#elle hasn’t left yet but i want her back already

[thepeachyouhadtopick]

ANYTHING BUT ORDINARY | Chapter One

Summary: Ell Rose is a famous musician from England. Desperate to break America with her new album, and after the shocking breakdown of her previous relationship, she has left the UK and moved to LA. Soon enough, her best friend Steve-O introduces her to his ‘Jackass’ colleagues, bringing Ell some surprising attention, and, ultimately, a whole new chapter in her life.

Notes: Ell is an original character. The timeline of Jackass is as accurate as possible, however this is an AU where Stephanie Hodge is still part of the group, Johnny hasn’t been married or had kids, Ryan doesn’t die, Bam doesn’t get thrown out of the group. Please take any other changes with a pinch of salt as things may have been altered to fit the narrative. Any other famous people mentioned are as accurate as possible but again may have things changed to suit the story. Any music by Ell mentioned in this is real music as I find that they're a good fit to Ell's story and personality, this is just an AU where they are by Ell. A link to any music mentioned - either songs by Ell or other songs soundtracking the story - will be at the top of each chapter. The story will most likely have mentions of sex, drugs, alcohol, a previous unhappy relationship, mental illness, self-harm, plus the usual injury mentions that you’d expect with a Jackass fic, so I will update tags accordingly. For those here for Johnny Knoxville, I'm afraid he doesn't actually appear in this chapter but he is in the next one so stay tuned!

April 2000. A perfectly nice day. Ell Rose was stuck deep in some songwriting - notebooks of lyrics, screwed up paper and musical instruments strewn across her LA apartment as she pieced together a brand new song. Her laptop was open in front of her, and she’d just received a new email from her record label.

‘Just not quite there yet, sorry’ read the email.

Another rejection - she’d lost count of how many times she’d been told to rework her latest track for her second album.

Slamming her laptop lid closed with frustration, Ell grabbed her skateboard and stormed out of the front door of her apartment, tears pricking her eyes. Her dream was dying, everyone around her seemingly totally against her. She was sick of nothing being right for anyone else, and she wished she had the nerve to leave her label. But if she did that, she’d have to move back home with her tail between her legs. She couldn’t face that, not after the break up as well. It already hurt enough, but to go back and be so physically closer to him again made her terrified. Ell felt so lonely in LA, everyone seemed fake, happy to be around her until they got what they wanted whether that was money, drugs, or a quick fuck. Just like being back in the UK, really. As she skated through the streets of Hollywood all she wanted to do at this moment was ride headfirst straight through a window.

But she didn’t. Instead she sped round a couple of corners to the only other place in LA that she currently felt happy. Her friend Steve-O’s place. She was glad to at least have one real friend out here, and even though he was one of the dumbest guys she had ever met, he was also enormously caring and supportive of her.

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[miatsai]

Bitter Medicine omake

otherwise known as "correct incorrect Bitter Medicine," or maybe "incorrect correct Bitter Medicine." either way, spoilers for anyone who hasn't finished, though as a person who doesn't care about spoilers, i think you can go ahead and read regardless.

Tony barges into Elle’s house on the heels of an unlocking glyph, entering as insouciantly as the wind itself. Sure, he might have a spare key, but there’s no fun in using it, nor is there any fun in ringing the doorbell like some normal person who respects boundaries. Like a cat, Tony believes he’s meant to be anywhere and everywhere. Unlike a cat, however, he won’t pee on something to mark his territory.

Before the character of 開 even fades from his fingertips, he’s met with, in order: a chokehold; a knife at his throat; and a cold-faced, dead-eyed Luc.

But Tony is prepared. Despite what his sister thinks of him, he’s not the carefree, vain playboy she believes he is. A significant amount of the time, yes, he is, but he has his life and his affairs in order, which was not a goal Elle could boast of achieving a year ago. Tony is well aware that Luc was alerted to his presence by the sound of the car pulling up the drive and by the cadence of Tony’s footsteps on the front walk. The whole manufactured situation serves multiple purposes. It’s a test of Luc’s readiness, for one thing, and maybe it’s a bit of a hazing, too, for daring to shack up with Elle, but most importantly, it’s Tony’s way of getting Luc close.

The chokehold never lands, nor does the knife. Tony exhales cheerfully as Luc stops half a centimeter away, kept from touching Tony through use of a shell glyph and a generous borrowing of Shénnóng’s qì. Luc takes a second too long to relax, and it’s that second Tony uses to flip into his second sight—no, that makes him sound like a mystic—his qì eyes—no, not that either—his Tony Vision. He scans Luc quickly from head to toe, taking note of Luc’s meridians and energy centers, making sure everything remains as put as it was when Tony had anchored those points months ago. They sometimes look like they might not stay put, which necessitates these checkups. Tony already has had to make tiny, secret adjustments, which Luc has taken as Tony being overly handsy and affectionate.

Elle is harder to fool, and Tony’s just waiting for the day when she sits him down with a pot of tea and asks, in a direct but gentle fashion, how much time Luc has left.

Tony pushes clear of Luc, whose face hasn’t yet freed itself completely from being in “destroy” mode. “You’re armed in your own house?”

Luc flicks his switchblade closed and takes a step back. “A strange, unwanted man keeps intruding. I stay vigilant.”

“She’ll leave you if you kill me.” Grant appears from behind the couch and twines himself around Tony’s legs. Tony leans down to give the orange tom a scratch.

“Don’t give me a reason to, then. Why are you here?”

“I’ve decided,” Tony says, straightening, “that the inside and outside of your house is ugly. I can’t do much about the inside yet—”

“I don’t take interior design pointers from someone who considers his own portrait the height of décor,” Luc interrupts.

“But the outside is a greige mess and that, I can fix.” Tony spreads his arms wide. “I’ve a bit of a green thumb, if I do say so myself, and some color would really enliven this place. It’s a millennial color scheme dream, which means it’s really a nightmare.”

Luc’s face, which had shifted away from murder to blatant distaste, returns to murder. “No.”

The sliding door to the backyard opens, and Elle enters, her eyes narrowed. “Tony, you have a key! Don’t tell me you broke the doorframe again with 開! I told you specifically to use 開鎖!”

“First, is that any way to greet your elder brother, and second, your doorframe is fine, and I used 開 only on the lock and not the door, so please unclench over property damage.”

“He wants to do landscaping,” Luc says. “I have said no. This is a rental.”

“And that’s my problem . . . how?” There are already plants in the backseat and trunk of Tony’s car. He doesn’t believe in asking permission, only begging forgiveness.

“Oh, no,” Elle says, lifting an ink-stained hand and covering her eyes briefly. “Tony, you can’t.”

“Oh, yes, I can.”

“Absolutely not.” Luc’s voice is fetchingly firm. Add in that accent, and it’s no wonder Elle’s done what she’s done.

“It’s too late. I’ve got my buddies in the car. I’m going to make the front of your house look like someone who gives a damn lives here.”

Elle heaves a sigh. “You might as well give up, Luc. Tony gets really weird about plants.”

“I miss my friends.” It had broken a piece of Tony’s heart to leave his plants behind in Raleigh. He’d tended some of them for over a decade. They’d been his longest relationships outside his family.

“I told you,” Elle says. “Really weird. Let him do it and see what happens.”

“You’ll have a beautiful yard, is what’s going to happen.” Tony pulls a fresh pair of gardening gloves out from his back pocket, then slaps them into his open palm. “You’ll see. This is going to be the Redfin star of the block.”

Elle takes hold of Luc’s hands, gripping them hard enough for her knuckles to show white. “You go and do that, Tony. Enjoy yourself.”

It is perhaps a little alarming how easily Elle is rolling over and showing her belly, but Tony sets the warning feeling in his gut aside. He’s doing her a favor. He’s doing himself a favor as well because he can’t stand being in places that aren’t beautiful. Somehow, even though Elle is churning out calligraphy and paintings from her chaos shack in the yard, there isn’t a single piece of hers on the walls. There probably aren’t even nail holes. Luc’s doing, no doubt.

“I’ll let you know when I’m done!” Tony says.

“I’m sure you will,” Luc mutters.

***

“My hydrangeas!” Tony wails three weeks later, standing aghast in front of Elle’s house. The driver’s-side door to his car is open. The engine is still running; the keys are swinging from the ignition. He’s probably breaking some California law against idling, but he doesn’t care.

The row of bushes he planted in front of the house is gone as if it never existed, replaced by a mulch bed. A single sphere of blue hydrangea flowers lies wilting atop it, taunting him. The reason for the multiple paper compost bags at the curb becomes stunningly clear. Clear, too, is the danger he’s presently about to be. “Luc, what the fuck!”

The curtains to the front windows are drawn slowly open, and Luc’s face appears. He unlocks the window and pushes it up, the frame screeching against itself. “I told you not to do it. Elle told you not to do it. You did it anyway. You’ve only yourself to blame.”

“Is it a crime to be beautiful?” Tony cries.

“You didn’t match the plants to others in the hydrozone, you didn’t account for the runoff, the existence of which breaks the county code, you didn’t ask permission from the landlord, and you didn’t plant according to the HOA bylaws.” Luc rattles off all the rules Tony has broken in a deadpan voice. “And you’re idling. Shut the car off.”

Tony stomps over to the car and yanks the keys out, then slams the door extra loud. “Your landlord sucks.”

“You owe me for my time, materials, and labor. I will email you an invoice.” Luc shuts the window and draws the curtains.

Tony would laugh if he weren’t so upset at the waste of living things. He’s got a love of greenery on account of growing up surrounded by wilderness. He’d talked to those hydrangeas as he’d planted them, dammit, and told them he was proud of them and everything. He might have also added a little bit of magic to speed them along their way. Last week, orbs of pink and green and white and blue had greeted him, making Elle’s house the prettiest on the block. This week, it’s back to being a house only HGTV and gentrifiers could love.

His phone buzzes with a text. Tony fishes it out, staring at the screen as he realizes the text is from Elle. I’m sorry, it reads. You do kind of owe Luc, though.

“Owe him for what?” Tony hollers at the windows.

A moment later, his phone buzzes again. He didn’t say anything when our landlord sent a nastygram. He didn’t say anything when the HOA showed up at the door. He covered for you and said he’d take out the plamts

The phone buzzes again. Plants*

It buzzes a fourth time. I think that’s worth a thank you, don’t you? He’s jock about the invoice.

And a fifth time. Jocking

Buzz number six. Not jocking! Joking! I hate autocorrect!

Tony texts back furiously. You can turn that shit off you know. and thanks i guess for not snitching. i won’t charge you for the plants and labor and luc can not charge me for his labor and we’ll call it even

The curtain is pushed aside, and Luc opens the window again. “It is not even.”

Elle opens the door, though in reality, she opens it, Luc shuts it, and she opens it again. “It’s even. Mulch is not that expensive and Luc had a great time ruining your day, except for the part where he stank. Come in, Tony. Want some tea?”

Of course Tony wants tea that he doesn’t have to make. He hides a smile as he thinks about Luc smelling like mulch. He was probably in hell, that fastidious asshole. “No one can snitch on me if I handle the interior, right?”

The last thing Tony sees is Luc’s glare in the magical California sunlight before the door slams shut.

[bradshawburner]

Elle, I’m so sorry I was late but I’m here now! I made it! AND I KNEW IT WAS GOING TO HURT BUT EVEN SO I WAS UNPREPARED😭😭 I’m so tender. This was heartbreaking and lovely.

This tore my heart out in the best and worst of ways. Getting to go through those moments we know that happened, but being dipped into the emotions of them? Big OOF.

All the feels and thoughts for you beneath the cut.

Bradley wakes up to his alarm clock blaring in his ear, feeling like he’s going to throw up, which is weird for him. // Eighteen-year-olds have stomachs of steel, his mom jokes when she’s having a good day.— god I’m already bracing for the punch to the gut I’m expecting. Just me waiting for that shoe to drop…

The nausea goes away in a few minutes, but his gut still feels twisted. He brushes his teeth and decides the likely culprit is the new recipe Mav attempted for dinner last night.— oh oh oh, this 🥺 I’m so soft over this. Mav coming to take care of them. Pls my heart

He doesn’t care what Slider says; it’s looking good, much thicker than when he started growing it in April.— oh bless, I just know it looks terrible in that way that all teen boys are like FACIAL HAIR= MAN NOW BEHOLD ITS GLORY. But tbh I’d still probs be crushing even if it looks as terrible as I imagine it to be.

His father’s official Lieutenant-JG portrait stares back at him. Unanswering as he fixes his hair.— well fuck me, him giving Goose the rundown was NOT on my bingo card and now I’m entirely too tender. NOT HIM TELLING HIS DEAD DAD THAT HIS MOM ISNT WELL EITHER I CANT

“I hope she can make it to Christmas. I almost have enough money saved up to buy her that pair of earrings that look like the ones Princess Diana had at her wedding.”— THE SWEETEST BOY MY HEART

“Wish me luck, Goose. It’s gonna be a big year.”- 😭😭😭😭😭 I’m not ok

She’s hardly had the strength to use the bathroom by herself in the last six months, but this morning, she’s standing at the stove, singing along to the radio, and making his favorite breakfast.— a wreck I’m a wreck and we know what’s coming and I’m still a wreck

He’s not sure how many good days she has left, so he tries his best to behave and make her life easier//He was denied before he could even finish the suggestion, but he just wants her to get better more than anything in the world. — it’s the burden that’s not a burden, that he’s forced to grow up quicker and take on these things and give up that last bit of his youth because he wants to be the support system. He wants to take care of her because he’ll trade all of that if she can just get better 😭

After Mom got sick, Ice and Viper pulled some strings to get him assigned to a shore-duty desk job. Bradley knows he hates it. — the LOVE in this gesture, the sacrifice.

(Side note: I’m not even 1k in yet and I’m already too delicate, my heart is aching, I can feel the prickle in my eyes, and I just want to give him a hug)

His mom is humming at the stove for the first time in a long time, somehow more in tune than she’s ever been. He wants to make a joke about how the treatments must have fixed her tone-deafness, but it would just make everyone sad. A reminder that it’s the only thing her treatment has fixed.— the dark humor of it all. The coping kind. The kind that would be funny if the reason why wasn’t so bleak.

“You look pretty, mom.”- 🥲 (I’m ok, I’m not ok)

“I’m sorry. If you put them in the fridge, I can eat them for dinner.”/“It’s a special day; we’re going to have something special for dinner! Something that Mav won’t be making.” The teasing smile she sends to the table makes the knot in his stomach unwind some. It makes him feel good enough to take a small bite.— the foreshadowing here, THE FORESHADOWING. I can feel it and I desperately want to be wrong. I’ve got the same feeling in my stomach that Bradley does.

She hasn’t had a good day in forever, and he doesn’t want to miss it. Who knows when the next one will come. If there will even be another good day. He wants to spend time with his mom while she knows what’s happening.— HE JUST WANTS HIS MOM 😭 that poor boy already misses his mom. He knows he knows he knows he knows

She’s going. She’s going, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.- 😭😭😭

Just like every year since kindergarten, they squish together on the porch, his mom wrapping her arm around his waist. He thinks about how she used to have to squat down so their heads were together. Now, she’d have to go on her tiptoes, and he’d have to crouch down for that to happen.- having my own Barbie movie montage here

“I know, honey. I know. It’s okay.” She tries to soothe her baby, who isn’t a baby anymore. He’s a full-grown man who is so much smarter and wiser than any 18-year-old should ever be. He’s been through so much more than any kid should ever have to go through. She feels bad about how quickly he’s had to grow up. “Everything is gonna be okay.”— oh and that she knows it and feels to too. God I’m crying now. That she want to give him one more day of normal, they’ve 12 years of first day of school photos, there’s a routine. That everything else is out of her control but she can give him this 😭

But he holds back his tears because he doesn’t want her to cry when she’s having a good day. — it’s ok bb, I’m crying enough tears for the both of us

Being an aviator means he’ll be just like his father. And Mav. And Ice. And Slider. And all of his other uncles from the class of '86.— his TOPGUN fam 🥹🥺

Instead, he’s on edge the entire day. Waiting to get called to the nurse’s office. They all had agreed as a family - Bradley, Carole, Mav, and Ice - that if she passed when he was at school, they would have the front office call him down to the nurse’s office. Ice would pick him up, Mav likely busy dealing with the doctors and the funeral home and everything.— that there’s a game plan is breaking my heart. That boy is so strung up in knots, every minute must feel like an hour. And how can he listen and learn over the sound of his pulse in his ears?

He’d even taken him on motorcycle rides, but they agreed not to tell Mom about that.- I love Mav!Dad moments, and thinking about what they’re bond must have been like before Everything™️

For the first time in years, Bradley actually makes a wish.//Please don’t let my mom die. I need her.— ELLE HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO READ IF I CANT SEE THE WORDS BECAUSE OF MY BLURRY TEARY EYES?? Ma’am did you think about that?!! (🤍)

(There it is, the shoes dropped)

by the time his uncles reach him - their feet pounding on the pavement - he’s just sobbing and dry heaving into the grass.— my heart my heart my heart, this poor boy thinking the worse, waiting for the shoe to drop all day, the anxiety spiral. Because he knows it’s coming, it’s going to happen, and no matter how prepared he can be he’s never ever going to be prepared for it.

“Breathe, Bradley. You gotta breathe, buddy.” He can’t tell which one is talking; blood is rushing in his ears, and he just keeps crying.— me trying to take this advice too because the tears won’t stop. But also, these moments with his FAMILY. That there was so much between him and these men, and the after of it all just makes me tender.

Mav watches as his best friends gently nudge his godson forward. His heart feels like it’s splitting in two as tears start streaming down Bradley’s face.//This time, there’s only a young man who’s now taller than him. He stands in the doorway with red eyes and a mustache that makes him look so much like Goose.— the then and now of it, and I just ACHE AND ACHE AND ACHE for all of them.

And she made me promise I’ll never let you fly.//Mav doesn’t add that final promise to the list; it’s not the right time for that conversation. He’s not sure it’ll ever be the right time.— the moment that break Bradley’s heart, the betrayal from the man he loves and looks up to the most. The thing that makes him parentless three times over.

“I’m not going to be here, but I can’t stand the thought of the same thing happening to Bradley. I won’t let that happen to my baby. So, you have to promise me, Pete. Promise me you won’t let him fly.”— no words for the Carole/Mav POV just tidal waves of emotions

It’s her request, but he was going to be the reason Bradley’s dreams were crushed.— god the GUILTY and the loyalty behind the actions, but that he shields Bradley from this, that he will take the anger to spare him from having negative thoughts about his mom. Ouch

He wonders if Slider would loan him some money so he can get those earrings. She won’t be able to appreciate them, but he still wants her to have them. It’s the last thing he’ll be able to do for her. They’ll go nice with her blue dress, he thinks. He sits there and thinks. He’s there the whole time.— still weeping over here, just endless tears

(And those pancakes are still in the fridge 🥺)

He’s there three days later, shyly asking the funeral director if it would be too much trouble to change his mom’s earrings. When he asked Uncle Ron about the money, he put them both in the car, drove to the mall, and paid for the earrings without question. — because he’s still a baby, he can’t even legally drink or rent a car and he hasn’t even taken the SAT yet, but he’s the one having to ask (and shyly asking because he’s just a baby). And that he got her the earrings, just not the way he wanted to give them to her 😭😭

“I’m not perfect, Bradley. I just care about your feelings.” “You’re perfect for me.” He kisses her before she can protest. “Thank you for caring about me.”// Her only ask is to tell her when he gets home safe if he needs space, letting him know that her house is always open if he doesn’t want to spend the night alone.— Bradley’s emotional needs being gently tended to makes me so, so soft. That he knows he’s not alone, that there’s a safe place for him to land 😭

“Holy shit… I’m going to marry her.” The breeze ruffles his hair, and he knows it’s his parents. “Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll make sure we’re married before I get her pregnant, unlike you two.”- 🥹🥲🥹

The day sneaks up on him the second year they’re together. They’ve been busy; between work, helping Jake with his surprise, and preparing to move in together, August went by in a blink. It leaves him with no time to mentally prepare.— 1) curious about this surprise and I hope it involves planting a whole garden for Flora, 2) the whiplash of living a happy life and loving where you’re at but then being reminded of those hard moments. Forgetting and then feeling guilty for forgetting.

His chest is so tight it hurts. He can’t believe he’s having a panic attack. He hasn’t had a full-on panic attack in years. There’s been anxiety, moments where he can’t easily catch his breath and his heart beating faster than it should, but nothing like this. — my poor sweetest boy. Because now he has someone he loves and loves in return, but he’s so used to having those people taken away from him 🥺

“Gonna touch you, that okay?” He nods, appreciative of how considerate she is, always thinking of him.- 🥹 but also 😭

They have nightmares. Less frequently now that they’re a few years down the road, but they still happen. Mav dreams that he doesn’t save them, that one of the bogeys gets them before Hangman reaches them. Bradley’s feature him missing the helicopter, having to watch Mav bleed out.— THE BOTH HAVE THE NIGHTMARES ABOUT EACH OTHER I CANNOT

“And I’m healthy. There’s no history of uterine or breast cancer in my family, and I just had my annual appointment last week. All the tests came back negative for bad things. Nothing is wrong. I'm totally healthy, okay?”— i love how quick she is to try and put him at ease, but that she comes with the facts is even better. Like the tangible things that she can give him to help stop the spiral.

Their relationship is so lovely, and tender. And now he has someone to lean on 🥹

I could feel how much love and care was put into writing this. And I’m so looking forward to the next part!

Bradley and Mary

straddling your partner's thighs

look at what you've done, anon. I've gone and written something ridiculously long.

send me a physical intimacy prompt for any of my Dagger, Sword & Shield couples!

your lap is my safe place - part i

pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Mariella “M&M” Vertucci (fem!OC)

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, uterine cancer (discussions of a terminal illness and treatment), death due to cancer (established universe death), grief over losing a parent, funerals, panic attacks, vomiting, you don’t need to read Mar[r]y Me to read and understand this but you should anyway

word count: 7.1k

part ii - coming soon

note: originally, this was supposed to be a short, simple prompt answer - one part sad and one part smutty - but it's gotten extremely out of hand due to my inability to be brief. so this is part one (the sad part), and the smutty sequel will be coming (ha) sometime early next week. and when I say this part is sad, I mean sad. some of this is very much based on my experience with loved ones who have had cancer and/or were terminally ill. it was very therapeutic to write, even if I did cry a whole lot.

Tuesday, September 3, 2002 | 06:35 A.M.

Bradley wakes up to his alarm clock blaring in his ear, feeling like he’s going to throw up, which is weird for him. Mav says that he’s never met anyone with a stronger stomach. Eighteen-year-olds have stomachs of steel, his mom jokes when she’s having a good day.

He stumbles down the hall and hangs his head over the toilet. Nothing comes up. The nausea goes away in a few minutes, but his gut still feels twisted. He brushes his teeth and decides the likely culprit is the new recipe Mav attempted for dinner last night. He choked down a few bites of the horrible fish tacos before his uncle called it a failure and ordered pizza.

Back in his room, it doesn’t take him long to finish getting ready, pulling on his new first-day-of-school outfit and shaping his mustache. He doesn’t care what Slider says; it’s looking good, much thicker than when he started growing it in April.

“It’s my first day of senior year, my last first day of school. Until the academy, anyway. But with the summer training, the first day of classes probably won’t even feel like a first day.”

His father’s official Lieutenant-JG portrait stares back at him. Unanswering as he fixes his hair.

“Mom is getting worse… She’s getting weaker; I don’t think we have very long before she has to go into hospice. I really want her to get better - I wished for it - but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

He swallows hard and fights back tears, remembering his birthday just a few months ago. Everything hadn’t seemed quite as bad then as it is now.

“I hope she can make it to Christmas. I almost have enough money saved up to buy her that pair of earrings that look like the ones Princess Diana had at her wedding. They’re not real pearls like hers, obviously, but the lady at the jewelry counter told me they’re replicas, so I think she’ll like them anyway.”

Brown eyes identical to his own stare back at him. Hints of the mischievous, prank-loving man visible in the polite smile captured. The old photo is carefully tucked into the edge of his mirror; it was his mom’s first, but she gave it to him when he was eight. She had caught him staring at it every day for a week, quietly talking to it about his day.

“Wish me luck, Goose. It’s gonna be a big year.”

Downstairs, he’s greeted with the second weird thing of the day. First, his stomach, and now his mom is flipping pancakes. She’s hardly had the strength to use the bathroom by herself in the last six months, but this morning, she’s standing at the stove, singing along to the radio, and making his favorite breakfast.

She’s always said that bad things happen in threes, but strange things happen in pairs.

He thinks she might be right, but if she feels good, he’s not complaining. She never feels good anymore.

“There he is! Oh, Mav! Look at my baby boy, all grown up and ready for his last year of high school!”

“Ma…” He groans, and without prompting, he bends down to let her kiss and pinch his cheeks like he always does.

He’s not sure how many good days she has left, so he tries his best to behave and make her life easier.

He doesn't complain when she asks him to take the garbage out after he already did; her memory hasn’t been as good since she got sick. He keeps the anger inside when everyone forgets his baseball games because she had chemo; it’s more important for Mav and Ice to take care of her than to watch him throw a ball around. He even offered up his college fund to help pay for another round of treatment. He was denied before he could even finish the suggestion, but he just wants her to get better more than anything in the world.

Needs her to get better.

She sets a stack of pancakes in front of him, and again, he has the urge to cry when she kisses the top of his head. Her perfume takes over his senses, and if he closes his eyes, it’s almost like he’s little again.

A massive stack of fluffy, perfectly round pancakes, slathered in butter and syrup, filled with his mom’s love.

