#domestic diego

[miscellaneoussmp]

I want my happy-ish domestic ending, so I wrote it myself. Anyways, here's Emi's sixteenth birthday (cw/tw: death mentions):

When Emi woke up, she was filled with excitement. Today, she was officially sixteen. She had lived one more year, and that was something, right? She had a relatively normal life now. She was adopted all those years ago. She goes to school and hangs out with friends like all teenagers her age do. After getting up from bed, she walked into the kitchen of the apartment, passing Luis, who was sleeping on the couch. A note was held on the fridge door with a magnet. It was from Benito. It said he had to go into work early, but hopefully, he'll be back in time to celebrate her birthday. It finished with him telling her to have a good day. Emi tried her best not to feel upset as she knew Benito was out here saving people. Like how he saved her. She made herself a bowl of cereal and sat on the arm rest of the couch where Luis slept. The tv was playing some old reality show that Emi didn't much care for.

School was pretty normal for Emi, aside from being given a few happy birthdays and a small gift of a cookie from a friend. There was only one hiccup in the day. Honestly, it really isn't a hiccup, just a surpise. A substitute teacher called full names on the roster, including hers Emilía-Lucie Camelo. When her adoption became official, she was allowed to change her name. She thinks it was meant for her to only change her last name, but when she added Lucie to her first name, Benito smiled so brightly at her. It was another way to keep Lucie's memory and legacy alive.

After school was over, Emi went back to the apartment she shared with Benito and Luis. Only Luis was home as it was his day off from working night-shift security at some fancy hotel. He greeted her and wished her a happy birthday while ruffling her head under her beanie. The two sat in comfortable silence while she did homework, and Luis did some minor chores. Near sunset, there was knocking at the door. When Luis opened the door, there stood Jeffrey and Diego. The two had been traveling around the world working through whatever they needed to work through. They still made time to be in Emi's life when possible as they, Diego mostly, took comfort in her being living proof of Lucie's memory. After a small group hug, they four took some time to eat a few snacks and watched some more trash tv together like a family would. They are a family afterall.

Benito came back just a bit after sunset with a cake and a few candles. It was too long after, when Emi sat at the dining table with a cake in front of her with some candles stuck in it. "She would be very proud of you if she was here, Emi," Diego spoke, and Emi's started to tear up. "Don't make her cry on her birthday, jackass." Benito immediately responded with both Luis and Jeffrey giving him 'what the fuck' type looks. Diego immediately apologized, saying sorry quickly in rapid secession. Emi found herself laughing softly as the candles were lit. She closed her eyes and blew out the candles. Her wish was for her to make what happened all those years ago worth it. Her birthday cake was caramel apple flavored.

[floorsauce]

"Well aren't you just a blushy bear~"

More stuff in the works, I promise

[conduitandconjurer]

🙌

Send 🙌 to put your hands around my muse's neck.

Klaus is no stranger to roughhousing; he has five male siblings with varying degrees of trauma, after all, and Allison is a bruiser in her own right. The Hargreeves family itself is really one big bruise, sometimes from the proverbial tumble off the bike, and sometimes from things darker and more dire.

So, when a sibling lays hands on him, he's hasty to tolerate, even oblige. And despite his pretense of machismo, Diego is, always has been, among Klaus's safer brothers.

"Hurk--okay. Okay okay okay, asshole."

He squeaks a laugh, a shared laugh with his brother.

But today, in the space of a few seconds, something hits different.

He looks down at his brother's black-gloved hand, bangs in his eyes, tawnier than usual, a half shade lighter than the deep chestnut of his mother and generations of family he suspects he'll never know. Something about the futility of that, of so many things he's suffered through with little gain and even less understanding, burns like a lit flare cracked alight, in his gut. Not belonging is hard, especially when it's pervasive. When you're stuck between states, straddling selves and even whole dimensions. He cherishes the immortality; he also hates it. And everyone thinks he's "overcome" all that, because of one night in a cemetary with his monster of a father. No one checked in on Klaus; no one challenged his poor judgment with the Reginald of the kugelblitz; they used to try, but many years ago. Maybe his addictions were in some way a welcome exemption from accountability, for his sister and brothers, his many friends and rehab counselors, his countless (living) lovers, his parents (all three of them): 'Klaus is still Klaus; what can you do, he'll never step up; not unless we threaten him or gorge him with guilt.

Just more trouble than you're worth.

Klaus squirms. "O-kay," he cajoles, a little louder, as these thoughts pour out in a steady leak from some sealed jar shoved far back in his mind.

Patting Diego's hand, "Okay, Deeg, Jesus--!"

He's just shitting around with you; it's just Diego; calm down, stop being trouble--

He's an image in an old slide projector, jammed in the middle of transition. At home neither with the living nor the dead, ears pricked (against his will) to the unquiet of spirits similarly stuck, alienated deeply by knowing no one can hear the same thing, and even if they believe you, they look on you with exasperation or worse, concern. Every so often Klaus tries to shed a skin, or molt, or whatever the analogy may be, in the hope that peeling back who he has tried to be for two or three or ten years will finally reveal the version of himself who is completely at peace.

Or at least someone better. Someone people don't feel free to lay their hands on. People. Siblings.

I need to get a haircut. Yeah.

Every so often, Klaus runs.

And yet--

"You're HURTING ME!!"

The volume with which he snarls this--and the bile--is impressive. One blink-and-you'll-miss-it gesture, and he's loose, arms up, hands blazing teal, eyes, chest--the entire room floods with ghosts as that leak in his mind becomes a broken levee.

The expression on his face is terrifying, uncanny like an AI filter or poor drawing. Klaus isn't meant to look that fearful, animal, and angry. But he does.

"Fuckin HELL, man! JESUS! Could you take it EASY?"

The room is still ashy blue-green, heavy with a fog of spirits. His heart is screaming in his chest. So loud, shut up.

[90sagony]

#239 Domestic studies: Y tu mamá también (2001)

[boripercy]

So thankful for David Castañeda getting the fans dilf!diego cause let’s be honest he was definitely pushing for it once the idea was on the table

[lanegritaalma]

Watching Ice Age as an adult and realizing that Manny never told Ellie about his first mate and kid. And that’s why he took her pregnancy so seriously 😞 Because he was getting a second chance and his biggest fear was losing them 😭

[lochrannn]

WIP Wednesday

Anita is three and a half and they invite their neighbours and family over to the house for a summer barbecue. They've figured out that where appearing normal is concerned, the best tactic seems to be fake it till you make it. Most of their neighbours appear to have a few screws loose themselves.

Lila can't deny that she enjoys the little thrill of stepping into the role of housewife and mother in front of all their new friends. It's a little like going undercover at the commission.

She's in the middle of waxing poetically about a recipe she found in a magazine I the pediatrician's waiting room, suburban moms hanging off her every word—she's lying through her teeth, of course, making the whole thing up—when Viktor walks by with a hotdog on his colourful paper plate, raising a baffled eyebrow at her.

Lila gives him a sly wink and caps off her spiel towards her rapt audience with an outlandish claim about the detoxing powers of basil.

It kicks off a heated discussion over which herbs are vitally important to have in every good mother's kitchen—Ashleigh and Brittney, who Lila knows can't stand each other, start insinuating about each other that they must each be determined to poison their families—and it gives Lila a moment to take in the scene around her.

It's peaceful, there are plenty of people around her laughing and bickering, children running across the lawn teasing and screaming. Five years ago she would have thought this would be her personal hell on earth, but after everything she's seen and had to fight through, she can't really say that this isn't actually a little slice of heaven.

Lila's eyes fall on Diego who's at the grill, chatting amiably with his brother, as Luther diligently minds the burgers and sausages and also some grilled vegetables, handing them out as people come up to get their food.

The laugh lines by his eyes crinkle and he punches Luther lightly in the arm as he's telling some funny story or another, and something in Lila's chest warms at the sight.

Even if she truly missed her old life, if she was itching to go on missions and get in brutal physical fights, she'd give it all up for him, because it turns out Diego has seamlessly transitioned into urban dad extraordinair and loves their peaceful family life so much more than he ever loved being a night time crusader or a child superhero.

Lila's eyes are still on him when Anita runs up to show him something and Diego scoops her into his arms and starts making his way towards Lila, their little girl chatting away to him in his arms.

Lila takes a step away from the women waging a minor cold war over antioxidants and towards Diego, who greets her with a "hey mamacita," and a quick kiss before turning his attention back to Anita.

"Niti wanted to show you the gluten free ice cream the Hansons brought over."

Lila can hear the fond exasperation in his voice and gives him a toothy smile in response and for a moment they're both distracted when Anita thrust out her two little fists that are clutching a rather large cone and squeals in delight, "Here mommy! Taste!"

Her exuberance is more than the ice cream treat can take and the one large, creamy scoop topples off the cone and straight onto Lila's shirt before rolling down her front and falling to the ground with a splat.

"Oh fu—iddlesticks!" says Diego at the same time as Lila forcefully says, "Shit!"

There's a beat and Anita bursts into tears, her upset blubbering making it obvious that she can't quite decide whether to feel guilty for getting her mother's top dirty or devastated over losing her ice cream.

"Hey no, baby! Don't cry!" Lila soothes as she takes the now empty cone out of Anita's hands and clasps her little fingers reassuringly at the same time as Diego puts his hand to the side of Anita's head so he can pull her temple against his lips, making shushing noises

"I'm sure daddy can get you a new ice cream and don't worry about my shirt, one wash and it'll be as good as new!"

Diego gives her an apologetic look over Anita's head as the little girl has tucked her face into Diego's neck, intermittent sobs still wracking her small body, but Lila just makes a shooing motion towards the Hansons and their cooler, before turning around and heading back into the house.

[...]

[sissytobitch10seconds]

Protectors and Heroes

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy Summary: Despite their father keeping them apart and the rift that his book caused, his siblings still dawn their hero personas to help him out when they notice something is wrong. Warnings: Domestic abuse, physical abuse, mental/emotional abuse, and mentions of childhood neglect Word Count: 5,984 Ship(s): Viktor Hargreeves/Leonard Peabody, Viktor Hargreeves & The Umbrella Academy

Archive link!

