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iiconicxpersona · 9 months

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Whatever It Takes.

Javier Peña x f!Reader

Warnings: this fic features a scene from s02e03 Our Man in Madrid and that episode is a trigger warning in its own, but if you need specifics then this fic includes ANGST, mvrder, su!c!d3 attempt, depression, alcoholism. MINORS DNI & READ AT YOUR OWN RISK (I cannot stress that enough)

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: You and Javier get tagged along in a manhunt gone wrong with the return of Colonel Carrillo. After the tragedy that occurs, you look to Javier for comfort only to get heartbroken when he seeks comfort from another woman.

From the moment you were assigned the Escobar case in Bogotá, you prepared yourself for the best and the worst. You knew that once this case was finally over, and God only knew how long that would take, you would not return to Texas like the woman you were when you left. However, it didn’t seem to matter exactly how much you prepared yourself ahead of time in all aspects; nothing was ever going to prepare you for all the horrors you had witnessed and the ones still yet to come.

“We’re all in. Whatever it takes.”

Words you, Agent Javier Peña, and Agent Steve Murphy repeated to each other almost frequently to remind yourselves and each other that this is what you signed up for when you agreed to do whatever it took to catch Escobar and every single person whoever took a single dollar from him. Of course, Messina and the entire force did everything they could to keep your missions restricted, but to catch a bad guy; you must be willing to break some rules.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Colonel Carrillo was the King of playing by his own rules. His methods were cruel and relentless, but they were effective in one way or another. But those same methods ultimately led him to be transferred to Spain. When he was brought back on the team by the Colombian government, it shook you to the core, and the only problem was that you could no longer tell if that was good or bad.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

The first mission at hand with Colonel Carrillo is to track down every spotter Escobar had hiding in the area. It seems simple enough, considering the spotters were mainly children under eighteen.

“Peña, Y/L/N, you come with me.” Carrillo orders.

You and Javier exchange looks of concern to each other and then to Steve, who's disappointed when Carrillo tells him to stay behind for radio contact.

“You be careful out there,” Steve adds as you and Javier follow Carrillo to one of the unmarked cars.

“You got your vest on?” Javier asks without looking at you.

You nod and pat your stomach hard enough to make the bulletproof padding audible. “I never leave without it.”

“Good. This could get ugly, so I want you to always stay beside me. Understand?” He finally looks at you while still walking forward.

“Jesus, Javi, this isn’t my first rodeo.” You scoff.

He rolls his eyes, clearly not amused by your comment. “Cariño, I’m fucking serious. These kids are dangerous, and the last thing I want is for you to underestimate one, and he holds you at gunpoint or worse.”

Just then, you remembered what Javi had told you the day Steve’s adopted baby girl, Oliva, was rescued, and you instantly regretted trying to be sarcastic. He never told Steve, but while they were chasing down the two men responsible for murdering Olivia’s biological family and you were in the house guarding her, Javier came close to catching one of the men until a little boy caught him off guard from behind and held him at gunpoint. Javier was sure that at any moment, the kid would pull the trigger and kill him, or worse, he would miss his shot, and Javier would have to kill the kid instead. Thankfully, once the guy he was chasing got away, so did the kid, and ever since then, Javier knew that with the right amount of money and power, Escobar could make anyone do anything.

“Always stay beside me. Understand?” Javier demandingly repeated.

You nod. “I understand.”

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

One by one, each kid that Escobar hired as a spotter was taken into custody. However, Carrillo had other plans instead of taking them straight to the station for interrogation like you and Javier thought.

Given Carrillo's extreme methods in the past, you should’ve known that this wouldn’t be as simple as you had hoped. Though you figured that because they were just kids, what could go wrong?

Everything.

One right next to the other, at least seven boys are lined up in the middle of a dark alley with their hands behind their heads and sitting upright on their knees. You stand next to Javier off in the distance while Carrillo paces slowly in front of them. As you examine their faces, it breaks your heart to see how young they are. Some look at least sixteen, but the youngest looks six or seven.

They try to keep stone-cold faces on while Carrillo attempts to scare them straight. A couple of the boys laugh at him and make insults in Spanish.

“Shut up, kid.” Javier mumbles.

You do your best to look as emotionless as possible, but mentally, you are frightened to know what is going through Carrillo’s mind, especially when he pulls out his gun and begins loading it in front of them.

One of the older boys laughs and asks Carrillo if he should be scared.

“No,” Carrillo replies.

BANG.

You stood there and watched the now young lifeless body slowly fall to the ground. Aside from the streetlights, the alleyway is pitch dark due to the summer evening, but you’d swear you could see everywhere the boy’s blood had splattered as if it happened in daylight.

It took every fiber in your being not to lose your cool or vomit at the scene. You were even too afraid to reach for Javier, who was only a couple of inches away from you, for some comfort. Although judging from how his body tensed up and the look on his face, he was just as distraught inside as you were.

What was Carrillo thinking? Even if the kid tried to be a fearless macho man about it, he was still just a kid. There were plenty of other ways Carrillo could’ve tried to prove a point to them about the dangers of working with someone like Escobar. Regardless of whether you liked it, he gave them a harsh reality check.

Carrillo then takes one bullet from his gun and hands it to the youngest boy, telling him to give it to Escobar and let him know who it is from. You watch helplessly as the boy takes the bullet with tears running down his face and stuffs it in his pocket. Then Carrillo finally sets the remaining boys free. You immediately cling to Javier once they are out of sight.

He hesitates for a moment before slowly wrapping his arms around you, still in shock from what just happened as you tried your best to hold back your sobs.

“Cariño…” Javier struggles to find the right words. How could he comfort you when he couldn’t convince himself that everything was fine? “We have to go.” He finally said.

Whatever it takes.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

This is one of those nights you wish Javier wouldn’t depend on a cheap hooker to help him forget.

About six months ago, after almost losing you during a shootout mission, Javier suggested that you move in with him “for your safety,” which you hesitantly accepted two months later. Murphy always teased how Javier always had a soft spot for you, and although you couldn’t deny you also had a soft spot for Javier, you tried to keep your crush precisely that: just a crush. Even if it nearly killed you inside when he would come home late smelling of sex, cheap perfume, and cigarettes.

While staring blankly at a pile of paperwork, your mind couldn’t stop replaying what happened less than an hour ago. Steve tried talking to you about how frustrated he was about Carrillo not trusting him to tag along with the mission, but his words only went in one ear and out of the other.

“You should be grateful.” You finally spoke up, still not taking your eyes off the paperwork.

At that moment, Steve gave up on his argument. As much as he hated feeling like an outsider because of his looks, nationality, or poor Spanish, he knew his troubles were nothing compared to what you and Javier were going through at this very moment.

You could hear Javier mumbling under his breath on the phone at his desk, which generally meant he was talking to one of his hookers. At that point, you were already two shots deep in tequila and resting your head on your arms to hide your face like the game you used to play at school as a kid.

You hated the jealous feeling that crept up inside you as he talked to her about meeting with her in the next half an hour.

Why tonight of all nights? Or if he needed a good fuck to help him forget, then why couldn’t it be with you? You were there. You saw everything happen just as he did. Did it ever occur to him that maybe you needed a night of meaningless sex to help you forget everything too? In all the years you had known Peña, he had no shame in screwing every woman in sight, but he never once offered to put his hands on you. Sure, you flirt with each other almost every day, but would there ever be more? Were you not pretty enough? Or not skinny enough? Or because you didn’t open your legs to every man in sight?

“Cariño, you all right?” Javier’s low voice startles you out of your thoughts. He places his hands on your shoulders and begins to massage you once you sit up and lean back into your chair, feeling your body relax under his touch.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You lie. Your voice is now hoarse from choking back all the tears and emotions.

Javier leans down and wraps his arms around your upper body with his chin resting on your shoulder. “Don’t you disappear on me, okay?”

You nod, and he kisses your cheek and gives you one last squeeze.

“I gotta run a few errands, but I’ll be home late.”

Desperation kicks into high gear, and you cling to his arms for dear life. “Wait, you’re leaving?”

“It’s just for a few hours. I need to clear my head. You understand, right?” He pulls away from you once your grip loosens, but you still reach for him.

“Well yeah, but…”

“But what!” He snaps at you in frustration.

Then it hits you in that very second like a ton of bricks: you and Javier Peña will never be more than just friends.