Mav sitting across the table from him, drinking the worst black coffee to exist on the planet.

His mom humming off-key at the stove, her beautiful, golden hair swishing as she gets into a song.

But then he opens his eyes, and he’s not little anymore.

The pancakes are still covered with butter and enough syrup to give him a cavity, but they’re not the same. They’re flat and mishappen; her arms aren’t very strong anymore, so Mav must’ve had to help her.

Mav still sits across from him, terrible black coffee in his mug, but now he looks old. Too old for someone in his thirties. They’ve been lucky he’s been able to be here this past year. After Mom got sick, Ice and Viper pulled some strings to get him assigned to a shore-duty desk job. Bradley knows he hates it. Can see it in the way he watches every plane that passes overhead - civilian, military, it doesn’t matter - his fingers twitching to be the one controlling the powerful engines. But he never complains, is steady and strong, taking Mom to appointments and Bradley to school.

His mom is humming at the stove for the first time in a long time, somehow more in tune than she’s ever been. He wants to make a joke about how the treatments must have fixed her tone-deafness, but it would just make everyone sad. A reminder that it’s the only thing her treatment has fixed.

It’s taken everything else away.

Her skin, once bright and youthful, is now dull and gray-toned. Her energy has been zapped; she doesn’t even have it in her to make it through their Sunday movie nights. Her body is frail. She was always slim, but now she borders on gaunt, her appetite nonexistent most of the time. Her hair was the first thing to go, a rotation of brightly colored scarfs and hats replacing the blonde strands that used to reach her shoulders. He looks at today’s choice. A bright red scarf that matches the white sundress and red cardigan she’s pulled on.

She looks pretty.

“You look pretty, mom.”

It grabs the attention of both adults, the two of them staring long enough that he squirms in his chair.

“Thank you, baby.” Her pleased smile tells him it was the right thing to say. “You don’t want your pancakes?”

“I do. They look great, but my stomach kinda hurt when I got up, so I don’t want to eat right now. I’m sorry. If you put them in the fridge, I can eat them for dinner.”

“Oh, don’t be silly! It’s a special day; we’re going to have something special for dinner! Something that Mav won’t be making.” The teasing smile she sends to the table makes the knot in his stomach unwind some. It makes him feel good enough to take a small bite.

The shape is wrong, and they’re not fluffy enough, but the taste is the same. The flavor melts over his tongue. The pressure in his chest, the one that showed up around the same time as his mom’s cancer diagnosis, lightens a little bit.

I should fake sick and stay home.

The thought comes out of left field, but he’s immediately on board. She hasn’t had a good day in forever, and he doesn’t want to miss it. Who knows when the next one will come. If there will even be another good day. He wants to spend time with his mom while she knows what’s happening.

“My stomach hurts; I don’t think I can go to school.” He groans and grabs his stomach, trying to look as pathetic as possible to sell his story.

He’s forgotten how sharp his mom is, how well she knows him. “Nice try, honey. You were fine two seconds ago, and you’re not missing your first day of senior year. Now, c’mon! It’s photo time!”

Carole is marching towards the front door before he can argue, so he tries to sway Mav in his favor. But the dark-haired man just shakes his head and avoids eye contact, grabbing the camera off the counter. Bradley stands in the middle of the kitchen, the knot retwisting itself.

He suddenly realizes that his upset stomach has nothing to do with yesterday’s tilapia trying to get its revenge and everything to do with what he overheard in the waiting room during his mom’s last checkup.

“I know, I heard. Isn’t it terrible? He'd been sick for a while, but it seemed like he was getting better. He even took his kids on a bike ride, and then - BAM! - he was gone the next day!”

“Oh, that happens a lot with people who are sick for a long time. Toward the end, they get this sudden burst of energy. It’s like God’s way of giving a happy memory to them and their loved ones. Letting them have one last good day before they go.”

He’s actually going to throw up this time.

Bradley drags his feet all the way to the front door, delaying his departure as much as possible. He doesn’t want to leave, but he knows he’s not going to win any fight against her right now - he’s going to school, come hell or high water. And he doesn’t want to fight with his mom; instead, he chooses to commit the moment to memory.

The gentle touch of her hands as she fusses with his hair, making sure it’s just right before any photos.

The brightness of her smile, how it’s the one thing that’s never dimmed despite everything she’s gone through.

The teasing barbs she exchanges with Mav, the man who has been family to her for longer than Bradley has been alive.

He looks at Mav, the man who has done his best to help raise him. Tried so hard to be a fatherly figure in place of the man who was lost too soon. Mav looks tired, Bradley wonders if he’s thinking the same thing as him.

She’s going. She’s going, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

Just like every year since kindergarten, they squish together on the porch, his mom wrapping her arm around his waist. He thinks about how she used to have to squat down so their heads were together. Now, she’d have to go on her tiptoes, and he’d have to crouch down for that to happen.

He knows his smile looks fake; he has to force himself because this might be the last photo he gets with his mom, and that makes him sad beyond words. Carole quickly fixes that, tickling his side on that one spot that always gets him. He giggles and tries to squirm away, his smile turning happy and real as she laughs at him.

“You’re just like your father; he was ticklish in the exact same spot.”

Even the talk of Goose doesn’t bring them down like it usually does. Today, it lifts everyone’s spirit to realize how much he’s like the father he didn’t get to know.

After Mav has taken an ungodly number of photos, Bradley asks for the camera and stands next to his uncle. He snaps photo after photo of his mom, hoping that if he takes enough, he won’t ever be able to forget this moment. Then he shuffles Mav on the porch and takes photos of the pseudo-siblings. He rearranges them one last time, setting the camera on the porch railing and hitting the timer.

He doesn’t know it yet, but that photo of the three of them standing in the yard with the Bronco just visible in the background will be the last photo taken of his mother. As an adult, it will be tied for first place with five others as his favorite photo of all time.

After the last flash, Carole pulls him close. “I am so proud of you, Bradley. Your dad would be so proud of you. You’re such a good boy. I love you so much.”

He hugs her tighter than he should; he can’t help it. The little gasp she lets out at the intensity of his hug makes him feel a bit guilty, but he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t want to let her go.

“I know, honey. I know. It’s okay.” She tries to soothe her baby, who isn’t a baby anymore. He’s a full-grown man who is so much smarter and wiser than any 18-year-old should ever be. He’s been through so much more than any kid should ever have to go through. She feels bad about how quickly he’s had to grow up. “Everything is gonna be okay.”

No, it’s not going to be okay. But he holds back his tears because he doesn’t want her to cry when she’s having a good day. He reluctantly lets go and slips on his sunglasses - aviators, just like Goose - before heading for his car, knowing that if he doesn’t go now, he’ll never be able to make himself leave.

With his stomach in even more knots than he thought possible, Bradley heads off to school, waving as he pulls out of the driveway. Trying to burn the image of his mom waving, one hand on her hip as Mav nudges her and makes her laugh.

From the moment he parks the Bronco in the seniors-only lot, the entire school day feels like torture. He can’t even enjoy the beginning of his senior year, something he had been waiting for.

Senior year means graduation. Graduation means going to college. College means packing his stuff for Annapolis. Annapolis means he can finally start working on his dream.

He’ll learn how to be an aviator while roaming the same halls as Goose while he learns the ins and outs of aeronautical engineering. He might even be lucky enough to get placed in the same dorm room. Being an aviator means he’ll be just like his father. And Mav. And Ice. And Slider. And all of his other uncles from the class of '86. But he can’t bring himself to be excited like usual.

Instead, he’s on edge the entire day. Waiting to get called to the nurse’s office. They all had agreed as a family - Bradley, Carole, Mav, and Ice - that if she passed when he was at school, they would have the front office call him down to the nurse’s office. Ice would pick him up, Mav likely busy dealing with the doctors and the funeral home and everything.

He can barely eat the lunch his mom packed. A peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich, cut into triangles like when he was little. Chips, cucumber slices, and a chocolate chip cookie round out the meal. He tosses most of the food but is careful to keep the little note she had put in the brown paper bag.

I love you, Bradley. You’re going to do great things.

He presses it between the pages of his calculus textbook before he goes to gym, making sure he doesn’t bend the pink sticky note, preserving her swirly handwriting as best he can.

Finally, the bell signaling the end of the eighth period rings. Relief washes through his body. There’s been no call from the nurse, and his school day is over. He hastily packs his bookbag and practically skips towards the parking lot, waving at some friends still in class. He’s one got free period during ninth period, and as a senior, he gets to leave early if he has no class.

He’s planning his route home - he wants to stop at the corner store to grab a treat for his mom - when he skids to a stop where the concrete sidewalk meets asphalt.

Ice is leaning against the bumper of the Bronco.

“Happy birthday, Bradley!” His mom yells before blowing a kazoo.

He couldn’t be happier. It’s his birthday, his mom is having a good day, and he just got the keys to the Bronco. It’s officially his, just like he always dreamed it would be.

“Your dad’s dream was for you two to fix it up together and give it to you on your eighteenth birthday,” Mav explained. “I know I can’t replace him, but we had a good time working on it, right?”

Bradley nods and hugs his uncle. Mav will never be his actual dad, but he’s the closest thing he has to one. He helped raise him. He had sacrificed so many weekends to spend time with him, showing him how to fix the Bronco or throw a football with a perfect spiral. He’d even taken him on motorcycle rides, but they agreed not to tell Mom about that.

“Okay, knock it off, you saps. It’s time to blow out your candles, Baby Goose!” Slider enters the dining room, looking ridiculous with a crooked party hat on his head. He’s concentrating hard to balance a cake that’s much too big for the six people in attendance at his birthday dinner.

It’s set in front of Bradley, and he laughs when he sees the cake is covered in little plane toys. It looks like a cake made for a little kid, and he loves it. Aunt Sarah lights his candles and starts singing. He sits there for 30 seconds, watching his family sing off-key and thinking about how he loves his family so much his heart hurts.

“Okay, baby! Close your eyes and make a wish!” Carole smooths a hand over his hair.

He smiles up at her. “Only if you help me, ma.”

She bends down, doing a quick countdown before they close their eyes and blow out the candles together. For the first time in years, Bradley actually makes a wish.

Please don’t let my mom die. I need her.

Ice is talking to Slider, who’s parked in his white Jeep, and even from this distance, he can tell they’ve been crying.

Slider has obviously given Ice a ride to school, and now they’re waiting for him. If Ice doesn’t have his truck, that means he’s going to be driving Bradley. And that can only mean one thing.

She’s gone. My wish didn’t come true.

His backpack hits the ground at the same time as his knees, and he throws up. It’s not a lot; he’s barely eaten today, and by the time his uncles reach him - their feet pounding on the pavement - he’s just sobbing and dry heaving into the grass.

“Breathe, Bradley. You gotta breathe, buddy.” He can’t tell which one is talking; blood is rushing in his ears, and he just keeps crying.

“Bradley.” It’s Ice, holding his face up. “Listen to me. Your mom is not dead. Do you hear me? She’s not gone. But she had to be taken to the hospital; we’re still waiting for the test results. We’re gonna go there right now, but you need to breathe first, okay? You gotta breathe.”

He does his best to stop crying and take in air. His body literally shudders on the first breath, his lungs greedily sucking in the oxygen. After a few breaths, a water bottle is shoved in front of his face. He doesn’t even know where it came from, but he drinks, his throat raw.

Slider pops a mint into his mouth before helping him stand. “It’ll help your throat and your stomach.”

He races to the car, throwing the keys to Ice, who almost drops them. Both adults speed out of the parking lot, heading directly for the hospital.

Halfway there Ice has a chilling realization. The car is silent. If he’s learned anything in the last twenty-odd years, it’s that a car ride involving a Bradshaw is never silent. There’s always talking and laughing. Usually, you can count on singing and bad seat dancing, but today, it’s silent. There’s not even the sound of crying. And when he looks over at Bradley, he’s startled to find him catatonically staring out the windshield, his face bone dry. He looks like a statue, and it freaks Ice out how quickly he’s shut down. He hasn’t attended Sunday service in a long time, doesn’t even know if he believes in a higher power, but at that moment, he sends off prayers to every deity he can name, hoping that one of them can pull off a miracle for the boy who’s already dealt with so much.

It’s even worse at the hospital, Slider nabbing the spot next to them seconds after Ice shifts into park. The three of them hurry towards the ICU, where a nurse lets them all in after she hears who they’re visiting. Technically, only Bradley and Pete meet the requirements to be allowed in, but the entire ward is aware of the situation and are prepared to let as many people visit as needed.

Bradley freezes halfway to Carole’s room, Slider almost running him over. A priest is walking out of her room. He shakes hands with Mav and somberly nods at the frozen trio when he passes.

Mav watches as his best friends gently nudge his godson forward. His heart feels like it’s splitting in two as tears start streaming down Bradley’s face. A face that looks so old and so young at the same time. Maverick feels like he’s watching his 18-year-old nephew transform into the little boy who just lost his dad. His lower lip trembles just like it used to when he would fall and scrap his knee. Except this time, there’s nothing Mav can do to make it better. There’s no antibacterial spray, no Spiderman band-aid, no over-dramatic kiss with magical healing powers. This time, there’s only a young man who’s now taller than him. He stands in the doorway with red eyes and a mustache that makes him look so much like Goose.

“What happened?” Bradley croaks, afraid to enter the room. He hates the way his mom looks when she’s hooked up to all those machines. The beeping hurts his ears. “Why was the priest in here?”

“I don’t know, kid. We were about to eat lunch, and she collapsed. The doctors don’t know either; the test results didn’t show anything that’s telling them what’s going on. Everything is just suddenly worse.” Mav gets choked up; he can hardly continue. “They uh- they said this is probably it. That we should say our goodbyes. That’s why I had the priest come in. When we talked about her final wishes a while ago, she made me promise she would get her last rites.”

Bradley tackles him in a hug before he finishes talking. They cry together, mourning the loss that hasn’t happened yet.

The four of them have been sitting in silence for hours, listening to the beep of the heart monitor, when Bradley speaks up from his post beside his mom. “What else does she want? I know she wants to be buried next to Goose, but what else? She didn’t tell me.”

“She wants yellow carnations in her arrangements. Her wedding band stays with her, just like Goose, but her engagement ring goes to you. She wants to be wearing that blue dress she wore when she first met your dad.”

“That’s it?”

“There are a few more legal things, like with the house and the cars, but that’s laid out in her will. She made me promise I’ll take care of you, which I was always going to do no matter what.”

And she made me promise I’ll never let you fly.

Mav doesn’t add that final promise to the list; it’s not the right time for that conversation. He’s not sure it’ll ever be the right time.

Carole can feel herself getting weaker, but today is a good day; she feels good. Strong.

“Peter Howard Mitchell! Listen to me, you stupid, stubborn, obnoxious jackass! We don’t have a lot of time before Bradley gets back, and we need to talk about this!”

Bradley had felt guilty about leaving to go to the movies with Tessa Richardson, but Carole had insisted - he’d had a crush on that girl for years. It was about time he had his first kiss. And she was 95% certain it was going to happen today. Her motherly instincts were tingling.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Carole! I’m sick of every conversation we have being about you dying!”

“You think I like talking about it? Knowing that I’m leaving behind my little boy?” She gets in his face, yelling with every ounce of strength she can summon. “You think I like knowing that my body is giving up? That I’m dying? I can feel it happening, Pete! I can feel myself drifting away! And nothing the doctors are doing is helping! I know that it’s scaring Bradley, scaring you, but it’s scaring me most of all!”

Maverick catches her, and they sink to the ground; she sobs in his arms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry; I’m so sorry, Carole. What do you need me to do?”

“Bradley can’t fly.” She pulls back, wiping her eyes. “He can’t fly for the Navy, Pete. I know he wants to, but you can’t let him.”

“But Carole, it’s his dream to-”

“To die just like his father?” Her words shock him. “I love Nick more than anything, Pete, you know that. But do you know what I would do to have him here with us today? Do you realize I’ve lived three times as long without my husband than I did with him? It’s been fifteen years - almost sixteen. I only knew Nick for five, and we were only married for three before he was gone. I would do anything to have Bradley know his father.”

“Care…”

“You’ve been incredible, Mav. You’ve done your best to be a father to him; he loves you so much. I love you so much; you’re my best friend. But I've missed my husband every day for the last fifteen years. He was the love of my life, and I miss him so much my heart hurts. I’m not going to be here, but I can’t stand the thought of the same thing happening to Bradley. I won’t let that happen to my baby. So, you have to promise me, Pete. Promise me you won’t let him fly.”

They sit on the floor in silence, staring at each other. The internal debate roars inside Maverick, hurting his chest. He loves the Bradshaws more than anything. He would do anything for them. He still feels guilty about his best friend’s death, knows it was his fault, even if the investigation said he was innocent. The guilt of Goose being gone eats away at him, little by little each day.

Carole is right.

He can’t - he won’t - lose Bradley the same way.

“I promise I’ll do my best to keep him out of the air. But Carole, he’s almost an adult. Soon, there won’t be much I can do to control him. I can’t stop him from applying to the Academy or joining the Navy.”

“Yes, you can. Get Ice to pull some strings, indebt yourself to Viper. Do whatever you have to do. Do everything you can to protect him, Pete.” Her voice is cold and emotionless, knowing it will destroy her son, but at least he’ll be alive.

It was the one and only time they had talked about it, but every time Bradley excitedly talked about his future, Carole would look at him with this face that made Mav feel awful. It’s her request, but he was going to be the reason Bradley’s dreams were crushed.

Mav leans over in his chair, guilt and hopelessness consuming his body. The knowledge that his godson was about to be more like him in all the ways he never wanted.

Orphaned. Mother dying, with a broken heart, years after his father was killed while flying.

Denied entrance to the Naval Academy due to something beyond his control.

“She doesn’t want anything else?”

“No.”

It’s the last word spoken. A lie.

Slider and Ice spend the night just outside the door in some extra chairs an orderly had been kind enough to scrounge up. Mav shifts between standing at Carole’s side to hold her hand and sitting ramrod straight at the foot of her bed.

Bradley stays by his mom’s side the entire night, clutching her left hand. He plays with her wedding band, twisting it around her finger like he used to when he was little. He thinks about how different everything is going to be. He’s going to be alone a lot more now. He’s legally an adult, so when Mav gets deployed or transferred, there won’t be a need to scramble to make sure he’s taken care of. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do with the house or if it’s even his to worry about. Mav, Ice, and his mom had taken care of the legal stuff without him. He wonders if Slider would loan him some money so he can get those earrings. She won’t be able to appreciate them, but he still wants her to have them. It’s the last thing he’ll be able to do for her. They’ll go nice with her blue dress, he thinks. He sits there and thinks. He’s there the whole time.

He’s there, wide awake, when Carole takes her last breath at 3:14 AM on September 4th. He’s there when the doctor comes in to declare her dead; he shakes Bradley’s hand, giving him the first of the thousand condolences that will follow. He’s there when the nurse comes in to turn off the monitors and unhook the IVs; she gently asks if he wants to leave while she cleans his mom up, but he refuses. He doesn’t have a lot of time left before he’ll never see her again; he can’t waste any time. He’s there for another hour, trying to say his goodbyes through sobs. He’s there until his uncles drag him out, promising him that he’ll see her again before the funeral. He’s still there, mentally, when he goes to sleep at Uncle Tom’s house. He and Pete are sleeping over, neither of them ready to face the house.

He’s there three days later, shyly asking the funeral director if it would be too much trouble to change his mom’s earrings. When he asked Uncle Ron about the money, he put them both in the car, drove to the mall, and paid for the earrings without question. The two of them hugged for a long time before they went home. He’s there at the viewing, next to his mother’s casket for hours, numbingly accepting condolences and hugs from hundreds of people. The one bright spot is being reminded how many people loved his mom. How wonderful she was to everyone she met.

He’s there at the graveside service, the first to place a rose on the polished wood. He stays there once it ends, refusing to leave, watching as the casket is lowered and the hole is filled with dirt. He’s there to place a bouquet of yellow carnations, her favorite, on top of the fresh earth. He pats the dual gravestone, one half still blank, before he lets Mav pull him to the car. He looks back one last time, and as the sunshine dries his tears, he swears he can hear his parents' laughter in the wind.

As an adult, now with two dead parents and one estranged, he’s there every year that he’s not deployed. He clears away any weeds and leaves before placing a bouquet of yellow carnations on the gravestone that now bears two names. Sometimes, there’s a single red rose already there when he arrives. Those are the years he knows Mav beat him to saying hello. He’s there for hours at a time, sitting with his parents and eating a bag of trail mix with extra M&Ms added - Goose’s favorite.

The first year that he and Mary are together, he’s there alone. He trusts her implicitly, and she knows the whole story. He told her what happened with Mav and everything that followed; it was a conversation they had early on. But this is something too raw, too personal, to share so soon in a relationship. He’s spent so many years doing this by himself that he’s not sure how he would handle having another person with him. Even if it was someone he loves so much.

Mary understands.

“Of course, you understand, you’re perfect.”

“I’m not perfect, Bradley. I just care about your feelings.”

“You’re perfect for me.” He kisses her before she can protest. “Thank you for caring about me.”

The day of, she kisses him softly as he leaves, pushing a sandwich bag of trail mix into his hand. Her only ask is to tell her when he gets home safe if he needs space, letting him know that her house is always open if he doesn’t want to spend the night alone.

He spends that first year catching them up. Now that he’s stationed in San Diego, it’s easier to visit more often, but several things have happened since his last stop. Usually, he talks for a bit and then sits in silence, choosing to reminisce on the happy memories. This time, he spends most of the time talking. Telling his parents about Mav, the shenanigans of the Dagger Squad, about Mary. He tells them all about Mary. How much he loves her, how he hasn’t said it yet because it’s only officially been two months, how he’s pretty sure she can tell anyway. He goes on and on about her eyes, her kindness, her intelligence.

“I love her so much; I’m going to marry her.” He blurts it out, a small gasp following his declaration to the etched granite stone. It’s not the first time he’s had the thought, but it’s the first time he’s said it out loud. And now he can’t stop thinking about it.

Mary in a white dress with a veil sitting on her pretty brown hair, a gold band on her ring finger. The two of them committing themselves to each other in front of all their loved ones. Twirling her around the dance floor to their song, dipping her at the end to kiss her and make her blush. Everything that would follow. A house. A dog. A few kids. Diapers and dance recitals to gray hair and wrinkles.

“Holy shit… I’m going to marry her.” The breeze ruffles his hair, and he knows it’s his parents. “Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll make sure we’re married before I get her pregnant, unlike you two.”

He decides to stay the night at Mary’s, feeling better than he ever has on this day. He goes to find her the moment he enters the house, using the key she recently gave him. She’s on her office floor, organizing her bookshelf, when he presses himself against her, devouring her in a kiss. Bradley’s added weight throws her off balance, and the two of them topple over, sprawled in the paperbacks.

When he finally pulls back, he’s pleased to see that she’s flushed and her chest is heaving.

“I’m not complaining, but what was that?”

“I’ve never had someone to come home to after visiting them; I’ve always done it alone.” He talks into her neck, enjoying the way her fingers tighten in his hair when his lips brush her skin. “I’m just really thankful I have you.”

“Oh, Bradley…” Mary doesn’t know what to say. She loves this man so much, and she knows it’s too soon to say that, so she shows him. The night ends with a shower and papercuts in places where papercuts should never happen.

The day sneaks up on him the second year they’re together. They’ve been busy; between work, helping Jake with his surprise, and preparing to move in together, August went by in a blink. It leaves him with no time to mentally prepare.

Bradley jolts awake, sweat covering his temples and his heart thumping. It’s the worst nightmare he’s had in months. It was a twisted mess of awful moments. Some real, some imagined. Reliving his mother’s death but worse, almost dying on the uranium mission, losing Mary to cancer, same as his mom. He woke up just as a doctor was telling him she was gone and he wasn’t allowed to see her.

“No, sir, I’m sorry, but you can’t go back there. Her husband doesn’t want anyone else back there. You’ll have to wait for the funeral… if you’re even allowed in, asshole.”

He whips the covers off and trips his way to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before his dinner makes a return trip. The commotion wakes Mary, and she quickly makes her way to him, finding him laying on the floor, his shirt whipped into the tub.

His chest is so tight it hurts. He can’t believe he’s having a panic attack. He hasn’t had a full-on panic attack in years. There’s been anxiety, moments where he can’t easily catch his breath and his heart beating faster than it should, but nothing like this. He feels like he’s drenched in sweat, his heart is pounding, and he can’t breathe.

“Bradley? Look at me, sweetie.”

Mary.

“Can you look at me, Bradley?” He can hardly see through the tears. “I know it’s hard because you’re crying so hard, but look at me.”

It takes all his strength to turn his head, but he does it because he knows she’s worried.

“There you are. Okay, baby, I need you to breathe with me.”

He’s not exactly sure how she does it, but she helps him calm down. His body listens to her instructions before his brain realizes.

It takes a while, but he can breathe normally again. She helps him sit up, propping himself against the tub and letting his head fall back. He hears the sink run before there’s a soft touch on his shoulder.

“Gonna touch you, that okay?” He nods, appreciative of how considerate she is, always thinking of him.

Mary gently wipes his face, cleaning it of tears and sweat before brushing the washcloth over his arms and chest. It helps ground him, feeling more inside his body than before.

“What time is it?” Bradley rasps as she rinses the cloth.

“Late. Or early, depending on how you want to think about it.” She peeks out of the door, checking the time. Her face is somber when she comes back to him. “It’s 3:20, honey.”

“Twenty years… she’s been gone for twenty years.” He reaches for her, and she easily complies, straddling his thighs when he tugs her hand.

They sit in silence, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms.