A/N: So I originally wrote this before S03 came out and I wrote it with Viktor's deadname and she/her pronouns. When I got ready to post it I decided that I was going to change it so that Viktor came out earlier in his life when he first got together with Leonard, as this was already an AU. There could still be the wrong name and pronouns in a couple of places, so if you see that please point it out to me and I'll edit it! Thank you all for reading. Stay sissy and bitchy everyone <3

He loved him more than he loved any of their other siblings. He had been utterly heartbroken when the young superhero had disappeared seventeen years ago. He had gone through all kinds of mental stages while he processed his grief. For a long while he had held out hope that Five would end up coming back to him. That's why Viktor left the lights on, and made him snacks. Viktor would even force herself to stay up really late some nights just in case Five’s power had worn him out so badly he couldn't get to bed like what happened after some missions.

Five had always been kind to him, even when the rest of them weren't allowed to be. Allison and Luther were wrapped up in each other in a way that the rest of them didn't understand. Ben was nice to him, but he had to prioritize keeping Klaus from trying to kill himself with his stupid antics. Diego was always with their mother, so often didn't have time for Viktor. He was always practicing too, which resulted in him yelling at the other to leave him alone more often than not. But Five was always there for him. He was willing to sit on Viktor’s bed while he read and the other teenager practiced his violin. Five never yelled or sniped at him when he was waiting after missions with a snack and a first-aid kit the way some of the others did in their overtired state. 

Despite the love in his heart for his brother, and the memories flooding back, he refused to stay in his childhood home for longer.

The entire time that Five had been explaining what happened to him and why he had never come back to them, Viktor couldn't help but check his watch. Over and over again, despite the fact that only a second or two had passed since the last time he checked. 

He forced himself to stay for about half an hour longer than he had intended to. As soon as the time finally rolled around, he pushed himself up from the chair that he had been seated in. Unintentionally, this caused every single one of his siblings to turn and look at him. Viktor tugged down the edges of his button up, a habit he had gotten into rather recently, as he cleared his throat. "Sorry, but I have to go. My boyfriend is expecting me to be home soon and I don't want to worry him."

"You can worry him," Allison scoffed. She was leaning back in her chair with her arms folded judgmentally over her chest. "Our brother just got back from the apocalypse and now we have to stop the end of the world. Shouldn't you of all people want to stick around?"

"I really have to get back," Viktor insisted with a small shake of his head. Memories of the last time he had been late back to the apartment he shared with his partner flashed in his mind, causing a shudder of panic to ripple over him. He wasn’t going to be able to handle the wrath that would follow after a full day of updating his family members about his gender and having to deal with the slip-ups or honest mistakes that they made. He was dysphoric and panicky and just wanted to get home before something made the whole situation worse. "Plus I'm not… like you guys," he shrugged. Viktor had always been very insecure about his lack of powers because of how often their father rubbed it in his face that he was nothing more than ordinary. Even now as an adult, when the superhero business had left along with their father, it was still a bit of a sore spot for him.

"He's got a point," Luther nodded in agreement. "If we're going to save the world then Viktor would just be in the way. He doesn't have any powers or training.”

Klaus and Five both moved to object, but Viktor stopped them from doing so with a small nod of agreement. "See? I'm holding up the whole plan to stop the end of the world by being here so I might as well get home." He walked around the table and pulled Five into a hug despite his surprise and reluctance for physical contact with any of his siblings. "I'm glad that you're back. Maybe we can catch up after the Umbrella Academy is finished saving the world?"

"Of course," he nodded. As the violinist moved to pull away from him, he grasped his shoulder with one hand. "You know that you can still come to me if you need anything, right? It may have been years since we were kids, but I'm still your brother."

He nodded. "Thanks, Five. Be safe, okay?"

"I always am," he nodded.

Viktor felt his heart grow warm in his chest as he remembered all of the times Five had said that to him when they were kids. He was always worried about the safety of his siblings when they went off to fight people with guns and knives and vendettas against them. When they came home he would be beyond himself with worry and Five was the only one that would tolerate his mother-henning. He would reassure Viktor time and time again, both before and after missions, that he would be safe and come home in one piece. 

The violinist smiled at him before he ducked his head and hurried from the kitchen. 

---

As soon as the door clicked shut behind their sister, Five turned to the rest of his siblings. He took another bite of his sandwich before he let the peanut butter soaked bread hit the table again. "How long has he been abused?"

The reactions were certainly not what he was expecting when he asked that question. Luther blinked at him a few times, as if Five had sprouted a second head. "Excuse me?" Diego asked, his eyes flickering up from the knife in his hands to look at his younger-older brother. Allison let out an astonished noise as she fell forward in her chair, her arms immediately moving to grasp the edge of the table while trying to stop herself from laughing. Klaus just cocked his head to the side curiously.

"Really? None of you noticed? Typical," Five rolled his eyes. "Allison, I know that you're an actress and you're clearly good with makeup. Did you really not notice how the skin above his left cheekbone was a different shade of white than the rest of his face? Diego, you wanted to be a cop. How did you miss the way that he refused to meet any of our eyes? Or how about the way he was constantly checking his watch before he left?"

Allison opened her mouth to try and answer, but then shut it again. She turned her head to the side so that she was no longer looking at her siblings. Guilt bubbled up in her stomach as she realized that she had just assumed her brother had done a really poor attempt at makeup for the funeral, despite the fact that Viktor had never shown an interest in makeup their entire lives and had transitioned during their time apart. Now that the abuse question had been brought up, the assumption made her feel a lot stupider. It made no sense for Viktor to try and wear makeup when he had never wanted to before and was very obviously not into that kind of feminine presentation even now that he was more comfortable in his gender. Her first urge had been to internally mock her brother instead of wondering why he only had concealer on a few specific parts of his face and neck. She had been a hero, one of the best out of their entire team when it came to dealing with victims. She didn't know how she had ignored such a huge sign.

Diego let out a small growl as he pushed himself up from the table. "If he needed help she would have come to us."

"Wow, someone's victim blaming," Klaus snorted. He was already wiggling towards the edge of the table like he had somewhere to be but didn't want the others to notice him just yet.

"Am not!" the knife-thrower crowed immediately.

"You are," Five replied simply. "We learned about the best ways to help victims of abuse when we were all training in the Academy. Abuse victims, especially when triggered, aren't going to ask for help. From the looks of it, Viktor’s abuser has tricked him into thinking that he hurts him because he's scared. That's why he rushed back to their apartment. He isn't going to ask us for help because he doesn't think he needs any help. He’s under the impression that he either deserves to be hit or he can work through this part of the relationship because he's making this supposed boyfriend of his 'better'."

Luther ran a hand over the side of his face. "How did we miss this?"

"None of us have been around him since he wrote the book. He and I used to call every other week to catch up with each other and then after he published I yelled at him and started ignoring his calls," Allison admitted. "We don't even know how long he's been with that asshole."

"Wait, wait, wait, hold on. How do we know that Viktor is being actually abused by this boyfriend?" Diego asked. "We can't just assume something that might not be true. It could get us arrested."

"If he is being abused and we do nothing to help her then that's on us. Not only would we be horrible siblings, we'd be horrible people," Allison explained.

Luther snapped his fingers, pointing towards Diego. "A wellness check! Isn't that something that we can ask the police to do?"

"We shouldn't just send the cops to his place. If this guy really is abusing him then he could convince them they're both fine and almost kill Viktor after they've left. I've seen it happen before," Diego sighed. It wasn't something he liked to think about often, but he remembered how distraught Eudora had been when she got the call to go to the hospital to pick up a statement from an abuse victim she had done a wellness check on the day before.

"We have to do something!" Allison shouted, becoming more and more distressed by the second.

Five opened his mouth to say something before he jumped over to the doorframe where Klaus was trying to sneak out. "Where do you think you're going? We're talking about trying to save the world and get our brother out of an abusive relationship. This is a family meeting."

"Well I figured that you guys would all get bored or frustrated about talking about Viktor and then move on to the whole saving the world jazz, so I should be the one that actually reaches out to him," he shrugged. "After all, I'm the only one that didn't completely shun him for the book, so I still have his number. I was usually too blissfully high out of my mind to use it but I do have it."

"You have his number and didn't mention anything the entire time we were arguing?" Diego asked, rubbing his brows with one hand to try and keep away the impending Klaus-induced headache.

"Give it to me," Five demanded, holding his hand out in front of him like a petulant child.

"Now, now, that's not a very nice way to ask for things," Klaus tutted. "Where are your manners, little Number Five?"

He reached up with those lanky thirteen-year-old arms and grasped the front of Klaus' weird feathered coat. "I just found out that my favorite sibling is being hit by his boyfriend and no one else noticed. Now isn't the time to give me an unneeded lecture on manners."

"Fine, alright, alright," the other man panicked. He reached down to his pocket and dug out a ratty little notebook. He flicked through several of the pages, covered in scrawled nonsense. When he finally found where he had written down his notes about Viktor, he flipped it over and handed the notebook to Five. He basically snatched it from his brother as he looked over all of the information to try and find the phone number.

Before he had the chance to move out of the kitchen to the nearest phone, Allison called out to him. "Wait! Five, what are you going to say to him? You already tried to get him to tell you what was going on when he was here."

He pursed his lips as he realized that she was right. "What should we do then?"

"Let's wait until tomorrow morning and then I'll call him and ask if he wants to go out for drinks with me. I can ask him some things so we can see if he is being abused or not," Allison suggested.

They all considered it for a moment before they nodded. Five walked over to his sister and nearly forced the notebook into her hand. Before any of them had the chance to say anything else, he blinked out of the kitchen entirely.

---

Much to the siblings surprise, Viktor actually agreed to the drink proposition that Allison had called her with early that morning. They had agreed to meet at seven the next night and then go their separate ways around nine so that they could avoid big crowds of people. Viktor hadn't been in the Umbrella Academy so he wasn't used to paparazzi the way that the rest of them were, and Allison wanted to avoid any kind of attention when she was trying to figure out such sensitive information about her brother. Allison had informed their remaining brothers when the plans had become concrete and then promptly spent the next four hours persuading them to all stay in the house. Diego and Five were the hardest to convince, but eventually she got them all to promise her that they wouldn't interfere with the plan or go find this boyfriend of Viktor’s until they really knew that he was being abused.

