verbally stated his feelings. He etched everything within his actions, hoping that you would understand one day. There were many moments where he would slip a polaroid of any random piece of mother nature underneath your door when you decided to stop the elevator on the fourth floor instead of the fifth. On the polaroid, he left random messages that ranged from good morning, sunshine and don’t skip any meals today. Jimin also once bought you a new pastel lavender smock because he thought of you when he saw it.

You accepted everything and even returned the favor. You would swatch any random tube of paint onto a thick piece of paper and once it dried you also wrote messages to slip through the small crack on his kitchen window sill. Some messages consisted of the sky reminds me of you and stay warm. Majority of the time, you beat Jimin to the roof and you had some of his favorite snacks waiting for him. Jimin thought that you accepted everything as a friend until he noticed the polaroid you kept behind your transparent phone case. Jimin sent you only one polaroid of his face with a red heart as its message; it was the one behind your phone case.

He questioned it one evening on the fire escape and your answer was short but understood, I didn’t want to lose it. You smiled at him shyly and avoided eye contact until you excused yourself around 7:45 claiming you were exhausted; in reality, Jimin knew you already spent your entire day sleeping before he called you out to the fire escape.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this view.” You spoke softly. Jimin flickered his attention to you and a smile bloomed on his face like it was second nature the moment he looked at you.

You were grinning brightly whilst staring out into the sky. Jimin didn’t know why he was taking so long to take properly take you out on a date, but there was something inside of him that knew no matter what, it was going to be worth the wait. So for now, he was going to keep sending you pictures and finding pieces of you within his daily life.

“Yeah, me neither.” You whipped your head to find Jimin’s camera lens pointed in your direction again. Instead of putting your hands up to ruin his shot, you smiled and posed. He wore a satisfied grin when he previewed the photo on his camera and it caused the tint on your cheeks to flare up slightly.

Jimin inched closer to your side but left just enough breathing space. You were leaning on the ledge with your forearms settled on the concrete. The skin of his fingers gently grazed your wrist and you automatically tilted your head to have it rest against his shoulder. The view was perfect, but Jimin knew that there was no view that could compare to you, the epitome of perfection.

♡ rae jagi

[carolightpenvenys]

DON’T TELL THE BRIDE

My entry for @fuckyeahdwightcaroline‘s writer’s choice day... Enjoy and leave feedback x

Shoutout to @dismiss-your-fearsx for the inspo x

Before:

“On a scale of one to the three wheeled car you bought once because it was lonely, how bad is it?”

 Caroline winced, leaning her hand on her cheek as she leaned on the countertop of their pretty swanky apartment- not one of Dwight’s more rushed decisions.

Not that Caroline would ever let him choose an apartment without her.

“It’s pretty bad.” Dwight ran his hands through his hair, sat on the stool, staring blankly at his macbook.

Slowly he turned the macbook round so it faced Caroline and her hands, attempting to put her hair in a messy bun dropped instantly.

Dear “Dwgt ENys”

Regarding yours and “Caroline the moooost beautiful woman!!!!”’s application to Don’t Tell the Bride, we would like to tell you you have been successful! Congratulations! All contracts were signed in the terms and conditions and you can expect the camera crews at “our beautiful apartment!!” on Monday to film short profiles of you and  “Caroline the moooost beautiful woman!!!!”

Many thanks

The BBC Team

“Oh Dwight.” She breathed. “What the fuck have you done?”

The Dress:

“Do you know,” Ross sighed as they entered the wedding dress shop. “I thought I hit rock bottom in my life but never have I ever fucked up this bad.”

“Caroline is steaming.” Dwight shook his head. “I’ve got no clue what to do and she had a moodboard in the apartment. A bloody moodboard. I’ve also pissed off her family because they wanted to pay for everything.”

“Of course they did.”

“You know they tried to give BBC more than the regulated amount. Which is a little illegal.” “Excuse me.” The camera man butted in. “We can’t talk about unregulated subject matter while filming.”

“Ah yes.” Dwight grimaced. “What was the question?”

“How do you know Caroline’s perfect dress?”

Dwight gulped. “I don’t.” He smiled awkwardly. “I’m just going to have to wing it and hope for the best.”