“I had a nightmare.” He starts, answering her silent question. “It was her death and the uranium mission back-to-back, losing her and then him.”

She hums, encouraging him to continue. She doesn’t know the details of that mission - her clearance level is high but not that high - but she knows that he and Mav barely made it back. Both of them brushing hands with death multiple times.

They have nightmares. Less frequently now that they’re a few years down the road, but they still happen. Mav dreams that he doesn’t save them, that one of the bogeys gets them before Hangman reaches them. Bradley’s feature him missing the helicopter, having to watch Mav bleed out.

“Then it was you. You were sick. It was the same thing as Mom, uterine cancer. And I couldn’t even say goodbye. You married someone else, and I wasn’t allowed in.”

She takes a sharp breath. That’s new.

“I don’t want to lose you, Mary. I love you so much, I think it would kill me.”

“Oh, honey.” She cradles his face, forcing him to look at her. “You listen to me, Bradley Bradshaw. You are the best thing to ever happen to me. I love you more than anything. In two weeks, we’re going to be living together. When the time is right, we’re going to get married and have a family.”

She can't help but press a quick kiss to his mouth. “And I’m healthy. There’s no history of uterine or breast cancer in my family, and I just had my annual appointment last week. All the tests came back negative for bad things. Nothing is wrong. I'm totally healthy, okay? I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“You’re right, I can’t. We can’t control everything, and sometimes bad things happen. But I can promise you that I will do everything in my power to make sure I don’t ever leave you.”

“Thank you.” His voice is quiet and scratchy. “I know it’s hard with what I do, but I promise you’re my number one thought when I’m in the air; coming home safe to you is my top priority.”

“Now, I’m gonna cry, Bradley.” They both let out watery laughs. “You’re such a sweet man.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now let’s go back to bed; I need my beauty sleep before I meet your parents.” She pulls him up, and they fall asleep quickly, tucked together as the early morning light peeks through the curtains.

When they get to the cemetery the next afternoon, a red rose sits on the headstone. One step in front of him, Mary picks it up and brushes some leaves off the base. He watches as she places the flower back in its spot, plucking a few dandelions before she stands.

“There,” she says, brushing dirt off her hands, “that’s better.”

The wind picks up, twisting her long hair around, and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, Mom, I know. She’s very pretty. I’m working on proposing. We gotta do some stuff first, but it’s coming.” He mutters under his breath.

“What was that, honey?”

“Nothing, baby doll. Want to help me put the blanket down?” His hat blows off, and he scowls at the tree that’s nearby, smiling when he hears her muffled giggle.

Miss you, dad.

part six will be coming next week! have a great weekend everyone!

@gretagerwigsmuse | @bobfloyds | @hangmanbrainrot | @notroosterbradshaw | @princessphilly | @roleycoleyreccenter | @thesewordsareallihavetogive | @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby | @katieshook02 | @hellojameshowyadoin | @aristotles-butthole | @atarmychick007 | @whatislovevavy | @kmc1989 | @sometimesanalice

fic tag | Mar[r]y Me masterlist | credit for dividers here

[santahanssen]

so when are we getting Bea, Alicia, and Rash back

[evis-gossip]

“The girl from the library” - Chapter 2

Summary: Spencer has been going to a specific library for a specific reason, and it may not be for the books.

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Reader, Spencer Reid x Reader x OC!Frank (platonic)

Genre: fluff, like fluff to root teeth, like I have diabetes now, and angst if you squint

Warnings: canon type violence kissing if that counts (I started working on this a long time ago, so I don't remember some things. If you see something, please let me know)

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: hi guys! Here’s part 2 written with the outmost love i could put into something, i hope you love it as much. Please take in to a count that English is not my native language, so all mistakes made are mine. If you see any, let me know Lots of love <3

Series Masterlist

——————————

A child. Out of anything they could’ve had to save, a child from being auctioned in a pedo ring, on a day like today no less. Spencer takes the conscious decision of focusing on the case, knowing perfectly well that thinking, even in the slightest about how he left Y/N without even so much as a phone number, would mean going down a rabbit hole he isn’t even sure he can get out of. The thought of her going to the library and waiting for him to talk about the book he hasn’t read yet, and the disappointment in her gorgeous face when she realizes he’s not coming, almost has him running to Penny, asking her to find the girl from the library to at least warn her of the situation. He knows he can’t right now and he should never, but god he wants to.

He consciously decides to focus on the case, not only because a little boy’s life is at risk and the clock is counting down, but also because he knows that as soon as everyone’s safe he is a step closer to her. Everyone’s running against the clock and he’s thinking about a girl he barely knows. He knows the danger, so he goes back to the case. With Elle back on the team, assigned to go with him to the Crimes Against Children Unit in Maryland, there will be no other opportunity for distraction. Or so he hopes. The room not being a room, Mr Rawlings, the tadpoles shirt, Mount Pleasant, the church, the school, it all leads to Charlie Sparks. There’s only one hour left, so it’s time to do what they do best, profiling. Something changed a year ago when Charlie, back then Peter disappeared, it’s clear that it was Agent Katie coming too close to finding him, so the unsub pulled the boy from school and locked him in prison cell like room with no doors or windows, so she must have been really close, it had to be someones he interviewed. It all comes down to Michael Earlson. Soon enough, they’re there. The child is safe, the unsub in custody. The child’s real name is Dustin Powers, he was abducted when he was only one year old. Luckily, JJ is able to trace his mother, Jackie, and finally they are reunited.

It’s not many times that happens in Spencer’s line of work. But with such a happy ending, he can’t help but feel hopeful as his thoughts go back to Y/N. Hotch doesn’t press too much on the paperwork, given that it’s been a long day and it all ended well. Spencer doesn’t give the time to Morgan and Elle to tease him about his rush like they always do, he’s already too late. Him being ahead of the paperwork as usual, is the first to finish and as it’s been happening in the later weeks, he leaves as soon as he’s dismissed. I don’t think the team has ever seen Reid run so fast out of the bullpen.

He considers stopping and asking Derek for advice before rushing to the library, but he knows all too well that Derek’s advice when it comes to women wouldn't work for him, and he hopes they also wouldn’t work for Y/N. As much as he wants to stop the hope before it becomes disappointment, the hand holding just the day before gives him something to hold on to. And he can’t help it, he might not admit it, but this is everything to him. He runs to the metro, and it’s not until he comes to a halt that he realizes he has not read a single page of the book that they agreed they would talk about, but at this moment, he’s too nervous, his hands are shaking too much while he thinks of a good enough apology. He has the feeling that Y/N knowing the truth would let it go without a big struggle, but still, in his eyes she deserves the world, not a half-assed apology. So he thinks over and over, rehearsing, practicing, internalizing his best words. It doesn’t cross his mind how, as much of a man of words as he is, he’s always at loss for them when it comes to speaking with her.

He was in no time at the steps of the library, running up to the building as fast as his legs would take him, even skipping steps with the knowledge of the risk that comes with the action, but not caring in the slightest. Completely out of breath, barging through the door, directed to the counter, Spencer is a man on a mission. It’s too late to think twice as he always does, too late for overthinking. “Hey m-” Frank starts before being interrupted by a very agitated Spencer “Hi, where is she?” the doctor demands, pulling a frown form the librarian’s face “She has been here all day waiting for yo’ ass to show up, what makes you th-” he’s interrupted again “I just want to apologize” he breathes out calming Frank, before slowly retreating to the back where he knows she’s always sitting to read.

As soon as he sees Y/N, as we all know was going to happen, all of his thoughts, along with his well elaborated apology, fly out the window. When she looks up at him he recognizes the disappointment and nearly anger in her big beautiful eyes, and he hates that he is the reason for it. “Took you l-” “I was on a case” Spencer is apparently on a strike for interrupting people. The frown on her face quickly turns to surprise and a dash of curiosity “What do you mean?” she crosses her arms across her chest sending the you man into his usual speech characteristics “I- I- I was called on a case l- last night” he pauses but still sensing confusion on her face knows he should explain what he does for a living, it had to be done sooner or later “I’m an FBI agent, I work at the Behavioral Analysis Unit, commonly referred to as the BAU” his rushed words pull a small smile on her face, knowing that he missed out involuntarily is enough for her to forgive him. As she’s still sitting in her usual chair and the book on her lap, Spencer thinks she is going to ignore him when she goes back to her stationery and starts scribbling something. But the smirk on her face when she finally looks back at him is nearly enough to put his nerves to rest.

“Can I see your badge?” “Y- You want so see my badge” confusion in his voice as he pulls out said item, handing it to her. In any other occasion he’d be wary about the actions, but somehow he knows he’d trust Y/N with nearly anything “Spencer Reid, SSA. Anything else I should know about?” she inquires while signaling to the seat next to her for him to take “It’s actually Dr. Spencer Reid” she hands him back the badge, with the sticky note she had scribbled before on it. It’s her number, in a messy calligraphy, a set of digits he knows he won’t have to look at again because they’re ingrained in his brain. Still, he carefully saves the small piece of paper “So doctor, huh?” she presses further leaning closer to him “Um, yeah, they’re PHDs, 3 of them” he answers feeling calm already, expecting to see her utmost surprised face, but her expression doesn’t falter “Well, having seen how fast you read, I wouldn’t expect less” she chuckles, but it takes Spencer to the immediate conclusion, she has been watching him. That simple thought converts into a blush that creeps up his face “I have a- an eidetic memory and can read 20000 words per minute” he stammers out deciding not to bring up his IQ “Hum, that’s cool, oh, have you read the book we talked about?” damn it, the book. He has to admit, he is curious about why both her and Frankie have been so insistent about the book, but he doesn’t take anything further from it “N- No, I was on the case” “It’s okay, you can do it know, I suppose it wouldn’t take you more than ten minutes” he nods pulling out the book from his satchel.

Spencer thinks concentrating while having the girl of his dreams right next to him was going to be an impossible task. He’s surprised, to say the least. He found the book so incredibly fascinating he nearly forgot about Y/N. Of course his brain doesn’t let him forget anything, but still he can’t put his focus on anything but the pages before him. He’s not that into the novel when he realizes he’s nearly skimming through it instead of enjoying it. He starts over. If Y/N was so insistent about it, there must be a reason, therefore, he sets on making the most out of it, taking his time, knows it won’t be that long anyway. He reads every word with intention, every sentence and its meaning. He finishes in 20 minutes, and he almost wishes he could start over, but as of right now, he prioritizes getting to talk Y/N as soon as possible. Lucky him, she’s sitting in the chair right next to him.

He waits tentatively, not knowing when, how, or where to start. It has been a long time since a novel has left him as speechless as he finds himself right in this very moment. Y/N, as if reading his mind, diverts her attention from her book to the young man sitting beside her. “That took you longer than I calculated” “Y- Yeah, I tried enjoying it as much as I could. And it was so worth it. No wonder you and Frank were so persistent” she chuckles at his words “No, but to be honest, it has such a captivating narrative, so well constructed that I felt like I was immersed in it. I have spent the last years of my life mostly reading textbooks and divulging works, which I love, don’t get me wrong, but this made me feel like no other book has in quite a while. So thank you for that” seeing the wide genuine smile on her face as he was done speaking made Spencer want to repeat a speech like that all over again. He would do anything for that view.

“C’mon, it’s getting late” she started getting up, still smiling. It makes Spencer doubt how abruptly she proposed leaving, but that look tells Spencer she isn’t leaving without him. They approach the counter together, where Frank is standing with a mischievous expression. In the midst of confusion and excitement, Spencer overlooked his face completely, placing his new favorite book on the counter, unfortunately to return. “So, something tells me I nailed it with this recommendation” “Yeah, you did. It greatly surpassed my expectations. It’s so new and it feels like such a breeze of fresh air. I’m gonna head to a bookstore as soon as I possibly can to buy it. I wish I could meet the genius mind who wrote it” Spencer sighs looking at the cover, missing the smirk plastered on Frank’s face while he looks back and forth between the two, and the obvious creeping blush on Y/N’s cheeks. “Well, today must be your lucky day, man, cause she’s right in front of you”

Spencer’s face can only be described as confusion at this very moment as he looks up at the librarian, who nods his head towards the girl trying desperately to avoid eye contact, timidly rocking her body back and forth as the genius sets his eyes on her. The uttermost disbelief, but not for the reasons the poor girl might think. It’s not that the doctor wouldn’t believe she was the mastermind behind it, it is simply that he can’t believe his luck. The girl from the library, the one that has been captivating him in the distance, that just the day before showed him how she, not just doesn’t interrupt his rambling, she rants as well, the one he felt so incredibly comfortable around as to hold hands in public, even though they had just met officially, is not just the girl of his dreams, she’s also the writer of his new favorite book. That can’t be, Spencer doesn’t get that much luck, never, much less in one day.

“No” he mutters in a low voice, almost to himself “Yes” she whispers back, in the softest demeanor, as if not to scare a terrified little animal “B- B- But- I- I, um, How?” he barely got out, her following chuckle lets him know everything he needs. “Come on, let’s go for a coffee. I’ll explain all of it, I promise” she leads back to where they were before to pick up their belongings. Spencer can’t help the goofiest grin creep up his face as he drags his feet behind her. Frank shakes his head laughing to himself as he watches all of these interactions happen. He wouldn't admit it, but he watched for nearly six months this whole drama unravel, pressing Y/N to talk to Spencer, pushing Spencer to speak to Y/N. Intentionally recommending him a book he damn well knew she wrote. Because they’ve known each other for years, he loves playing matchmaker. He wouldn’t admit pulling the strings, or maybe he would, he might as well take pride in it. All this writer knows is that he did God's work, and we all thank him for it.

The pair left the library with a short goodbye. No time for elaborated farewells, coffee awaits. The excitement in Spencer’s body bubbles up at an increasing rate. He feels like a million dollar man, walking down the stairs of the old building again, just like the day before. She mindlessly grabs his hand, and Spencer feels again uncaracterisricly safe in the physical contact, he feels comforted, and cared for. He never wants to stop. The young man leads her to a book-coffeeshop he knows well. The short walk is enjoyed in silence, listening to the soft whoosh in the autumn air. He’s always known this was his favorite season, but never so strongly had he felt like the colors were so vibrant yet calm. The warm tones and brown leaves perfectly match everything from how great he feels to the color tones in both of their clothes.

They reach the place as Spencer finally reacts from the haze he had been up to this point. He opens the door for her before she even tries to reach. The soft spoken giggled thank you she gives him makes the afternoon sun shine a bit brighter. He takes her coat, pulls her chair out, a whole gentleman ordeal, he needs to impress. They order their coffees as conversation starts to flow simply. Where are you from, do you have any siblings, where did you study, etc. “How is it that you are always in the same library? You took the metro yesterday, so I would assume you have other libraries closer by” he inquires “Are you implying I should find a different library?” she chuckles making Spencer panic “No no no, not at all. It’s just, um I’m curious, t- that’s all” he laughs nervously, but calming down at her easy expression “Frank and I have been friends since college, he basically adopted me the first year. We had a couple of classes together and I was nearly alone in a completely different city, not to mention country. So we became besties. Then when we graduated we still kept in contact and now that we live in the same city we hang out again like old times” she finishes as their coffees came, obviously with the expected joking around the insane amount of sugar in his coffee “That can’t be good for you, but somehow I feel like that’s not the unhealthiest habit you have” They drink their coffee with the constant enquiers on her career “Sorry if I’m pressing you” he meeks “No, don’t worry, it’s normal. Not everyday you meet a published author” “And an excellent writer if I may add” he smiles gaining her smile back “You may”

They get up to go wander around the books, as necessary for the two young people. As she’s taking a look at the classics section, he takes his route to the young adult fantasy, with a very specific title to find. His absence is noted only as he comes back with a wide grin on his face. It makes her cackle seeing the cover she knows all too well. “What? It’s a great book, written by a great author, who also happens to be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen” he says boldly with a sly grin, just to see her blush, which he does achieve “Stop. It’s embarrassing” she shoves him to the side, looking away. Both of their stomachs flutter like crazy, not nervous anymore, but excited like they haven't been in a long time. After everything has been paid they take the short walk again, holding hands like it’s the most natural thing to do, and for them, it already feels like so. She stops on her track as they arrive at the subway station, just like the prior day, but Spencer draws her hand “What are you doing?” she inquires quizzingly “I’m walking you home” he shrugs “Spencer, you don’t hav-” “But I want to” he states simply. At this point, Spencer’s on his way of becoming a master at making her blush. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

The crowded car leaves them no other choice but to stand very close, almost holding each other. They don’t complain. You see, something about Y/N is that she is tiny, especially in comparison to Spencer. Y/N has always hated how much she loses stability in the metro, but it just so happens that everytime her balance stumbles, pretty boy is her to catch her by the waist, apologizing profusely nonetheless, even after her constant reasussence and “it’s fine”. Y/N can’t help but find herself stumbling more than usual, forcing Spencer to leave his hand at her waist, most pleasant occurence for either of them. Unfortunately, the ride comes to an end, but that doesn’t mean Spencer gets any further from her. Quite the contrary, he gets closer. Again, no complaints. This might be surprising given how adverse he is to physical touch, yet he finds that he craves it on this occasion.

Soon enough, they’re already at the steps of her building. The bittersweet feeling knowing they're about to say goodbye is palpable in the air. An awkward farewell is about to happen as they stand merely inches apart. They’re both over the moon, and as we have come to realize, Spencer’s feeling bold today. He slowly reaches his arms, cupping her face in his hands, boring into her eyes longingly. Nothing can be heard but their soft breathing, and the rapidly accelerating beating of their hearts. As both of their gazes slowly shift to the other’s lips, their already close stance becomes an embrace. Spencer’s insecurities come back rushing to him at an unstoppable pace. “Y- Y/N, are you sure you want this? I- I’d never want to-“ his half formulated thought is cut off when she reaches up on her tiptoes to kindly put him out of his misery with a gentle kiss.

Of course Spencer had been kissed before, yet he found himself feeling like a brand new man. He deepens the kiss with a renovated vigor and most importantly, hope. Y/N’s hands slide up to the ape of his neck from his waist. Their lips move in sync, their limbs easily fall in place into each other’s embrace, this is perfection, this is art. They only separate slightly when the necessity for oxygen becomes far too big, but still coming back for sweet pecks not wanting to let this moment die. Saccharine little kisses start being peppered all over Y/N’s face, eliciting most endearing giggles. “Spencer” she breathes out in between kisses prompting the tiniest gap to separate the two, only enough for him to glance at her blushing face, knowing well of equally red his looks. His glasses slid down his nose in the most awkward way possible. “Sorry” he mutters, pushing them up “Don’t be, you’re simply the cutest” she offers with a proud smile “Would you like to come up?” “Oh, I- um, I- I’m sorry, I should come back home now, I- I-” truly, he’d like to spend every second with her, but all the confidence he had been exuding all this time has suddenly from and leave him back to his normal clumsy self. He can’t help but feel like coming up the stairs would mean embarrassing himself to unknown levels (even if in the back of his head he knows Y/N would never see it like that) which is not exactly the desired outcome of the day. “It's alright. Will you call me then? I’d love of us to see each other again” “Y- yeah, I will” he promised “Bye, Spencer” “Bye, Y/N”

[doctorstethoscope]

The Right Chapter 27 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Hello my loves! Just a reminder that this chapter is posting from the queue as I am on vacation--- I will be checking in periodically but less active than usual and not updating the tag list! Hope y’all enjoy this one :)

Read previous chapters of this fic here! 

contains: food mention, hangover mention, discussion of parenting, canon-typical mentions of violence

wordcount: 2k

When you woke up the next morning, you’re somewhere between completely refreshed and wickedly hungover. You need a bacon egg and cheese on an everything bagel and a big cup of coffee stat if you are going to get anything at all done today. Aaron, of course, must have gotten up hours ago, and has long past left the bedroom by the time you rise at nearly 11. When you roll to get out of  bed, you notice that he’s left you advil, water, and a sleeve of saltines just in case you were feeling nauseous. You smiled, sitting up gingerly to sip at the water and take the pills. Once you were sure your stomach was fine, you slid out of bed and found Jack and Aaron in the kitchen, cooking up bacon and frying eggs while The Beatles played in the background. The boys hadn’t noticed you yet, and you decided not to call attention to yourself-- taking the moment to commit this mental image to memory, of Jack on his father’s hip, Aaron rocking back and forth as he pushed scrambled eggs around a frying pan, smiling and giggling and not thinking about work or serial killers or the next time he’d be pulled away.

When the song fades out, Aaron looks up, seeing you leaning against the doorway to the hall. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. How are you feeling?” He asks, looking you up and down for signs of a hangover. 

“I’m okay. I’ll be better after breakfast,” you tell him. “And a big hug from my favorite Hotchner!” You add, crossing the kitchen and taking Jack from his father, shooting Aaron a knowing glance that said “I’m pretty sure physical therapy didn’t clear you for that. Especially not after last night.” 

“I cracked the eggs. There’s no shells in them, Mom.” Jack says, and the world stops. He doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s slipped up, but Aaron and you both freeze, whipping your heads to look at each other with equally bewildered glances. 

“I’m sure you did a great job, buddy!” You tell Jack, after a moment that feels like hours, not wanting to ignore him but not quite sure how to address what had happened, and Aaron wasn’t being much help. 

“Breakfast is ready,” Aaron says, handing you exactly what you needed-- a bacon and egg sandwich, along with a hashbrown, some fruit, and a big cup of coffee. 

“You might be the perfect man.” You tell him gratefully, and he smirks at you as the three of you sit down at the table and eat.  

You and Aaron make casual conversation for a little while before Jack poses a question. “Dad, can we take my kite out today?” Jack asks as he spears a sausage link on his fork. 

“It’s not really windy enough to fly a kite today, buddy, but we can go for a bike ride or play some soccer if you want,” Aaron responds before taking a sip of coffee. 

“And we’ll all go?” Jack asks, looking across the table at you. 

“Of course,” you tell him. “We’ll all go to the park with you.” 

“Okay. Can I be excused?” He asks, and Aaron nods. 

“Go ahead, just make sure you wash your hands and your face. You’ve got syrup everywhere,” He chuckles, and Jack scoots out his chair and leaves the table. 

As soon as Jack is out of eyesight, you speak up. “So, are we gonna talk about that, or what?” You say in a hushed tone, not wanting Jack to overhear. 

“I didn’t tell him to do that,” Aaron says. 

“Neither did I,” you assure him. 

“Are you upset?” Aaron asks, a furrow in his brow that just about broke your heart. Silly, silly man. 

“No, of course not. Not if you aren’t.” You assure him. 

“I just… he can’t forget Haley. He’s all that is left of her.” Aaron says with a deep sigh, and your eyes well up in tears. 

“No, Aaron, he hasn’t and he won’t. We won’t let him.” You say, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “And if you don’t want him to call me Mom, I understand.” 

“That’s not it. It’s just… bringing a lot up for me, is all.” He says. 

“That’s normal, honey. You should think about it for a while, maybe talk about it just with him. No matter what you decide, you’re not going to disappoint me or him. But it’s okay to need some time with this.” You say, standing up to wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind, pressing a kiss to the junction of his shoulder and his neck. 

“Thank you, for understanding me and for respecting her.” he tells you, raising one hand to cover yours where they met over his heart, craning his neck to leave a kiss on your wrist. 

“Baby, have you seen my phone?” You asked, realizing that you haven’t checked it all morning. 

“It’s charging next to mine on the bedside table. You were having a little trouble with the charger when we got in last night,” he chuckles at the memory of your drunken antics from the night before. 

You go into the other room to grab your phones, noticing that you have two missed calls from Penelope--- you only just missed her. You dial her back as you head back towards the kitchen to help Aaron clean up. 

“Where are you right now?” Garcia asks you as soon as the line connects, and your face twists up in confusion as you put your plate in the dishwasher. 

“I’m at Aaron’s place, where are you?” You ask, not understanding her line of questioning. 

“Is Jack in the room with you?” 

“Garcia, what’s going on?”  You ask, starting to get nervous. Aaron turns to face you, sensing your anxiety and you place a hand on his forearm for support. 

“Last night, when we were all at the bar, a girl was kidnapped, who based on the description, looks a hell of a lot like you. A neighbor saw the guy, and based on the he neighbor’s description--

“It looks like Josh,” you finished Garcia’s sentence, and you felt Aaron tense under your fingers. He puts his palm out, silently asking for your phone, and you pass it to him without even telling Garcia that you were putting him on. 

You were scared, terrified even, but you knew that the best thing you could do right then was be a profiler. You left Aaron to settle the details, and went into his bedroom to find something work-appropriate to wear. By the time you came back out, Aaron was off the phone. 

“I called the rest of the team in, they’re going to meet us at the office. We’re going to get this loser, and we’re going to get him today,” Aaron lets out, and you nod.

“I’ll take Jack over to Jess’s,” you say, turning back towards Jack’s room, and he stopped you. 

“No. You stay with me. Jess is on her way,” Aaron says, and she knocks at the door at the next moment. “I just told her that we got called in,” he tells you as he answers the door. 

“Morning, guys,” she says as she steps in, entirely too chipper for the terror that’s rolling through your stomach in waves. “Duty calls, right?” She smiles at you, and you use all the power you have to muster a smile back. 

“Yeah, even at the worst times,” you’re impressed that you strung that many words together. 

“Any idea when you’ll be back?” She asks, and you shake your head. 

“We’ve really got to go,” Aaron says, coming back into the room with Jack, who gives you and his father both hugs before you have to leave. You squeeze him extra tight before Aaron ushers you out of the apartment and towards the car. 

“I am not going to let anything happen to you.” Aaron tells you after a few moments of tense, silent driving. 

