“please, have you seen y/n? they’re missing please help me”
“spencer what’s wrong? what’s going on?”
“i just- they were just- they were just-”
“spencer? sit down, babe. take a few deep breaths.” penelope tries to keep her voice calm, but the panic is already rising inside of her. she manages to get the attention of the rest of the team, but motions to let them know spencer needs space.
jj approaches first, kneeling in front of spencer, and taking his hand in her own.
“spence… what happened?”
“i just- i woke up and they weren’t there… i-”
jj looks up at emily. she knows that the rest of the team is thinking the same thing as they are.
Request! You know how we've caught John and Paul sharing clothes? Can you write a story of one of the specific clothing swaps? Your choice.
!!!!! i love this prompt
i picked this one:
(x)
Paul doesn’t know where the jacket came from.
He doesn’t know where a lot of his clothes are from, actually. And nothing that’s his ever stays that way for long either. Maids cleaning their hotel room steal their clothes, they get left behind at press conferences and gigs. New ones are purchased all the time.
This jacket, though, Paul wanted to keep. He still wasn’t sure where it came from, maybe in a package from a fan or one of those things Mal picked up on some trip sometime.
It was warm, comfortable, and dare Paul think it, stylish.
So, he managed to hang onto it for a while. Refused to remove it when they went out, hid it in his room when he wasn’t there. He didn’t know why he cared about it so much, but he did.
And as is with things you enjoy, they tend to go missing before you’re ready to lose them.
Right before an interview panel for the movie, Paul can’t find the jacket anywhere.
“Have you seen it?”
“Seen what?” George asks, pulling on his slacks with a cig dangling out of his lips.
“My jacket,” Paul emphasizes.
“Which one are you talkin’ about? Y’know out of the hundred or so that cycle through here in a month?”
Paul glares. “The one that I’ve managed to keep,” he bites, but George just shrugs his shirt on and books it out of the room to find Ringo.
It’s then that John comes in, and at first, Paul doesn’t realize what’s different about him. His hair is the same not-red, not-brown color, his shoes are the same boots they’ve been wearing for three years.
“What’s a matter, Paulie?” John.
“I can’t find-” it’s halfway through his sentence when Paul realizes. “Why are you wearing my jacket?”
“‘S not the first time we’ve shared clothes. Quite like this, too. Very fashionable,” John says in a mock-posh tone.
“Might’ve shared clothes when we all wore the same goddamn thing all the time, but this is mine.” Paul makes a grab for the jacket, but John dodges him easily, the fabric slipping through Paul’s fingers.
“What’s so special about this one, eh?” John asks, examining the garment on himself. “Some bird give it to you?”
“No,” Paul groaned, “I jus’ like it, give it back.” He makes another play for the jacket and again John doesn’t even let him close.
“Ooh, not so fast, Paulie. If it’s that special, I wanna give it a go, let me wear it just this once?”
“Fine,” Paul agrees, crossing his arms.
“Ah, wasn’t that hard, now was it?” John loses his defensive edge and turns away from Paul for a second, which is when Paul makes his attack.
John is conveniently standing in front of the bed, so when Paul tackles him, they both have a soft landing.
It was intended to be a successful retrieval of Paul’s jacket, but he gives up eventually, and they both start laughing. Paul lets his guard down and rolls off of John, who then clambers on top of him.
“What’re you doin’?”
“Shh,” John says, putting a finger to Paul’s lips.
And all of a sudden, John’s lips replace his fingers and he’s kissing Paul, and it comes out of nowhere, but it’s not unwelcome. Paul feels himself begin to kiss back, and he’s so confused, but there’s another feeling buried deep inside that knows he wants this.
John pulls away and Paul looks up at him through his eyelashes.
“What’re we doin’?”
John laughs and pulls Paul off the bed.
“Hell if I know,” is all he says, but he fixes Paul’s hair, takes a white jacket from a chair back, and puts it over Paul’s shoulders.
“Is this yours?”
“Might be,” John says, turning to look at himself in the mirror. “How do I look?”
Paul couldnt stop the next sentence from coming out of his mouth if he wanted to, “You look like… you look a little like you’re mine.”
John looked up from his guitar, startled, as a young man with soft eyes said, "I've never met you before, but I'm gonna read your mind."
“read my mind?” he repeated before another coherent thought could replace it.
the younger man laughed. “yeah, ready?”
“um… sure?” how was he supposed to prepare himself for this?
“okay… you can keep playing if you want. helps me focus.”
“a- alright,” john agreed. he began to play the song again, but completely forgot what it was called, and… anything about it really. he was hypnotized by the- well, the pretty face in front of him. the young man has closed his eyes, and was humming along to the song.
“are you-”
“shh,” the young man whispered. he placed one finger on john’s lips. “the music helps, not your voice.”
john was taken aback, but let a smirk slide across his face when the young man pulled his finger away.
he closed his eyes again and john kept playing softly, still totally unsure of this sudden interaction. he’d just been sitting in the park, seemingly alone. no one had been around. then this man had dropped in front of him, like mag-
“okay. i know what you’re thinking.”
“yeah?” john couldn’t help but let his tone be a little smug.
“you’re wondering where i came from.”
“yeah…”
“you…” the young man blushed. “you were thinking i was pretty.”
shit. maybe this wasn’t totally bullshit. who the fuck did this guy think he was?
“i’m paul,” the young man said, sticking out his hand, “to answer your question. you’re john, right?”