She was standing outside of the bar that they had agreed to meet up at. She was wearing clothes that were nice enough no one would give her a second look for the type of location they were at but not so expensive that she would out herself. Allison glanced up and down the street again as she watched out for her mousy sibling. She was terrified that something bad had happened in the whole day between their last interaction with each other. It felt like her heart had jumped into her chest when she finally spotted her adoptive brother walking over to her. "Hey, you made it!"

"I'm not late, I hope," Viktor gave her a weak little chuckle. He was wearing something very similar to how he had been dressed when he showed up for the funeral the day before. A white dress shirt that was peeking out underneath a jewel toned sweater with a light winter coat over the top of everything. The East coast weather still called for all the layers, though the clothes were big enough that they kind of looked like they were drowning him. 

Allison snapped herself out of her worried thoughts when she saw the awkward way that her brother was shuffling around. "No, I just wanted to show up early. Come on, I set up reservations at a table so that we could have somewhere quieter to talk. I wanted to catch up with you," she said as she opened the door for the smaller person.

Viktor ducked his head and quickly crossed over the threshold. There was a strange look in his eyes that Allison had never seen before. She had to remind herself that the two of them had basically lived in completely different houses when they were younger with the way that Viktor had been ostracized from the other siblings. She was here to figure out what was really happening and should go into this with a clear mind, she chastised herself as she let the door to the bar swing closed behind her. 

The smaller of the two was waiting to be shown to where their table was, his hands stuffed into the pocket of his coat. "Yeah, you mentioned that on the phone. I was honestly kind of surprised, no offense," Viktor quickly backtracked.

"No, I understand," she soothed as she walked them to the back right corner of the bar. She had remembered when they were kids how Viktor had always chosen the right corner of any room, always behind everyone else, so she thought that it might be a nice gesture to do the same while they caught up. "I wasn't exactly kind to you after I read that book."

They had reached the edge of the table. Allison removed her jacket and placed it down onto the booth seat next to her as she slipped in so she was sitting down. Viktor moved so that he could do the same, but he slipped his winter coat back on instead of taking it all the way off. He looked like he was preparing to dart out of the door at any second. "I-I'm sorry about that, I was just trying to speak out about the kinds of things I faced when we were kids and I didn't even think about the way that it would have hurt you guys. I should have, I literally had to think about you so much while I was writing it because you were always on my mind when we were little, but I-I just didn't."

Allison reached out, her movements slow and measured. She grasped her brother’s hand while she moved out of the booth so that she was standing again. She always forgot how much smaller Viktor was than the rest of them. "I forgive you. I said some things that I shouldn't have when I called out after reading it, I was hormonal and full of myself. Can I hug you?"

Viktor opened her mouth to say something, but she just let out a little sob and then nodded. Allison hadn't even realized that there were tears gathering in her brother’s eyes until she heard the little noise. She was so glad that they were at the back of the bar, away from the other sparse patrons scattered at the other tables. She wrapped the short man in as tight a hug as she dared, pouring as much of her love into the action as she could.

When they broke apart, Viktor brought her thumb up to his face and wiped away the tear that was threatening to fall. "Sorry, I don't know why I'm so emotional."

"Maybe it's the relationship?" she offered as she sat down again. This time, her brother removed his jacket and slipped into the booth across from her. "When I was married to Patrick I cried all the time." 

"Y-you did?" Viktor asked, perking up a bit as he heard that. 

Allison nodded, playing with the edge of the menu to give her hands something to do. She didn't really want to talk about her ex-husband because the absence of him and their child in her life still ached like a new wound, but she'd do it to try and figure out what Viktor was going through. "Something about being with someone you love just brings out the vulnerability in you. I think it has something to do with how we were raised, never quite feeling safe since Dad was always watching. When you're finally in a relationship with someone you can let your walls down around, all the emotion comes out."

"Dad didn't care when I cried," Viktor shrugged. "He just wanted me to do it in my room."

He was shutting down again, which caused a little flare of panic inside of Allison. She had to get this information out of her brother so that she could protect him, unlike what they were able to do as kids. This man was an abuser that they could fight, that they could win against. This time they could actually save Viktor instead of watching apathetically as he was demeaned for years. "You know, Dad was actually what made me change my mind about you. I was beginning to doubt what I had done when I was getting divorced because I just felt so… alone. I think it really gave me an idea of what you went through as a kid, and I missed you. I missed all of our siblings but I knew that I had ruined whatever our relationship could have been."

"I really did want to be your brother, like a normal family," Viktor muttered. He was staring down at the menu in front of him, just like he did every time he felt nervous when they were kids. It was often, which is why Allison thought the bangs were a specific decision instead of just going with the hairstyle picked out for him. 

"I know that all the things I said in that phone call can't be made up with one apology, but do you think we could try?" she asked. She had wanted this before Five had shown back up, before they had heard about an apocalypse coming, before they had realized that their shy little brother might be getting abused.

Viktor was quiet for a bit and Allison could hear her heart beating in her ears as she worried that she had made the wrong move. This wasn't going according to plan, but then again, nothing in their family ever went according to plan. "Are you… are you sure?" he asked.

"Of course I'm sure. I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't," Allison replied, her brows furrowing. Even if Viktor wasn't being abused by his current boyfriend, he certainly had faced abuse other than their father in his life. She took in a deep breath and forced her face into a kind smile. "How about I go get some drinks and we can just talk and catch up? This conversation is getting a little heavy."

"Y-yeah, okay," Viktor nodded. He requested something cheap and simple. Allison returned back with a medium level bottle of wine that they could split the cost on, though she could pay for the entire thing without blinking, and they filled their glasses. 

They drank in silence for a while before the taller of the two siblings broke it, "So, tell me about how things have been going."

"Well, I'm no longer living in that shitty studio apartment. I have a nice place out in the woods with my boyfriend," he said, though there was no light in his eyes when he mentioned his partner.

"Ooh, I'd love to have a little cabin in the woods. Kind of like that book that we read when we were eleven. What was it called?" Allison said, trying to gloss over the mention of the boyfriend for the time being.

"Little House on the Prairie? I read those books for years, I loved them," Viktor chuckled. 

Allison just sighed. "I could never relate to them. Laura just seemed so sad all the time."

"Guess that's why I liked them as much as I did," Viktor shrugged and then took a long drink of his wine. "You always preferred the comic books Diego and Klaus stole."

"We both like escapism though, just different flavors," Allison shrugged. "Tell me more about this cabin."

"Well, it was Leanord's grandmother's. She passed when he was about nine and it was left to him in her will. It's got all this beautiful wood throughout the whole thing, makes things kind of feel like a den because of how dark it is. But it has this huge balcony with all these windchimes outside. One of my favorite things to do is to go outside and practice my violin in the early morning with them in the background. It feels so nice and peaceful," the smile that Allison was expecting at the mention of her brother’s significant other appeared when he was talking about his instrument and home instead.

"Are you still playing with your orchestra?" Allison asked.

The smile immediately dropped off of Viktor’s face. "I… no. I'm not. Leonard said that there was no point when I obviously wasn't getting any better. I was kind of bringing the whole orchestra down."

"I can't believe that," she scoffed with a small shake of her head. "I know that I wasn't exactly kind about you practicing when we were kids but from what I remember you sounded really good! And you had dozens and dozens of pieces memorized."

He shrugged. "I had a lot of delusions about the outside world. Leonard has been a great help to me, grounding me down and making me realize what's actually going on. It's helped a lot," he forced a smile onto his face so fast that it made Allison wince.

"Viktor…" she murmured. She cleared her throat as she finished the rest of her wine and then poured them both some more from the bottle. "Your house sounds wonderful. But if you're not playing with your orchestra anymore, what are you doing for a living?"

"Oh, um, this is kind of embarrassing," he muttered as he looked to where his calloused hands were clutching at the glass in front of him. "I'm kind of a housewife? N-not in the gendered sense, Leonard’s really good about that stuff. I just… I do the cooking, cleaning, and shopping. Basic maintenance stuff, really. Leonard owns a shop in town so I don't have to work to help support us. Especially not since we don't have a mortgage."

A flare of anger ignited inside of her. Viktor may have been a little bit mousy, and kind of a pushover when it came to authority figures, but he had never been the ‘housewife’ type. He loved his music more than anything in the world and he was fiercely intelligent. Allison was also very sure that he had graduated college with a master's degree. She had no idea why Viktor would voluntarily reduce himself to something like that when he had shown no inclination to wanting that kind of life when they were kids. "Wow, that's pretty intimate. Why aren't the two of you married yet?" Allison asked. She was trying to phrase the question like she was the normal nosy person inquiring about the next step forward in life. People had done that to her over and over again, though on a much larger scale.

"I… I don't know," he was obviously lying. He took another drink of his wine. "Leonard isn't the best when it comes to being intimate and sharing his feelings. I know that he loves me but sometimes I think he's scared of vulnerability."

"Why do you think that?" Allison asked, overeager by the look that Viktor’s face took on as soon as the question had slipped past her lips. "No, lay it on me. Patrick and I had to do couple's therapy before I got pregnant with Claire. I still remember some of the tips and tricks that we learned."

"You divorced Patrick," Viktor deadpanned.

"That was half a decade later and for different reasons," she drained the rest of her glass and poured herself another drink.

Viktor sighed and fidgeted in his seat for a moment before he said, "Sometimes he gets a little physical. Not… not anything too bad, just enough that it kind of scares me sometimes. And he'll get this look in his eyes like he hates me and I don't know what to do. He won't talk to me about what he's feeling and so I can't help him even though I want to. He just… he's done so much for me and he reminds me how much he's done for me everyday and I just… can't figure out a way to pay him back. I don't know, it's kind of stupid."

Bingo.

Allison felt her heart jump into her throat, threatening to make her cry, as she listened to her brother detail the abuses of his partner without really saying them. "V," she murmured as she reached across the table and gently took Viktor’s hand into her own. The childhood nickname got his eyes to flicker away from the dark red liquid in his glass over to his sister's face. Allison took a shaky breath, "I know that you love him but that doesn't seem healthy. How… what did you mean by physical?"