“I know,” you say noncommittally, and it’s back to silence. 

“You can’t go in the field.” You both say after a moment. 

“Darling, you have to understand--” 

“No, Aaron, it’s not even up for debate. You’re out because of your leg, and JJ is pregnant. The team needs me, and I can’t sit this one out because either one of us is emotional about it,” You argue, and Aaron heaves a sigh. 

“I wish Elle were here. Josh wouldn’t even still be a problem.” Aaron grumbles out, and despite yourself, you burst out laughing. Aaron’s shocked at first by your reaction, but after a moment, he lets out a laugh, too. 

“Aaron, that’s awful. You were upset with Elle for months, even after she left. You’re better than that.” You say, still smiling even though it really wasn’t funny at all. 

“Yeah, well, when you hobbled out to my car with a black eye, I think I began to understand Elle a little bit better than I did at the time.” Aaron tells you. 

You think of the girl Josh has taken now-- being punished only for the sin of resembling you. No doubt she had her own black eye to match yours, plus god only knows what else at this point, nearly twelve hours after being taken. You swallowed thickly. After a moment, you speak up again.

“You knew that this was going to happen, didn’t you?” You ask quietly-- it’s a genuine question, not an accusation, but it still breaks Aaron’s heart. “That’s why you weren’t excited or relieved like I was when he got arrested.”

“I knew it was a possibility,” he confirms. “I didn’t want to say anything to you, because there was no way to know-- and I didn’t want you to have to keep living in fear,” he explains.

 “I’m gonna get this son of a bitch,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Aaron. 

The team is already waiting for the two of you in the roundtable room while you arrive, although there’s really no need to brief, so you all launch into a profile while Garcia digs for more information. 

“What do we know about the unsub?” Aaron asks the team.

“He’s a power-seeker. He uses physical force as a method of coercion.” Morgan says, and Reid scribbles his statement onto a whiteboard. 

“He doesn’t react well when challenged--- his demeanor completely changed when he came here and Hotch went after him.” Emily adds. 

“True, but he had no problem going toe-to-toe with Morgan.” JJ contradicts. 

“Based on the message he left with the flowers, he’s displaying early indicators of stalking behavior. If that’s escalated far enough, it’s possible that Josh might really believe that the woman that he’s taken is Y/N.” Spencer says, and you nod. For her sake, you hoped not. He had a hell of a lot of pent up anger towards you, and you didn’t want this poor girl to take the brunt of it. 

“What’s her name?” You asked, quietly, and with everyone talking over you, you almost think no one hears you, until Aaron leans in a little closer. 

“What’s that, darling?” He asks. 

“What’s her name?” You say again, and his brow furrows in confusion. 

“Who’s name?”

“The girl who’s taking the beating with my name on it right now,” you spit out, and the rest of the team stops talking over you. “The least I can do is learn her name and go talk to her parents.” You say, packing your stuff up.

“Her name is Anna Reardon. We’ll send the address to your phone,” Emily tells you, and you turn on your heel and walk out. 

tagging:  @romanogersendgame @wanniiieeee      @zheezs14      @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13  @baumarvel @ssamorganhotchner  @ijustwannaread2k19    @rexit-mo @shmaptainhotchnersmain @qtip-blog @averyhotchner  @the-modernmary @itsmytimetoodream @choppa-style @hotforhotchner11 @infinite-tides @isthatme-thatsme @g-l-pierce @bakugouswh0r3 @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @rousethemouse

[writersmorgue]

Something Immortal

word count - 3k

warnings: suicide attempt, drug use, addiction, cursing, teenagers being gross

pairing: model!Todoroki x canon!Bakugo

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Holy shit guys he posted!!" Mina squeals, vaulting herself over the couch to reach the rest of the Bakusquad sitting on the common room carpet. An old original copy of Monopoly splayed out in the center of their group.

"Ooh, show us! Show us!" Kaminari leans forward, swiping half of the properties off the board in the process.

Sero groans, "Dude you do this every time!!"

The blond pouts, "Hey it's your fault I was losing."

Kirishima just chuckles, picking up his dog piece from jail and throwing it into the box.

"Your smart people game can wait," Mina tugs on Sero's ponytail, "He hasn't posted in weeks."

"Oh my god he's so fucking hot," Kaminari's knee-jerk reaction is whispered as soon as he sees the post.

Todoroki Shouto, one of Japan- and America's- most well-known models. The teenager, who happens to be their age, regularly models for magazines like Vogue, Joker, and Elle. The teenager who has starred in countless American and Japanese short and independent films. The teenager who just so happens to be the son of the number one hero, Endeavor.

No one knows his quirk, but it just adds to the mystery. Some people theorize he's quirkless, but others think he's got a crazy dangerous quirk, which is why he's a model instead of an aspiring hero. Not like he's not perfect for the job, with his gorgeous bi-colored hair and heterochromatic eyes. The scar on his left side somehow only adds to his beauty. It doesn't matter what your sexuality is, you simp for Todoroki Shouto.

But that's the obvious, now this photo- this photo.

"It's ethereal, I've never seen him look so serene before."

"He's an actual angel."

"How is he only eighteen?!"

Mina nods as Sero, Kaminari, and Kirishima go through the seven stages of grief just looking at the photo.

Kirishima's eyes dart to Todoroki's username... which is just Shouto. In fact, the Todoroki name isn't mentioned once on his account, a fact that has hundreds of conspiracy theories on its own.

"Hey Meens, can we stalk him real quick? I wanna see who he's following."

She grins, "Well anything for you, munchkin."

Sero snorts. Their couple nicknames never fail to amuse anyone within hearing range.

"Ugh gross," Kaminari gags as Mina giggles, swiping off of the picture (which already has over 600,000) and onto his main page.

It's simple, plain yet elegant in the way only a PR manager could manage.

The bio is a link to his most recent shoot with some magazine that Kirishima doesn't recognize, the profile picture is a rare shot of him smiling, a blue checkmark, and a follower count of over four million.

His following count, however, is the shocker.

"He only follows fourteen people?" Sero whispers, clicking on the number.

"Huh," Mina turns the phone slightly so she can see, "Who is he following?"

"Let's see," Sero squints, eyes scrolling down the list, "Hawks... his siblings... Mirko... some American models... his agency's profile... and- wait, isn't that Bakugo?"

"HAH?" Mina yells, whipping the phone around and clicking on the profile.

Sure enough, a slew of photos shows up on her screen, all of their resident blond pomeranian glaring at the camera in various locations.

"He- WHAT?? It must be a glitch!" Mina scrambles frantically, eyes darting across the screen.

"Uh, yeah," Kirishima chuckles, "a glitch."

Mina scrolls up numerous times as if refreshing the page will help.

"I mean what other explanation can you think of?! It's not like Thee Todoroki Shouto would know our Bakugou, they're totally in different leagues." Mina sounds absolutely scandalized, causing Sero to laugh.

"I don't know, Meens, the proof is right there. We should ask him about it!"

"And what- DIE?" Kaminari reasons.

Sero nods, "Fair point."

"Pussies." Mina stands, planting her manicured hands on the edge of the couch, "I'll ask him myself."

-

"I REFUSE." A fourteen-year-old Shouto screams at his father.

"what do you mean you refuse? Shouto she's a lovely girl, and you need to procreate while you're still young if you're not going to become a hero like I want. You get one or the other." Todoroki Enji grabs his youngest child by the arm to lead him out of the kitchen, but Shouto jerks out of his grip. "Wh- SHOUTO."

"I'm going to live with Fuyumi. She'll take care of me." He holds his ground, shaking his father off when he tries once again to physically lead him out of the room.

"OH?" Enji bellows a laugh, "And how do you expect she'll find the money to take you in? Raising a teenager is expensive, you know, and she's only a simple school teacher."

"She's not a simple anything. And I- I'll find a way. We'll be fine. I already talked to several agencies."

"...agencies?"

-

"Wait, Mina!!" Kaminari calls after the girl, but she's a woman on a mission and there's no stopping her.

They arrive at Bakugo's door in a heap, Kaminari clawing at Mina while she knocks calmly. Kirishima and Sero stand to watch because they have no idea what else to do. (They're just as nervous as Kaminari but they're more afraid of Mina if they're being honest.)

A crash comes from inside the room, but soon their resident angry boy is slamming open his door and glaring at them. The normalcy is comforting.

"Do you fuckers realize what fucking time it is?"

"Yes~" Mina coos sweetly, "I know old men need their sleep but it's only 8:30 and we have a question."

He sighs aggressively and stretches his arms behind his back, cracking his shoulders and then his neck, Kaminari whimpers in fear.

"Alright, what do you want pinky?"

She's practically vibrating with excitement at this point.

"Why is Todoroki Shouto following you on Instagram?"

Bakugo seems to mull over this for a moment, and then he just shrugs.

Mina nods like this answers any part of her question, "That's what I thought, funny glitch. He's pretty hot though, right?"

The rest of the group nods emphatically.

Bakugo scratches his leg with his other heel, "He's not ugly, I guess."

Mina waves her arms around in Bakugo's general direction, "See!!? Even the straight guy agrees!!"

"No one was disagreeing with you, Mina." Sero snickers.

Bakugo grunts, then promptly slams the door in their faces.

"Well I guess that was more than he'd usually do at this time, we're lucky we didn't get exploded." Kirishima muses.

Kaminari nods, shuddering at the thought.

"Welp! That answers our question!" Although it really didn't, no one was about to argue with Mina, "Anyway I'm going to bed."

"Say hi to your vibe for me!" Sero whispers after her.

She waves as she marches away, humming to herself.

-

Shouto stares at the street below.

He wonders if he'd die falling from a height like this. He hopes he doesn't hit anyone.

Slowly, he removes his expensive sneakers, dropping them on the modelling agency's roof beside him. It's breezy tonight, and Shouto, freshly sixteen, has nothing to live for anymore. So he won't.

Stepping carefully over the guardrail, not sure why since he's about to jump. Maybe part of him is still afraid.

Whatever he can get over it.

His thin frame wobbles in the wind, and he breathes deeply, too focused on relaxing to notice the roof door opening, and hurried steps coming up behind him.

A warm hand grabs him, almost startling him off the side of the building.

The interruption heaves heavy breaths in his ear as they both topple down onto the concrete floor.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" Oh, it's Bakugo.

The only child of his manager, Mitsuki Bakugo, who happens to be a nosy little shit who can't stay out of other people's business.

"Get OFF" Shouto shoves him, frantically scrambling toward the railing again. He needs this.

"NO! Todoroki get the fuck back-"

"It's SHOUTO." blood spurts onto his gray sweater and he realizes with muted horror that he just elbowed his employer's son in the nose.

"Fuck I'm so sorry, are you okay?" He bends down, removing his trashed pullover, and holds it to his friend's nose.

Bakugo snorts, "Sorry- Shouto I mean." He winces when Shouto presses harder into his face, "I'll forgive you if you don't jump."

Shouto sighs, "You know why I was going to."

Bakugo visibly calms at the use of past tense, the outburst must have snapped him out of it.

"Your mom, right?" Shouto tenses.

"Yeah I- he barred me from ever seeing her again and I- I don't know what to do." He shudders and pulls his pills from his pants pocket.

He wonders what his mom would say if she found out her baby was addicted to drugs.

Bakugou frowns but lets his friend take the pill, not sure what to say.

"Fucking piece of shit. Is that even legal?"

"Legally the number two hero can do whatever the fuck he wants. We live in a flawed world, Bakugo.

"I- Shouto."

"Hmm?" Shouto collapses onto the ground, crunching the pill and sighing as he feels the effects start to take almost immediately.

"I care- I care about you, okay? So please let me help you. Let me get you help."

A tear slips down to Shouto's ear without his permission, he wipes it away as quickly as it came.

"I don't know, Bakugo. You haven't exactly seemed to like me in the past. Even though I like to think we're friends I know you don't feel the same." He frowns, admiring the shine of wetness on his palm in the moonlight.

Bakugo grumbles, "Don't fuckin' tell me what I do and don't feel. I really fuckin' care about you even though I'm an ass about it, okay? I'm not good with emotions so don't expect much from me. But I do want you to be happy and I don't think the uh- the pills are helping."

The blond holds out a hand and reluctantly Shouto slaps the container into it.

"Fine," he mumbles, "you're uh- not as bad as I thought."

Bakugo snorts, "You're just as bad as I thought, but I like you anyway."

Against his will, Shouto finds himself blushing, thankful that it's mostly hidden in the dark.

"C'mon," Bakugo gestures to his own chest, "I know you could use one."

Shouto whimpers as he curls himself into the blond's strong frame. He's built a lot of muscle since starting at UA this year.

A strong hand rubs along his back and Shouto finds he can't hold back his tears any longer as the shock starts to set in.

Fuck he almost just killed himself.

"Thanks, Bakugo."

"I almost just watched you die, you can call me Katsuki."

"Thanks, Katsuki."

"No problem, Shouto."

-

The Bakusquad once again finds themselves playing a game on the common room floor, this time Sorry, much to Sero's chagrin.

"Sorry!" Kirishima grins cheekily as he kicks Sero's piece back to his home base.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuck you guys-" He groans, flopping back onto the loveseat behind him, only to get an eyeful of Bakugo Katsuki's ass, "Oh hey Bakugou!"

"Wh- OI TAPE FACE WATCH WHERE THE HELL YOU'RE LOOKING-"

Sero snickers, patting Bakugou on the hip, "Sorry dude, it was literally right there."

Small explosions popped from Bakugo's hands as he growled down at Sero.

"Aw come on blasty he's just playing and WHERE are you going dressed like that???!!!"

Bakugo blushes and tugs his light blue blazer down farther.

"I have a date." He mutters, tugging his sleeves.

“Sorry,” Kaminari laughs, “I think I misheard you. Sounded like you said ‘I have a date.’”

Bakugo rolls his eyes, “Because I do, dipshit.” He sighs, checking his -expensive-looking- watch, “Just watch the independent film awards when they’re on. I think it’s like four hours from now that it starts.”

“Whyyyy would you have anything to do with that?” Kirishima groans, very lost.

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugo grunts, digging his phone out of his pocket when it vibrates and checking something before humming and striding towards the front door.

He looks unusually elegant, hair slicked back probably as well as Bakugo’s hair can be, shirt tucked in, a few rings on his fingers, barely visible and yet beautifully drawn eyeliner. He’s… pretty.

The three remaining members of the Bakusquad, as well as the rest of the common room, sit there in awe as he shoves a permission slip in Iida’s blubbering face.

“I- Wh- Bakugo is this from Aizawa? You cannot just leave!!”

“Fuck off glasses, I have his fuckin’ blessing or whatever.”

“Bakugo!”

The blond shoots a middle finger off behind him and slams the door shut, leaving a stunned common room in his wake.

“Uh, well, that happened.” Jirou drones blandly from her place on the couch with Momo.

“Awards show watch party, anyone?!” Uraraka grins, standing, “I’ll get the mochi!!”

“I’ll make tea,” Momo stands as well, dusting off her perfectly clean jeans. Jirou groans at the loss of her girlfriend’s warmth and flops over on the couch.

“This is stupid, he probably got invited by some pro hero and he’s just going to yell at the paparazzi if he’s even gonna be there.” She pouts.

“Well,” Sero grins, “anyone wanna play Monopoly while we wait?”

Kaminari throws the Sorry board at his head.

-

“Alright, is everyone ready!!? The red carpet is about to start!!” Hagakure squeals, even though the entirety of class 3-A (minus Bakugo) is there.

“So… what exactly are we watching this for?” Shinsou scratches the back of his neck.

“Bakugo’s going to be in it apparently, the study group earlier saw him in the common room wearing a suit.” Ojiro answers.

“Not just a suit!!” Mina holds her hands out as if to deliver groundbreaking news, “A fancy suit.”

“Aren’t all suits fancy?”

“Shut up.”

“OOH LOOK there’s Arai Itō and Chiba Yoshida!! Aww, they’re so cute!” Uraraka swoons, clasping her hands together.

“I wonder when Kacchan is gonna come out, these things can take a while.”

“I honestly don’t even care, I heard Todoroki Shouto is nominated for an award this year!! Do you remember that really sad short film he was in about having an overdose? Gosh, I hope he wins.” Hagakure’s hair bow vibrates excitedly.

“THERE HE IS THERE HE IS!!!!!” She points at the bottom of the screen where a man in a pale blue dress has stepped out of a limo and onto the carpet, a heeled foot gracefully raising him to his full 6’2”.

“Holy shit he’s gorgeous.” Sero breathes, the reporters on screen basically saying the same thing.

Shouto reaches behind him and holds out a hand for the second person stepping out of the limo, broad shoulders, a shorter stature than Shouto especially with the heels, spiky blond hair, piercing red eyes-

…

“HOLY SHIT IS THAT BAKUGOU??”

The aerial camera pans down toward the blond, showing off his suit- which matches Shouto’s dress perfectly- and his, what appears to be professionally done hair.

“Holy shit does he have an undercut now!!?? We just saw him a few hours ago!” Mina screeches.

Momo shrugs, “They do that sort of thing for celebrities.” She sips her tea, unphased.

“Okay okay, we’re all ignoring the most important part. Kacchan is Todoroki’s date.” Izuku frantically waves his arms around.

“I didn’t know they knew each other,” Tokoyami muses.

“What the fuck is happening?” Sero asks no one in particular.

“Wait everyone SHUT UP they’re announcing awards!!!! Todoroki might win one! We can ask Bakugo about this when he gets back. Surely there’s an interesting story.” Uraraka chimes in, handing out mochi and popcorn.

The tv’s voice is muffled under the muttering of several class 3-A members, but Mina turns it up as the male announcer reads the winners of the award Todoroki is nominated for.

“AAAAAAAAND THE WINNER FOR BEST ACTOR IN A DRAMA SHORT ISSSSSSSSS…

TODOROKI SHOUTO!!! For his work in The End of Me and the incredible performance that shocked-”

Cheers ring through the dorms, popcorn goes flying, and Mina frantically shushes everyone as Shouto makes his way gracefully onto the stage. He accepts the award from the previous winner, bowing elegantly and stepping up to the mic.

“Hello everyone,” He begins, shooting a shy smile directly into the camera. It has always perplexed his fans how nervous he can be in real life compared to in his photoshoots. “This is a really important award to me, not only am I incredibly grateful to the panel for gracing this title upon me, but as of yesterday,” He smiles at the ground, taking a deep breath, “I’m two years clean.”

Shocked gasps ricochet through the award hall as well as through the crowd gathered around the tv.

“He did drugs, kero?” Tsu whispers.

“Mon dieux,” Aoyama shakes his head, pressing a hand to his chest, “how brave.”

Shouto clears his breath and continues, “In fact, that wasn’t the worst of it at the time, and I’m incredibly grateful to all who have supported me through my career. You keep me sane, and you keep me going. But especially, I’d like to thank my sister, brother, and my wonderful boyfriend-”

He holds an arm out to someone in the audience, and the camera pans to none other than Bakugou Katsuki, “who quite literally saved my life, and helped me drive myself back on track. I love you Katsuki, and you continue to improve my life every second that you’re in it.”

Most of 3-A are in tears at this point, and as Bakugo half-heartedly scowls into the camera, they can tell his eyes are shining too.

Shouto glances back at the camera as if directing his words to someone in particular.

“Thank you.”

And then he’s walking back down to his seat as the audience provides him with a standing ovation.

“THEY’RE DATING,” Mina sobs, shaking Kirishima’s shoulders as he sits, staring slack-jawed at the television.

“Yeah, yeah they are.”

-

Katsuki does NOT wipe tears from his eyes as he helps Shouto sit back down in his seat, but his boyfriend definitely does. His mascara, thankfully waterproof, still holds strong.

Shouto shoots him a watery smile, rubbing his arm as he pulls the blond into a hug.

“Happy two years, Katsuki.”

[alpacaparkaseok]

Lost & Found - 7

Pairing: Park Jimin x soulmate (oc)

Warnings: Insecurity, anxiety, abandonment

Word Count: 4.1k

a/n: as always, THANK YOU for reading! Thank you for reblogging (which is literally every author’s dream), liking, commenting (I DIE OVER YOUR COMMENTS/ASKS, THEY ARE THE HIGHLIGHT OF MY DAY) and just reading in gereral! Enjoy!

Chapter 7. Lie to Me

series masterlist

Jimin finds himself robbed of breath as he watches that red thread dancing in the wind, the twin to his own. His heart is unsure of whether or not it wants to beat like a drum or stop altogether, leaving him clutching his chest.

Slowly, so slowly that it almost hurts, he brings his eyes up to the girl’s face. Only catching her side profile, he can’t help but be taken by surprise.

Soft is the first word that comes to mind when he catches sight of her eyes, her cheeks and nose. Her lips are pursed from where she must be biting them, making him emit a choked sigh. Her hair, falling around her shoulders, is deep with color.

He watches with no small amount of devastation as her eyes land on Elle’s figure, the cat already bounding down the stairs to greet her in the street. Coming to a stop, the woman crouches down and sets her groceries beside her. She reaches out to scratch Elle’s ears, and Jimin is unable to do anything but watch as those pursed lips ease out into a soft, beautiful smile.

It’s a smile, Jimin realizes, that he was meant to wake up to for the rest of his life.

Stuck in his trance, Jimin sees the woman pull her phone out and type out a quick message. Slipping her phone back into her pocket, she grabs her groceries once again and begins to trek up the stairs.

Like the sound of a nail being hammered into his coffin, his phone pings with a text notification. He doesn’t look at it just yet, refusing to accept the reality. He keeps his eyes glued to the girl, his heart throwing itself at his ribs with undeniable vigor.

Step.

She turns to head up to the top right-hand apartment, Elle leading the way.

Step.

Now she’s fishing keys out of her pocket, saying something to Elle as the cat leaps through the window with ease.

Step.

She’s pressed up close to the door now, fumbling a little with the lock before the door gives way.

Step.

Making sure she has everything, the girl does a quick inventory of her bags, giving Jimin a complete view of her face for a split second before stepping inside.

Close.

The minutes tick by, but Jimin remains frozen in place, staring at that door with the number 6 hanging from it. The inside of his head turns into a hurricane, not giving him enough time to batter down the hatches before everything comes pouring down. Bringing a shaking hand to his mouth, Jimin finally tears his gaze from the door as it all becomes too much and the tears begin to stream down his face.

It’s there, quietly sobbing in his car, that Jimin realizes that he will be forever haunted by the image of his soulmate. And it’s there, one hand wringing the steering wheel while the other tries to silence his cries, that he curses the cruelty of fate.

Cutting the thread wasn’t enough, he knows that now. Just because his soulmate - Jolie is his soulmate’s name, how can a name be so beautiful? - cut the thread, doesn’t mean that she stopped fate. There are other common threads that bind them together.

Who could have expected it to come in the form of a cat?

Hands shaking violently, Jimin turns the key in the ignition. The bawdy tune on the radio is turned off the instant it comes on, and he’s left staring at his phone that sits atop his console.

Closing his eyes and grabbing it, he does his best to control his breathing. With tears still escaping his eyes, he looks at the message that arrived what feels like eons ago.

Jolie (Elle): Thanks for dropping Elle off! I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience for you.

Jimin is at a complete loss for words, so he does the only thing he can.

He calls Namjoon.

✂

“Did you enjoy your night out?”

Elle preens on the kitchen counter, looking like she definitely did. I shoo her away, setting the groceries down and immediately beginning to put them away.

“Well, I’m glad. Good to know I was worried sick over nothing.” When Elle doesn’t begin to miraculously speak, I sigh. “You know, I went and saw that therapist today. The one my boss talked about a couple weeks ago.”

I pause for a moment, staring at the can of soup in my hands. Reading the nutrition label but hardly seeing it at all. It’s still early in the day, but I find myself already at a loss as to what I should be doing with the rest of the day.

“Now that you’re home, wanna go on a fieldtrip?” Elle perks up at my offer, tail lazily swishing back and forth. Putting the rest of my groceries away, I fumble around for my jacket. Then, staring at the envelope Namjoon gave me that still sits on my nightstand, I walk past it and grab a small business card sitting atop my dresser.

I have some homework to do.

If I’m supposed to come to terms with the events of the past couple of weeks, I might as well start with the person that assisted me in this entire process. That, and Christina may very well be the only person that doesn’t want to strangle me at the moment.

Chung-hei and Namjoon are supportive, but they see this as one thing and one thing only: wrong.

Elle is already waiting for me by the door when I reemerge, slipping the jacket on. She bounds out the door as soon as I open it, heading toward the small path that leads toward the park. I chuckle, the sound at odds with the uneasy feeling in my chest.

“Not that way,” I call to the confused cat. “We’re taking a bus to Itaewon.”

✂

Jimin is sitting on a stool by the kitchen island when the boys come stumbling through the door. He hardly flinches at the sudden change, only staring at the marble countertop. Staring at it like it might come up with the answers he needs, but not getting any input.

Namjoon received a call about an hour ago from Jimin, the younger boy nearly hyperventilating into the phone as he told him two things before dissolving into some sort of shocked silence.

“It was her.”

“Help.”

It didn’t take much for Namjoon to piece it all together. He had just been on the phone with Chung-hei that morning, trying to remember if Jolie had a white cat named Elle, and if Jimin was indeed in possession of that same cat.

Chung-hei had confirmed it, although she was just as shocked as Namjoon. What are the odds?

Apparently better than they thought, if Jimin’s current state is any indication.

Namjoon had wanted to stop Jimin, but after a long chat with his soulmate, he decided that it may be best to just let fate run its course.

Now, looking at Jimin who has finally lifted his head, he wonders if he was a fool for letting it go this far.