“Just to let you know,” Ross spoke into the camera. “Caroline is not the kind of girl who would wear a dress then Dwight of all men bought on a whim.”

Dwight raised his eyebrows. “What are you saying about me? He knows no better.”

The cameraman cut the shot. “The viewers are going to love this banter. At first, I was concerned by your small number of groomsmen,”

“Just me.” Ross filled in.

“But I think,” the cameraman nodded. “You guys can carry this.”

“Thanks I guess.” Dwight furrowed his eyebrows, trying to work out if this was genuine or a pisstake. Almost as much as the pisstake of having to take his entire year’s holiday at once to plan this wedding.

They had to film the first conversation with the wedding shop assistant about seven hundred times, explaining each time that yes, this was the boutique from Caroline’s moodboard and yes, he was very inebriated with his best friend watching Don’t Tell the Bride when he signed up. And yes, she was still with him.

But to Dwight, every white dress looked the same. Normally, he shopped a little more fashionably than most men (except that “unfortunate” grey coat as Caroline named it). But that was the issue. Without Caroline whispering in his ear about bespoke embroideries, he didn’t know shit from butter.

“And what does your fiancée do for a living?” The lady asked politely and Dwight realised  he’d just resting bitch faced the camera for about an hour.

“Oh, she’s a freelance journalist for travel and fashion.” Dwight smiled. It had been a few days since he’d seen Caroline and it was abundantly clear that he couldn’t survive three weeks.

“She’s a fashion writer?” The lady placed down the dress immediately. “Right ok, this dress won’t do. Let me take you through to the high end dresses.” He knew he was heading into pricey territory and had to watch the budget but he knew Caroline would probably never speak to him again if the dress was anything less than perfect.

He saw bits and pieces floating by but with every new dress he’d see something that wasn’t right and told the cameraman, “Caroline hates frills, Caroline would die if there was beading and most of all, she’d rather die then wear a short dress. She keeps saying something about not being able to do a half loop stitch on China silk.”

“That’s from Legally Blonde.” The wedding dress lady filled her in, laughing a little.

“What can he say.” Ross shrugged. “He’s whipped.”

Just as Dwight was about to go round the bend, he saw something poking behind another hanger.

“Grab that?” He asked her.

“What?” She screwed up her face and he hoped to God she wouldn’t humiliate him on TV. “This is from last year’s collection.” But when she pulled it out. He knew.

“It’s perfect.” He breathed.

https://fa707ec5abab9620c91c-e087a9513984a31bae18dd7ef8b1f502.ssl.cf1.rackcdn.com/10742325_hermione-de-paula--couture-bridal-artistry_t661e1ee3.jpg

The Hen Party:

“I wouldn’t let onto him.” Caroline sighed. “But I am so worried for this wedding.”

“Well it’s actually physically impossible for you to let on.” Demelza rolled her eyes. “You’re literally not allowed to speak to him.”

“Don’t.” She held the bridge of her nose with his fingers. “I could give him a shirt with poppers instead of buttons and he would claim to not know the difference.”

“I hate how I can imagine that.” Demelza winced a little. “Where are we meeting Verity and Elizabeth?”

“In a secret location.” Caroline was trying not to panic. “That Dwight has chosen please God tell me he hasn’t planned the most vulgar hen party in existence. I want to be in bed by midnight.”

“What are you, 100?” Demelza asked. “It’s your hen party.”

The tinted windowed car pulled up as they were forced to remove their blindfold.

“Ah. This is a classy joint. This is good, this is good.” Demelza was reassured but Caroline didn’t recognise the place, like at all so had some suspicion- it was only in her nature.

Also it really didn’t help that she had a cameraman in her face the whole time, who she smiled at politely. They appeared to want her every reaction as she whispered. “Hopefully Dwight didn’t plan this drunk.”

Overall, Caroline’s initial impression was pretty good, but you wouldn’t know that as again, they were forced to film the entrance many many times. Finally they were united with their friends on a table and were told that their afternoon cocktails were indeed bottomless, courtesy of the groom, with all expenses paid.

“Well.” Caroline smiled, drinking her rosé spritzer and holding it up for a cheers. “I know I said I was furious at Dwight about this whole thing.” She turned to face the camera for dramatic effect. “And I am.” She turned back to her friends. “But that was before I knew about the infinite wine.”