You let go of his hand when the tears build up again. “You know what? Just go. I won’t wait up.”

Realizing what he had just done, a wave of guilt washes over Javier, and he slowly steps towards you. “Shit, cariño I’m sor…”

“I said go!”

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

By the night's end, you had already downed most of the tequila. Murphy knew Javier would kill him if he had let you go home by yourself, so being the southern gentleman he is, he gave you a ride home.

On the inside, you were trying to fight off too many emotions. You didn’t dare to let Steve see you cry, especially after witnessing your little moment with Javier. For what? So that he can tell Javi, and they can laugh at how pathetic you are behind your back? Though you knew they would never do that, it was still a fear that helped keep your emotions in check.

“Thanks for the ride, Murphy.” You half smiled at him.

“Of course.” He could hear the pain in your voice, but he tried his best to keep cool. You’re already going through enough as it is. “Hey, just know I’m right next door if you need anything.”

“You’re a good man, Steve. Connie’s a lucky girl.” You lean in to give him a small peck on the cheek before letting yourself out of the car.

You dread every single step toward your shared apartment with Javi. You dread it so much that if you were stable enough, you’d walk to your old apartment two buildings over. Most of your stuff is still there, considering you had just moved in with Javier four months ago. You had only brought essential things like clothes, makeup, bathroom stuff, and a few sentimental values. But the fact that you were barely making it on your own to Javi’s front door was enough to make you rethink.

Once you stumble inside, the first thing you noticed was how quiet it is. Too quiet. Not that you and Javi were noisy people when he didn’t have women over, which thankfully wasn’t often ever since you moved in. But even then, the apartment is never this quiet. You hate the silence. It only made the events of tonight replay louder and louder in your brain.

Throwing off your coat and shoes, you let them land wherever as you make your way to the radio and turn it on to a local rock station with the volume on full blast. You swerve over to Javier’s liquor cabinet and mindlessly scan around at each of his selections. The one bottle of bourbon he saved for special occasions had caught your eye. Judging from how rich the bottle looks, it must be one of his most expensive liquors. Your conscious told you to stop, but the music and your drunk state of mind were enough to tune it out. You grab the bottle from the glass shelf and gnaw the cap off before downing the liquor like water.

You never smoked a cigarette, but once you found Javier’s carton in the cabinet, you pulled out a fresh pack and ripped off the plastic wrap. Javier was already a heavy smoker as it was, but he seemed to smoke a lot more when he was stressed out, and you wanted to know what it was like. If it helps Javi calm down, why wouldn’t it help you?

You flick the first white stick out of the small paper box as if you were already a natural to smoking. Not that you would admit it out loud, but after seeing Javi do it a few times, you were tempted and tried it for shits and giggles.

Lighting the stick between your lips, you inhaled deeply only to choke out the nicotine and smoke immediately. “I can’t believe Javi likes this shit.” You gag.

The first few puffs were disgusting, and if it weren’t for the bourbon making it easier to wash down the horrid taste, you would’ve thrown up after the first puff. But soon enough, you were already on your second and third cigarette. Each smoke is smoother than the last.

Dancing around in the living room in a tank top and panties, with a cigarette in your mouth and another bottle of whiskey in your hands, you were on cloud nine, and for the first time that night, nothing else mattered. You weren’t aware of how much you had already drunk or how you were already almost finished with the first pack of cigarettes. You even forgot you were in Javier’s apartment until the clock caught your attention. It’s 2:30 am, and Javier still isn’t home. If you were sober, you probably would’ve been worried sick about him, but his delay made you angry. He didn’t have to spend the night with another cheap hooker, and if he did feel the need to, he could’ve at least called you to let you know he wasn’t coming home.

How dare he? After everything you two had been through tonight, how dare he leave you alone? How dare he not be here so you two can try to comfort each other? How dare he yell at you in front of Murphy, embarrassing you when you only wanted him to stay? How dare he be a typical douchebag and leave you just to get his dick wet by some random bitch he barely knows? How dare he not see that you care about him so damn much? How fucking dare Javier Peña!?

At that moment, you refused to reason anymore and instead let your anger-fueled adrenaline take complete control of your body.

His precious liquor cabinet is the first item to fall victim to your rage. You push it off the wall with full force and watch it slowly crash to the ground, just like the little boy did in the alley. Then you grab every bottle that didn’t break in the fall and throw them in random areas of the living room. Only the shattering noise, your cries, and the loud music fill the void that is Javier’s apartment.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

You don’t remember how you wound up on the bathroom floor next to the toilet with more bourbon in one hand and your pistol in the other. Your adrenaline was still pumping through your veins uncontrollably, and you couldn’t feel any of the cuts that formed all over your body from the broken glass. Miraculously, none of which were too deep to leave a permanent scar.

There’s no telling how long ago your rampage began, but suddenly the radio that was once blaring rock music had gone silent. You didn’t care. You sat there hugging your knees with the hand holding the pistol while continuing to drink.

You could hear heavy footsteps slowly inching closer to the bathroom, and then he turned the corner with his pistol pointing directly at you.

“C—Cariño…” Javier mumbled in shock.

He was about to rush to you, but then he froze in place the second you extended your arm and aimed your pistol at him. “Don’t. Come. Any. Closer.” You demand.

Suddenly, every ounce of color was flushed from Javi’s face. He slowly put his gun down on the sink and raised his hands in surrender. The image made you chuckle as he slowly dropped to his knees before you.

“Baby, plea—”

“SHUT UP!” You scream, and it catches you both off guard. “All I wanted was for you to stay with me. To help me forget. But no! Typical Javier Peña; you had to think with your dick! You didn’t even care enough to call me to let me know when you’ll be home or to see if I was all right. Do you realize that I probably would’ve never made it home if it wasn't for Murphy? Thank God he’s a fucking decent human being, unlike you!” At this point, you couldn’t hold back the tears as you cock the gun, making Javier tense up in fear for the second time.

“Cariño, I’m sorry. I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I should’ve been here for you, and I know that now. But please don’t do this.” Javier pleaded.

“It’s too late.” You choke out.

Javier felt his heart stop when you pointed the gun barrel at your temple. In his mind, he had already snatched the gun from your hand, but physically he couldn’t move.

However, once you pulled the trigger, the only sound filling the apartment was a click.

You gasp at the reality of what you were about to do and drop everything in your hands. Only then did Javier find the strength to stumble over and embrace you tightly in his arms.

You hyperventilate and bawl into his shirt as Javi tries to calm you down. Once again, your hands cling to him for dear life. “I’m so sorry, Javi!” You cry.

“Shh. Shh. It’s all right, baby. It’s all right. I’m here now.” He strokes your hair and slowly rocks you back and forth in his arms until you finally fall asleep.

Javier gently picks you up bridal style and carries you to his room, where he could grab a wet towel and some hydrogen peroxide to clean some of your cuts off before tucking you into bed. He took a second to sit there and stare at you as you slept peacefully. If he didn’t feel guilty before, he does now.

Javier sometimes liked to think of himself as a sharp man, but he was blind when it came to you. Murphy often told him that anyone could see you two were head over heels for each other, but he never accepted it as the truth. He never thought you cared about him as more than a friend. And he blew it when he finally had his chance to prove to you that he was worthy of your heart.

There was no telling how long it would take you to forgive him, but he was willing to do whatever it took to regain your trust. He’s all in now, and this time, he wouldn’t make this mistake again.

#narcos #narcos fic #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x y/n #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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whosscruffylooking · 3 years

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The Purest Things- Repeating History

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Brief mentions of murder and alcohol. Canon typical violence.

A/N: this takes place during season 3 episode 11, birthright. i had a lot of fun studying this episode and making it my own. i have changed certain dialogue and who says what for the sake of the story. please enjoy!

The Purest Things Masterlist

(my gif! please credit if you use.)

january 2008

Syd Moore said, “Disregard for the past will never do us any good. Without it we cannot know truly who we are.”

+++++

Your alarm is often hushed before it even has an opportunity to set off nowadays because you usually wake up before it even has the chance.

4:25 A.M.

You groan and toss your pillow over your face. Maybe, just maybe, you can will yourself to sleep for a little longer. As if someone heard your pleas for slumber, your phone starts buzzing on your bedside table. Of course, it is unnecessary for you even to read the messages. There is a case.