“Jimin-ah we’re home,” Taehyung announces, heading straight toward the island and taking a stool on his right. Yoongi takes the one on the left, Jungkook settling for wrapping his arms around Jimin’s shoulders and nuzzling his nose into his hair in the way that only Jungkook does.

Jin, j-hope, and Namjoon all weave around to stand on the opposite side of the island, exchanging worried glances. Unfortunately, none of them are experts in severed soulmate bonds. However, they do consider themselves to be Jimin experts.

Hopefully that will be enough.

“Do you want to tell us what happened?” The question comes from Yoongi.

It falls silent as everyone waits for Jimin to speak. The quiet seems to be pressing in from all sides, nearly suffocating them.

Raising his head a bit more but not looking anywhere but the countertop, Jimin relinquishes his lip from where he was chewing on it.

“Her name is Jolie.” Jimin’s voice is still a bit shaky, but he pushes forward almost as though this is his only chance to get the words out before they’re forever locked up inside his mind. “Elle is...her cat. She was grocery shopping, I thought she was nice.”

“You talked to her?” Jungkook asks.

Jimin shakes his head. “No...not face to face. I had her number, when I thought I was just texting Elle’s owner. She seemed friendly.”

It’s quiet for a moment until Namjoon can’t fight the guilt anymore. “I’m...she probably is, Jimin. Good people make horrible decisions, sometimes.” He barely gets the words out without confessing all that he knows. He’s dying to, but he can’t. Something stops him, begging him to wait a little longer.

Nodding absentmindedly, Jimin sighs. “Elle loves her.” He stares burning holes through the countertop now. “She ran like a puppy once she saw her walking down the street. I think...she is a good person. So why…?”

He doesn’t need to finish his question, everybody is already thinking the same thing.

“Did she see you?” Taehyung wonders aloud, looking at his best friend with nothing but sweet concern.

“No, I was already in my car. But she...she texted me.” Jimin takes a moment before choking out the rest. “She thanked me for returning Elle. Said that she hoped it wasn’t too inconvenient for me.”

Once again, silence reigns in the apartment. It’s a rare occasion; these four walls are rarely quiet.

Hobi shuffles on his feet. “Have you thought about...you know…”

“What.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Texting her back?”

Jimin finally looks up, focusing on Hobi. “Text her back? What would I even say? Why….why?”

Namjoon jumps in. “I think it might be good, Jimin. It may help you to get some closure? Just get to know her a bit better. Maybe you’ll find out why she made this choice in the first place.” What he doesn’t tell him is that he’s been meticulously checking the mail every day for any sign of Jolie’s letter. If she hasn’t written to him yet, maybe this is another way for his friend to get closure?

Jimin shakes his head. “I’m the last person she’ll want to talk to.”

“She doesn’t have to know that it’s you,” Jin chimes in.

“And besides,” Namjoon continues. “I think that maybe today was some sort of sign. She can’t turn away forever, you know? Fate will always find a way.”

What he was hoping might be uplifting instead has Jimin turning to look at him, some sort of cold fire flickering in his eyes before sputtering out. “I don’t want fate or whatever this is,” he holds up his thread, “to just exhaust her into finally coming back to me! Is it too much to ask that she actually wants to be with me?”

“I didn’t mean it like-”

Jimin rises from his seat, prepared to walk away. “I’m not you, Namjoon!” His voice echoes through the house. “I didn’t get the girl! She took one look at me and thought that it would be better to ruin my life than be a part of it!” Jimin’s chest rises and falls, his breath rattling with the threat of sobbing.

Jungkook keeps his arms wrapped around Jimin, planting him in place. He’s always known Jimin so well; he knew that he would try to run and hide at some point during this conversation, to lick his wounds in peace without having to hurt anyone else. They’ll take it, though. They’ll take all of the barbed words in exchange for some sort of breakthrough. For Jimin to feel something again.

Jimin shakes his head, angry at himself for the tears and sobs that try to break through. “I’m so tired of crying, Namjoon.”

Namjoon remains on the opposite side of the island, unable to come up with anything to say, other than, “I’m sorry.”

But it’s Jungkook who musters up the courage to speak next. He’s quiet, still practically laying on Jimin and knowing that he’ll get away with it. Resting his chin on his friend’s shoulder, he sighs.

“Jimin-ah,” he begins, “You’re right, this is exhausting. But don’t you think that maybe she’s just...scared? And don’t you think she wouldn’t be so afraid if she got to know you? The Jimin that we all know isn’t scary, but all she’s ever seen are the promotions and concerts and suddenly she’s been thrown into a world where the one person that’s supposed to be her’s belongs to the entire world.”

The icy exterior that Jimin had been clinging to melts a little, his chin dropping to his chest. Jungkook sees the encouraging glances from his hyungs, and continues.

“It’s harmless to text her a little bit. Just get to know her. Let her get to know you. You can wait, to tell you who you are. But if you quit now, you will always wonder what could have happened.” Jungkook squeezes Jimin’s shoulders a bit tighter. “Do yourself a favor, and let it hurt a little more now so you can feel better in the future.”

“Rip off the bandaid,” Taehyung mumbles.

Yoongi stares at the countertop as well. “We’ll be here to help you know what to say, if you need help. But just because she shut you out, doesn’t mean that you should return the favor.”

Jimin closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply before letting it out. When he opens them again, the pain is still there. Like a splinter caught in his skin. Painful, but not unbearable. Not when he’s got more important tasks to attend to.

He looks up at Namjoon, his cheeks a little red from embarrassment due to his outburst. “I’m sorry, Joon. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that.”

Namjoon shakes his head, offering up a small smile. “I know. Don’t worry about it.”

At that moment the doorbell rings, everyone looking at each other with confused expressions. Jimin’s heart rate picks up, his imagination running while.

Did she see him? Does she somehow know what he’s planning to do? Is she angry and here to-

“Chicken!” Hobi shouts, bolting from the kitchen to the front door. Everyone dissolves into laughter, the uneasy tension from before dissolving a little.

Once Hobi returns with several boxes of chicken, explaining that he called for it just before entering the house, they turn back to the matter at hand.

Jimin stares down at his phone, wondering how on earth to begin. Jin coughs around his food before speaking.

“Just start with something that you have in common,” he suggests.

That common thread that is trying to no avail to bring them together.

Elle.

✂

Elle, I have come to learn, believes that she is above taking the bus. She must have gotten a hint of the high life last night with whoever she stayed with.

She’s currently poking her head out of my bag, which she immediately burrowed herself in upon finding boarding the bus. I smirk down at her, keeping my eyes averted from everyone else. It’s nice to have a little friend with me. It helps me ignore all of the people staring at me.

Or rather, my thread.

No one has dared to ask about it. Yet.

It should only take about twenty minutes to get to Itaewon. Hopefully that’s enough time for me to slip away before someone plucks up the courage to talk to me. If they approach, maybe Elle will hiss at them.

Judging by the way she’s nuzzled into my bag, I suppose that may be too much to wish for.

Riding the bus and watching the city slip past through the scratched windows has always been the strangest form of therapy for me. It’s crowded at times, loud and overall an awkward experience for many. However it’s often one of the places where I can just slip away. Dream with my eyes open as street shops and people drift into the rear view.

I’m just entering that dreamstate when I feel my phone vibrate. Slipping it out of my pocket and ignoring the whispers coming from a group of friends a couple of rows behind me, I glance at the new message.

It’s from the person that dropped Elle off, finally returning my message of gratitude.

UNK: It wasn’t inconvenient, don’t worry. If I’d had it my way, I would have hung out with Elle all day. 😸

I snort at the message, leveling Elle with a glare. “Sounds like you two are close.” Elle stares back up at me almost as though challenging me to do something about it. I roll my eyes. “You think you’re wrapped around their finger, huh? Watch and learn, princess.”

ME: Did you use the cat emoji bc of Elle or are you the kind of person that regularly uses cat emojis??

I wait with my phone in my hands, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips as I watch the person on the other side appear to be at a loss. Those three dots pop up for a moment before disappearing again.

It happens again and again, and I finally decide to put my phone away instead of watching them struggle to make up their mind. There’s only about ten minutes left of the trip, anyway.

Another five pass before my phone vibrates. Giving Elle a pointed look, I take a look at the response.

UNK: ...so what if I use cat emojis?

UNK: they’re there to be used, you know. Maybe you should quit ignoring them and give them a chance. 😿

“Ha!” It takes a moment before I remember that I should try my best to not appear like a crazy woman. “See?” I whisper madly. “They’re practically begging me to keep chatting.”

ME: Wow.

ME: I feel like you took that very personally. Elle didn’t tell me that you’d be like this.

There’s another stop, a few people getting off but many more getting on. Most of them sit down without sparing me a glance. Only when they’ve all settled down and gotten lost in their conversations or phones do I allow myself to relax.

UNK: are you the kind of person that talks to their cat??

I give a startled chuckle, delighting in the distraction this conversation is allowing me. Before I can fire off a response, another text comes through, making me stifle a laugh.

UNK: 😼

Maybe it’s the silly conversation, or the fact that Elle has gotten to a position where she can rub her head against my leg. Maybe it’s the view outside, the late afternoon sun pouring down on the people outside, and me, watching the world through the bus window.

For the first time that I can remember since I cut my thread, life seems a bit more manageable.

I feel like I can breathe.

✂

Jimin can’t breathe.

Not with the way all of the members have crowded around him on the couch, Jin still munching on some chicken while he peers over Jimin’s shoulder.

“I liked that last text. It was a nice touch,” Yoongi croons from Jimin’s side. “Gotta stick to a theme.”

The others grunt in agreement, hardly noticing the absolute strangeness of the situation. Taehyung slings his arm around Jimin on the other side, never once looking away from Jimin’s phone screen. He hums to himself while they wait for those fated three dots to appear.

Jungkook’s neck is about to break from the way he’s craning it, sitting on the floor before Taehyung’s legs. It’s a miracle that he can see anything at all.

“Is she texting yet?” He asks, hissing as he rubs a sore spot on his neck. He gives up trying to see what’s going on, facing forward again. Hobi, sitting beside Taehyung, automatically reaches down and begins massaging the younger’s neck.

“No, not yet,” Hobi sighs. “I wonder what - OH SHE’S TEXTING!”

Everyone presses in closer to Jimin, the boy in question gritting his teeth with anticipation. “Do you think she suspects? Have I been too obvious?”

Jin produces another chicken leg from somewhere, offering a bite to Namjoon who doesn’t hesitate to chow down. “No, she doesn’t. You’ve been totally aloof.”

“Yeah, you’re good,” Namjoon says around his food.

Together, the seven of them stare at those three dots rippling across the screen. When they disappear for a moment, everyone groans. It doesn’t take long before they reappear, and suddenly a message appears.

“What does it say?!” Jungkook scrambles to his knees, struggling to get a good view.

Jimin groans, shouldering his way forward until he’s leaning in front of everyone. “Shh, let me actually read it.”

Jolie (Elle): Haha, touché. I feel a little weird texting an unknown number...do you have a name I could save you under? Or should I just settle for a cat emoji?

“...what do I do?” Jimin turns to face the others, a flicker of panic painting his features. “I can’t tell her that it’s actually me...she’ll quit talking to me!”

Yoongi shrugs, completely unbothered. “Just give her a fake name. Like, Jaemin or something. Close enough.”

“Ha! Yeah, do Jaemin. Reminds me of James Corden trying to say your name,” Jungkook cackles.

Jimin looks at the other members with big eyes, waiting for some other offer. Something better. Taehyung pats his shoulder.

“I know you hate lying but...I don’t think you have much of a choice.”

Sighing, Jimin types in a response. He holds up the phone for everyone to see, waiting for their grunts of approval before hitting send. A knock on the door has everyone except for Jin turning their heads.

“Don’t tell me you ordered something else,” Namjoon gripes. Jin just chuckles quietly, reappearing a few moments later with an armful of boxes. Jimin recognizes them immediately: it looks like an assortment of churros and other treats.

“Hyung,” Jungkook watches the procession with wide eyes. “What’s this?”

“Would you go grab the rest?” Jin asks instead of answering. Jungkook leaps to his feet, bounding toward the door where more treats await. His shouts of excitement drift back to the boys.

When everyone gives Jin an appalled look, he just shrugs his shoulders. “What? I figured that we’re going to be here for a while. Might as well get comfortable.”

✂

UNK: No, I won’t make you stoop so low as to use a cat emoji. Park Jaemin should work fine.

I nearly stumble down the steps of the bus as I make the mistake of pulling my phone out to see the latest response. Once Elle and I have made it safely to the sidewalk, I proceed to stare at my phone in utter horror.

Rereading that name again and again until I’m sure that I’m reading it correctly.

Why did it have to be such a similar name?

There’s a slight tremor to my hands as I try to come up with something to say. Saving the number, I take a deep breath. Elle watches me from the safety of my bag, mewling softly.

“Gimme a sec,” I sigh. “Is this some sort of cruel joke?” My mind is spinning too quickly to think clearly, so I pocket the infernal device and take a moment to orient myself. Heading down the street, I wait until I’ve made it a block before attempting to form a reply.

It would appear that my new friend is a little impatient. By the time I stop on the corner, there’s already another text waiting for me. The new contact name has me gritting my teeth, but I push past the initial shock that rocks me.

Park Jaemin 🙀: Unless you don’t like that name? I could always choose a different one.

“He’s a little...weird.” I glance down at Elle, who seems inclined to agree with me. “But nice, I think.” Mustering up all of my courage, I punch out a reply and send it before I can think twice about it.

ME: That’s fine. Jaemin it is. I just didn’t realize you were a guy? Elle always seemed wary of guys.

I set off down the street, finding it a bit different in the daylight than it was at night. That, and this time I’m not a hyperventilating mess. It doesn’t take long before I’m turning down an alley that I realize I’ve been seeing in my dreams lately, heading toward the tell-tale gray apartment with the warehouse attached to it.

There’s another text notification reaching my ears, but I ignore it for the moment. Knocking hard on the door, I wait to hear footsteps.

It takes a couple of attempts before a distant voice shouts, “Coming!” A few seconds later, the door is cracked open to reveal a disgruntled Christina.

She gives me a long look, recognition sparking in her eyes even as she looks entirely unimpressed by me. She eyes Elle, who stares right back at her.

“You know I don’t do refunds, right?”

There’s another text coming through, but I ignore it again. Instead I plaster on my best smile, which Christina sees right through.

“I know. That’s not why I’m here.” Glancing up and down the alley, I rub at my arms. Fighting off the sudden chill. “Mind if I come in?”

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[theimmaterialplace]

holding on | emily prentiss x reader & spencer reid x reader | ch. 3: just the way you are

Chapter Summary: Spencer’s day after.

Contains: mentions of death.

Word Count: 2k

Comments: haha, uni is kicking my ass! sorry for the three weeks it took to post this, this chapter would just not write itself :( also i literally have future chapters finished but i need to get the in between chapters done before that so sorry! a lot may not have happened but spencer is seeing something here. he hasn't been able to come to a conclusion quite yet but he will soon... but will it be before the reader spills? also yeah, this story is filled with headcanons because i can't help myself! :D

i love jj but she gives off overbearing vibes and rn spencer needs some space from everyone that reminds him of emily/will only want to talk about his feelings. little does he know for that first part...

the next chapter is the funeral and after party!!! hope you enjoyed the chapter! lemme know what you think!

masterlist | read on ao3

I would not leave you in times of trouble

We never could have come this far, mmm

I took the good times, I'll take the bad times

I'll take you just the way you are

- Billy Joel, Just The Way You Are

When Spencer enters the room, it reveals relieved coworkers. JJ is the first one to approach him, eyes red and worry evident on her face. She pulls him into a hug as soon as she reaches him.

“Spencer, we were so worried when you left last night,” her whisper might as well be a scolding in his ears but he’ll take it because he never meant to worry his team, not like this. She pulls away and cradles his face gently in her hands.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t realize how bad it would seem to everyone. I… I didn’t want to make anyone worry after everything else.” He closes his eyes, not wanting to see the emotions that will only bring him to his knees.

Derek speaks up then and it’s like he knows. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, kid.” Looking at him, Spencer can tell he hasn’t slept and has cried the whole night through. If he had stayed with them, he likely would look the same. As it is, he barely got a few hours asleep, as haunted as his dreams were.

“Me too.”

His team is in shambles. It’s not just that Emily has gone away and left them, left him, like Gideon or Elle. No, she’s never coming back because she is dead, just like every other cadaver they’ve encountered in their line of work. Statistically speaking, death in their line of work was highly likely and it’s a miracle he’s managed to avoid it for so long.

Perhaps it’s because Emily has always been impressive but he’d never thought she’d be the one to die. If anything, he’d bet himself before anyone else on his team.

His team is talking to one another and Spencer can’t hear anything they’re saying. All their words are blurring into unintelligible words and the only thing he can see are their faces.

Rossi is a slab of stone being chipped at little by little into something unrecognizable. Hotch’s eyes are red and his face is pale and an ever looming cloud of guilt surrounds him. He wonders why; it wasn’t his fault she died. Morgan is much the same but there is an anger in him that he hasn’t seen before.

Morgan’s anger simmers underneath his skin; he’s frustrated that he wasn’t fast enough to save her or to catch Doyle. His sadness has become eclipsed for now but he knows it’s there, buried under the guilt and rage he feels. Perhaps it’s because Garcia takes on the brunt of it, the grief is written all over her face. She’s always worn her emotions on her sleeve and this hasn’t changed. He chooses not to look at her because if he does, he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep it together. Someone so vulnerable makes him want to do the same and he feels vulnerable enough as it is.

JJ is like Hotch, guilt and grief clouds her. She keeps sweeping her hair back and chewing on her cheek, a habit when she doesn’t want to focus on what’s plaguing her.

Their tells are obvious to him and he’s memorized all of them, every little action they’ve done is cataloged in his brain and this is no different. He had already known what they’d be like and what they’d do when he saw them.

He hears Ambassador Prentiss’ voice stutter when she asks why Hotch has called and he wonders if she already knows and wants to hear it before she comes down so she can grieve on her own time. He stays quiet and that’s as good as confirmation for her because her breath hitches and she says she’ll be down in an hour.

Emily never spoke much of her mother but she takes- took after her greatly. They share the same face and hair color. It’s like her mother had asexually produced because he sees no difference between the two; there was no bit of her father in Emily. The only difference between the two are the crow’s feet and smile lines on her mother’s face and he realizes that Emily will grow to her mother’s age because she died too young.

Hotch delivers the news, as expected of his status of Unit Chief, and Ambassador Prentiss is stoic and nods at the news of her only child’s death. She asks for details and Hotch is only able to give her the bare minimum and she only nods and thanks him and the rest of them. She goes up to Morgan and takes his hands into her own and whispers something only for his ears. He stiffens but nods and she goes away with the request that they inform her of their decision of when the funeral is and that she’ll pay for everything.

It’s a bit cold the way she all but announces how she doesn’t want to be included in the planning of her daughter’s funeral but Emily always had described her as cold and distant, loving only in private and when convenient.

The planning process takes up the rest of the afternoon and it passes him by quickly and he knows it’s mostly because he disassociated through most of it. JJ and Hotch shot him with worried glances all day and he just wants to go back to your apartment. He doesn’t want to go to his apartment just yet, not when he'll have to come face to face with the reminders of her in his own apartment.

The funeral is booked three days away and he shoots you a text and you respond a minute later with a simple thumbs up.

He tells the team he’ll be heading out and unsurprisingly JJ speaks up over this.

“Are you sure you want to go back home? I can give you a ride or you can come over. I don’t want you to be alone, Spencer.” Her voice is meant to be soothing in that maternal way she’s learned but it grates at his nerves. He doesn’t need to be babied. He knows she’s just worried about him but Emily’s death has left him exposed in a way that throws him off his rhythm.

“Thanks JJ, but a friend is picking me up. I’ll be staying with her tonight.” The team exchanges looks in a way that is meant to be subtle but Spencer has always had an eye for details so he doesn’t miss it but he doesn’t call it out.

“Oh well, okay, if you’re sure…?” He nods and she acquiesces but says she’ll walk him out. She waits with him outside while he waits for you. You pull up in your car with his favorite Billy Joel song on and he can’t help the tiny grin that spreads on his face.

You look tired but happy to see him and he knows that JJ probably wants to examine you but he really just wants to get out of here and cuts her off before she can say anything and says goodbye to her while getting into your car.

He can smell the aroma of Italian in the backseat and he knows you went to the little restaurant he frequents after a bad case because the food reminds him of when his mother used to order takeout because much like himself, she was a disaster in the kitchen. It made him happy that you remembered.

Billy Joel’s velvet voice is enough to fill the silence. He watches you as you drive, noticing how you tap your fingertips to the beat of the song on the steering wheel and how it’s obvious now that you’re distracting yourself from something. He hadn’t been able to see it before because he was too lost in his own grief but there was something off about your demeanor.

When you finally arrive back at your apartment, he finds it to be cleaner than it was in the morning and set for maximum comfort. Your couch is covered with soft, thick blankets with animals on them, cobijas, you had called them. He’s fairly certain that just means blanket in Spanish. The table that is usually in the middle of your living room is pushed closer to the couch and it’s where you set the food at so he assumes it’s where the two of you will be eating.

Your record player is playing jazz music. A compromise, you had told him one evening, appealing to his classical music needs with it’s long instrumentals and your love of their crooning and smooth voices.

“Hey, Spence, what do we feel like drinking tonight?” Your voice jolts him out of his observations and he looks towards you where you’re peering at the available drinks in your fridge, two ice-filled glasses set on the counter beside you.

“Arnold Palmer?” You hum and grab two pitchers from your fridge and set it out on the counter and he watches as you mix the two together so it’s not separated. You set the two pitchers back into the fridge and bring the two drinks to where he’s sitting, handing him one and placing the other on your coaster.

He watches as you take out the food from the bags and put his own container in front of him along with two pieces of garlic bread and his own fork and napkin.

Once you’re all done, you take a drink from your glass and open your container and take a bite of your usual order. He follows quickly after, knowing from experience how rapidly the food can get cold.

Time passes by and eventually the food gets finished and you’re both left alone with Billie Holiday’s voice filling the silence.

You’re nibbling on the last piece of garlic bread, your eyes focused idly on your bookshelf but more specifically on a collection of Emily Dickinson poems. He files away the fact that he’s seen this specific book somewhere and decides to ask at another time.

Once you finish, you lean your head against his shoulder and wrap your arms around his midsection. He shifts so that you’re in a more comfortable position that lets you rest against him while he’s able to hold onto you as well.

Spencer can’t help but think that you always know what he needs without him needing to say anything. It’s something he hasn’t had since Elle or more accurately, Emily. It’s not even been a month and already, he craves her affection. He misses the impromptu Russian talks and the book sharing and her calming presence. You remind him so much of her. It’s like you've taken on some of her mannerisms. Perhaps it’s projection but he’s noticed for months now how you’ve changed bit by bit into someone similar to Emily.

You must have seen his tell because you look up at him, hand finding his own and squeezing it gently before bringing it to your wrist.

It’s the little things you do that bring him back to reality, no matter how painful it is. He’s not sure where he’d be right now. Most likely with JJ and her family, all the while feeling like a burden. With you, he feels vulnerable in a way he doesn’t mind. He’s known you for years and not once, have you ever made him feel small. It’s always been easy with you and he hopes the same can be said for you about him.

“Stop thinking right now, Spencer. We can do that later, like tomorrow. You need a break right now. I know it’s hard for your big brain to shut down so just focus on my pulse and match your breathing to mine.” Your voice is slightly muffled by his sweater and he can only nod and follow your instructions.

“Thank you.” He says after a while.

“ Always, Spencer.” And like always, you understand.

The words are never said but he’s sure you know it and he knows you feel the same.

[jeonsblackgf-writes]

BULLSHIT || 2 ||

summary: marco and lani had been friends since the womb but when occurring lies happen from one best friend to another, things are bound to fall apart.

pairing: marco peña x black!OC

genre: angst

word count: 1.7k

_____________________________________________🖊

If someone told Lani that she and Marco would have had the worst fall out of their lives she would have laughed in their face. She would have told them that'll never happen because what she and Marco had was something worth keeping...now she's starting to wonder if that's true or not.

Lani stopped counting the days they were apart because there was no use anymore after she literally watched Elle and Marco kiss on national television just few days after finding out that she was being blown off because of some dancing game competition since Lee couldn't do it. She had managed to become a pro at dodging Marco. She knew his schedule just like he knew hers, so she left class a few minutes early or left class later than usual just to avoid him. She kept her guard up for the entire time, and it hadn't failed her once. She just couldn't bear to see his face... not now. She knew what she was doing probably wasn't rational, but it was time for her to start thinking about her own feelings and not others, especially Marco's. She had spent the past few years standing by his side, taking the racist bullcrap from his previous girlfriends without a word because she never wanted Marco's judgement about them to change. Now her judgement about him was changing. She never knew him as the type to fall for someone who was already taken, but what does she know...he stopped telling her things.

The worst slap in the face for her was two weeks after her outburst on him, she saw him with another female having the time of his life. Her heart dropped because he used to smile at her the same way he's smiling at her. So much for being remorseful.

"You can't avoid him forever Lani." Kammy sighed as she watched her friend survey the halls for the certain dark haired boy. Lani huffed, and slumped her shoulders.

"I know, but I don't want to see him right now. Not after he lied to me, kissed Elle, and got cozy with another female." She mumbled, going to her locker, but stopping once she saw him standing right there, searching the crowd of students for her. She widened her eyes and immediately grabbed Kammy's hand and went in the other direction hoping he didn't see them.

"Why did you do that? That was your chance to speak with him." Kammy hissed, watching Marco's frantic figure behind her.