"I this is stupid, I shouldn't have come to this," Viktor yanked his hand away as soon as the question was asked. "You don't really want to get to know me. Leonard was right. None of you could ever love me." The smaller of the two siblings grabbed his jacket and began to run towards the door. 

Allison tugged out more than enough money to pay for the drinks that they had finished and dropped it down onto the table before she rushed after her brother. Now that she had heard from Viktor’s mouth and seen some of the dark purple bruises peeking out from around his dress shirt cuff, she couldn't let her go back home to that man. "Viktor!" she shouted once she emerged out into the street. She rushed over to her brother before she had a chance to get onto the bus, reaching out to grab the edge of his bag. "Please, wait. I didn't mean to scare you off. Come back to the Academy with me, please."

"I don't want to go back to that place. You're all trying to punish me for that book. I knew that you would," Viktor was almost in hysterics as he choked out the words. Huge, fat tears were rolling down his pale cheeks and smudging some of the makeup that he had been careful in applying that morning. Now that there was a little bit removed, Allison could tell exactly where the concealer was

Her resolve hardened and she motioned for the bus to continue on its way. She wasn't going to let that man anywhere near her brother ever again. "Viktor. You are my brother and I care about you."

"You never did when we were kids," he nearly spat. He was full of venom and fear and it was making him mean.

Allison worked in Hollywood, she was used to mean. She let the jabs and insults roll off of her like water off a duck's back. "V, I meant all those things that I said when I was in the bar. I'm going to be honest, when I called you I did want to hurt you. I was so insecure as a black woman working in a white man's space that I felt like anything could tear it all away from me, your book included. But now I can see that I should have just sat down and talked with you. Dad dying and being back in that place reminded me how much it hurt to lose a sibling, and I don't want that to happen."

The words seem to be hitting home a little bit. "I'm not going to die," Viktor whispered. As soon as the whisper had left him, it was like his will to fight also had. He brought a hand up to his mouth to stifle the sob and Allison carefully but quickly removed it so that she could actually make noise. The emotion that was pouring from him made its way to the sky as swirling clouds began to darken the pink-and-purple sky. Huge droplets of water began to pour down on them and soak into their very bones. Viktor shook his head, "Allison, I don't want him to hurt me anymore."

Allison felt her heart clench in her chest. She couldn't believe that she had actually contemplated not coming to the funeral, not seeing her siblings again. The idea that she could have just let her baby brother be hit by this monster of a man that she had yet to even meet caused her stomach to roil with anger. "He won't, V, I promise," she carefully wrapped her arms around her brother like she had when they met up at the bar. Viktor tucked his head into the side of Allison's shoulder and began to sob so hard that the whole of his tiny body shook with the force. Slowly, Allison let her motherly instincts take over. The woman began to rock them back and forth as she petted her baby brother’s hair to try and ease the pain. 

When Viktor had finally stopped crying, he allowed his older sister to make their way back to the car that Allison had rented for her stay in the city. Allison carefully maneuvered the tiny, frail body of her brother into the passenger seat. She was scared that if she moved away from Viktor even for a little bit that he would somehow disappear back into the arms of that man. 

The drive back to the Academy was mostly silent. Viktor was curled up with his legs pressed almost flush with his chest. He was hiding his face in the big hood of his winter coat but Allison could still see the new tears streaming down his face. They parked and both siblings entered back into their childhood home. "Mom?" Allison called out.

"Yes, dear?" the robot asked as she walked out from the kitchen. 

"Could you look over Viktor? He got hurt and I want to make sure that it's nothing too bad," Allison supplied. She glanced down at her brother, who was looking more like a lost child than he had during the day of the funeral.

"Of course. Viktor, my dear, come with me," Grace held out her hand and took the smaller sibling’s so that she could lead him through the massive halls of their childhood home. It wasn't like Viktor didn't know his way around, but he leaned into the touch of his mother figure for comfort while they walked.

Allison watched them go until she was sure that her brother was safe before she walked to the kitchen to see the rest of her brothers. Like she had suspected they would be, even though their meeting wasn't supposed to be over for another hour, they were all gathered around the basement dining table. She cleared her throat as she walked through the doorway and crossed the space over to them.

All of the men turned away from what they had been doing and looked up to her. "You're back early. Why are you back early?" Five demanded as he jumped through space to get closer to her faster than the rest of them could.

"He's hitting Viktor," she replied simply, giving him a shrug. "He’s being looked over by Mom now. He had a huge breakdown while I was driving him over but he said he doesn't want the guy to hit him anymore. Go have fun, boys."

"You're not going to come with us?" Diego asked as he began to pack up all of his knives. Five jumped away as soon as she had finished talking so that he could either check on Viktor or find out where the asshole who had hurt their baby brother lived. 

She let out a snort. "I'm going to come with you, I just wanted to release Five before he exploded. Now come on, we should go find out where this guy lives and show him just what happens when someone touches our baby brother."

[fourfuckinghorsemen]

I should find a job.

[twicecut]

blackman keeps trying to domesticate my knifey vigilante and i won't stand for it!!!!!!!!!

[hexellent]

" Yo Di, made some rice. Want some? " He's just finished steaming a big ol portion of rice. Millie usually eats it plain or with a bit of soysauce, but he's willing to add some more to it for Diego.

" Want anything on the side? "

Diego wanders into the room sleepily, hand shoved under his oversized shirt scratching at his belly. He yawns, shuffling to lean over Milli’s shoulder at his bowl.

“Yeah. I like puttin’ a fried egg on mine. I can make it though, since you made the rice.”

He’s already pulling out a small pan as he speaks.

@mobiankaiju

[defenselawyersandiego]

How Do I Find a Domestic Violence Lawyer San Diego?

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Our law firm Kersey Law is aware of the complex nature of family violence cases and the sensitivity surrounding them. We are here to provide compassionate and aggressive representation to those who have been affected by domestic violence. Our team of experienced domestic violence lawyer San Diego has the knowledge and resources necessary to protect your rights and help you seek justice.

Domestic Violence can come in many forms and may involve physical, emotional, psychological, or sexual abuse. It is a problem that can happen to anyone regardless of whether they're old or young, male or female. If you're a victim of domestic violence, you'll want to seek legal help as soon as possible. Lawyers called 'domestic violence lawyers' know the law and your rights, and can guide you through the legal process.

We have a team of experts who are dedicated to protecting people's rights if they have been victims of domestic violence. We know all the ins and outs of the laws and procedures that go on when it comes to domestic violence cases. We will stand by you, advocate for you and help get you the justice you deserve.

We won't let you go through this experience alone. We will do everything we can to help you come out on top, and have your voice heard here in San Diego. Our support, legal guidance and attention to detail will ensure that you are treated with dignity every step of the way.

If you or someone you know is being abused, don't hesitate to reach out to us. A lot of people come here with questions about how to handle the situation and how they can change the world they live in. Our team of experienced people is ready to fight for your rights and help you seek the justice you deserve.

[hardlyinteresting]

Love, Guilt and Other Wounds

Aaron Hotchner x female reader

When Aaron and his partner are taken hostage, he has to break her heart to save her life.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, a little bit of domestic fluff, mention of blood, injury (non-graphic), hostage situation, knives, cannon-compliant themes of violence, non-detailed discussion about religion (Christianity), themes of childhood abuse, please let me know if you want me to add anything else.

Word count: (less than I expected, sorry) 3.7k  Request here! | Masterlist

"Of course, I’ll hurt you. Of course, you’ll hurt me. Of course, we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence". - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Aaron isn't sure if he believes in a God or a higher power. He was taught to read scripture; and spent Sunday mornings perfecting his posture in church pews-- starched shirts and neckties pulled too tight. The preacher's sermons left him wanting-- wondering how this man of God could stand over his congregation preaching every week, and not see all the lies they were holding back. How could he not see the secrets Aaron seemed to read so clearly? At just fourteen Aaron knew who was having an affair and with whom. He could see which children feared their fathers. Every pew had another story, another family growing together, or falling apart. The hypocrisy of it all drove him mad, and he imagined standing from his seat to shout it, overwhelmed as he realized he had unintentionally become the keeper of everyone's secrets. He learned that everyone in that church was a liar in their own right, and he hated it. But, when he left for college, his mother called to ask if he was still going to church on Sundays, and he lied and said yes. 

He should have paid more attention. Maybe then he'd understand how he ended up here. Perhaps it's some sick retribution. A cosmic evening of the scales; his penance for his sins. He just wishes you weren't here with him. How dare he think he could love someone when all he's ever done is punish those who love him? His hands are stained with blood; he taints everything he touches. 

Very early on in his career, Aaron learned he couldn’t take cases personally. As devastating as it was to have another victim show up while hunting a killer, it wasn’t a personal failure. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He repeated the process again and again. Logically he knows that he is not responsible for the actions of the aggressive sociopath who is now holding the two of you hostage; but, he blames himself for not keeping you safer, for bringing you with him, and for putting you in harm's way. He knows he will not recover if you don’t make it out of here. He won’t forgive himself. 

The profile said this man would be anti-social. Physically, he’d be small in stature. It was clear he’d been sneaking up on his victims. He had been taking couples, knocking out the men with a blow to the back of the head, and then the women. It’s a method that the team had seen before, common for UNSUBs without the social ability to lure their victims, or the physical strength or confidence to attack head-on. But they had not profiled that he would escalate to taking out his targets with a taser. 

After six days in San Diego, the team finally had a lead on two rental properties in the UNSUB’s comfort zone. One was an old tyre factory, listed as a multipurpose warehouse and storage space; the other was a large storage facility in an industrial neighbourhood. Both units had been paid for in cash, both offered the privacy and space required to hold and torture two people for days at a time. The team split up, Hotch and you arranged to meet the owner of the factory space to find out more about who the renter was and gain access to the property. With no response from the owner of the second property, Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi headed over to check it out. 

The two of you had only been on the property for five minutes before Aaron had been incapacitated and taken out. He had foolishly made his way into the building while you ran back to the SUV to grab your jacket. Out cold, there was nothing Aaron could do to stop you from meeting the same fate. 