+++++

"Last night in Fredericksburg, a 20-year-old woman, Molly McCarthy, was abducted," J.J. begins, "She's the third to go missing in the last 6 weeks. All disappeared from public places. No one's seen them since until now. A couple days ago, body parts with cigarette burns were recovered from a national park that was once the site of the battle of Chancellorsville."

"Were they able to make an I.D.?" you and Hotch ask simultaneously. Your eyes meet, but he breaks the contact abruptly. Flustered and insecure, you bury your focus deep into the file in front of you. The group discusses the case for a couple of minutes, but you are so concentrated on the papers that you hardly absorb any information they've shared.

There is something familiar about this case to you. Suddenly, realization strikes.

Rejoining the discussions, you say, "I remember reading about a case like this in Spotsylvania county. Similar markings on the bone. It was the winter of 1980, also in Fredericksburg. There were 5 women aged 16 to 24. They were buried in pieces."

"Same markings. Same civil war battlefield," J.J. responds in agreement.

The team agrees that this could be the works of the same killer. There are aspects of the more recent killings that would be impossible to copycat since those details had never been released to the public. But, if this is the same unsub, what's he been doing for the past 27 years?

+++++

Hotch focuses on the road while you watch out the window of the passenger seat. Occasionally, you sneak the odd peek at him. His stoicism is alluring, and you find yourself drawn to this demeanor like a moth to a flame. Piecing together the tiny glimpses you've collected thus far as if working on a mental puzzle, you scrutinize his attributes. His eyes bare the beginnings of crow's feet. Only his sideburns tease the speckling of salt and pepper undertones. His lips turn downwards at the corners, no doubt from years of scowling at unsubs.

Reid speaks up from behind you both and breaks your train of thought. Probably for the better, there's no reason why you should examine your unit chief so intently.

"It's funny--he always dumps the bodies in this battlefield, no matter what the risk."

"It's a respected landmark. He's flaunting," Aaron reckons.

"It makes him feel important," you say in agreement.

Once you have arrived at the crime scene, you follow Agent Hotchner closely. Reid trails ahead, most likely trying to keep up with his own train of thought.

"How does someone not see or hear them?" You ask the sheriff.

He turns to you with a defeated expression, "It was dark. He had the advantage. Molly's boyfriend was the last person to see her. He said she was alone for a minute, maybe less."

Hotch surveys the surroundings, "He's patient and works fast."

"He's perfected his M.O.," Reid states while looking around.

You cross your arms as a wave of unease gets the best of you as you envision the moments leading to Molly's attack.

"If our unsub's pushing 60, he's gotta be strong enough to carry her a long way without her struggling," you bring out.

Hotch looks to you with a concerned squint. You shake your head, signaling to him that it's nothing you can't get under control. He nods in response. The sheriff agrees to point out the various entrances to the park.

"I'll catch up with you," your Unit Chief states. He motions for you to step aside with him, and you comply.

"You know, ever since my wife and I had our son, I dread receiving cases involving children," he discloses to you.

Tears well up in your eyes, "I can't even imagine, but sir, why are you telling me this?"

"This job will inevitably strike close to home on some cases more than others. It's okay for you to feel overwhelmed by it all every once and a while," he assures you.

"You never lose it, though."

He sighs heavily, "Maybe I should have."

Shortly before you joined the BAU, Hotch's wife Haley left with their son Jack. You never ask questions or stick your nose where it doesn't belong. It isn't your place, and you can't blame him for not wanting to bring his family struggles to work. He deals with enough broken families on the job as it is. Mixing his own personal life into the field would only make it more challenging to prioritize. Despite all this, you cannot help but wonder what exactly led to his and his wife's separation. You hope that they can find their way back to each other. The crimes you investigate do not need to claim the Hotchner's as victims as well.

+++++

"I'll let you talk to Chrissy Wilkenson," Hotch directs you towards the kitchen. You wipe your sweaty palms against the fabric of your pants and make your way into the kitchen, Hotch following closely behind you.

"Mrs. Wilkenson," you say gently, "My name is Y/F/N. I have just a few questions about your husband. Where does Charlie usually go when he's stressed?"

"The barn," she stutters. You can tell she's anxious and afraid for the well-being of her family.

"Anywhere else, Chrissy?"

Hotch is called into the other room, and you continue questioning Chrissy. She's becoming overwhelmed, so you guide her to the dining room.

"I know this is difficult, Chrissy."

"Did the father of my child really do that to those poor women?" She cradles her baby bump.

Your heart breaks for her, and you choose to remain silent. Sometimes saying nothing speaks louder than words.

Footsteps bound throughout the house, and Hotch appears in the doorway, "The sheriff will stay here with Mrs. Wilkenson. We need you with us."

Standing up from your chair, you place your hand atop Chrissy's, "History doesn't have to repeat itself." It is almost as if she could tell you were reading her thoughts. The endless whispers that cloud her mind making her feel like she's left with only one choice, but there's always another option. That is all you are trying to remind her of.

+++++

As you and your team trek through the forest, you see a clearing.

"Hotch, this way," you beckon him to pursue your course.

Suddenly, a gunshot rings out, and you stop in your tracks. You make eye contact with Hotch and mirror each other's actions, dashing towards the opening in the trees. Your heart pounds in rhythm with your footsteps colliding against the ground. It is clear to you from your exchange with Chrissy at the house that the origin of the gunshot will shock everyone but yourself. As you reach the clearing and rush down the hill, your speculation is validated.

Chrissy Wilkenson is standing over the body of her husband, the unsub. A traumatized young man haunted by his father's past and plagued by the idea that children are trapped in the endless cycles created by their parents.

I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Jesus. Now is not the time for that.

The newly widowed woman claims self-defense, yet the cops handcuff her anyways. Inside, you feel conflicted while watching her get into the back of the squad car.

Hotch appears by your side but remains silent. Again, sometimes silence speaks louder than words. You bit your lip, attempting to hide the fact that it is trembling.

"What did you say to her as you were leaving the dining room?"

"I told her that history does not have to repeat itself. I wanted her to know that even when it feels like you are backed into a corner, there is always another way out. Sometimes people don't know where to look for their out thought," you quiver.

He lightly touches your arm and gives you a reassuring tilt of the head, "Just know that you did everything you could. We will never do this job perfectly. Doing the right thing usually costs more than it pays. You did your part. I'm not a saint, and I am far from a hero, but I have integrity and honor, and I do this job to the best of my ability."

"If you can leave a case with a clear conscience," he continues, "you know you did the best you could. Any other thought process will eat away at you slowly but surely, and ultimately, it will result in the demise of your career and destruction of yourself."

+++++

After a seemingly neverending day, you all arrive back at Quantico.

"I could really go for a drink, guys. What do you say? Newbie's buying," you wave your wallet around frivolously.

"I could go for 5 drinks!" Prentiss exclaims.

"Count me in," Morgan winks at you. He never fails to make you blush.

Reid hesitates and you pout your bottom lip, "Please Reid! How could you not want a repeat of Dolly Parton night last month?"

Hotch comes down the stairs, "Dolly Parton night? Do I want to know?"

You and Derek snicker to each other as Spencer attempts to diffuse his own embarassment.

"9 to 5 is an iconic female anthem that certainly has a rather bewitching affect on a man when mixed with alcohol."

"You only drank Diet Coke that night," you roll your eyes at him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Hotch forcing his way through the small group formed around the desks.

Making your way over to him, you invite him to join, "Want a beer?" You second guess yourself, but it seems as though his rather stern expression softens ever so slightly when he pivots on his heels to look at you.

"I would like that," he answers softly.

He immediately returns to his original path and hovers near the glass doors. You casually make your way over to him, joined by Dave and Emily. A man barges in through the glass doors announcing Aaron's name.

"Agent Hotchner?"

"Yes," the subject in question breaths out almost defeatedly.

The yellow package he holds in his hands is all too familiar and instantly churns your stomach into knots. You gnaw at your bottom lip, drawing a metallic taste that causes you to cringe.

"What is it?" Emily speaks up.

There's no question as to what it is. Oh Hotch. I’m so sorry.

Hotch's eyes trace the package from corner to corner in disbelief, "Haley's filing for divorce. I've been served."