"Well I don't fucking want to!" Lani hissed, sharply turning away from kammy to get to class, leaving her in the hall.

Kammy sighed and pull out her phone to send a quick message.

To Marco: Just go, she won't come.

She placed her phone back in her pocket and followed her friend down the long hall, finally catching up to her right before she got in the elevator.

"Look," Kammy sighed, "I love you, and I didn't mean to make you upset back there, but I just don't want 18 years of friendship to go down the drain. You guys have literally been attached at the hip since birth. You're gonna let that go because of some girl?"

"When me and him started high school, we made a pact to always tell each other everything and to never lie because we know how much high school can change a person. We grabbed a piece of glass and cut the palm of our hands and made a blood pact to make it official." Lani explained quietly, showing her friend the long scar on her hand. Kammy gasped and rubbed the rough feeling of it. She didn't have anything to say so she just let Lani speak.

"I never wanted to let us go...but he gave me no choice when he lied and put his feelings over mine." Lani whispered, right before the elevator chimed. She walked out and ran right into the person that caused all this mess in the first place....Elle.

"Lani...would it be okay if we spoke for a minute?" She asked, redness showing up on her cheeks. Lani scrunched her face up and pushed Elle out of her way so she could get to class but the brunette was persistent, she grabbed Lani's arm and gave her pleading eyes.

"What could we possibly talk about? You got Marco what else do you want? My soul?" She spoke sarcastically, snatching her arm away. Elle sighed.

"I know you guys have been best friends for a really long time, longer than Lee and I. He isn't the same without you and he won't stop talking about you, he regrets everything." Elle explained, almost desperately, but Lani didn't know if she wanted to hear it or not.

"I bet he didn't regret kissing your ass that night. Everyone in this school knew about my feelings for him, even you, yet you still kissed him on tv for millions to see while your boyfriend was sitting in the crowd. I'd be surprised if he still wanted you after that shit." Lani hissed, with no ounce of sarcasm. She watched as Elle stood staring at her awkwardly with wide eyes.

It wasn't just the situation with elle, it was the situation with every female, whether or not they were Marco's girlfriends. It was just a constant shit show when it came to her, and she never had time fir herself because she was so invested in being his bestfriend...the guy she made a blood pact with, the guy she promised to go to the same college with. She had always wanted more but he had always kept her around as some sort of unofficial wing woman and she had always wanted to be something else.

"Lani please...talk to him." Kammy pleaded.

"I need more time, I really don't know what to tell you." She sighed, about to turn around but the sound of Marco's voice made her freeze in her tracks. She snapped her neck towards Kammy and rapidly took her hand, "We have to go! NOW!"

Kammy shook her head disapprovingly, and stood her ground. "You have to stop running! It hasn't done you any good but make you even more depressed."

Lani sighed and glared at Elle as she turned to see the frantic eyes of her almost ex best friend. Giving the two time along, Elle and Kammy went their separate ways on opposite ends of the hall, meanwhile Lani fully turned to Marco to see nothing but desperate and pleading eyes.

"You aren't gonna say anything? You just gone stare?" Lani asked, wanting the conversation to be over with already. She was already late for class, she didn't want another reason to be upset today.

Marco sighed, realizing how hard this was now that she was willing to speak with him, "I-I'm sorry, and yes I know it's been long overdue, but I've had time to reflect--"

"Well I'm gonna need more time." Lani spat at him, weariness in her voice. Marco visibly frowned at the sight of her trying not to cry.

"Please, I'm walking out on a limb here talking to you. We've been best friends since forever, please don't throw it all down the drain because of a small mistake I did. I miss you, I swear it and I know when you see me when the hall, you think I don't miss you but I do and I think about you every single day. That day when you told me you were in love with me, it made me realize something much more bigger than us being best friends." He damn near cried, but she still wasn't convinced. Lani needed actions not words.

"A small mistake? You still don't get it..so let me break it down to you...yes I am still in love with you, I don't think I'll ever stop but I won't be a fool to your games ANYMORE. You knew I had a soft spot for you and you always took advantage of that! I was there for you through so much and was always there when one of your little racist ass girlfriends left when shit got tough. I invested my life into making sure you were happy and you never did the same for me! I sacrificed myself SO DAMN MUCH, and for what? Just to be shit on in the end! This one situation with Elle isn't the first one but it's sure as hell the last one...y-you kissed her...you kissed her just a week after you knew my feelings for you and I don't think I'll ever forget that. I gave you up on purpose, not because I don't care but because you didn't." She cried, trying not to raise her voice since she was in the hall and later as hell for class.

"What can I do? Just tell me what to do and I'll do it." He pleaded, grabbing both her hands within his, tears streaming down his face but Lani pulled away from him and stepped back a few steps. He knew her next words, but he was praying to god she didn't say it.

"I want you go give me time to myself and stay the hell away from me! That's all I ask." She mumbled as she looked at the ground, wiping her tears from her face.

"You know me well enough to know that I'm not gonna leave you alone. You're crazy to even think that!" He protested, almost bellowing in the hallway. Lani sighed and shook her head.

"Why? Why won't you leave me the FUCK alone?" She croaked, her voice cracking.

"Because I'm in love with you too, and I need to fix this!"

Lani gasped. Hearing his next several words made her heart jump but this isn't the way she wanted to hear a confession. Marco searched for something within her eyes but the only thing he was getting was pure shock and disbelief.

"I'm gonna go home. Lose my number Marco seriously. " She spoke barely above a whisper before waking away from him and going down the opposite end of the hallway. Marco watched as she continued to walk until she hit the corner. He sighed, as he knew she was going to skip the rest of her class for the day and go home to sleep.

"What the fuck am I gonna do now?" He whispered to himself, his breathe becoming heavier as he tried not to cry. Suddenly, an idea sprang in his head, making him smile. He ran to class with the thought on his mind.

——————————————————————————-

tag list: @mansaaay

[ssa-sugar-tits]

Ten Years (ch. 3)

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 4

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Content warnings: hospital, cursing, angst

a/n: i feel like this chapter's a little long, sorry!

Despite the multiple half-assed orders from Hotch and Rossi, the sincere begging from JJ and Penelope, and the concerned pushes from Emily and Derek, you refuse to leave the hospital until Spencer wakes up. You can't bring yourself to eat or sleep or even stop to breathe knowing something's so terribly wrong with him. For fuck's sake, all he did was hit his head. There is no plausible reason you can think of that he wouldn't have woken up yet. Drenched in your own exhausted tears and practically shaking with worry, there's a harrowing pit in your stomach. You've been waiting 42 hours and counting with no sign of improvement. He has a mild concussion and will need a few stitches where he bled but he "should be fine." They told you over and over again. And Hotch was forced to step in when you had enough of the empty bullshit in the atmosphere.

"If he's fine, why the hell hasn't he woken up? A mild concussion doesn't fucking do this to someone!" It's simple. The doctors don't know. They don't know how to help your husband. All they can do is spew false reassuring lies at you while they do absolutely nothing. More lengthy hours pass and an MRI is ordered. The same unsurprising thing: nothing's wrong with him. But what are they going to do? Send him away unconscious? No, they're just going to stand around pretending they know what they're fucking doing. You jump at the feeling of a cold hand tapping on your shoulder.

"Hey, it's just me." You look up to see Derek with a dreadfully morbid look on his face, one with tones of anger. "Mind if I sit with you?" Nowhere near able to speak, you try to give him an inviting smile but all you do is lift the corner of your quivering lips slightly. He gets the hint, which he probably would have missed had he not known you so well, and sits down beside you. Staring over at your husband, you hear Derek's head thump against the wall. The feelings you both have are of utter uselessness. Sure, there have been worse situations but... there's nothing either of you can do at all. There's no reasoning here. Well, to your knowledge. Spencer is the only one that knows what's going on. And it's ripping him apart. To not know what happened to his beloved mentor or remember any of the precious moments he's had with Y/N. He hasn't been able to watch the team he remains loyal to change and grow. He just woke up one day and was hurled into this shitty situation. He laughs out of despair at his own shortcomings and lack of comprehending what's been done to him. Y/N and Derek's heads both snap up at the unexpected sound, hopeful and desperate for a sign that Spencer's back. No such luck at first but Derek goes to get the nurse while you navigate your way to your husband's side.

"Love, it's me. I don't know if you can hear me. But whatever this is, whatever's stressed you out so much that you're... literally blocking out the entire fucking world... it'll be okay. I love you Spencer and I promise I always will. Please be okay for me." A disappointed sigh leaves you. Honestly, what did you expect? For him to wake up because you said you love him? This isn't a fucking fairytale Y/N. Derek returns with a nurse who confirms it must have been an unconscious movement so no hope there. Propping your head up with your arm, you try to get some rest for the first time since you arrived. After two more sickening hours pass, you're shaken awake by a nurse.

"Yeah?" you yawn before remembering where you are. Blinking rapidly, you open your eyes fully and look up at the nurse.

"Miss, your husband is awake." He directs a smile at you before exiting the room, leaving you to rush over to Spencer who's already sitting up and muttering to himself.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Tears threaten to fill your eyes when you place a hand on his shoulder and he turns away from your touch.

"I'm fine, th-thank you. Excuse me, doctor?" He waves over the doctor and asks her, "Can I leave now?" She looks a bit startled as if she didn't expect him to want to leave.

"Mr. Reid--"

"Doctor," you correct.

"Ahem, Doctor Reid, our tests have come back fine and healthy but to be frank... We aren't entirely sure why you were unconscious for so long. If you'd like to stay and rest, we'd welcome-- no we strongly suggest that's what you do." You open your mouth to say something but Spencer answers her.

"If I can go then I'd like to now, thanks." It's difficult to process when he's discharged and barely even greets his team that was worried sick. Asking you silently with their sweet glances if he's okay, you can't respond. All you manage to do is bite your lip and shrug before driving him home. Spencer doesn't say a word and the silence is deafening. Incomprehensible even because since when is he this fucking quiet?

"Spence?" You say, not taking your eyes off the road. "Don't you think we should talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"What do you fucking think? So much for genius." An exasperated sigh escapes you before you realize you're being harsh. "I'm sorry I don't mean to snap at you. I was just..."

"Stressed?" He offers, sounding awfully sad.

"Yeah. Stressed," you sigh once more. Your worry slips away for a moment and he presses a kiss to your cheek. His lips brush against your face and you swear he lingers as if wanting to say something but he goes back to staring out the window. Once in the apartment, you expect him to want to rest or at least, spend time with his wife who's been going fucking insane the past couple of days but he locks himself in his office. Giving up, you walk to the bedroom and leave him be.

Spencer speedily walks around the room collecting books, paper, a pen, and even a laptop. It's time to figure out what's going on. First, he reads about the BAU. He learns a lot about Emily Prentiss and how Elle and Gideon left the bureau. Another piece of information he finds is that David Rossi has been apart of the team for 8 years. Hotch's wife is dead and Jack-- the baby he met once briefly is now 10 years old, living alone with Hotch. Going through photo albums and keepsakes he discovers, he finds that his relationships really have grown over the years and so have yours. Who would've thought that the emotionless, serious Aaron Hotcher would walk his wife down the aisle? Agent Prentiss, he saw, was your maid of honor and Morgan was his best man. A small child held JJ's hand and with context, he came to the conclusion that she had a child now. And his eyes land on you. He traces a hand over the photo, cherishing a memory he doesn't have. You look perfect in that wedding dress. The viel falls on your head gracefully. Your smile radiates off the page and he can't help not feeling a sense of loss. You two are happy together and he doesn't remember a second of it. Ironic, isn't it? He thinks. Moving on to the why this is happening, he reads heaps of material for hours straight, faster than someone else would be able to, but still feels like he's getting nowhere. All he has to go off of is the date and theories he's found on forums and in old books. Suddenly its too much and he throws a book across the room, wincing at the sharp thud when it hits the wall. Spencer buries his frustrated face in his hands and lets out a long, deep breath. Y/N. Guilt washes over him as he realizes, this isn't any easier for you. You've spent the past 10 years forming a relationship with your Spencer and you woke up to a distant stranger. If he's going to figure this out, he needs to adjust. Adjust to being with you, the team, this new life of his. Just until he figures things out, right? Settling on going to lay with you-- his wife, he reminds himself-- he hears what sounds like muffled sobs. He opens the bathroom door cautiously and his heart drops to his feet at the sight in front of him. You're sitting in the bathtub, half-dressed crying quietly into your knees and running your hands through your hair. Spencer kneels down beside you and wraps him arms around you tightly. You gasp softly and almost pull away but accept the embrace.

"I'm so sorry," he says sincerely against your hair. Your words come out strung together and your tongue twists while you try to explain how you've been feeling this week.

"N-No I just... I'm just worried about you Spence I'm s-so," you bite down on your quivering lip harshly to avoid choking on a sob and continue. "Everything's different a-and it's like it changed overnight. I don't know what the hell I did to fuck things up. Whatever I did, I'm so sorry." You bury your head deeper into your knees, smearing mascara into streamed lines down your cheeks. The guilt he feels smashes his heart into pieces and throws it to his feet. He said he has to adjust, didn't he? He'll start with you. Spencer already loved you, the only different thing now is that you love him too. His voice softens and he whispers into your ear, stroking your hair and intertwining his fingers with locks of it.

"You've done nothing wrong sweetheart," he assures you, surprising himself with a nickname. "I'll call Hotch and we'll take tomorrow off, just the two of us. We'll go on a date like we used to a-and we can do whatever you'd like. Anything, Y/N just let me take care of you. The way you deserve."

When he's finished, your eyes meet his and you hesitate before nodding. No words leave your mouth but it's as if you don't need them to speak. He helps you up and you make your way to the bed you share.

Falling asleep quickly, you melt into dreams of spending time together and starting to get back to normal. Spencer, on the other hand, is overcome with an intimidating shit load of anxiety. This isn't, in a million years, how he thought his first fucking date with Y/N Y/L/N would be. Then again, this type of... situation never even crossed his wildest dreams. Make the best of it, right? Yeah that's it. He'll do his best.

For you.

[drariellevalentine]

This Is Me Trying- pt.2

Hey everyone! Hope you’re having a beautiful day! Sorry this took so long, I have exams going on currently. Here’s part 2 and here’s to hoping y’all won’t kill me for this.

If you haven’t read part 1, click here for the link!

Pairing:- Ethan Ramsey x Arielle Valentine

Characters:- Ethan Ramsey, Arielle Valentine, Harper Emery, Sienna Trinh, Elijah Greene, Naveen Banerji, Jackie Varma and Bryce Lahela

Warnings:- Angst, Swearing

Inspiration:- This Is Me Trying and the rest of the Folklore album by Taylor Swift

Harper’s PoV:-

Thirty minutes later, you stand in Naveen’s office, his face completely torn and yours betraying the slightest of sadness.

“Naveen?” He turns to look at you. You shoot him a look.

“I thought they would be fine, and now look how it’s turned out. They both have been arguing every single time and now Arielle’s…”

“She hasn’t transferred her residency yet, at least officially. I’m sure Ethan would have talked her out of it.” Naveen looks at you.

“Yes?”

“Nothing…” You raise an eyebrow. “Well, I mean you dated him…”, he trails off. You laugh.

“I wouldn’t call it dating, we would occasionally have dinner and sleep together, that’s it. Have you seen the way he looks at her?” You chuckle. “He’s like a completely different version of himself, a better version.”

Naveen smiles. “Well I’m happy to hear that, I was about to head out for a quick

coffee, join me?”

“Of course, I’d like to.” You both head out and have a coffee and a quick bite of pastry.

“That pastry was quite good.”

“You should try Dr. Trinh’s treats! Her and Sunshine stop by every now and then with a box of them, they’re quite delicious!”

“Oh, I’ve heard of them alright. Dr. Lahela raves about them during many surgeries.” Just then your pager beeps. “Speaking of surgeries…” You see it’s a page from Bryce. “Where are you?! You needed to be here five minutes ago!”

Naveen sees the page. “This sounds important, let’s go.” You nod and rush back to the hospital.

Bryce’s PoV:-

You’re just coming out from an OR when you spot him.

“Dr. Ramsey!” He looks around and winces as he spots you.

“Yes? Make it quick, I have urgent matters to attend to.”

“You mean Elle. She just sent me a text saying I’m transferring my residency back to New York. I was about to look for her but an emergency lobectomy came in and Dr. Emery was on break.”

“Well um yes, we sort of had a argument which got a bit out of hand.”

“ Go talk to her. Oh! And apologise! I’m sure everything’s alright, besides we all know she makes impulsive desicions sometimes.”, you say.

“...it wasn’t an impulsive desicion, Arielle’s signed all the damn paperwork.” Your eyes widen as you spot a head with the familiar balayage heading towards the atrium.

“There she is! Go, fast!” Ethan doesn’t give you a second glance as he runs after her. You shake your head with a slight smirk. “She’s got him wrapped around her finger.”

“Bryce! Did she tell you?!” You turn to see the whole gang in tow.

“By text. Turns out the old couple had an argument, the old man told me himself. He’s gone to make things right.”

“Oh he better apologise, he’s been treating her like some random person and if he doesn’t I will-“

“Woah, woah, woah. Cool your jets, Jackie.”

“I don’t know, Bryce. Jackie’s right. I’m worried that she’ll go back to New York, I saw her looking at the website a few days ago but I didn’t think it meant anything.”

“Did you see where they went?”, Elijah asks.

“Yeah, they were heading towards the atrium but”- Suddenly you hear a deafening crash sound.

“Oh my god, that sounded like”-

“It came from the atrium.”, Jackie finishes Sienna’s sentence. You all rush towards the atrium to find smoke pouring out of the central elevator, a huge crowd gathered by it.

You notice Raf and a few other paramedics assessing the damage and other staff ask questions. You quickly go and inquire Rafael about the situation.

“Dude, what happened?”

“Not sure, Bryce. It looks like a chain snapped, the elevator crashed down and a few nurses are saying that they saw Dr. Ramsey go inside but they’re not sure if he got off. They’re checking the security footage right now.”

Your eyes widen as you realise if Ethan was inside, then Arielle could be inside too. “What’s the matter?”

“If he was there, that means she was inside too! Oh god…”

“Bryce, calm down first. Who are you talking about?”

“...Arielle. They had a fight and he was going after her.”

“Oh my god! Guys, what do we do?”, you find Sienna and everyone else.

His eyes widen. “We’ll go check the security camera ourselves. Authorities are on their way already, it’s the only thing we can do.” You all rush to the security office.

Spotting Bobby combing though the footage, you head towards him.

“Bobby, any luck?”, Raf asks.

“Not yet, I’ve checked the footage but so far nothing.”

“Oh god, what if she was in there? You guys saw the elevator…”, Elijah rambles as

Sienna’s face pales.

“Guys, don’t panic. It won’t help us until we know what exactly happened.”, Jackie says but you can see the fear evident in her eyes.

A familiar face on the screen catches your eye. “Bobby stop! Scroll a bit back. There!” You point to Ethan’s face on the monitor entering the elevator, Elle’s half clearly visible.

“This was at 3:28. Check all the other elevator entrances around that time to see if they got out.”

“9th floor! She’s getting out!”, Sienna shrieks. But the relief doesn’t last long as she steps back inside.

“That was at 3:40. The time the elevator crashed.” Everyone is shocked, not knowing what to do as Bobby announces the victims on his walkie-talkie.

You pull out your pager and page Dr. Emery. You run your hand through your hair, trying and failing miserably to calm yourself.

Harper’s PoV:-

As you enter Edenbrook, you sense something is amiss. Naveen turns to look at you, understanding. You both enter to see a huge crowd gathered near the left side of the atrium, smoke billowing from the elevator. You spot Dr. Lahela amongst the crowd and call him. He and the other residents run towards you both.

“Thank god you guys are here!”

“Dr. Lahela, tell us exactly what happened.”, Naveen says.

“We’re not exactly sure ourselves, the authorities haven’t arrived yet. But the elevator crashed down from 9 floors above...and both Dr. Ramsey and Dr. Valentine were inside.”

“...they both were inside?”, Naveen asks as pain flits across his face. Bryce nods somberly.

“I have to go. Contacting the authorities is all we can do.” Naveen walks away sadly.

“Lahela, go with him.” Bryce nods and follows him.

“Dr. Emery, does Dr. Ramsey carry his phone with him? We could try calling them to see that they’re…”, Sienna stops not being able to finish the sentence. You nod and quickly pull out your phone. The ring continues as you place it on speaker, once...twice...thrice...you’re about to end the call when the familiar baritone tone greets you.

“Hello?” Relief washes over everyone’s features

“Oh thank god, Ethan! We were so worried. How many people are inside? Is anyone hurt?”, you ask.

“No, it’s just me and Ari-“ Suddenly, Ethan’s voice cuts off.

“Ethan? Ethan?! Ethan, can you hear me?!” You hear him shouting her name. Tears form in the corners of everyone’s eyes.

“Ethan, talk to me! What happened?”

Ethan’s PoV:-

You check Arielle’s pulse and other vitals. “Damnit!”

You hear Harper and the other residents shouting. “She’s unconscious. Her pulse is low, and she’s suffered major blood loss. Her injuries are...extensive. It’s impossible for me to determine how bad they are considering the conditions.”

“Naveen’s working on it. What about you? Are you alright?”

“I’m perfectly fine. Just work on getting us out of here, we need a CT and MRI and multiple drugs to stop further bleeding as soon as possible.”, you respond with the only thought on your mind being her, it always was and always will be.

“Got it. Does your phone have enough battery?” You check it and curse.

“Only around 20%.”

“Check if Arielle has her’s.” You carefully slide your hand into her back pocket, and pull out her phone covered in blood. “It has almost 90%.”

“Okay, I’ll call you when I have an update. Call me if anything happens.” Harper ends the call, leaving you alone.

You look at her as worry and fear takes over your mind.

“Hang on there, okay? You’re going to be just fine.”, you say, unsure if you’re promising her...or assuring yourself.

You spend the next 30 minutes checking her vitals again and again and try to assess her injuries to distract yourself, not wanting to think about what-if’s.

Harper’s PoV:-

“What the hell is going on here?! It’s been 30 minutes and there's still no action taken!”, you shout as you come back from Naveen’s office. You offered to take over as Chief, knowing that both of them mean a great deal.

“We’re trying, but the elevator is wedged sideways and stuck between the first and ground floor.” You sigh.

“Have you tried prying open the doors?”, you ask.

“That’s what we’re about to do. If this works, then get everything you need and assemble on the ground floor.” You nod.

“Dr. Emery! Any progress?” You turn to the young paramedic.

“Not yet, but we’re about to.” He nods. You quickly arrange for all specialists to be on stand-by and the other surgeons who can.

Naveen comes back from his office. You lead him to the site, filling him in.

“Everything’s prepped, Dr. Emery. Can we start?”

“I’ve got most doctors on stand-by and two ICU beds prepped. Let me call them first, it’ll be better with a communication source.” He nods.

Ethan’s PoV:-

A tune cuts through the eerie silence. You accept the call.

“Any progress, Harper?”

“It’s me, my boy.” Your eyes sweat as you hear your mentor’s cracking voice.

“Naveen?”

“Yes, don’t worry, we’ve almost gotten past the securit for the elevator. Now we’ll just need to pry open the doors. You both might be slightly jerked so be careful.”

“Alright. Do it fast. She’s going to need an oxygen mask any minute.” You hold Arielle’s body closer to yours as the elevator slightly jerks. The doors are finally starting to open, the heads of Naveen, Harper and Arielle’s friends clearly visible. They gasp as their eyes spot the blood.

“Thank god. Just a little bit more, we should be able to pull them out.” Just then, you feel a hand hit your chest. Your eyes widen as it dawns on you.

“She’s having a seizure… but why?...” You quickly check her for symptoms of an ruptured blood vessel, it matches.

“Damnit! She’s having a seizure! Get me an IV injection with Activase!” You pull her even closer, holding her body. A nurse climbs up on a ladder and hands you the syringe. You swiftly inject it into her arm, your own pulse finally normalises as her petite body stops jerking, The paramedics step up and help Arielle out of the lift. She’s placed on a bed, quickly wheeled away with Harper, Bryce and more specialists in tow. Rafael helps you slide out of the small space when you realise you’ve hurt your shoulder. He notices you wincing.

“Dr. Varma, do a full checkup on Dr. Ramsey.”

“I’m fine, which OR is Arielle in? I’m scrubbing in.”, you say not bothering to use her title. You quickly get up when Naveen stops you.

“That’s the last thing you’ll be doing. Dr. Varma and Dr. Trinh will be examining you, and then you will wait like everyone else.”

“But-“

“Nothing.”, Naveen cuts you off as you wince once again. You slump in defeat as the two doctors wheel you away.

They help you sit up on an examination bed, and remove your bloodied shirt. You can see them wincing as they see the amount of blood stained. The pair doesn’t say anything as they quietly check your vitals, examine you and dress your shoulder.

“I’m assuming both of you are quite angry.”, you say not knowing what to do.

“Quite angry?! Let me tell you we’re fucking furious”-

“Jackie!”

“What?! Because of him, she almost died, Sienna! Died, do you hear me?!” You wince. “She almost died because of you! Don’t you understand?!”, she shouts jabbing a finger in your chest. “Because of your damn ethics and morals, she ALMOST DIED.” Tears glisten in her eyes.

“Do you even know how hard it was for her? Every. Single. Time when you pushed her away? Do you know how much she cried, sobbed when you ran away like a damn coward?! She was heart-broken, barely ate or slept peacefully and turned into someone else. We would all find her crying in supply closets, on-call rooms, you name it! God, she loved you so much and you, YOU”-

“Jackie, stop! That’s enough!”, the petite resident shouts, pain etched on her face.