It’s not his fault. But he feels like it is as he watches you shiver from across the room. He can’t be certain how much time has passed, but it feels like hours. He can only hope that you’re being kept in the building you were attacked in, that the team will connect the dots and come and get you, but until then you’re stuck. He watches, nauseated as your eyes flutter open, and then shut again. You’re concussed, he doesn’t need to be a doctor to know that. His ears are ringing, and he’s sure the blow he took to the head has at the very least temporarily worsened his hearing. 

“Doesn’t the FBI have rules against fraternization?” The UNSUB wonders out loud, waving a knife around as he walks towards you. 

“What makes you think we’re a couple?” Hotch asks, as he tries to work his hands free from the rope that binds them behind his back, “She’s just a colleague”. 

It’s a lie. But it needs to be said. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. Buy time, shift the UNSUB’s interest away from the two of you. Ruin the fantasy.

“I think I’ve been doing this long enough to know a couple when I see a couple, Aaron,” the man taunts, obviously proud of himself. He’s feeling emboldened having taken two FBI agents, but that works in your favour. He’s getting cocky, too full of himself. It’s a level of confidence he isn’t used to having, it just gives him a higher height to fall from. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. “I think it’s time we wake your girlfriend up,” the man says, his hand gripping tightly at your hair, your head tugged back without remorse. 

Aaron resists the urge to cringe as he hears you groan, your face twisted with obvious pain as you’re rudely awakened. “She’s pretty. What’s she doing with you?” 

“I told you. She’s a colleague”. 

Your eyes are unfocused, scanning the room trying to make sense of what is going on. 

The man raises the knife, holding it to your throat. This time Aaron blinks, desperate to control his expressions and micro-expressions. In this scenario, the less he cares about you, the safer you are. 

It’s the burden of being tied to him. Time after time his love destroys people. 

The blade presses closer to your throat. Aaron controls his breathing. 

“Impressive agent Hotchner. But I’m still not convinced,” the UNSUB moves the blade but pulls your head back further. Your eyes meet Aaron’s, “Do what you’re going to do, he doesn’t care,” you say. You’re speaking to the man with the knife in his hand as much as you’re speaking to Aaron. He weighs his options, his heart pounding as he watches you hold your breath, willing the tears to leave your eyes. It’s the permission he needs but doesn’t want.  Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He knows you’re doing the same, telling him to break your heart to save your life. 

“Please, Hotc--”. 

He doesn’t let you finish, “Just shut up for once. Please,” he thinks the words cut through him more than they cut through you. Knowing his cruelty is a lie does little to soften the blow, and it breaks his heart to be the one throwing it. 

But this is all he’s good for, isn’t it? Letting people down. Surely it’s not just coincidence that so many of those who have dared to love him end up damaged. One way or another he destroys people. Who is he to say that he’s the one who is suffering when it’s he who does all the damage? 

Even as a child, he couldn’t help it. He thinks perhaps he inherited his sharpened tongue and lack of patience from his mother. She loved him in her own way but could never show it without first tearing him apart. Her biting words, and regular beatings. Prentiss had been right when she once said he was distrustful of women-- unfairly so. Not all women carry the hateful, spiteful heart his mother had. Very few had ever turned their rage at the world and their shortcomings into a personal and violent rage against him. He grew weary nonetheless. Better safe than sorry.

 At a young age, it became clear to him that there were few things, if anything, as important to his mother than appearances. On Sundays, she fussed over his clothes and his posture. She lectured him on table manners from the moment he could hold a fork. His room had to be spotless. His grades had to surpass average. Long before his brother was ever born, he learned how to live up to her expectations. But still, there was always something she could find him lacking in, an excuse to take her open fist or wooden spoon to his skin, a reason to send him to bed without dinner. He remembers crashing into the china cabinet trying to escape her one night. She was mortified on Monday when he had to walk into school on Monday with a cast around his arm. “Make sure they know this was your fault,” she told him. Perhaps I was built to fail, he had thought. She loves me and I embarrass her. I will only ever let her down. God, how disappointed she would be to see him now.  

Seconds feel like hours as the UNSUB leers expectantly. The man's mouth twists into a smile when he sees the tears forming in your waterline again. Aaron watches your fist clench presumably to distract yourself from the migraine that matches the pounding in his head, just as much as it is to pull your attention away from the hurtful lies he's about to weave. 

“You were supposed to have my back,” Arron spits with faux vitriol. “You had one job and couldn't even manage to do that”. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. 

“From the moment you showed up I knew you'd be a problem”. 

He continues to try to work his hands out from the binds. He can feel the knot loosening as he continues to buy the two of you time. “Aaron,” you beg, tears slipping down your cheeks now. 

“Following me around with some school girl crush. Look where we are now,” Aaron breathes. 

He can feel his father’s rage resting on his shoulders, as heavy as his hands were when he used to pat him on the back. It’s a quiet burning, far more silent than his mother’s anger, but it’s there and threatening him all the same. A silent shame; a fear induced by the knowledge that he’s failing but not being able to stop it. His father lived like a ghost in their home, just as Aaron has learned to haunt his life. He only ever raised his voice when he drank, but even then his hatred was self-directed. A sorrowful self-pity. A cry for help. The affairs, the gambling, the drinking; the man punished himself, stumbling home to a house with a vengeful wife, a silent boy, and a crying baby. It was a heart attack that finally killed him, but Aaron never doubted his father had stopped living long before that. 

Aaron breaks his own heart as he delivers each verbal blow. He hopes you understand. He prays that just maybe your concussion might leave the memories of this moment blurry. Selfishly, he begs you to forgive him, because he won’t forgive himself. 

He can see the way your wrists strain against your restraints. The UNSUB adjusts his grip on your hair as you struggle to distance yourself from him. Your eyelids flutter and he knows your vision must be swimming but you don’t give up. With a sadistic grin, the UNSUB wipes at the tear stain on your cheek with fake sympathy, grasping your jaw roughly he forces you to look straight at Aaron, “Poor girl… guess boss man doesn’t care about you after all. What a waste,” he sighs his breath heavy against your cheek, as he moves to hold the knife to your throat again, “She’s so pretty,” he directs his commentary at Aaron this time. 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve slept with her. How couldn’t I when she was practically throwing herself at me?” The words taste bitter on his tongue as he speaks them. His stomach churns as he continues, “But what we have certainly isn’t love”. 

It couldn’t be further from the truth. Aaron grounds himself choosing to remember the quiet morning you two had shared only a few days earlier. Waking up without an alarm but with Jack sneaking in to jump up on the bed. As he watches you cry now he recalls how you had smiled so brightly at the little boy, ruffling his hair and cuddling Jack into your side. He had watched with a smile of his own as you bargained with his son, promising pancakes in exchange for ten more minutes of sleep on your shared day off. 

You crept into his heart so slowly he had hardly noticed. Until one day, he looked up from the bright pink sticky note you'd left on your recent report, reminding him not to work too hard; he knew, without a doubt, he was in love with you. 

For so much of his life, Aaron conditioned himself to expect a fight around every corner. He learned to make sacrifices from his happiness in fruitless attempts to keep peace. For the first time in forever he's been feeling like maybe, just maybe, he's enough. You’ve been more than patient with him; understanding his hesitance to open up to people again. You don't get upset with him for working late, but you scold him for not getting enough sleep and skipping meals. 

He smiles more. He cracks jokes the way he used to. You've helped him see the forest from the trees--  healed parts of him he didn’t know needed mending. He's tried to do the same for you. He's watched you open up and trust the team more. He's seen the way your confidence has grown and he can't take credit for your growth, but he's enamoured by the transformation just the same. 

You deserve better. You deserve better. You deserve better. The thought echoes in his head the same as it does most days. But now, it’s louder. The voice in his head matches the volume of the ringing in his ears, and the rushing sound of his pounding heart. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He fights to remind himself, but the UNSUB is laughing now. Taunting you and your emotions, and there’s nothing Aaron can do but sit there and watch. He struggles to feign indifference, watching as you continue to make yourself smaller. It’s only then that he notices that you too are working your hands out of the rope that restrains you. The UNSUB was stupid enough to tie your wrist in front of you.

Aaron’s eyes focus on the bandaid wrapped around your index finger. You cut yourself making dinner last week. He could have sworn his heart melted when you turned to him holding your hand out, blood beading already. “Aaron, where do you keep your first aid kit?” you’d asked. Your brows furrowed, and your lips pouted. “In the bathroom, the cabinet under the sink,” he’d answered with no intention of letting you go off and tend to your wound alone. Instead, he guided you down the hall, his left hand looped in a gentle hold around your wrist, his other hand on your waist. 

Once you were sat on the countertop he took great care, making sure the wound was cleaned before he bandaged it. “My hero,” you teased, leaning in for a kiss. 

A simple cut he could manage to fix. Jack promised you could use as many of his Star Wars bandaids as you wanted while you healed as well. A little love and patience could make it better, a philosophy he adopted to heal Jack’s scraped knees, and schoolyard bruises. But the sight before him now is far worse than any kitchen mishap could be. 

Your nose is still bleeding. Bruises have already begun to form, red marks turning deep purple with every passing minute. He knows that your concussion is something you'll recover from. The contact burns from where the taser touched your skin will become new skin someday soon. The cuts and scrapes will scab over and then disappear. 

Aaron worries the damage he's done can never truly be ameliorated. Your compassion is unmatched. It’s what makes you a good agent, a good partner, and someone Jack can turn to. You are forgiving. God knows you've excused enough of his behaviour. But, he doesn't deserve to be absolved of this guilt. He will carry this day around in the darkest corner of his heart; the same place he holds the memory of Haley and how he failed her. The words “what we have certainly isn't love,” will linger uneffaced by time or kind words. 

The squeak of an old door opening piques Aaron's interest. The UNSUB doesn't react. Seemingly only interested in tracing the tear tracks on your cheeks. Your eyes are closing again. It's over now, he wants to tell you. He wants to hold you; comfort you; to apologise because you deserve to hear it anyway.