When he eventually takes his eyes off of the lettering, his eyes meet yours. They lock onto you and it is in that moment that you feel as though you have been given the key to unlock his soul. His eyes are so unusual at this moment; they are more vulnerable than you have ever seen. The stoic man is gone, and instead, it is the eyes of one who is in tremendous pain. You had mistaken his bloodshot eyes for physical fatigue on the plane, but now you see that it is emotional exhaustion as well.

If only you knew how badly I want to hug you and tell you that you won't be swallowed up by this darkness. There's a long road ahead, but you have so many people here who love you and are here to support you through this. You aren't alone. Trust me, I know.

In some way, you pray that he can read into your soul and see the pain you feel for him. Once more, your shared silence proves to speak for itself.

At last, he breaks eye contact with you and finally releases the breath that you had been holding in. Dave grabs onto your arm, seeing the clear impact Hotch's news has on you, no doubt having also noticed Hotch's immediate response in looking at you.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can join you tonight," he excuses himself and escapes to the seclusion of his office.

Maybe history does have a way of repeating itself.

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diyunho · 4 years

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The Joker x Reader - “Gotham Comic Con”

The Joker and his girlfriend decided to attend “Gotham Comic Con” this year dressed as The Batman and Cat Woman. It took Y/N some time to convince her boyfriend but here they are about to have fun and nothing could spoil the event. Right?...

“Oh my God, this is awesome!” you giggle entering the venue designated for the yearly special event “Gotham Comic-Con” dressed as Cat Woman.

The Joker is right behind you sporting The Batman outfit and he flexes his knees a few times, growling.

“What’s wrong?” you ask although you have a clue because J’s been complaining about since he got off the van parked on Lot B5.

“I hate these stretchy pants! I don’t know how that asshole does it!”

“You’re the one that insisted to come as Batsy,” you reveal point out the truth. “You could have been anyone else.”

“Like who?”

“Cinderella,” you elbow him and your boyfriend is not a huge fan of the concept.

“Why??!!”

“The drama, obviously,” you keep walking alongside him and he’s definitely ready to blow at your insinuation when you gasp. ”Baby, I think that’s Bane!” you gesture towards a massive individual flaunting a Sub-Zero costume.

“How can you tell?” The Joker squints his eyes and the bubbly Y/N has to say it:

“I would recognize his physique anywhere! Plus, he still has the scar between his eyes,” you pucker your lips and The King mumbles a bunch of PG 13 rated things regarding his business partner.

Why?

Last week they got into a brawling and almost killed each other.

The reason?

Y/N.

The Joker believes that Bane always flirts with you (which he does since he likes to refer to you as “a breath of fresh air”); stuff escalated until you had to break it up: J ended up with a busted lip, Bane with a cut between his eyes due to The Clown trying to stab him in the head and you ended up with an inflated ego.

“Hello Mister B.,” you tap the pile of muscles and he turns around to see who’s bothering him.

“Y/N!” he excitedly exclaims, immediately unhappy at the sight of his business partner. “Joker…” the low tone greets.

“Bane…” J sneers.

“What are you two doing here?” Bane inquires.

“Having fun; I finally convinced him we should do this and mingle for once. No better way to spend the day,” the bubbly comment pleases your conversation partner. “So we dressed up and here we are.”

“I must say you’re like a breath of fresh air,” Bane admires your skin tight costume and stilettos which prompts The Joker’s disapproval:

“If you want fresh air, go outside!”

“Make me!”

Oh no! Not again!

“Are you here alone?” you change the subject and distract them from getting into a fight. Not that you wouldn’t enjoy it, but… too many witnesses at the packed Comic Con, it could end up in a total disaster.

“With my niece and nephew. I lost them for a second and I’m searching the premises; they can’t be far,” Bane reports. “Which reminds me: I should get going and find them otherwise my sister will go ballistic. I’ll see you later, Y/N,” he acknowledges you and ignores your man.

“Bye Mister B.,” The Queen snickers at the evident teasing.

“Just her, huh?” The Joker grumbles. “What about me? Did you forget we have a meeting next week???”

“Too bad and super sad: I’m not talking to you!” Bane’s attitude emerges.

“I certainly could care less because I’m not talking to you either!” The King strikes back.

“Then what are we going to do?” Sub-Zero’s better judgement brings up a good argument.

“Y/N will translate!” J proudly states.

Oh no! Not again!

That means they will snarl and make weird noises and you’ll have to guess what it means; an absolutely excruciating task that even a breath of fresh air can’t accomplish without losing it.

Maybe you should let them kill each other.

“Fine!” Bane decides and distances himself from the couple while the Joker shouts since he has to have the last word:

“Fine!”

“Mister Batman?” the 5 years old dressed as a hobbit shily tugs on J’s cape.

“Hm?” the fake vigilante looks down. The little boy suddenly sneezes and wipes his nose with the fabric as the mad man is less than lenient at someone ruining the outfit replica he paid a fortune to have.

“Goddamn…” and he can’t finish his sentence because a large group of screaming children surround him in a heartbeat.

“Batman! Batman!” they jump up and down hyped up to see their hero.

“Go away!” J attempts to reason with the sea of kids he has no patience for. Of course nobody can hear him over the deafening sounds that attract more offsprings and parents.

“That’s so cute!” one of the moms gushes and takes a picture. “It’s delightful seeing a guy dressed as The Batman performing such a public service for our town!”

“He loves people, especially babies, “ you lie without blinking and immortalize the moment yourself.

“Awww,” a few people sigh touched by your praises.

“He must be a nice dude,” a kid’s dad concludes and you sweetly smile from under your mask:

“You have no idea.”

Somebody from the crowd places an infant girl in The Joker’s arms and the mob goes ballistic!! Rosie cheeks keeps sucking from her binky, glaring at the interesting person.

Clapping, cheering and whistling intensify whilst J feels compelled by his increasing popularity to lift the 6 months old above his head for everyone to see how cool he is.

This is not bad, The King enjoys an endless string of applause and the sudden explosion occurring in the diaper followed by quite a foul smell puts an end to his exuberance.

“Jesus!” he crinkles his nose, appalled. “Whose kid is this?” he yells and the thrilled parent waves at him, taking back the stinky, adorable bundle of joy. “Uncle Batsy needs to run!!” J makes up a random plan although nobody can hear him: the noise is overwhelming after he hyped them all up. “Let’s bail before they trap me again! Pretty soon I won’t be able to walk, Princess. Everything is crammed in there, a total mess! I hate stretchy pants!!” he addresses his woman and quickens the pace until an atrocious abomination stops him in his tracks.

A specimen mocking The Joker wearing a purple suit is getting quite the attention: over exaggerated red lips smudged over the lip line, tattoo on the forehead that spells “Cabbaged”, a bunch of cheap golden chains from the Dollar Store around his neck and a sloppy green wig complete the assemble in a cringy manner.

You are equally speechless and The Joker manages to utter:

“What… THE HELL… is that????!!!!”

“Ummm… a Clown?” your sassy remark doesn’t score high marks as expected; you feel his eyes burning holes through you.

“You’re hilarious! Would you like to share your standup comedy talents on the stage??!” his index finger points at the platform meant to host a guest appearance from Bruce Wayne in the next hour.

Courtesy of “Wayne Enterprise” sponsoring the event: free food and refreshments for everyone under 18 years old.

You don’t answer and pout, upset J’s pissed attitude is already ruining your mood.

“I’m going to kill that buffoon posing as me!” he inhales full of spite and reaches for the knife hidden in his left boot.

“You can’t…” you hesitantly halt his movement. “Dozens of people, that’s just asking for trouble!”

“I’m not going to let a prick disrespect me!”

“You won’t, we’ll figure something afterwards. We can wait for him outside in the parking lot and take care of it without drawing attention! Please?” you beg hoping he’ll listen to you. “Pleeeaaaase!!!!“ you insist, perfectly aware he’s about to commit murder regardless. “I have a bunch of VIP passes to take pictures with celebrities. You promised J!” you stomp your high heels, exasperated. “You promised we’ll have a fun date!!”

“Why do I have to take pics with celebrities?! I don’t like anybody!”

The look on Y/N’s face: sheer disappointment; most of her features are covered with the mask yet he can tell.

“But I like you so the most I’ll do is take a selfie with you!” The Joker makes amendments on his own terms.

The Queen sniffles, trying to bottle up her emotions and she can’t help it: she bursts up in tears at her boyfriend’s candor.

Oh no! Not again!

Why?