Demelza chimed in. “I think we can all agree we are getting fucked tonight ladies.”

The Stag Party

“I’m glad we went and played it simple.” Dwight said to Ross as they drunk straight whiskey in their favourite homely pub.

“Not sure the camera man is too thrilled though.” Ross indicated and yes, it appeared he was asleep in an armchair as the log fire lit the room dimly.

“Cheers.”

The Wedding:

Why was Dwight having last minute doubts about the theme of the wedding? It had to be blue right? They both looked so good in blue and-

“Dwight I think you just zoned out. Again. She’ll be here in a minute.”

“Ross please.” Dwight saw his worst enemies, Caroline’s family sat front row. “I am wishing my own death over and over.” He passively aggressively waved and mouthed hi at Uncle Ray who just raised his eyebrows.

“Fuck him.”

“Ross you can’t swear in a Church!”

They were cut off by the announcement that the bride was to enter.

Dwight wanted to say every curse word under the sun but he knew the vicar was stood right next to him and was already judging Ross.

But he didn’t think he could say any words that could summarise how he felt when he saw Caroline walk down the aisle.

He suddenly didn’t care about the awkward cameras, or awkward wedding process because all he really cared for was the woman walking towards him, with a warm smile on her face that went all the way up to her loving eyes.

Yes, Dr Dwight Enys had fucking nailed it.

Despite her fancy tastes and luxurious upbringing, Dwight could never doubt that Caroline didn’t want a ceremony that was vulgar, that’s why he’d made the crowd small and the emphasis on her big, so it really felt like her day.

“Hey.” She whispered, smirking as she stood opposite him. “You killed it with the dress. They had to redo my makeup and all.” Her mic was picking this up, so yes, the viewers would hear this.

He could barely speak, after all. When he was around her, he was tongue tied and foolish.

She took his hand and when they said their vows, it was almost as if they were connected by something more, something ethereal.

“I really didn’t take the easy road marrying you did I?” Caroline leaned into him as they left the church, confetti everywhere.

Dwight could only smile mischievously, “And now, no doubt you hate me.”

“And now no doubt I hate you.”

The photo taken after she said that still lies on their mantelpiece.

After:

It was about a year after the wedding that Dwight and Caroline, neither users of social media checked the reaction to their wedding on twitter. They’d laughed endlessly at their own episode, so much so Caroline’s sides actually split.

“Ok so someone needs to get me a dwight enys????? he knows you can’t do a half loop stitch on china silk bc ofc he does?????? #dying #perfectioninaman”

“Right caroline is like my actual queen though? I never ever watch this trash show but i am trash for this couple #sorrynotsorry”

“#carolightpenvenys”

Caroline smiled. “Carolight Penvenys? Please.”

“Let the people do what they do.” Dwight let Caroline cuddle closer to him on the bed, pulling up her pink bedsocks and fiddling slightly like she always does.

“Dwight.” Caroline bit her lip. “I want to ask you something.”

“Anything.” Dwight was more open than she expected.

She took the laptop from him and it was too late before he realised what was going on.

“Oh Caroline!” His eyes widened. “No!”

To: applications@bbc.co.uk

From: yesiamarealdoctor@gmail.com

Subject: don’t tell the bride!!!!! Applction

Dear ladies n gentleman of the bbc

My name is Dwgt ENys and I want to volunteer me and my beautiful FUTURE WIFE(!!) Caroline the moooost beautiful woman!!!! To take part in your show!!

I want to make our wedding the best thing to ever live but me and my bst friend Ross know that her family hate me and asdfgh i just am scared we will fall out

I will attach about 100 photos of Caroline on the bottom so you see how beautiful she is ad her hai is so soft

Thanks and u can find us at our beautiful apartment!! But not all the time because my lady a go getter

Thanks

Dr dwight enys (PhD)

“Oh my God.” Caroline was uncontrollably laughing and honestly, Dwight had already softened. “And to think half your patients are in love with you. Little do they know you wear odd socks and drink your tea with a frankly offensive amount of milk.”

“What are you to do with me?” Dwight looked into her eyes, teasing a little.

“I guess, I guess I am going to have to take pity and stay with you forever.”