“Paul Simpson. FBI,” Morgan’s voice booms, “drop the knife and put your hands where I can see them”. Prentiss and Dave come to stand next to Morgan, their guns trained on the newly identified perpetrator. Aaron bites his tongue so hard he can taste blood-- it's all he can do to stop himself from bursting into a fit of bitter laughter. We win, he wants to say. 

Disarmed and handcuffed, Paul is escorted outside by Morgan and two members of the local police. Prentiss and Rossi make quick work of untying you and Aaron. 

“Aaron?” he can hear you mutter, breathy and quiet. 

“Yeah, I’m right here,” he promises kneeling at your side. Your eyes are glazed and unfocused as you nod and tip forward. Unconscious, your entire body falls forward into Prentiss’ arms. Aaron’s voice joins Rossi in calling for a paramedic. 

The doctors assure him that you’ll wake up soon. They dealt with his injuries quickly. Bruised ribs are the worst of his injuries. A cut at the back of his head and the taser burns were patched in only a few minutes, though he’ll readily admit he was far from a good patient. Too anxious to keep still much to the nurse’s dismay. 

You’re still asleep. A major concussion will have you out of the field for much longer than he knows you’ll be happy with. He makes a mental note to start setting aside some extra paperwork for when you inevitably start hounding him for something to do. With the lights in the room dimmed, and a comfortable silence settling he allows himself to indulge in the illusion that everything might be alright between you. 

With your hand in his, he breathes deeply trying to focus. He prays to a God he’s not sure he believes in. And when the quiet starts to get to him, he speaks out loud, as silly as he thinks he may look. He tells you about the phone call he had with Jack earlier and lets you know that Jack has a new painting he can’t wait to show you when you get home. Your hand squeezes his, encouraging him to keep talking.

“Aaron?” your eyelids flutter as you adjust to the light. The nurse had them turned to the dimmest setting but it’s still far more than you feel immediately capable of coping with. 

“Yeah, honey,” he affirms. You release the breath you’re holding your brow relaxing.  

“I love you,” you tell him. Your voice is steady and steadfast. Your resolve is impressive, unwavering and determined as you focus on making eye contact with him. “It’s not your fault,” you promise. He’s sure you don’t expect the weight on his shoulders to lighten instantaneously. You’ll tell him every day that he’s not to blame; intent on chiselling away at his guilt, shrinking it down before it manages to consume him. 

“I love you,” he swears. He knows it won’t squash any of the doubt he’s planted. Aaron knows there will soon be days that the niggling insecurity threatens to break what you’ve managed to build together; when the worry that you aren’t enough seems louder than it ever has before. He won’t blame you if you decide it isn’t worth the pain of staying with him. But, he’s hell-bent on loving you through it. He can only hope that it’s enough. 

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism: I can fix him (no really I can)

G/N. Gun, DG, Sammy, Jakey, Ryuhei, Goo, Vin

You didn't roll up your sleeves, ready to fix the men that came into your life. As if you were some amber or red flag magnet, and you had ample time and energy and patience to sort out their issues. Somehow though, it happened anyway. Slowly. Little by little.

With yourself more of a dubious observer more than anything.

Only a fool would invite someone like Gun into their life and not expect troubles. The pitch black eyes are already an obvious omen.

Except. Gun has second thoughts around you. Peaks of humanity showing through his cracks. Fun for Gun used to be fights and bloodshed. Letting his demons out fully. He can never be completely tamed but he realises there's joy, a bone-deep peace, in other things too.

Namely, your company.

James plays his cards to his chest. As James Lee, as Diego Kang, as whoever he may be in the future.

Hides his intention and true character with a detached, arrogant smile. Buries into himself further with his shiny k-pop persona, not letting anyone see his authentic self.

Your touch first cracked his well polished veneer. Your words and keen eyes, astute and observant, blew the gap wide open.

He realises there's no more hiding with you.

Samuel doesn't lack motivation or discipline with most areas of his life. When it comes to his mental health though, it's sorely lacking. Though, delusional and lacking introspection, he never realised it was a problem until you.

He notices your smile dimming during the beginning of his spirals. Feels your absences as he plummets to rock bottom. Craves you with every part of his being as he soars into mania.

Your worried looks and trembling bottom lip gives him the final push he needs to want to improve.

Being Gapryong's son is a part of who Jake is, irrefutable and undeniable. As much as he likes to convince himself he is nothing like his dad, he has fortunately taken all his best traits and foregone the worst.

However. It takes someone like you to come along, that loves all the parts of him-

(Son of the legend of the Pre-generation, the Boss of Big Deal... And the quietest part, the part of him dimmed and muted through the challenges of life, simply Jake Kim, where he can be as he wants to be.)

-For him to finally accept all parts of himself too.

When Ryuhei crushes, falls, obsesses, he finds it hard to fit the whole image of someone in his head.

All their imperfections and flaws and faults are non-existent in his mind. Which sounds harmless and sweet at first thought, but he could never truly connect with anyone if he is only able to see his own perception of them.

But then you showed him all sides of you, forced him to acknowledge the good with the bad, experience the troughs with the peaks.

Until, over time, he fully sees every facet of you.

Being with Goo is like trying to domesticate a wild animal.

He has glimpses of docility assuming he is well fed and well entertained, though he is still likely to bite the hand that feeds at any moment. Of course, only someone used to getting his way would continue being this... deranged.

You take no prisoners. Uncompromising in the way you should be treated, respected, until Goo has no choice but to also fall in line if he wants to keep you by his side.

Vin keeps himself barbed and prickly. Masks his true feelings, his own insecurities, with jokes and insults. Has made more people cry than he can remember and ignores any guilt with a shrug of his shoulders.

He's not a sociopath. It's just that he's been this way for so long he doesn't know how to be anything else.

You cut through the bullshit, give him no judgement for who he is, how he looks, but how he acts.

His jokes are still rude. Insults still mean. But there's no longer any cruelty.

[inmyloveworld]

as usual (bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader)

word count: ~3.7k

synposis: the time for you to meet the Hard Deck, and the Daggers frequenting it, has finally come. but some digs on the oldest aviator of the bunch in front of his younger partner leave a tension between you that begs to be broken.

warnings: age gap (unspecified but in my mind was about 10 years), assumed alcohol consumption, allusions to anxiety, use of the pet name "bunny", jake is an instigator

a/n: this was NOT going to be this long in my head but once i got writing i could not stop.. enjoy some more self-indulgent comfort angst from me!

As usual, Bradley pulled up to your apartment complex right after a long day on base. And as usual, you were standing in the window like a pup waiting for its owner to come home. He made the comparison in earnest. It melted him to know someone was that excited to have him near, that you were that excited to have him near.

He could barely make it out of the Bronco before you were bounding out your door and down the stairs. Bradley had just rounded the passenger side when you reached him. The sinking sun somehow made your eyes sparkle brighter. Butterflies flew in his stomach, and a lovestruck grin spread across his face. Gentle hands caressed your hips as his caramel gaze took you in closely.

"Did you manage to lock the door?" Bradley teased. You softly grunted at the dig, feigning annoyance in a half frown. The front door and you were nothing if not eternal foes, and Bradley knew of this conflict too well.

"I resent that, I really do." His responding laugh was all it took to break your weak facade. A smile overtook you as you lit up once again to be in his presence. Your hands found home at the base of his neck as your lips greeted each other. Seconds moved in hours whenever you kissed Bradley Bradshaw. He made the noise of the world lift into a soft hum with every touch.

It was understandable that you whined whenever he pulled away. "We're gonna be late," Bradley bargained. Your mouth fell into a soft pout that he was happy to peck away into a smile, and into giggles once his lips found your cheeks, and nose, and temples.

"I thought you said we'd be late!" you laughed as you batted him away to slip into the passenger side. He held the door open for you, like the gentleman Carole had raised him to be. Then he bent to kiss you more softly, like the gentleman his father was.

"You are always worth it." You couldn't fight the flush that broke onto your cheeks to crowd the makeup already present. Blush served little purpose with Bradley lighting your cheeks aflame every chance he got. Nor highlighter, with the glow you seemed to emanate since the day he walked into your life.

His hand found home on your thigh, yours placed atop it to toy with his calloused fingers. The Bronco drove off to the famed bar where he and his naval companions flocked. Such companions were eager to meet the girl who settled their "Rooster" into domestic life.

"Cupid's sure been hard at work," Phoenix remarked upon catching her best friend cheesing at the texts you sent him. Whatever force in the world brought you to him, be it Cupid or God or Nick and Carole themselves, he was grateful. Never had he felt so complete.

"How was work today, bunny?" Bradley asked. A simple question most would roll their eyes at, you jumped to answer. You were eager to tell him of every detail: the pesky clientele, the interdepartmental dramas, even how poorly the coffee was brewed. Excitement ran through you and, by proxy, to Bradley. "Bunny" was a nod to the energy that filled you and energized others, much like the battery mascot.

Your anecdotes filled the minutes driving through the bustle of San Diego rush hour. Bradley glanced over at you every chance he got, adding in commentary where he saw fit but mostly admiring the expressions taking over your face.

He could listen to you ramble for hours, he was certain, as you did for him in his own moments of boundless vigor. An equal partnership seemed unattainable with the women he'd met through the years yet came easily with you.

What place did age have to stall a feeling like that?

-

Some last-minute Bronco kisses had you and Bradley walking into the Hard Deck five minutes behind schedule. His arm was wrapped around your waist, his hand tucked into the front pocket of your jeans to keep you snug against his side. Still, he let you lead the way, content to follow you wherever you found your feet.

You gawked at the space already half packed with people in uniform, a few civilians bridging the gaps. Various signs and regalia littered the space between windows. The perfect sunset view of the beach was on every wall. Miniature aircraft figures crowded the ceiling in permanent flight.

"Is this place for real?" you remarked, earning a kiss on your cheek from Bradley.

"That it is, bunny. As far back as my pops and Maverick," he answered, stopping as he caught his first familiar face. Bradley took the moment to lead you, bringing you to an open space at the bar. "And now in the hands of this lovely lady here. You remember-"

"Penny!" The excitement in your voice brightened the owner right up. Bradley's heart performed somersaults at your cheer. "This place is incredible!"