The King of Gotham says nice things maybe twice a year and each time you struggle not to cry but it’s impossible: how can one resist such charm?!

Your complete meltdown makes him roll his eyes while your shaky hand takes a picture of the royal duo.

“Ugghhh…” J’s grimace turns your attention towards him.

“What is it baby?” you wipe your tears with his cape.

He would probably criticize such affront still there’s a pressing issue taking precedent.

“Princess, these tights are making my legs numb. I can’t feel my crown jewelry anymore.”

“Huh?” you forget to weep, startled.

“Cursed stretchy pants! I think I won’t be able to have sex for a month!” The Joker stretches his feet, uncomfortable.

“What??!!!” you raise your voice, panicked. “A month???!!”

Hell no!

Y/N grabs The Joker’s right hand and starts dragging him after her, yelling:

“Out of the way! Out of the way, it’s an emergency!!” whilst everyone is wondering how can someone wearing those 7-inch stilettos can march so fast.

“Where are we going, Pumpkin?!” J is inquiring and you yank at his arm, alarmed.

“To the car!”

“Why?”

Y/N doesn’t have time for explanations: she basically flies across the parking lot to get to section B5, opens the van’s back door and shoves J inside. He lands on his abs as you relentlessly pull on his boots, accomplishing to take them off in record time. Then you heave at his tights, huffing a storm at the stiff garment:

“I’ll be damn if I’ll wait a month for a ride in Funky Town!”

A mother and her 11 years old son pass by and she covers his eyes, horrified at the indecency as she guides him throughout the maze of vehicles.

“There are children here!” the woman protests. “Get a room!”

Luckily, she wasn’t heard by The Clown and his girl because… victory! The stretchy pants are off, J only in his boxers now.

“How are you feeling?” you roll him and he exhales, assessing the damage succeeding Y/N swift actions.

“Not sure, same?... Sit on my lap,” J offers and you don’t need a second invitation.

“Well?” you hold in the anxiety reaching high levels under these dire circumstances.

“Dunno, kiss me and we’ll see.”

You kiss him and he purrs.

“Well?” you interrogate again.

“Kiss me again!” he orders and you put more passion into it since your future happiness depends on it. “Hmm…” J groans. “I believe things are improving.”

“Yeah?” Y/N is about to have another breakdown although J didn’t say sweet rubbish; it’s just that kind of occasion.

“U-hum!”

“Then… what do you say we go home and celebrate your recovery?” you whisper in his ear.

“What about Comic Con?”

“Screw it!” you hop off his knees. “I’ll drive, you focus on your convalescence, ok baby?”

“Ok,” The Joker agrees and begins to stride around the van as Bruce Wayne’s limousine happens to drive by, the billionaire preparing to attend the event he sponsored.

“Stop the car!” Bruce commands at the weird view in the distance: a man wearing a replica of his Batman suit-- helmet, mask, gloves, cape… but no pants or boots, the bottom part of his attire consisting solely of underwear. “Right when you think you saw it all…” he shakes his head in denial, oblivious about who the person is.

Mister Wayne should at least have some empathy for the man enduring those tights for as long as he could; it might not be a record, but who could ever beat the real Batman at wearing stretchy pants anyway?!

Also read: MASTERLIST

https://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

You can also follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

#the joker x reader #the joker fanfiction #the joker imagine #the joker jared leto #the joker #joker #joker fanfiction #joker imagines #jokerleto #the joker suicide squad #joker suicide squad #mister j #mister joker #dc #dcu

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parismemes · 4 years

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SENTENCE STARTERS FROM RED VS. BLUE SEASON 15

“you touch my baked beans, i put dog shit in your pillowcase.” “every other person in this miserable place is literal garbage.” “books on tape? what's the appeal of that? don't the pages get stuck together?” “when in doubt use a confusing acronym. military types love acronyms.” “FML. that stands for fu--” “i’ll bend down and kiss your boots, how’s that?” “i wanna know every step you take and how much shit gets stuck on your shoes and in-between your teeth.” “you know, i think i'll probably move to LA, but that's like what everyone does. i mean, what do you think?” “i’m gonna skin your cat for this.” “i’m actually thinking of adopting a stage name.” “i’m gonna smash cut your empty skull against that rock if you don’t shut the fuck up!” “i wanted to call it desert titties, but that shit was taken.” “ah, there goes the bechdel test.” “you should interview the illuminati!” “real talk here: i'll be your genie in a bottle, i'll do whatever you want, but after i grant you your three wishes, you gotta do something for me, whaddaya say?” “my ceaseless existence is an eternal torment!” “next time he calls you please, just, let it go to voicemail. don't transfer to me. okay?” “i can’t even hear myself think in this blizzard of idiocy!” “did you attempt to witness any other particular individuals in the general vicinity of the area in which the crime scene was alleged?” “i just wanna be included!” “funny, the vultures usually show up after the slaughter.” “you’re a little bit crazy, aren’t you? i like that.” “consequences... don't always take the shape we expect them to, do they? they're funny like that.” “...are we still married?” “people are quick to jump to conclusions. they see something, or hear something, and fit it into a preconceived emotional box.” “please don’t make me regret what i’m about to tell you.” “whoa, hold up--i just realized how much i don’t care.” “SUCK IT, NEWTON!” “we said we wouldn’t talk about that!” “help me be the best at being lazy.” “it was a simple mishap with my vanilla-satin scented candles!” “why is he naked?” “HOW DO YOU BURN DOWN A WATER PARK, ___?!” “we’re definitely not just saying that because she could kill us.” “for far too long our people have been oppressed, crushed, under the weight of ourselves! if we don't start standing up to our mortal foe gravity, by god, who will?” “we’ve never needed intelligence before!” “why doesn’t anybody die and stay dead?” “oh, cool! foreshadowing.” “who wants a poisoned pumpkin frappuccino?” “i quit. i’m not going. i’m staying here.” “you’ve always been selfish, but this is bullshit!” “you know, i liked them better when they were funny.” “it’s a bop-it.” “sleep. means. death!” “i know ___ said we should split up, but i was thinking maybe we split up together, you know, because it's scary!” “you talk about ___ a lot.” “this is a big city. so many places for snakes to hide. they could be everywhere all around us. watching us... licking their snake lips...” “jesus, doesn’t anybody speak esperanto?” “err is not a word.” “why do you look alone?” “why don't you tell us what's going on, and we can decide whether to kill you or not?” “looks like we've got quite the sticky mess on our hands!” “oh, i know all about sausage parties! uh, wait, that came out wrong.” “when I least expect it: whambo! you pry open my mind prison and suck out my brain beans!” “i realize now that i’ve just spilled all my brain beans.” “we're just a bunch of dumb rejects hurling ourselves against impossible odds.” “i’m only saying something because i’ve been used enough times in my life already.” “nice! super awesome of you guys! that was sarcastic.” “don’t care. just help me with my dramatic exit.” “that's a great idea! i was just about to suggest it.” “i always say a marine without a code is like a car without a road.” “i always say the best defense is a really tall fence.” “i always say a good soldier is like a rollin’ boulder.” “i always say a mantra a day keeps death at bay.” “i've grown soft around these uncultured philistines.” “goddamn, i can’t believe i have to hear this shit in stereo now.” “you two look cozy.” “i didn’t realize you two were close.” “you’re being too hard on yourself. you’ve changed over the years, i’ve seen it myself.” “i've grown from being a dishonorable killing machine to an honorable killing machine. that's quite the journey.” “i changed my mind. you are evil.” “you don’t have to destroy the past to have a future.” “strategizing can wait until breakfast, at least.” “i killed them. i MURDERED them. i set my vengeance free upon them and it felt so good!” “are we gonna do some snooping around?” “have you ever considered a life in showbusiness?” “try harder, fuckface!” “can we please just bury the hatchet and focus on what's important?” “your mother’s lasagna is mediocre!” “if you guys had to get shot somewhere in your body, where would you do it?” “i can't hear you because some idiot shot my ear off!” “this whole situation is garbage enough to begin with, but... at least we're in it together.” “no plan survives first contact with the enemy.” “the only thing that would make this better is some music.” “we were pawns in their game. but the thing that I love about chess is that sometimes pawns kill kings.” “no, actually, i was raised by wolves. in the forest.” “sometimes i feel like people barely acknowledge my presence.” “something weird might be going on around here.” “anyone who's acting that squeaky clean must have some deep dark secrets.” “ha! gotcha! that's exactly the kind of things bad guys say!” “they used us, they destroyed our lives, and they haven't been made to pay for what they've done.” “you obviously love the sound of your own voice, so why don't you use it to tell its where the fuck our friends are?” “i’m going to kill you so hard, you’ll wish you were dead.” “we fought alongside each other for fucking years. how can you just turn your backs on us like this?” “you don't get to give orders if you're on the bad guys' side!” “now I have gonorrhea and a dead friend.” “stop. touching. my face.” “buckets! oodles! oodles of noodles and toaster strudels! tiempo de mucho. mucho de tiempo!" “yeah, well, i don't remember you being anything but a huge dick, but here you are being cool, so people change.” “yippee-ki-yay, motherfuckers!” “but.. i never got to say goodbye. or thank you for being my friend.” “i'm gonna need a week at the chiropractor when we get out of here.” “is it possible to hallucinate with your ears?” “i’m not here to kill you.” “uh-oh spaghetti-o’s.” “fuck me! fuck all of this!” “you should totally kill me if it strikes your fancy! no pressure!” “the world's best swordsman doesn't fear the second best. He fears the worst, because he can't predict what the idiot will do.” “i can't imagine us doing anything but making this all worse.” “shit, dude! you’re the best we’ve got!” “i like pushing small children down wells.” “can we please settle on a consistent denomination? are we using cardinal directions or are we using clock positions?” “i'm so sneaky. they don't even know what's happening. you can't even see me right now, ___. you're so confused.” “shut up and help me punch this fucking tank!” “as far as days to die go, it's a little overcast. so let's check our corners and make these bastards pay!” “let's light the fires and kick the tires!” “let’s dance with these monkeys and give ‘em what for!” “let's put the pedal to the metal and the rubber to the road!” “let’s get jiggy with it!” “let’s shoot this monkey full of heroin and put it on youtube! actually, let's not do that, it sounds completely horrible.” “let’s teach these midgets how to tango!” “honor, schmonor.” “scout's honor! except I was never a scout because I'm afraid of badges.” “why are we here?” “we don't know why we're here. it's still one of life's great mysteries, isn't it?” “i’m sorry i tried to kill you, it wasn’t personal!” “you'll be stuck between a rock and the frying pan.” “if i said that i would weep for them, would it make you feel any better?” “best friends should be able to say goodbye.” “i think you are cool. like, super awesome, amazing, cool and... i, i always felt like really awesome too, when we were hanging out together.” “i know with my other friends--who, even if you add them all up together aren't really cool as you--i know we're all gonna be okay.” “if you kill me, you'll just perpetuate this never-ending cycle of revenge and retaliation!” “he asked us to deliver an important message to you all. but then he just sang the ducktales theme song and fell back to sleep.” “you know i’ll never forget this, right? i mean, PTSD is forever, isn’t it?” “it’s not the sum of your parts that makes you who you are.” “these people have shown me that real heroes are not born, they're forged. a friend told me once that there's no fate but what you make. and i think he's right.” “alright, well, i'm just gonna try to forget that ever happened and never bring it up again.”