“Do you even love her? Because she’s irrevocably in love with you and she says that you might too someday. If not, then she'll be an idiot. But do one thing, tell her fucking EXACTLY what you feel. Don’t say some half-assed sentences then go back to your stone cold self again. Tell her what she means to you, even if it was just a fucking casual hookup.”

“She was never-“

“Save it for her.” Jackie storms off.

You both stand there in silence, knowing that every word the fiery resident said was undeniably true.

“...I really fucked up, didn’t I?” The look on her face says it all. “Lord...I never meant for this to happen-“

“We all know you didn’t, Jackie’s mad, that’s all. But even if what she said was harsh, it’s true. You know how badly she’s been suffering, and I can’t watch anymore. You need to make a decision.” You watch the resident fight back a tidal wave of emotions as she replies coldly, completely unlike herself.

“I’ve dressed the wound, get someone to change it after a few hours and don’t do it yourself.” She turns around to leave, not able to look at you.

“Sienna.” Her breath hitches as she turns around. Her wall collapses, the wave of bottled-up emotions finally being freed.

“She- She almost d-died. It’s- not fair. She doesn’t deserve this, she doesn’t deserve any of this! It’s not fair, nothing’s fair! She can’t just come into our lives and just completely leave us like that! It’s not fair, it’s just not fair!”

You put a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her, knowing it’s the least you can do. But what you don’t expect is for her to throw her arms around you. You return the favor, both of you stay there in utter silence, not daring to speak.

Harper’s PoV:-

“Go take a break, Bryce. You’ve been on-call from last night.” You enter to see Bryce with one eye open, multiple textbooks propped up.

“I will, once I-“

“Once I nothing. You’re taking a break or else I’ll have you excluded from surgeries the whole week. We’ll update you if there’s any change in Arielle’s condition.”

He sighs, running a hand over his face. You can sense the worry.

“Bryce, Arielle went through brain surgery. You very well know all the possibilities that can take place. No matter what you do, nothing can change the outcome.”

He’s even more dejected now. “What do you think?”, he asks you. You look at him.

“I mean do you think she’ll be alright?”

“Well as a doctor, I already told you, not to mention you already know. As someone who knows her personally….I think she’s going to be alright. She’s a strong woman and she’ll pull through.”, you respond. He looks up meeting your eyes, his own eyes betraying the slightest amount of hope. He nods in an act of thanks before leaving the room. You follow him in pursuit to find Ethan. After inquiring about them to a few staff members, you find him and Dr. Trinh in the residents’ lounge.

“Ethan.” They whip around hearing your voice. Ethan opens his mouth to speak but he’s too slow.

“Dr. Emery! Is everything alright?! Did something happen? Why did she have a seizure?! Dr. Ramsey said that-“ The young resident rushes forward bombarding you with question after question.

“Sienna, calm down. Let her speak.” She finally notices she’s been rambling and smiles sheepishly.

“Oh, um... sorry Dr. Emery.”

“It’s alright. But to answer your questions, Arielle had a blood vessel rupture in her brain like Ethan said, which was most likely caused by hitting her head. That caused her brain to be deprived of blood, and the seizure. That caused an acute subdural hematoma. Luckily, the blood vessel only burst just before we got her into surgery so there wasn’t any permanent brain damage. The blood vessel was also repaired perfectly, courtesy of Dr. Lahela. The seizure was caused due to the pressure in her brain.” They nod solemnly.

“She was in a lot of pain, barely able to speak.”, Ethan responds, wincing as he relieves the memory.

“Her body was exhausted from the trauma, also most of her ribs are bruised. We did more scans to rule out other diagnoses, so far she’s clear.”

“Thank you, Harper.”

You nod. “Now both of you take some rest and meet me later. I have Dr. Varma and Dr. Greene strictly monitoring her, not to mention Naveen hovering over her.”

“I’ll just check on her and then I’ll go rest.” You sigh, knowing that you’ll lose this battle.

“Fine, Ethan. Only five minutes, then you’re going back to bed. Or else I’ll have you on bed rest for the whole week. Dr. Trinh, make sure he actually goes back to bed will you?” She smiles lightly, nodding.

Sienna’s PoV:

You stand at the entrance of Arielle’s room, as Ethan hesitates to go in. You lead him inside, both of you softly gasping at the sight. Multiple IV’s hooked up to her, her body wrapped in several casts, not to mention her head. Her usually glowing skin now lightly pale.

“Ethan!” Naveen spots him and wraps him in a tight hug, carefully of his shoulder. Jackie and Elijah are nowhere to be found.

“Ah, Dr. Trinh. How are you doing?” He unexpectedly wraps you up in one too. ”I’m...okay I guess.” He nods understandably.

“I sent Dr. Greene and Dr. Varma on a break. They looked tired and then they told me that they both were on the night shift.”

“I’ll catch up with them later. How’s she doing?” Naveen looks back, looking at her now completely unrecognisable body.

“Considering what she’s gone through, she’s doing alright. Only time will tell.” Ethan only stands there, still as a statue, staring at her. Naveen follows your gaze.

“Ethan, do you want some privacy?” He doesn’t look at him, only shakes his head.

“Alright then.”

“Dr. Ramsey, let’s go back. You need to rest.” You lead him back to his room, worries about both of them filling your mind to the brim.

Ethan’s PoV:-

Sometime later, you’re lying in bed unable to fall asleep. You decide to pay a visit to Arielle, and slowly walk to her room making sure no one sees you.

Entering her room, you see that the bed’s empty. Your mind races for an explanation when you spot her in the corner of the room. You rush over to her, pulling her in for a hug.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re alright…. Do you know how worried I was?” You pull back when you don’t hear a response. But you only see a sheepish smile on her face.

“Oh...well I didn’t know that doctors cared this much about the well-being of their patients. I must have gave you quite a scare if you’re this happy I’m okay”, she responds with a laugh.

“Don’t joke around, Arielle. You’re acting like you barely know me.”, you respond.

”Well that’s the case!”, she laughs. You look at her sternly.

“Oh, I’m extremely sorry but I really don’t remember meeting you. Was it at one of the medical conventions perhaps? My brain is foggy, and I don’t remember much of how I even got here.” Your eyes widen at her words.

“This can’t be true right? She’s obviously just deflecting about what happened before.”, your mind says. “Arielle, this isn’t the time to be joking around. Hours ago, you told me you love me and now you’re acting like you don’t know me.” With that she erupts into laughter.

“I’m sorry doctor, but I think you’ve hit your head. Besides, how can I even say that to someone I don’t even know.”, she says with a clueless smile.

“That can’t be true….this can’t be true. There’s no way...” But deep inside, you know that one of the factors is memory loss.

“No, no, no! Stop lying to me!”, you shout.

“Okay, now you’re freaking me out. Hello?! Is someone else here?”, she calls out.

“Arielle, stop. Don’t do this to me, I know I’ve hurt you innumerable times and I’m sorry but this isn’t fair.” She ignores you and keeps calling for someone else.

“Arielle, listen! You need to stop. Think! Try to remember!”, you shout.

“Let go of my hand! I’m sorry but I don’t know what to say. I’ve never met you in my entire life and you just can’t expect me to believe you!”, she shouts back. Her words are impossible to digest.

“What’s going on here?!”, Harper enters the room with a few more doctors in tow, shouting.

“Oh finally! This doctor here claims that he knows me when I haven’t even met him!” Her head whips around meeting your eyes.

“Ethan, we’ll talk later.” Just then, Arielle starts seizing again.

“Damnit! Nurse, administer another IV with tBa.”

The doctors crowd over her, attempting to stop her seizures as you stay there.

You stand there as your life crumbles before your eyes. The only person who’s out ever gave a damn about, the only person who truly understood you, got to know you, cared about you… now doesn’t even know your name.

And you know that it’s all your fault.

=======================================

Author’s Note:- Okay, I know y’all are probably livid and extremely angry at me but I’m sorry?! Part 3 will be out sometime soon... Bye for now!

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Love,

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[sodone-withlife]

human

@yourlocalheartbreaker thanks so much for your post about Nelson’s Sparrow. I had already started a blurb exploring Hotch’s response to Gideon’s death, but you brought up the fact that he very likely had to ID the body, and I just had to include that in this blurb. 

I’ll be honest: I have done little to no proofreading, and it doesn’t flow as smoothly as I’d like, but I just needed to get this out. 

warning: canonical character death

word count: 2.08k words

“Where did Hotch go?”

Rossi looked up at Morgan leaning against the doorway. “He’s taking some personal time.”

Morgan raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Now? It’s barely after lunch, what does he need it for?”

Rossi shook his head. “Didn’t ask.”

“And you aren’t at least a little concerned?” Morgan asked skeptically. “Has he ever up and left in the middle of the workday?”

“Well, I’d ask, but he said that he’s cutting communication and that if he is needed he’s only answering Penelope or Jessica’s call.”

“Jack’s not with him?” Morgan asked, taken aback at yet another out-of-character decision. He couldn’t remember if Hotch had ever taken a personal day without Jack.

Rossi shrugged, though his concern was also obvious. “Even Hotch needs a break sometimes.”

The crisp winter air of the Virginia wilderness was filled with silence, only cut by the sounds of nature. Hotch stood in front of the cabin, staring blankly and letting the ambiance of the place that had been Gideon’s chosen safe haven wash over him. It was a far cry from his once-daily forays into the mind of the scourge of humanity. 

Only now it was tainted with blood, with the murder of the man who had found a refuge in the peace of this forest. 

Is there really a place on the planet that hasn’t seen the vileness of man?

How could he possibly articulate the sheer depth of the grief and resentment that he felt towards the man who had once been one of his mentors, who had left him floundering in the dust to clean up the mess that was left behind?

Insomnia had been keeping Hotch up way past midnight and he was going through paperwork with the hope that it would bore him to sleep when he got the call. Years of getting cases in the middle of the night had left its mark, as the sound of his ringtone cleared his head as it had done so many times in the past. Reaching for his phone, he anticipated the multiple trips to the coffee machine that had replaced the old, faithfully crappy machine that had been there when he first joined the unit.

And he was right—he wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night. 

Or the next night, for that matter.

Hotch remembered feeling strangely detached from his person as he put on a coat and, on a whim, pulled out his service weapons from the safe, grabbing his work bag as he left the apartment and headed towards his car. 

In any other situation, he would have worried about falling asleep at the wheel during the long drive.

In any other situation, he would have called the team to assemble.

But this was not any other situation. Seeing the flashing red and blue lights from an emergency vehicle illuminating the cabin and the surrounding clearing proved that something was wrong, and when he approached one of the EMTs, he knew this was something he had to do for the sake of the team. As he always does.

For the sake of the team.

They had gone through too much.

It was a surprise to see his contact flashing on his phone screen after over seven years of no contact, but it was alarming when he heard pained groans and then a series of gunshots from the other end. 

And that was when the terrible thought came into his mind.

And even though Hotch knew what he was going to see when the EMTs exchanged a look and let him into the cabin, it certainly wasn’t less of a shock, wasn’t less of a punch to the gut to see the body, crumpled on the ground with blood pooling around it like a grotesque puppet with its strings cut. 

Hotch remembered staring blankly at the man who had left the job that killed his fire in search of himself, but whose fire was now extinguished. Permanently. 

For the sake of the team.

He remembered snapping back to himself to find that he had knelt down with his own hand near the neck, having just checked for a pulse in hopes that it would make it—real? fake? He cleared his throat before standing up and turning to the waiting EMTs. At the sympathetic looks he was getting, he felt a faint annoyance rising through the ice that froze through his being.

He wasn’t the floundering, young, ambitious agent that probably would have been giving some indication that he was barely holding himself together at the seams

He wasn’t the friend—were they really friends, though?—who hadn’t seen or talked to him in years and would probably be giving some indication that he was grieving.

His name is—

His name was Jason Gideon, he’s a former FBI agent. I will be calling in federal law enforcement to investigate this, please make yourselves available in the next few days to give your statements… 

He had to be the uptight hardass that didn’t let anything affect him. He had to retreat into the cold mechanical mindset that protected him, for the team.

It didn’t feel right, however. How could he put on such a facade in a place that was supposed to be safe? How could he, in the place where Gideon could be totally himself without fear of the demons that haunted him?

How could he treat this like any other crime scene?

For the sake of the team.

The first call he made was to Stephen. It wasn’t the first time he had made a notification of death to family members, and he didn’t let it be any different this time. 

(oh, it was so different.)

It’s Aaron Hotchner, I worked with your dad in the FBI. I apologize for calling so late… 

And then calls were made to the team. They were short—there was no way Hotch could possibly tell them about the murder over the phone, but the team was smart. They all knew something was wrong.

I need you to come to Gideon’s cabin as soon as you can. I texted you the address.

The same thirteen words, repeated six times to six different people, with his same detached, precise tone of voice.

Emily. I, uh, just wanted to let you know that Gideon was murdered. In his cabin a few hours ago. I’m there now, I’ve called the rest of the team, and… Yeah, I just wanted to let you know. I hope everything is going well in London.

Emily hadn't picked up, but she called Hotch back a few hours later. It doesn’t feel real, he had said when she asked after him. He was never really able to lie to her, the woman who he found was just as broken and yet fiercely protective as him, and he knew that as he changed the subject and started updating her on the status of the investigation.

I’m not sure if you’re even going to listen to this, but I thought it would be better if you heard it from me than from an email, or text, or… yeah. 

I just wanted to let you know that Gideon was found shot multiple times in his cabin early this morning; he was murdered. The team worked the case and solved it, the unsub was killed along the way, so… there’s going to be a funeral, and though I’m not sure who his son is planning on inviting, I'll tell you where he is buried when that happens, and… yeah. Just thought I should let you know. Hope you and your family are doing well.

The words had come surprisingly easy to him when he left a message for Elle. Their correspondence over the years was never constant and never for long periods of time, mainly consisting of pictures that kept the other updated on their lives, and they never called.

Now, he wondered how she reacted to getting the message. Did she curse him out for calling for the first time in years only to tell her that her old colleague had been murdered? Did she confide in her partner?

Dave had been the first to get to the cabin, and Kate and JJ followed closely behind. Reid, Morgan, and Garcia came shortly thereafter. Hotch watched as all of them took in the state of the cabin and the sheet-covered body he was standing sentinel over, and no one said anything until Garcia took the first step.

It’s Gideon.

Grief was a terrible feeling, and it cut right through people’s masks and shone a light on the good and the ugly that was within a person. It was a feeling Hotch was intimately familiar with, many times over now, but the team had only seen him ripped open once. He was well aware that he didn’t make for a pretty sight when they got to the house he had lived in with Haley. They had walked in on a fit of explosive, murderous anger that had been immediately followed by pure, unadulterated grief.

He was well aware that the shattering of his infamous control had scared the team.

And so, just like a few years ago with Emily, Hotch watched over his team as they rushed to solve the murder, all driven by the pain of loss. 

He watched as Rossi gave everyone an insight into how the BAU started when it was just him and Gideon before Max Ryan had taken them under his wing.

He watched over them over the next few days and weeks as they all grieved in their own ways, keeping an eye out for red flags.

But now, when he wasn't even trying to keep up the facade, he still felt numb. For how could he articulate the so many complicated feelings he had regarding the man who had guided him, who had taught him to be sure of himself, who had abandoned him without a word?

Hotch looked around, faintly surprised to find that he had walked into the cabin and was simply standing in the middle of the living room. He had only been to the cabin once prior that night, and there was a palpable difference in the air.

Tainted.

A few weeks has gone by since this cabin had actually been lived in. Everything was still in its place, perfectly preserved like a museum exhibit.

Like a crime scene.

Unable to remain any longer, he turned to walk back outside when something on the wall caught his attention. He walked over, only to stop dead a few feet away.

There were multiple photos and drawings of birds pinned to the wall, and near the edge of the collection was a single picture of the team that had been when he had left. Peeking out from under it was a single slightly yellowed envelope.

It was with caution and slight guilt that he moved forward and carefully unpinned the photo to get the envelope. As he walked over to the nearby dining table and sat, he carefully pulled out the contents of the envelope—a single, folded sheet of paper.

When his eyes landed on the first line of that painfully familiar handwriting, he could only be glad that he was sitting, else his legs would have given out from under him at the sight of his first name.

This was written years ago, he thought with startling clarity, why didn’t he send it to me?

If anything, he felt even more numb as he read through the letter. And when he finished, there was still nothing. 

He wanted to scream, he wanted to hit something, he wanted to feel—anything. 

But he felt nothing—nothing but exhaustion. 

You’re going to go weeks—months, even—feeling fine. And then you’re going to have a bad day.

He’s had many bad days before. He never wants to have one again.

He’s spent years chasing after unsubs—psychopaths, rapists, terrorists. He’s spent years trying not to lose himself along with the people who’ve left because the darkness of this job finally caught up to them.

Elle, Erin, Alex, Gideon, Emily… Haley.

But maybe he did lose himself. Why else can’t he bring himself to feel anything, even after finding out that Gideon still remembered that young ambitious agent that shadowed him and Rossi like an eager puppy? 

And if he did indeed lose himself, maybe it’s for the best. 

The alternative is too painful to imagine. And despite outward appearances, Aaron Hotchner is fragile.

He is human. 

[artificialqueens]

Like You Mean It (Taywhora) - Holtzmanns

read on ao3 | word count: 2930

Tayce is not sure when A’whora put her number down as her emergency contact, but if she’s still kicking, she’s gonna kill her for it.

It’s just appendicitis. That’s it. A’whora’s fine, the nurse on the phone had even said that they got to it before it burst, and now the only issue that A’whora still has left is her penchant for cheesy jokes. She’s okay. So why are Tayce’s palms feeling this clammy as she pushes past the crowds milling about in the hospital reception?

In which anaesthesia makes A'whora brave enough for the both of them.

A/N: Well hello! Haven’t ventured past my branjie bubble for a long while, though these two have absolutely captured my heart. Figured a nice little one shot would be a good place to start. Thank you Writ for being the best and betaing, and Pop for helping my Canadian ass with lingo. Title is from Mean It by Cash Cash & Wrabel. Enjoy and definitely let me know what you think!

Tayce is not sure when A’whora put her number down as her emergency contact, but if she’s still kicking, she’s gonna kill her for it.

It’s just appendicitis. That’s it. A’whora’s fine, the nurse on the phone had even said that they got to it before it burst, and now the only issue that A’whora has left is her penchant for cheesy jokes. She’s okay. So why are Tayce’s palms feeling this clammy as she pushes past the crowds milling about in the hospital reception?

The day surgery floor is a little run down, the No Phones, Please sign on the wall straight out of the 1990s with pictures of old brick phones with antennas sticking out of the top. The beds are separated with curtains rather than rooms, and Tayce is about to ask a nurse with glasses balanced on the tip of her nose about A’whora, before a piping voice at the far end of the ward answers the question for her.

“James. Jimmy. Jimbo. Is orange juice really the only option? You haven’t got blackcurrant or grape or anything like that? Are you sure this is room service?”

“This isn’t room service, ma’am.”

Tayce has to hold back a laugh at the sight of a truly stricken A’whora and her thoroughly bemused nurse with a capri sun in hand. A’whora looks as if she’s trying to come up with a response, her mouth open and her eyes slightly squinted, and Tayce can almost see the cogs turning in her brain. Tayce pushes the curtain around her back, the sound causing A’whora’s head to turn towards her almost sluggishly, her face lighting up in a loopy grin.

“Tayce! What are you doing here? You got a room at this hotel, too?”

Tayce snorts, coming around the side of the bed. Admittedly, the sight of the wires and IVs makes her heart beat a bit faster, a reminder that a few hours ago A’whora was knocked out in surgery with her side cut open.

But she’s okay now. That’s what matters.

“S’not a hotel, you idiot. You went and blew your guts up,” Tayce grins, one that turns into a snicker when A’whora’s brow furrows and her mouth drops open.

“What’d I do that for?”

Tayce pulls up a chair beside the bed. “You were saying last week that you were bored. Decided to go rogue and make something exciting happen, did you?”

“Doesn’t feel too exciting. Jiminy over here only has a capri sun, and we both know it tastes like piss,” A’whora pouts, leaning her head back against her pillow, and Tayce can’t help but shoot an apologetic look towards the nurse.

“Be nice to the man, Rory, he’s taking care of you. I’ll grab a coke from the concourse for you later.”

A’whora’s nose wrinkles, her lips pursing together. “Can’t you get me a beer instead?”

“Quite picky for someone stuck in a hospital bed in a backless gown with your arse out,” Tayce says, raising an eyebrow, but A’whora looks like she hasn’t even heard her, from the way her eyes are scanning Tayce’s features.

“Tayce?”

“Yes?”

“You’re pretty.”

A’whora lets out a giggle, and the dopey grin on her face lets Tayce know that it’s all the pain meds, really, making her say something like that. She pushes down the way her heart flips over in her chest a little bit, because A’whora really doesn’t need to know how she has her wrapped around her finger without being aware of it.

Maybe flat-sharing with her mate that she’d hooked up with as a fresher hasn’t been the smartest of Tayce’s decisions. She’s good at compartmentalising, she knows it, having stayed friends with a few of her exes because she’s good at letting go, at leaving no hard feelings behind.

But there’s something about A’whora that’s kept Tayce from being able to do the same thing with her. Maybe it’s because Tayce knows what she looks like in comfy pyjamas and a top knot on her head, maybe it’s because A’whora loves making pancakes on the weekend and always makes a stack for Tayce, too. A’whora always knows when she’s annoyed by something, and isn’t afraid of prodding her until she opens up. Yeah, it’s a bit much to have someone insistently poking at her shoulder until she talks about her feelings instead of sulking about it quietly, but it’s A’whora. It means A’whora cares.

She always has.

But Tayce has perfected the art of hiding her feelings behind a mask of cool indifference and her sense of humour. She’s always the one sitting on A’whora’s bed and giving her opinions on her outfit ideas before a date, always the one ready with ice cream and a bottle of wine when A’whora comes home grumbling about how she’s never going to find the right one. Tayce is there, always there, even when A’whora laments about how she wants someone who cares for her, someone who loves her for who she is, someone who really sees her, and she has to stop herself from giving in and telling A’whora to see who’s right in front of her.

Tayce may like her best friend, but her best friend doesn’t need to know that.

But right now, A’whora’s higher than a kite and gazing at her with a sense of awe in her eyes and it’s a bit disconcerting, really, because Tayce isn’t used to having that look directed at her. It’s unfiltered, as if A’whora is pushing past the curtains that Tayce likes to keep closed to see what she’s truly feeling.

A’whora’s dreamy laugh is enough to let Tayce know that she really doesn’t have much to worry about, in terms of A’whora noticing anything. “Really pretty. A princess. Princess Tayce.”  

Good lord.

“Does that make you a knight, then?” Tayce asks, even though she’s usually the one to make sure they get home safely on nights out when they’re drunk off their tits, the one who scowls at men who won’t leave A’whora alone.

“I’ll protect ya.” A’whora points at her and her movements are sluggish, her eyes slipping closed as she yawns, and Tayce has to ignore the way it makes her heart clench.

Her flatmate’s too damn cute for her own good.

Tayce’s chair creaks as she leans back, watching the way A’whora’s breaths even out and her movements begin to still. She pulls out her phone, and the flurry of texts coming through the group chat is not a surprise in the least.

Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: bet they’re shagging in the on-call rooms by now

Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: grey’s anatomy style

Ellie no Diamonds: not when a’whora’s sides are split in two ‘cause of surgery  

Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: tayce already split her in two

Tayce snorts, shaking her head. Lawrence never fails to take any opportunity to rip the piss out of them.

Tayce-lor Swift: I can read, u ghoul

Bim Bons Bouls: didn’t u once say u got held back in reception

Bim Bons Bouls: all at 4 years old

Tayce-lor Swift: someone had to bully the little demons in my class

Tayce-lor Swift: they deserved it so I did a good deed really

Ellie no Diamonds: that’s nice and all but is a’whora still alive or

Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: we interrupted their sweet reunion ells, have a little respect

Tayce-lor Swift: oh piss off

Tayce-lor Swift: she’s high off her tits and fast asleep

Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: was the strap that good

Tayce-lor Swift: lawrence next time it’s on sight

Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: u wish

Ellie no Diamonds: oh thank goodness she’s ok

Bims Bons Bouls: facetime us later when she wakes up I want to see drugged up a’whora

Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: as if we don’t witness that every saturday night

Bims Bons Bouls: u have a point  

Tayce shuts her phone when the conversation lulls, shoving it back in her pocket in favour of glancing at A’whora again. She looks smaller when she’s asleep like this, surrounded by wires and a monitor hanging above them in the corner. The sight makes Tayce swallow hard, because, theoretically, she knows A’whora is okay. She’ll be fine with some ice lollies and some bed rest, but if she hadn’t had surgery in time? Things could have ended very differently.

Tayce doesn’t want to think about that.

It’s a lot easier to protect A’whora when Tayce is in control of the situations around them. Times like where she watches A’whora’s drink from the corner of her eye, to make sure no one around them has the audacity to try anything stupid, or when she gets A’whora into pyjamas and wipes off her makeup after nights out before they’re out cold in one of their beds. A’whora’s more than capable of holding her own, Tayce knows that. She’s not small or weak and she’s ready to shout at whoever even tries to look at her the wrong way, but it just means that Tayce has to keep an eye out for her so that it stays like that.

Times like this, though, Tayce feels helpless. She’s not Cherry, out there saving lives with the NHS and she can’t do anything for A’whora at a time like this, either, not when A’whora needs time and healing and sleep. She wishes that bundling up A’whora in a blanket would be enough to fix her, the way that it is when A’whora’s nursing yet another ruined Tinder date over some ice cream with her at three in the morning.