Penny tried to humble herself under your praise. "Hey, it's the nicest Navy daycare I could imagine." You giggled at the quip, making her break a smile. You quizzed her on her run of the bar as she pulled a draft for Bradley and mixed a margarita for you. The two of you initially met when Bradley brought you to Maverick's hangar. She was just as endeared then as she was now by your bright spirit and compassion for others.

Once you were settled with your drinks, you attempted to tip her out. Penny was quick to push the cash back at you with a wink. "On the house for you tonight. Call it my welcome gift." You must have thanked her half a dozen times as you moved across the bar. A small table against the wall was your target; somewhere to ground your drinks for when you inevitably got spotted-

"Bradshaw!" The time came sooner than you predicted. A brunette tagged with a name you'd heard too many times to count found her way to you. A man in true aviator glasses followed closely behind. Part of you tensed in anticipation. Still, your outgoing nature won over any resistance.

"Phoenix? Bradley has told me so much about you!" You reached out a hand to her. Her eyes slowly followed the gesture as if examining it.

Phoenix took her time to speak up. "So you're the one who's got Bradshaw off in la-la land?"

You blinked, trying to read into her tone. "I-I think so?"

"Phoenix, play nice," Bradley warned. She scoffed at him, finally grabbing your hand to shake.

"I haven't seen the old bird this happy in ages," Phoenix said as she met your eyes. A real smile tugged at her mouth. You were quick to mirror it as you relaxed. "Keep him that way; he flies better."

Bob followed up with his own introduction. It was hard for Bradley to contain his joy at the moment, even with the slight brows Phoenix threw his way. He hadn't told her the details of the age difference in passing; he hadn't thought it important. Bob was none the wiser, simply offering a game of darts to share amongst the four of them.

"Oh, I LOVE darts!" you exclaimed. "But be warned, it's rare that I actually hit the board."

Phoenix chuckled. "Your boy's not too good himself. We ought to split you apart so Bob and I are more evenly matched." Bradley rolled his eyes, though the interaction had his heart soaring. You were happy as can be getting to know his closest friends. They seemed happy as can be getting to know you.

Questions were passed between throws, Bob asking about your work and Phoenix asking about your relationship. It was the kindest form of interrogation you could've envisioned. Meanwhile, the empty pool table behind you was beckoning another group of aviators in your direction.

The tallest of the trio, a man with a square jaw and dark eyes, was quick to single you out. "Now, who's this pretty young thing you guys rounded up to play?"

You turned to make his acquaintance briefly, your usual cheery demeanor receding some. No person with words like that would get the better of you. Instead, you drew in a breath as you threw the last dart of your turn, hitting a triple ring in the process.

"Bradley!" you squealed. He drew you in happily as you jumped into his embrace. "Did you see?! Did you see?!"

An answer was pressed to your lips, leaving you breathless in the aftermath. Bradley hummed at your slightly dazed expression. "That's my girl."

He felt the stares of Harvard, Fanboy, and Coyote burning holes into the floral print shirt he adorned. No mind was paid to any of them, though; not until you solicited it yourself. "You must be more of Bradley's.. coworkers?"

The man of middle height held his hand out for you with a charming grin. "Lieutenant Javy Machado, or 'Coyote' if you'd rather." You were introduced to the other two, with Harvard taking some quizzical glances your way.

"I can't help but wonder, how'd you get shacked up with this fossil?" The audience around you laughed, Bradley included. He had mentioned he was a bit older than his team, giving rationale to the jest and the 'old bird' comment Phoenix made earlier. Still, something in these remarks began to itch you. You were quick to table the feeling, certain it was only your misunderstanding among old friends.

You went on to indulge them in the story of your mildly embarrassing meet-cute. A few other aviators popped in to make their introductions, Payback and Omaha namedly. It seemed that each of them, in due time, had to take their shot at ragging on Bradley's age. He brushed each one-liner off in spades, settling any greater debate with an amused chuckle rather than a defense.

The itch in you was replaced by a gnawing in your gut. You worked to suppress it as best as you could, wanting to make a perfect evening for your partner: the one who kissed you when you shot well in darts and pulled you to the piano to serenade you front and center.

But the words echoing in your ears began to shrink you in your bearings. Suddenly, you had little to say in response to any harmless question. You certainly had less to say as Harvard and Hangman were questioning why you were with Bradley "of all people". Bradley himself had gone to the bathroom, trusting you would be safe and at ease in the company of his friends. It was only upon his return that he was made to see how wrong he'd been.

Bob, the perfect wallflower, had noted the shift in your behavior. He stood by and watched as the dazzling person he was first introduced to started to lose their spark. The WSO watched as you tried to fake smiles and laugh along to the jokes cracked. None of it reached your gaze that began to dart around, as if looking for refuge. Bradley was clueless, too caught up in the moment of his worlds merging to notice one was falling back.

He returned from the bathroom and attempted to dart to your side, stopped only by Bob's light grip on his arm. "Rooster, something's up with your girl." Bradley froze. He scanned the bar, locking onto where you sat with a pair of his friends. Confusion filled him. The night had gone so well. You were getting along with everyone, even Hangman. What could possibly be wrong?

"Just trust me," Bob pleaded, practically seeing the calculations Bradley was attempting in his head. It was seeing your hands nervously fiddling together that confirmed to him Bob was right. He clapped his friend's shoulder, uttering a gracious thanks before making his way over to you.

"Mind if I cut in?" It was nothing more than a courtesy. Bradley would not let you stew in your own head a second longer. "I think we ought to be heading out soon, bunny."

Bradley outstretched his hand to you, which you gladly placed yours into. He pulled you up from the booth with ease and waved his goodbyes to the pair left at the table.

Hangman would not settle for courtesies. "Aww, come on, old man; can't you let her stay out past curfew?"

You barely had a breath to react before Bradley did with yet another chuckle. If nothing churned your stomach that night, the sound of his amusement at this running gag did. You managed your goodbyes to everyone in passing well enough as you exited the bar. The Bronco was a relieving and suffocating sight at the same time.

Silence: that was all Bradley had been given as he led you to his car. A frown fixed on his face. You were keeping a firm distance between the two of you where normally there would be none. Your fingers danced with each other in a nervous rhythm where normally they were laced with his own. Something was seriously wrong, but he hadn't the faintest idea as to what.

Bradley held the passenger door open for you, as usual, and had to hold back a gracious sigh as you let him. You would not so much as look at him since leaving his friends, but he held onto the simple gesture as a sign of hope.

He dared to lean in to catch your lips against his, only to be met by the soft skin of your cheek. Bradley stuttered backward. You had turned away from his kiss.

"Take me home, Rooster." An icy cold poured through him. You had met him in uniform, full with his "Rooster" embellishment, but had never once used the name. And he was starting to wish you never had, for the distant feeling it brought chilled him to the bone.

Bradley hopped into his seat and got the Bronco in motion toward your apartment. Maybe you needed the fresh air and the sights of the city to cool off, he thought. However, with each mile, the tension was growing thicker. He felt it in the silence walling you from him. He felt it as your quad contracted under his subconscious grip, so much that he was growing nauseous himself.

Bradley was a worrywort by default. It's why he hesitated in the air. It's why he hesitated with almost everything in his life. You had been the one piece of his existence that brought him such thoughtless bliss. Had he been too thoughtless to not notice where things were souring?

As quickly as you had raced down, you were flying up the stairs to your apartment. The thud of the passenger door slamming startled him. Bradley barely parked by the time you were halfway up the flight. He locked the doors and jogged up in the path you'd made.

His stature made it fairly easy to catch up to you. That, and the fumbling of your fingers with your key in the villainized deadbolt. You were cursing silently to yourself as you tried and failed to get the lock to turn just right. Tears began to blur your vision, making the simple task even more frustrating.

Bradley's voice was gentle, apologetic already. "Here, let me-"

"Just go home, Rooster; I don't need a fucking babysitter!"

Your response comes out sharp and cold. Your use of his callsign half an hour ago might have chilled him, but this sudden outburst froze him from the inside out. It wasn't long until you froze up yourself and realized the words you let fly.

"Whoa.. where did that come from?"

Bradley didn't receive an answer; not verbally, at least. The only response he received from you was the clutter of your keys against the ground as you tucked your chin into your chest. Soft whimpers began to shake your frame. Within seconds, your resolve gave way to desperate cries pouring from your throat. Bradley's heart cracked.

He moved into action, tucking you into his broad chest and letting you lean your weight into him. Light shushes and repetitions of "It's alright" rushed to console you. Bradley held you upright with one arm as he bent over to swipe your keys into his grasp.

"Come on; let's get inside, yeah?" he cooed as he stood back up. You said nothing and continued to cry into his white tank. Mascara stains were sure to form, but he couldn't care less.

Bradley got your door unlocked in a single try. He propped you safely against the wall as he locked the entry behind himself. You felt like you were floating with his help to get to the couch. There was no resistance or fight in you; only fear.

His hands were on your knees, rubbing soothing circles against the bare skin your jeans exposed. Bradley knelt down in front of you. He waited for you, any tell that you were ready to talk, as long as you needed.

You gathered a hiccuped breath as your sobs faded to sniffles. Your trembling hands reached for him, feeling the warmth of his grasp almost instantly. Bradley gingerly kissed your knuckles on each hand. "Talk to me, bunny." Head lifting, you finally met his worried stare. "What's going on?"

It was a simple question that had a simple answer. Yet, as you tried to form the words, you felt a rush of embarrassment. How ridiculous was it to get so worked up over some lighthearted fun? There was no reason for you to have this sick feeling in your stomach over it.

"Hey," Bradley called, moving a hand up to hold your cheek. His thumb swept at the tears still pouring from your lash line. You hadn't noticed your line of sight drifting away from him with your train of thought. As you found his face again, you saw greater desperation. He ached to know, to help. "Talk to me. Please."

And you did. Grabbing onto his hand with both of yours, you released a heavy sigh. "Tonight was great. Everyone was so nice and welcoming. They all seem like really good people, a-and I'm glad you have them in your life to support you."

Bradley managed a sad smile. Even through your own pains, you were searching for the best to make of the situation for him. He squeezed your hands holding his to comfort you in letting the other shoe drop.