#sentence starters #rp memes #rp meme #ask memes #ask meme #long post

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calummwhatchasay · 7 years

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Fuck, In Every Sense of the Word (cashton&muke)

1. this is based off a post on this website but idk where it is 2. so fucikgn fluffy 3. also kinda long im sorry 4. (my grammar is good in my writing, this is the lazy part)

-----

The busboy is really cute. Like. Fuckign. Okay. It’s fine, really. Luke isn’t even staring. (Except he totally is.) Deep breaths. A baseball cap sits backwards on his head and the tips of his hair are bleached, but his roots have grown out and his natural brown color shows. His green eyes have glazed over a bit as he wipes the same table for the fifth time.

“Hi! It’s nice to meet you, my name is Ashton. I’m your best friend and am not anywhere near that table in the corner. If you could maybe listen to me complain about my History lecture, that would be awesome.”

“Fuck off. Besides, I’ve heard you complain about your lecture a million times. I’ve never seen him before. Though, I wouldn’t mind seeing him again.”

“Thirsty much? Maybe chill a little.”

“Can I get you all anything to drink?” A waiter with brown eyes and a name tag reading ‘Hello! My name is none of your business’ asks.

“Um-I, um, yes, we’d, er-” Ashton stutters continuously while trying to take his eyes off the waiter long enough to look at the menu.

“Ashton, you look a little flushed, are you feeling okay?” Luke asks Ashton, his laughter barely contained by mock-concern. “Why don’t you get an iced coffee, to help you cool off. And for me,” Luke grins at the waiter, and then looks back at Ashton, “tea.”

“Alrighty then. I’ll be back with your drinks in just a minute.” The waiter beams at the two.

Once the waiter’s ass has disappeared behind the doors to the kitchen, Ashton reverts his attention to Luke’s shit-eating grin. A quirk of Luke’s eyebrow has the contented smile on Ashton’s lips contorted into a grimace. “Fight me.” Luke’s grin only grows.

“Shut up.”

“Leave.”

“Let me live.”

“I’m bored of this conversation.” Luke sighs dramatically.

“I’m bored of you.”

Luke ignores Ashton’s weak attempt at an insult. “Entertain me.”

Ashton groans but concedes, inevitably. “Fine. Let’s play a game.”

“Okay, what game.”

“I don’t know! Do I have to do everything around here?” Ashton throws up his hands.

“Well… I don’t know how to put this. But, uh, yes. Remember? In the car on the way over here you said it yourself. ‘Luke, you are so useless. I swear, I have to do everything myself.’”

“Okay, okay, shut up.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that to me in half as many minutes.”

“Shut up.” Luke glares, but lets him continue. “What about Truth or Dare?”

“Are we 13 and at a sleepover?” Luke questions, unimpressed.

“In terms of maturity? Yes, yes we are.”

“We are not playing Truth or Dare in the middle of a restaurant.”

“Never Have I Ever?”

“We know literally everything about each other.”

“Fuck, Marry, Kill?” Luke ponders this for a second, attempting to come up with a legitimate reason not to play.

“We really are as mature as 13-year-olds, aren’t we?” He murmurs, shaking his head in exasperation.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Okay, let’s start easy. The Chrises: Hemsworth, Evans, Pratt.”

“This is easy?” Luke mutters, eyes wide. Ashton cackles in a way that’s a lot scarier than it should be. “Fuck, um. Fuck, uh…”

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to decide who to fuck, or you’re just generally stressed.”

“Okay, um. Marry Evans, fuck Hemsworth, and, oh god, no! I guess kill Pratt. I don’t want to do that! This sucks, this is the worst.”

“I would fuck Evans, marry Pratt, kill Hemsworth.”

“I couldn’t kill Hemsworth! I wouldn’t.” Luke puts hand on his forehead, in a somewhat ridiculous fashion. “Okay, how about Hayley Williams, Selena Gomez, Shailene Woodley.”

“Wow, okay. Um…” Ashton pauses, scrunching up his face in thought. “Yea, fuck Selena, marry Hayley, kill Shailene.”

Luke tsks. “Marry Shailene, fuck Hayley, kill Selena.”

“I’ve got one! Lucy, Franklin, and Peppermint Patty from Peanuts.”

“You are sick-minded.” Luke says, glaring across the table. Ashton’s lips spread into a wide grin, and he lets out a slight chuckle. “Fuck Peppermint Patty, marry Franklin, kill Lucy.” Luke says with a decisive nod.

“That was an awful quick decision for such a,” Ashton makes air quotes with his fingers, “‘sick’ group.”

“What about you?”

“Easy. Fuck Lucy, marry Franklin, kill Patty.”

“Franklin just seems like husband material, right?”

“Oh yea, definitely.”

“Um, here are your drinks.” The waiter interjects, as he returns with the drinks. It’s as if someone’s painted a pink stripe across Ashton’s cheeks, his blush is so bright.

“Thanks.” Ashton mutters into his lap.

“Yea, thanks so much, None of Your Business.” The waiter looks somewhat offended before he realizes Luke is just reading his name tag.

“Right. Would you all like to order?” Luke looks to Ashton to see if he’s chosen what he’s going to eat. He’s still gawping at the waiter like he’s Jesus Reincarnate.

“You know, we haven’t even looked at our menus. Could you come back in a few?” The waiter smiles graciously before making his way back to the kitchen.

“Get your shit together, Ashton.” Luke leans across the table to (not-so) lightly hit him with the menu that has yet to be opened.

“Leave me alone? What did I do to deserve this? I am so nice and kind all the time?” Luke frowns at him, completely unconvinced. “Shut up.” Ashton says, sticking his tongue out.

“I didn’t even say anything!” Luke throws up his hands, entirely too done with his best friend.

“Whatever. What do you want to eat?”

“Um. Um, I think, uh…” Luke trails off, not even looking at his menu.

“What are you-” Ashton turns to see what Luke is staring at and finds the same busboy from earlier, now helping their waiter with a big order at another table. “Oh.”

The two boys sit in silence, each trapped in their own minds. The waiter and the busboy are returning to the kitchen far too quickly, and Ashton has turned his attention back to deciding what to eat. He looks up to ask Luke if maybe they ought to split a pizza? But Luke is still staring at the doors to the kitchen, lost in thought.

“I’m not saying you can’t talk but…” Ashton grabs Luke’s tea and takes a sip.

“Oh, fuck off.” Luke grumbles. Ashton laughs, but gives Luke his drink back.

“Do you want to split a pizza?”

“Only if there are banana peppers on it.”

“Deal.”

“Fuck, marry, kill, Elmo, Cookie Monster, Oscar the Grouch.”

“Luke, what the fuck.”

“Says Mr Peanuts Characters.”

“At least they’re human!” Ashton exclaims.

“Pick.”

“Fuck Cookie Monster, marry Elmo, kill Oscar.” Ashton sighs, dejected.

“Really? Cookie Monster?” Luke looks genuinely surprised.

“I mean, yea, I’d fuck Cookie Monster.” Ashton shrugs.

A cough prevents Luke from further probing. “Um… Are you all ready to er, order?”

Luke breaks eye contact with Ashton to look at their waiter, who’s nervously fiddling with his pen. Ashton sits stock still. The only way Luke knows he’s alive is the way his face pales when their waiter first speaks, and then reverts back to the bright pink that Ashton seems to usually flush when their waiter comes around.

“Yea, yes we do. We’ll have a medium pizza with banana peppers and…” Luke glances at Ashton to see if there are any more toppings he’d like, “and that’ll be all.” Luke smiles at the waiter before handing him their two menus.

“Alright, it’ll be out in about fifteen minutes.” The waiter starts to turn back to the kitchen, but rotates back quickly, “I would fuck Cookie Monster too, by the way.” He then quickly returns to the kitchen.

“Well that was the worst thing that’s ever happened in the world, ever.”

“Maybe you’re exaggerating a tiny bit?”

“No, most definitely not.”

“Fuck, marry, kill-”

“No.”

“Why not?” Luke pouts, jutting out his bottom lip.

“Because, Luke. Stop being like this.”

“No, I don’t understand, Ash.” Ashton glares at Luke, but fails to respond. “Can you please explain?”

“Luke, I swear…” Ashton sighs, dropping his head into his hands.

“Fuck, marry, kill, our waiter, the busboy, and, um…" Luke pauses, unsure of who to add to his list. He searches the restaurant for someone attractive enough to make Ashton squirm. He glances past Ashton and catches a glimpse of his reflection in the window. “And me.”

“Hmm, okay.”

“If you say kill me, we’re going to have to fight.”

“That’s not much of a threat, we both know you would lose.”

“Shut up. Answer.”

“That’s a bit contradictory, isn’t it?”

“Whatever. Shut up. Fuck off. Answer.”

Ashton chuckles, but answers all the same. “Kill the busboy, fuck the waiter, and marry you.”

“You would kill the busboy?” Luke gasps. “Wait." Luke holds up a hand, as if physically asking to Ashton to stop. “You would marry me?” Luke puts his hands over his heart. “I’m flattered.”

“I change my mind, I’m marrying the waiter, fucking the busboy, and murdering you with a blunt instrument, so it’s extremely painful.”

“Honestly, I can’t blame you. The busboy is beautiful. I want him to have my children.” Luke nods in earnest. Ashton smirks.

“What?” Luke’s eyebrows knit together. “Is there tea on my face?”

“No, no.” Ashton’s smile only seems to grow, “You’re just so whipped for someone you’ve never met.”

“I’m not whipped!” Luke flushes.

“Mhmm. Your blush disagrees.”

“Shut up.”

“Nah.” Ashton shakes his head. “Fuck, marry, kill: Busboy, Waiter, me.”

“Fuck the busboy, marry you, kill the waiter.” Luke replies after a breath. Ashton quirks an eyebrow.

“Oh? You aren’t going to marry the busboy.”

“Well, it’s like you said... I barely know him. He could just be a really hot serial killer. You and I, our marriage would be loveless, but I wouldn’t be dead. And I would just have multiple sidechicks.”

“Or sidedicks.”

“Or sidedicks.” Luke agrees.

Ashton reaches across the table to reach the salt and spills Luke’s drink everywhere. “Ashton! What the fuck! What the hell were you even going to salt?!”

“My, um, coffee?”

“Why are you being so wei-”

“Excuse me,” Ashton raises his hand, waving someone over, “would you mind helping us clean this up?”

Within seconds, the blondish brunette is standing at the pair’s table, a towel in hand and a rosy tint on his cheekbones.

“I would love to help, but I need to use the bathroom.” Ashton beams, a glint in his eye.

“Ashton.” Luke spits, gritting his teeth.

“I really have to pee, Luke.” Ashton offers Luke a very fake pout and leaves the booth.

“Ashton Fletcher Irwin!” Luke all but shouts after him. The busboy rocks back and forth on his heels.

“My company really isn’t that bad, y’know. And I’m not a serial killer.” He shrugs, starting to mop up the mess on the table.

“I-I didn’t think, I just- um, sorry, I’m-” Luke stammers, unable to string words together in a sensible order.

“Shh...” The busboy puts a finger to Luke’s lips.

“Er...” Luke sits there, listless. The busboy moves around dishes and continues to soak up the tea. All Luke can do is sit there like a dumbass, staring at the sharp angle of the boy’s jawline and thinking about how warm the boy’s hand was.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have- I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just- You were stammering, and I- well, I-” Luke interrupts to busboy, putting a finger to his lips.

“Shh.” The busboy’s lips curve into a (really cute, oh my god) smile. Luke pulls his hand back to his lap. His cheeks are pink again.

“Have you got a name?”

“Y-yea. I’m Luke.”

“Luke,” The boy pulls his eyebrows together, “Suits you. I’ll tell your waiter to bring you a new tea.�� And then the mysterious busboy turns tail and walks back to the kitchen.

“So.” Ashton says, sliding back into his seat.

“So.” Luke stares across the table at Ashton. “How was your piss?”

“Jesus, you’re petty.”

“And you’re a little bitch, but what else is new?”

“I’m not saying I hate you, but...”

“I change my mind. I’m marrying the busboy and killing you.”

“What’s his name?”

“Who?”

“The busboy. What’s his name.”

“I, er, don’t know.”

“You didn’t ask for his name. You talked to him for like five minutes and you didn’t get his name.”

“I was busy!”

“Doing what?” Ashton all but screeches, “Daydreaming?!”

“Maybe.” Luke mutters.

“Honestly.” Ashton shakes his head.

“Here’s your pizza guys.” The waiter puts the pizza down, “Your tea,” He puts Luke’s tea on the table in front of him, “and, Ashton, do you want a refill?” He starts chewing on his pen, looking intently at Ashton.

“You, um, you know my- er, um... no. Thank you. No thank you. But, a water would be nice?”

“Sure thing!” The waiter is a little too excited to bring a customer water in Luke’s opinion, but Ashton is also far too nervous to order one. They just might be a match made in heaven. The waiter heads back towards the kitchen.

“You didn’t get his name?! What were you doing? Daydreaming!”

“Shut up.” Ashton groans.

“Let’s just eat, yea?”

“Whatever.” Ashton grumbles, taking two slices. Luke rolls his eyes, grabbing a few slices of his own.

“Here’s your water!”

“Thank you, um, thanks so much.” The waiter stands there a few seconds too long, just looking at Ashton.

“Right.” He straightens his back, as if knocking himself out of stupor, “If you need anything, I’ll be over there.” He points to the kitchen. “So... yea.”