"But.. I-I know you're older than them. I'm sure that, that they make those jokes around you a lot, and did way before you met me. It just.." You stopped yourself, shaking your head as if to shake the thought away. "It's probably so stupid-"

"It's not stupid if it's got you this upset."

Oh, Bradley. The only man you'd ever encountered who genuinely yearned to empathize with you at every struggle or hardship. The person who encouraged you to feel things through in a healthy manner instead of immediately pointing blame at yourself for feeling it at all. No person at any age topped the level of emotional care and safety he provided you.

Your words started to flood out, mixing together in disarray. Yet, Bradley listened intently to every fragmented sentence you gave. "I care about you. So much, B; so much it's scary sometimes. And I don't ever think of the years between us because it's all meaningless, you know? The way I feel for you, and how I think you feel for me. We each have our shit sorted, there's no weird power dynamic bullshit going on."

He restrained a laugh at your frank vocabulary. It was one of the things he admired most about you. When your feelings spilled out, there was never a filter. You expressed yourself entirely authentically. That's why your earlier silence frightened him into his own.

That was not to say your troubles were easy for him to hear, because they weren't. Who wanted to hear that the person they loved ever doubted as such?

"All those jokes… I don't want your friends to not take me seriously. That I'm with you for any reason other than you make my life so much better just by being in it, and I hope to god I can do the same for you. I don't need you to take care of me, be my 'sugar daddy' or anything like that. And-" You pursed your lips as another sob caught in your throat.

Bradley leaned in to kiss your forehead, so tenderly it sent chills down your spine. Your lips parted to release that choked cry. "I-I was scared when you just.. just laughed with them, that, that you didn't take me seriously e-either."

The words were a knife in his chest. "Oh, baby, no," he nearly gasped. "No, no; I never have thought like that, bunny."

You began to cry once more; out of the feelings you'd held that evening, out of the faint insecurity you'd held the months you'd spent together, and out of relief to hear him reassure you. The mix of emotions was blowing you over.

"Can I come up there, baby? Can I hold you?" Your answer was in the frantic way you pulled at his hands. Bradley fell into your ragged loveseat in an instant, tugging you into his lap as you wept. He rubbed up and down your back and pressed kisses into your hair to soothe you.

His voice was warped with his own emotion when he spoke next. "I'm so sorry I ever made you doubt how I feel about you. You are worth so much more than your age." He cupped your cheek again to meet your watery gaze with his own.

"You're incredible. The way you navigate life so carefree and full of light, and how you pass that feeling onto everyone you meet. How you care about everyone you meet and effortlessly brighten their day. How you care about me so much that you're this worried that I don't know it."

Your tears rolled freely onto the skin of his fingers, your body jolting with hiccups. And Bradley thought you were every bit as beautiful as you'd ever been.

"But I do. And I will treasure that, I will treasure you, every day of my life." Your responding smile was the most welcome sight. It cleared up the dark clouds that were looming overhead to shine brightly on whatever was to come. As usual.

-

a/n: this was very VERY loosely proofread but i am open to feedback and suggestions! thank you all for reading <3

tags: @roosterforme, @avengersfan25

[vivwritesfics]

Slow Down, You're Gonna Crash

Chapter Three

Summary: Being a Verstappen means realising that you'll never be as good as her brother. She knew it. That was why she ran away to California. Of course, she's gonna fall for the older, naval aviator. And, of course, it pisses her family off.

Bradley Bradshaw x F1!Driver Reader

Warnings: Allusions to smut

1.5K

Series Masterlist

Would she have stayed in San Diego if it wasn't for the handsome aviator she had spent the night in a few days ago? No. No she would have been on her way, off to the next state.

But here she still was, in San Diego, staying in that shitty motel. She had called on Bradley Bradshaw, more times than she cared to admit. Every day he was working, but then he'd pick her up once he was finished, in his aviator uniform (you know, those hot overalls), and take her... wherever, showing her around North Island.

On her third night of overstaying her welcome in San Diego, she returned to The Hard Deck. Bradley had said he was going to be there and that she should join him, and who was she to say no to that?

She pulled up in the McLaren, parking herself beside the Bronco. Bradley's Bronco. She couldn't stop herself from smiling as she climbed out of the McLaren.

She didn't know about the group of aviators inside, updating Bradley about the super cool car they'd seen a few days ago. The car that Bradley definitely hadn't seen because he was 'too busy making eyes at that girl'.

Bradley said nothing. He didn't tell them that he knew who the McLaren belonged to. He didn't tell them that she'd be on her way now.

He lifted his beer to the lips, looking towards the door as she walked in. And, when Bradley looked, the rest of his old squad did to. Simply because he wasn't listening, and Mickey and Reuben wanted to know what on earth could have been more interesting than the fucking cool McLaren they'd seen a few days ago.

But then they saw it, outside of The Hard Deck. That fucking cool McLaren they'd seen a few days ago. "No way," Mickey couldn't stop himself from saying as Bradley ordered her a drink (gin and tonic, he'd learnt that by now).

"Hey," he said, passing her the drink as she tucked herself into his side. It looked far too domestic for two people that hardly knew each other.

"Hey," she replied, mirroring him as she looked up at him. She pulled his aviators from his face and tucked them into his shirt pocket.

And just as Bradley opened his pretty mouth, just as he was about to say something, he was interrupted. "Rooster!" Mickey shouted. "That McLaren is back! The person that owns it has got to be in here."

Bradley simply looked from Mickey to her. "Do you wanna tell him?" He asked, gently squeezing her shoulder

"Fine," she said and rolled her eyes, but it wasn't malicious. She shoved her gin and tonic into Bradley's hand and held her hand out towards Mickey. "Yeah, it's my Mclaren. Or, I'm borrowing it from a friend."

"Dude, who the hell are you friends with?"

She wore a sort of mischievous smile as she shrugged her shoulders.

But she didn't get a chance to say much more. Not before another, much older man approached. His smile was so white it was almost blinding as he greeted the woman behind the bar fondly, and then greeted the squad.

His eyes locked onto her. "Holy shit," he couldn't stop himself from saying as he pulled down his sun glasses. And then he said her name, the pronunciation of Verstappen perfect.

Her heart dropped as everyone, including Bradley, looked at her. But she let that painted, PR smile cross her lips. "Big Formula One fan?" She asked as she took her drink from Bradley's hands.

"Incredibly big," he said as a drink was passed to him. "I was in Vegas last year, saw your drive, it was incredibly impressive."

She paused, straw between her lips. The grumble she released wasn't supposed to be audible, but she couldn’t exactly control that. "Yeah, Vegas was a shit show," she mumbled. "Celebrated the end of it like the sun would never rise, though."

She didn't say the things she wanted to about Vegas, that it was the best drive her team had seen all year, but it still wasn't enough to keep her seat. There was anger that burned in her chest, but she pushed it away as she finished her drink.

Suddenly there was a crowd of aviators around her, asking her question after question. She tried to answer as best as she could, but the questions just kept coming. It was too much, all too much, and she couldn't get away. Back pressed against the bar, she answered as many questions as she could.

But she couldn't stop herself from looking around in panic for Bradley. He'd been next to her just moments ago, where the hell had he gone?

When she stumbled over an answer, she was ready to throw up. But then the bell from the bar rang. All of the aviators stopped and looked towards the bar owner. "Who's tab?" One of the younger ones had asked.

The bar owner shook her head. "No tab, just leave the poor girl alone," she said.

The aviators backed off, returning to the pool table and the darts board. She sat up at the bar, ready to order herself a drink (since Bradley had apparently ordered her a new one and taken off with it).

But, as she sat, the older aviator, the one who had recognised her, sat on the bar stood beside her. "Sorry about that," he said as he finished his drink. "I can't help but think I started that."

She shrugged her shoulders as the bar owner placed the gin and tonic in front of her. "Just surprised that somebody out here recognised me. I thought most of the states was into Nascar," she muttered.

Maverick laughed, his way of trying to ease the tension. But she didn’t laugh back. So, he took the next logical step and shifted the focus of the conversation away from her. "How d'you know Bradley?"

Her shoulders raised and fell in a shrug. "Oh, you know. From around, sleeping together, all that shit," she mumbled and finished her second gin and tonic, piano music starting up from somewhere in the bar.

As soon as her glass was back down on the bar top, she slipped out of her seat. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for Bradley and, more importantly, her missing gin and tonic.

She found Bradley at the piano, pressing his fingers to the keys. His fingers were big, she knew from experience, but they played such delicate music. She sat on the bench next to him and took a drunken minute (which, in reality, was a minute and a half) to listen.

"I thought you said you were a car mechanic," said Bradley, over the delicate sounds of Billy Joel (yes, he was particularly fond of Jerry Lee Lewis, especially after all of the stories his mother had told him about his father, but he saved that for when the bar was packed, when there were oh so many people gathered around the piano, singing along with him. While the bar was quiet, Bradley played other songs he had learnt through his childhood.)

She let out a breath. "Would you have treated me differently if I was honest?" She asked and laid her head against his shoulder.

Bradley couldn't answer that. He didn't know if he would have treated her any differently if he knew who she was. A rather large part of him knew that he wouldn't, that he'd be the same gentleman that he had been since the moment he met her, but the was that small bit of doubt in the back of his mind.

The music dimmed with less notes to fill it as he reached up for her gin and tonic. He passed it to her and placed it in her hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Sing along with me," he said and went back to playing.

That she was happy to do. She couldn't couldn't play the piano, she couldn't sing, but she was still having the time of her life.

And, as she got into it, the door of The Hard Deck opened. Bradley didn't turn around the greet the person, so she didn't greet them either. She was having too much fun, shouting the lyrics to the song at Bradley as he did the same to her.

It took all of her willpower to keep singing, to not stop him to kiss him.

"Have you guys seen that sweet McLaren outside?" Asked the person who walked over to the piano, interrupting the singing. She rolled her eyes when he let out a whistle.

But, after all of their prodding, the rest of the dagger squad thought the McLaren was old news, too. Why wouldn't they when they had a Formula One Driver singing with their Rooster. "Shut up, Bagman," One of them called, and the singing resumed.

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