“Wait! Who should I ask for? If I need something.”

“Calum. I’m Calum.” And he turns around and doesn’t quite sprint back to the kitchen.

“You two are sickening.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“You got his name though. I envy you that.”

“Chill. Eat your pizza.” Ashton grabs a third piece.

“God, you’re annoying when you’re hungry. And when you’re not. You’re actually just always annoying.”

“Wow, thanks. Remind me to never ask you to be my wingman ever.”

“I have a feeling you won’t need a wingman after today.”

“What’s that meant to mean?”

“That was redundant.”

“And that was irrelevant. Are you going to really going to kill me? Is that why I won’t need a wingman? Because, it’s just a game. You’re not actually supposed to fuck, marry, and kill the people you say you will in the game.”

“Shut up. I was just trying to say I think you and Calum,” Luke does a little dance with his eyebrows that just makes Ashton uncomfortable, “might be thE START OF SOMETHING NEW!” Ashton puts his head in his hands because why, of all people, is this idiot his best friend? “No, but seriously,” Luke pokes him, “I think he likes you.” Luke says, finishing his third piece of pizza.

“Yea?”

“Yea.”

“What if he’s straight.”

“I think he’s about as straight as a shape with a 2πr perimeter.”

“Did you just fucking say that.” Luke shrugs at Ashton’s appalled expression. “I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Luke finishes his fourth slice.

“Dessert?” Calum asks, coming over to their table. Luke glances at Ashton. No response. If he plans on asking this boy out anytime soon, he needs to work on his voice box functionality when their waiter comes around.

“I think the check will do. Should we bring it back there, or...?” Luke asks as Calum hands him the check.

“I’ll come grab it.”

“Thanks, Calum.” Luke smiles. “You know,” he says turning to Ashton, “if you ever intend to make a move, you need to actually speak. As of current, I’m pretty sure he thinks I like him, which couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

“Hell no, Luke. Get your hands off my man!”

“Okay, a) calm down, b) people are staring, so c) calm down more. D) I don’t like him, e) he isn’t your man,” Luke puts his pointer finger up at Ashton’s indignant expression, “f) yet, and g) my hands aren’t anywhere near him.”

“Jesus this isn’t kindergarten, you and your alphabet need to chill. Also, he will be my man, and your hands better never be anywhere near him.”

“Thank you all for coming to eat with us!” Calum beams as Luke hands back the check and two twenties.

“You owe me twenty bucks Ashton. And I believe you owe this gentleman a thank you.” Luke stands up to leave. “I’ll be in the car, if you ever manage to open your mouth.”

“Fuc-”

“Ashton Fletcher! Language! Please do not use expletives in public, there could be children about!” Ashton just glares as Luke exits the restaurant.

“Ashton, I am so sorry,” Calum wrings his hands together, “I’ll be right back, I just have to take of something real quick. Please wait?” Calum asks, a worried expression plaguing his chiseled features.

“Of course.” A smile graces Ashton’s lips, and it’s bright in the way that reminds Calum of the sun, but soft in the way that reminds him of it setting on the ocean.

Calum rushes back to the kitchen, and less than a minute later, he and the busboy are walking back out at Olympic speed. The busboy continues towards the exit and Calum makes his way back to Ashton.

“Sorry, I kind of...” Calum trails off when his gaze switches from the door to Ashton.

“No, yea. Of course.” Ashton breaks himself out of the trance he seems to fall into every time Calum is around.

“Fletcher, huh?”

“Do we have to talk about that? I’d really rather not.”

“Aw, c’mon! It’s cute.” Calum pauses as if he’s about to say something else, but he isn’t quite sure he should. “You’re cute.”

“I-” Ashton almost says he isn’t, but Luke’s been telling him he needs to learn to accept compliments, “Thank you.” The silence hangs in the air for a minute. “So, what’s your middle name.”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would. Very much.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

“Oh? How much later?”

“A couple days, maybe. Over french bread and cheese that tastes expensive, but I got for free from my sister who works at a cheese shop.”

“Maybe at an overlook where we can watch the sunset. It’s a bit of a hike but,” Ashton looks Calum up and down, “I don’t think that’ll be a problem for you.” (And if Ashton is disproportionately proud of himself for not fainting, no one needs to know.)

“How’s Friday sound?” Calum grins.

“How’s I’ll pick you up at 7 sound?” Ashton grins back.

“Perfect.” Calum hands Ashton his phone and Ashton inputs his number.

“Text me.” Ashton turns around to leave, and congratulate himself on what may have been the most successful flirting of his life.

“Oi!” Ashton looks over his shoulder at Calum. “Thanks for the tip.”

“Luke paid?”

Calum lets his eyes drift down to Ashton’s butt, “Yea, but your tip was better.” He winks cheekily, and Ashton thinks he could get used to this.

5 minutes ago

Michael bursts through the doors to the parking lot. “Where, where, where!” He mutters, tugging at the short hair sticking out from his baseball cap. He spots broad shoulders and blond hair a couple of rows over. “Luke!”

Luke spins around, not knowing quite what to look for. “Busboy?” Luke looks confused, concerned, maybe a tinge hopeful, but Michael’s probably imagining that.

Michael maneuvers around the shoddy parking jobs towards Luke. “Hey. Hi.” He smiles, a tad shyer than before.

“Um, hi. Is everything okay?” Luke’s face pales for a second. “Ashton- Ashton isn’t hurt is he, because I-”

“No, he’s alright.” Michael puts his hand on Luke’s shoulder to calm him down, “I just wanted to- to talk to you.” Luke smiles, just a little.

“Yea? About what?”

“I know you’re a tea guy, but, I know this hole-in-the-wall coffee shop where they sometimes have music. I’ve heard it’s a pretty good place for first dates.”

“Were you going to ask someone out?” Luke asks. Michael honestly isn’t sure whether he’s kidding, or if he honestly doesn’t know Michael is trying to ask him out. “Tinder date?”

“No, Luke, I-”

“Not a Tinder date? Who then?”

“Luke, please.” Luke lifts an eyebrow (A single eyebrow! How does he do that? Michael’s eyebrows do not work independent of each other.) “You, Luke. Would you like to go to this kind of lame coffee shop I know, where the lighting is low but the music is good, and the people are quiet. Would you go on a date with me?”

“I might, maybe. Probably. Normally. But I can’t.” And Michael’s face falls, and Luke might cry, but goddammit, he’s going to stay strong, because this is only fair.

“I understand. I didn’t mean to bother you. I really need to be getting back anyway, um-”

“I can’t, because my mum always told me not to go places with strange men you don’t know. And a certain busboy I find awful cute never told me his name.”

“You dick. I was about to go cry into my dish towel, you know.”

“Oh you were not, you are so over-dramatic.”

“I was! It’s not every day a really cute guy comes into your workplace and tries to flirt with you but is too nervous, but in being nervous only gets cuter! I was very upset!”

“You think I’m cute?”

“I thought that was very obvious. Was it not? Let me clarify: I think you are probably both the cutest and the hottest guy I have ever seen, simultaneously. And I look in the mirror every morning.”

Luke hums, biting his lip to keep from splitting his cheeks, “That’s pretty hard to compete with.”

“Lunch then? On Saturday? I’ll pick you up?”

“You haven’t given me your number, told me where we’re going, given me a specific time, or told me your fucking name.”

“I’m sorry! You’re just- really distracting, you know that? I can’t get my mind off of you long enough to remember how to hold a conversation.”

Luke looks at his beat up Converse. “Thank you. You’re pretty cute yourself.”

“It’s Michael,” He can’t keep the grin off his face, “Before I forget. Michael Clifford.” Luke looks up, and his smile must be a thousand watts, in Michael’s estimation. Luke hands the busboy - Michael - his phone. “I’ll text you my address.”

“Yea. You do that, Luke. I’ll come pick you up. We’ll go on a date. I’ll go on a date with you. ‘Cos you said yes. Sounds like a plan.”

“Shh.” Luke puts his finger to Michael’s lips. “We can talk on Saturday. Now, get back to work.”

MASTERLIST

5. no one blushes this much?? 6. i came up with the word sidedicks on the spot who’s proud of me 7. ‘disproportionately’ is a really long word 8. i use so many variations of the word smile js 9. the ending is kinda shoddy im sorry 10. should i have put a ‘read more’ in? probably. did i? nope.

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