“Tayce?”

A’whora’s stirring beside her, a little furrow between her brows that Tayce wants to smooth out for her.

“Yes, baby?”

“Why don’t you like me?” A’whora’s bottom lip is pushing out just a smidge, but enough that Tayce wants to run a hand through her hair, calm her down from what her anesthesia addled brain is making her experience.

“What are you on about? ‘Course I like you, you’re my best mate, you goon,” Tayce murmurs, reaching for A’whora’s hand and rubbing her thumb along the crease of her palm, as if it’ll calm the sudden hitch in A’whora’s breath.

“No, no, I…you know what I mean,” A’whora’s gaze drops, a sigh on her lips. “Forget it.”

Maybe there’s a chance that A’whora won’t remember this anyway, when she’s properly woken up and out of the hospital. Maybe whatever Tayce lets herself say right now won’t matter at all, because the consequences of her actions will be wiped clean when A’whora’s anaesthesia has worn off.

Maybe the risk of falling off the cliff that they’re dangling from is a little bit smaller than it normally is.

So Tayce steels herself, pushes the soles of her feet into the ground. “Not ‘forget it’. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“You should have kissed me that next morning. I was waiting for it.” For someone on painkillers, A’whora looks surprisingly lucid, her gaze enough to lock Tayce in, keep her from looking away.

“When?” It’s a useless question, because Tayce already knows the answer.

When they’d hooked up during freshers week, Tayce had left A’whora’s flat as soon as she woke up, because she’d just been another one night stand. Back when Tayce had no idea that A’whora would become one of her friends just a few weeks later, her closest friend a few months after that.

They’ve never really talked about it, keeping it an elephant in the room - or rather, in the flat that they share now - because they’ve had other hookups and girlfriends and they’re just mates, nothing more. Mates who have stuck around for much longer than any other partners.

It’s all hearsay at this point, unspoken words between them that Tayce has been thinking and she knows A’whora has been, too. It’s been easier not to, and to just let things play out because even though the sense of longing has coated Tayce’s heart for years at this point, talking is too much. Talking takes the coating and hardens it, making it impossible to free herself from if she needs to.

“Do y’know why none of my dates ever work out?” A’whora’s let her earlier question go, and Tayce wants to thank her for it.

“Why’s that?”

“They’re not you.”

Shit.

“Could’ve saved yourself some time and asked me out instead, then,” Tayce keeps her voice light, as if her stomach isn’t turning, as if her feet aren’t tapping on the ground because of the electric current running through her veins.

A’whora’s face doesn’t break into a smile, despite Tayce’s lighthearted tone. “Would you have said yes, though? Or brushed it off and taken it as a joke?”

“Who’s to say, really?”

“You’re an idiot,” A’whora rolls her eyes, and really, Tayce can’t fault her for it.

She’s not wrong. Not when A’whora’s capable of tying Tayce’s words into a knot of terribly worded explanations and attempts at jokes to hide the fact that her heart is pounding in her chest, that they’re walking on a tightrope so thin they could fall off any moment.

But Tayce still has reassurance of one fact, the most important of them all, and she clings to it as she says it out loud.

“And yet, you love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“For what it’s worth, I do love you, too.” Tayce mumbles under her breath, because she’s dug herself into enough of a hole at this point.

May as well bury herself in it.

“Christ, take me out to dinner first, at least,” A’whora scoffs, but she’s smiling, the kind that reaches her eyes and is filled with mischief.

“Oh, so now you’re finding it funny?” Tayce grins, shaking her head, and sure, she’s still a little sweaty and she’s aged approximately ten years from the conversation, but part of her feels a bit lighter too.

A bit more hopeful.

Because maybe, just maybe, the two of them can have a chance at something. That is, if A’whora wakes up and remembers everything.

“Tayce! Get in here!”

Tayce pops her head into A’whora’s room, frowns when she sees her standing in front of her wardrobe. “Aren’t you supposed to be on bedrest for another day? What’re you doing up?”

A’whora scoffs, waving a hand. “I’m fine. You need to help me with picking out a dress, c’mere.”

“A dress for what? You’re not leaving the house ‘til that incision is healed, young lady,” Tayce tuts, and she has to ignore the fact that she sounds just like her own mum.

A’whora shoots her a look. “Are you daft? Have you forgotten already? You’re taking me out this weekend.”

“This weekend?” Tayce can’t help the fact that her voice comes out in a bit of a squeak, because she doesn’t remember deciding on a date and time but…

It means A’whora hasn’t forgotten.

Tayce hasn’t pushed her since coming home from the hospital, focusing on giving her the chance to heal and feel a little better rather than approaching the issue. Yeah, maybe she’s guilty of falling back into the same pattern that’s gotten the two of them here in the first place, but she’s wanted to give A’whora the chance to broach the subject before pushing it onto her.

A’whora shrugs. “Work something out. I’m expecting my socks to be knocked right off with you.”

“Kinky,” Tayce gets out, but she can feel the way her face is breaking out into a smile, threads of excitement and promise and the chance to maybe not fuck it up again.

“I’ll help you pick something out once I’ve decided where we’re going. For now, it’s back to bed with you,” Tayce grins, pointing at A’whora’s rumpled sheets.

They can work this out. They can go through the shams of going on a date like normal people and as if they’re not already half in love with each other. Maybe Tayce can kiss her again.

Christ. It’s as if she’s a fifteen year old again with absolutely no game to speak of. Frankly embarrassing.

But A’whora doesn’t seem to mind, from the way her eyes are gleaming. “I’ll climb in if you join me.”

Tayce snorts but walks around to the other side of the bed nonetheless, the side that’s become hers from all the Netflix and late night chats and so called platonic snuggles. “No funny business, though. You have to heal first.”

A’whora climbs under the covers, and her slight wince as she lays down makes Tayce’s chest tighten. Despite her big talk, she’s still not fully better just yet.

“Serious business only, got it. Now come and snuggle me, isn’t that supposed to speed up recovery?”

“I don’t think medical advice from Grey’s Anatomy is exactly sound.”

“And yet, you’re under the covers, too,” Awhora mumbles, letting out a yawn.

She snuggles into Tayce’s side and Tayce lets her, running her fingers up and down A’whora’s back in the way she knows never fails to lull her to sleep when she’s tired.

They’ll work it out. Whatever this is. They will, because the other option is letting the words hang in the air unspoken and Tayce isn’t sure she can go back to that.

So she’ll kiss A’whora good morning, or evening, rather, once she wakes up from her nap. She’ll take her out this weekend, something not too strenuous because she still needs to rest. They can have another go at their freshers one night stand with years and years of friendship and context and caring for each other.

After this long, Tayce is ready for it.

[smuckersblr]

Clueless Part 1

Peter tapped his freshly manicured french nails on the marbled countertop. Italian music was softly playing on the stereo near the fridge, the TV in the living room across from where he stood was playing the muted news. Another attack in Manhattan taken care of by the red robot that everyone is calling IronMan.

Peter huffed and looked over the dieted food for his dad he had just packed for his lunch, and waited for the coffee to be done pouring. “Daddy! Hurry up you’re gonna be late for your meeting!” Peter’s dad, Tony Stark, was a world-renowned businessman/engineer.

And Peter was his ‘infamous child prodigy’, is what Dr.Strange, his dad’s close friend, likes to call him. Peter was the popular kid at school, the one who knew how to dress amazingly enough to be on the cover of ELLE with his famous everyday outfits, the kid that had all A’s and was on the honor roll each year and won many science conventions first place awards; and yet he was still known to be the most liked and admired at school.

Peter bit his glossed lips while examining his manicure, thinking about the dinner tonight that he had to go to with his dad, something about ‘linking up with old friends. Tony came into the room through the arch and was fixing his tie while looking at his watch.

“Pete don’t tell me you made that crap diet food for me today, I’m gonna have a long day of meetings and a burger already sounds amazing for lunch.” Peter scrunched up his freckled nose in distaste at the grease patty his father called heaven.

Peter poured his dad's coffee in a stainless steel coffee cup. “Daddy you know Dr. Strange said that it’s the best way to help if you want to live past fifty.” Tony rolled his eyes and took the packed food and coffee cup anyways. “So now you're going to listen to whatever that man tells you?” Peter pecked his dad’s cheek, rubbing away the gloss smudge with his thumb with a fond smile.

“I’m gonna listen to any man with a Bachelor's degree daddy.” His dad smiled fondly and hugged his son. “That’s my boy.” And before Tony left through the archway to the foyer he turned around and looked Peter up and down.

“You and the girls plan something for after school? Because you know we’re going out tonight kid.” Peter looked down over his clothes for the day. A Versace dual print button-up that reached down midthigh with white shorts. And a white Gucci belt to cinch his waist to show his figure and his white leather Prada pumps with his Speedy Bandouliere 25 to tie everything together.

“We’re matching today and it was Nat’s turn to pick the designer, and I know dad all you’ve been talking about is this dinner.” Tony hummed and sipped his coffee, rolling his eyes at his son’s attitude but, never-the-less hugged Peter and both walked out to the front of their round-about cobbled driveway and both went into their respectable vehicles.

----------

Once Peter rolled up to Natasha’s giant house with the same green patch of luscious grass and beautifully cut bushes around the property with giant gates at the entrance, Peter honked twice, and while waiting he checked himself out in his bedazzled hand mirror.

His curls for the day were in wet-styled auburn curls and his eyes were glossed with a wet shine and blush blended perfectly into his tan skin from his dad’s last business trip in Mexico. Peter smiled at the enchanting memory of mimosas being handed to him on the beach with the sound of waves crashing in the background and oiled pure white skin under the blazing sun and the sound of beautiful Latino music playing at the beach’s bar behind him.

Peter remembered the dream-like Hispanic men lounging around him in swimming shorts and glorious brown skin and bright white smiles. His dad finally enjoyed his time without work or stress at the bar, smiling and laughing with beautiful Latina women.

Peter snapped out of his loving memory when Natasha jumped in the front seat of his white topless jeep.

“Hey Pete, hurry so we can get to Shuri’s house, I don’t want to hear her complain about being late to class.” She rolled her eyes lovingly and looked at herself through the front seat mirror and pushed up her curls.

He snorted at Nat's teasing and pulled away from the curb. “You know that outfit will catch Steve’s eye right?” She looked me up and down with a devilish smirk on her red painted lips, Peter always did admire how she pulled off red so damn well.

Peter looked over at her once they hit a red light. “Every outfit I wear catches that man’s eye, Nat.” Then another burst of laughter came out from both of them.

Once Peter pulled up to Shuri’s house, he already knew she was gonna give them hell for the time.

Peter absentmindedly looked at the time on the jeep, only ten minutes ‘till the bell rings, they’ve got plenty of time. Shuri came in the car with a flourish of the door slamming shut and a huff that came from her lips. While Peter was pulling away from the curb he looked in the rearview mirror and smiled at Shuri.

“What’s got you in a fit S?” Shuri flung a strand of her box braid behind her shoulder in annoyance and sulked in the back with her Prada handbag clutched in her lap. “T’Challa was actin’ lame this mornin’, only because I asked him why he was acting out last night with his friends,” And once Shuri started talking about her brother, both Natasha and Peter tuned in, even when they arrived in the school’s parking lot, the deets on T was always juicy.

“Get this guys I overheard T talkin’ about you Pete and how he’s surprised your daddy hasn’t sent you to a catholic school already because he and his friends think you're easy, then somehow that turned into a convo on how he would totally--and I quote--"Tap that ass".” She said this conversationally while all three of them were walking towards the school with their heels clicking and bags in hand.

Peter gawked and Nat let out a snort. “Okay, but doesn’t he know that Pete is a total virgin?” Nat brought up while Peter was minutely speechless for the first time in forever and then he snapped back to life. “What a skeeze.'' Both girls nodded in resolution and then they split for class once they got into the school’s hallway.

———

At lunch Peter walked to his and the girls' table in the middle of the outside cafeteria with a lime popsicle in one dainty hand, sucking the tip of the icy treat while soaking in the glances he got from his peers. Peter sat with a flourish and waved at the girls in greeting.

“Pete whatcha doing tonight I wanna see if you could go shopping with us.” Wanda leaned forward with her chewing gum on one finger while she chewed on her apple slices.

Peter pouted, “Sorry Wand, I got this dinner thing with my dad and his friends tonight.” Wanda gave a humph and hunched her shoulders. “You know I find it weird how Pete’s dad is an actual DILF and his friends are just as fine.” Shuri brought up, which got the girls around the table nodding in agreement. Peter rolled his eyes and flipped Shuri off when she broke out laughing.

Lunch had just begun but usually, Steve would be right next to Peter with his macchiato in hand. “Looking for your boy toy?” Shuri swirled a baby carrot in the dollop of the ranch she only treated herself to once a month.

Peter grimaced and shook his head indifferently, sucking the treat back into his mouth with an eye roll from his friend's laughter. Peter knew that Steve had it for him and was at his beck and call even if he acted like he was just doing it to be nice.

Peter rarely felt guilty for using his crush to his advantage but he also explicitly told Steve that he wasn’t looking to date anyone. Besides his father would go ballistic on him, he distinctly told him he wasn’t allowed to date anyone, and I quote, ‘until you find a guy who has his own business that I can buy and make sure that I have control over him’.

Peter was drawn out of his thoughts when he realized there was a shadow cast over him. Peter turned and titled his head up, there standing was his saving grace in the hands of his best friend. “One almond milk macchiato with no foam and two shots of espresso for my very beautiful best friend, Peter Stark.”

Sam by Steve’s side made a face and looked at Steve hurt, “I thought I was your beautiful best friend.” Steve ignored him though and smiled beamingly at Peter’s plucked arched eyebrow. “You gonna give me it or are you also my handler.” Nat by his side snorted and shook her head. “Not until you look at my outfit Stark.” Peter rolled his eyes with an apathetic air to him.

Peter didn’t like playing Steve’s silly games, but he still wanted his coffee and he wanted it now. So he let his eyes roam up and down Steve’s body. A Classic Damier Pique polo and nice fitted dusty blue slacks. He wore a smirk on those lips every female seemed to love and his blonde hair was slicked back with a pair of black Gucci sunglasses on his head.

Peter furrowed his brows and glared at Natasha who was pointedly not catching his eyes. “Did Nat tell you we were matching with Louis today?”

“Just took a wild guess, cuz I know she knows what I like on you.” Peter rolled his eyes and feigned a vexed look. “You know I told you I can't have you flirting with me Stevie, I'm not allowed to date.” Steve shrugged his shoulders and handed over Peter’s drink.

“You know you can't keep me away from you, doll.” Sam scoffed next to him and shook his head, walking away from the situation and heading towards the benches where their friends stood.

“You better follow your only source of affection before he decides to not hold your hand anymore when your feelings get hurt.” Peter waved his hand in a dismissive way and turned back to the table.

Steve shook his head, even though Peter wasn’t paying any more attention to him. Sometimes Steve wishes he could just smack the sense into Peter that he would do anything to be with him. Maybe instead of a smack, it’d be a kiss.

----------

At Eleven Madison Park, Peter dined with his father, Rhodey, and Dr. Banner. The bright smiles and charisma felt like second nature to Peter, he was taught great mannerisms by his Nonna and Nonno when he used to stay at their condo in Malibu while his dad was out on business trips.

“Listen, all I'm saying Tony, is that Pete has the credentials to be a part of my branch.” Bruce held his hands up in surrender. Peter sipped the glass of champagne idly, pretending that he wasn’t the face of this conversation.

“Oh trust me, I know my genius son has the credentials to be a part of any big business. But I rather him not work for anyone,��� Tony cut a piece of steak with vigor and popped it in his mouth.

“Besides he’s too much like me, he wouldn’t listen to you Bruce, he likes challenges.” Bruce laughed and shook his head, looking over at Peter with a smile.

“The kids gotta start somewhere Tones.” Rhodey pointed out with a raised brow, his eyes going over to Peter where he was cutting a sliver from his seasoned lamb. “Jeez, Rhodes you say it like my son can’t start out big.” Tony lifted his wine glass to his lips with a stubborn glint to his eyes, he always did get protective of his son.

“I never said that-” Rhodey was cut off by a phone's ringtone chiming. Tony grunted and pulled out his stark phone with an annoyed air to him. Rhodey looked over to Peter and gave a pleading look, “I never said that Pete.” Peter laughed under his breath and lifted his champagne flute towards Rhodey in a tribute to his faith in the man. “I know Rhodey.”

Rhodey smiled and saluted his glass back, sipping his white wine and looking over at Bruce trying to not grimace at his meal. “Whoever thought to themselves that, “oh yes lamb's tongue sounds like a great meal to serve” should be in prison.” that got Peter smiling wider and knocked the toe of his heel to Bruce’s shin lightly, playfully.

The rest of the dinner was spent with laughs and more teasing, but soon rolled into business talk like it usually trickled into with every event they go to. But before his dad started going on one of his rants on his current projects, Dr. Banner quickly set his wine glass down from lifting to his mouth and hurriedly said: “Maybe we shouldn’t get into details while Peter is still here?”. The words make Peter stop mid-bite and look up from his plate to see the shifty eyes of one Dr. Banner and Tony Stark. Rhodey seemed just as confused and paused in his own autopilot of taking a sip from his tumbler. But before Peter could try and butt in and demand a reason, the waiter came by and asked if they would like any dessert, to which Peter got distracted by his father shoving a menu of the small assortment of desserts the restaurant served. Tony knew his son had a thing for sweets and got lost in his own world easily once he focused on something else. One point to daddy Stark and zero to the poor spawn of the billionaire.

[witchiswriting]

‘Tis the Damn Season Chapter 1

Summary: Pre-Apocalypse.  Adrielle left her town and Negan behind three years ago but when she comes back along with her feelings she found the man she couldn’t get over is moved on. Dealing with depression at the same time, could Adrielle find what she’s looking for?

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Depressed Main Character, Mental Illnes

Author’s Note: This is a story I came up with when I listened to Taylor’s Tis the Damn Season song. I don’t know how but the song painted a really clear picture for this story. So, I hope you enjoy this as much as I do. Also it’s my participation to @band--psycho​‘s Music Writing Challenge.

Pairings: Negan x Adrielle (OC)

Enjoying feeling of the melting snowflake on tip of your nose, you watched the town you could never leave behind. No matter how long it has been, this place has been with you all the time. Thinking about the Christmas dinners your mother served every year even though you were absent in all of them for the past 3 years. During those years you thought you were healed, or you made yourself believe it. The difference doesn’t matter, you’re here because of him. Because you can’t deny your feelings anymore. You miss the man you hurt the most.

After all the things that took place and all the disasters you left behind your departure, you couldn't control your feelings and fears anymore. So, you left LA for the holiday season and came back to spend Christmas with your family, and if you are lucky enough, with him.

In the past 3 years you thought if he moved on and found someone else who is worthy of his love. The possibility left a bitter taste in your mouth. You know you are being selfish but imagining him with some other woman makes your heart ache. So, you’d done what you do best, drowning yourself in meaningless relationship and casual sex yet it wasn’t enough to stop that nasty voice in your head, none of them were him.

Shutting down your cruel mind, you quickly pushed the thoughts away. You were standing in front of the door of your home, your parents’ home to be correct. You put on the best smile on your face and knocked the wooden surface.

In a rush the door opened, and you found your mom, Jane, in front of you, smiling like a kid on Christmas morning. The years added a few wrinkles around her eyes, but her emerald green orbs shined with the same tenderness. Her hair was longer, and it suited her sharp features just right.

'Oh, thank goodness, you're finally here' Jane took you between her welcoming arms, surrounding you with that welcoming feeling you’d never forgotten, holding you tightly. 'Adrielle Pamela Wintringham! If you dare not coming back and visit us every year, you'll find me on your door with my bags. This is a serious threat miss!' She laughed into your raven hair.

Before being able to answer your mom, you heard a pair of very familiar footsteps. Your father, the only man you trust with your own life, is now standing right before you.

'Jane, leave the poor girl alone. If you keep saying shit like that, she will probably change her identity and start a new life who knows goddamn where.'  He joked, showing his pearly whites.

Leaving your mom, you took a big step and hugged your dad.  The break which lasted for 3 years made you miss your family more than you could ever imagine. 'Well, dad don't worry. I'll be coming back every year from now on. I missed you so much, guys.' You didn't even try to hold your tears back.

William laughed smoothly. 'C'mon Elle, let's get inside before we all get our asses frozen as shit.'

 Stepping into the house, you immediately went back to 3 years back. Nothing has changed. The beige couch you used to spend your days on is still located at the same place, the warm colour of the walls never failed to make you feel at ease, the shelves are still stuffed with your and your sister’s pictures. Though a new one caught your eye, she was standing with her volleyball team, holding the medal she probably won and next to him was the person you wanted to see most and avoid at the same time.

He had that charming smile on his lips, of course he has changed over the years, the salt and pepper beard took its place around his mouth. You remembered the feel of his stubble on your skin. ‘Fucking great’ you thought, years did him good. He was more handsome than you remembered, and you used to think it wasn’t possible.

Clearing her throat, Jane interrupted your thoughts with a soft tone. You knew she saw you staring at that picture but didn’t say anything and honestly you were grateful for that. Yes, you came back mostly because of him but it didn’t mean you were ready to face him even though through a picture in the first moments of your arrival.

'Baby, go change. The dinner will be ready in 10 and hopefully your wayward sister will be back by then.'

Making a fake offended face 'Where the hell is Andrea? I mean the Santa is back in town but she's out.' you joked slightly.

You knew you hit a sore spot when you parents shared a worried glance, they were still thinking about your mental struggles probably, but you wanted to prove that you’d beaten down the illness that chasing you since your childhood.

'Honey, she's out helping to the others with the giant Christmas tree which they put in the centre of the city.' William explained like it was nothing, but you knew your father too well to catch the tension in his baritone voice.

Not wanting to address the elephant in the room so you shook your head replying with a cheerful tone, 'Apparently nothing has changed. God I really missed this town.' The words slipped out from your mouth, but you weren't sure your parents bought it.

It's an old tradition that kept going on in your town for years and you have no doubt about Negan being there, helping everybody with a joy. He always loved this kind of stuff, you silently hoped this hasn't changed, and unfortunately Andrea is one of his best students.

Jane called from the dining room, letting you know that dinner is ready. Feeling thankful for distraction, you pulled a chair, took your usual spot in front of her.

Just as you were about to take a big bite from the delicious chicken, your troublemaker sister stepped in and made her presence known. She was looking at you with a Cheshire cat grin on her face.

'YAY! The older one is back. I have so many things to tell you Adri, oh, by the way we're still having the dinner tomorrow night, right? There are 5 days to Christmas, and it would be a shame if we skip that famous tradition.' She let the words out from her lips with overjoy. Andrea has always been a social butterfly and on the contrary of kids her age she enjoyed hanging with adults.  

'Is there a special reason for mom to not throw the party this year?  Or is it my presence that bugs you little lady?' You said with a sassy tone before you could think about the sore subject you spotted on. As soon as you realised what you just said you kicked yourself internally.

'Don't worry babe, I already planned everything and told everyone. We're going to be so busy tomorrow night.' Thankfully, your mom ran to the rescue again and replied with nonchalance.

Beyond excited Andrea blundered without realization, ‘Oh great! That means Coach Negan is coming too.’’

For a moment everyone around the table didn't mutter a word and you heard your sister whispering 'oh shit' looking at her feet.

The awkward silence was starting to annoy you, so you sighed and decided to clear the air, at least with your family. 'Guys, I really appreciate your concern, but it's been years, we both are adults and what happened back then is water under the bridge. You can't prevent us from encountering each other. I'm pretty sure Negan wouldn’t have a problem with this too. I'm sure he's already moved on and living his life peacefully. I doubt he would turn his back and run as soon as he sees me. Also, I’m here to fix my past mistakes. I can’t do that if I avoid talking to him, right?’ You arched your left eyebrow, a faux smile on your lips, the tension you feel in your stomach could make you burst into tears and then make you laugh hysterically afterwards. You were trying your best to suppress this feeling.

Your mom examined your face with a suspicious look but didn’t pressure the matter further and raised her glass in a toast.

Quickly the heaviness in the air disappeared and left its place to cosy atmosphere.

You could feel your insides hurt from laughing too much at your sister’s adventures in the school.

The happy banter interrupted with the ringing doorbell. Andrea started getting up from her seat. ‘It’s probably Nancy, she forgot her folder in my room this morning.’

Before she could move forward you stood up. ‘If it’s okay with you I would like to answer the door. I missed her too since she practically grew up in our house.’

With a genuine smile you walked toward the door. Ready for greeting Nancy and chat with her after a couple of years. You loved her like your sister. Both of them always managed to cheer you up.

You met with a pair of hazel eyes instead of Nancy’s blue ones. Negan was standing before you just shocked as you were, staring at you with wide eyes.

You were speechless. You didn’t expect to face him this early, you’re caught off guard.

His lips curled upwards with a genuine smile. Trying to be polite and casual as possible he finally said something. ‘Oh, hi. I didn’t know you’re back.’

Shaking off the whirling emotions that made you dumbfounded. ‘Hi, uh yes I’m back for Christmas.’’ You said, managed to keep trembling off your voice.

You continue to stare at each other. There was so much you want to tell him, and you weren’t sure if you could stop yourself from your arms around his neck.

‘Elle, baby invite Nancy in. You’re going to freeze to death if you keep standing on the porch.’ Your father intervened before you made something stupid.

Your dad couldn’t hide the slight shock but shrugged it off quickly. ‘Hello Negan. Troublemaker daughter of mine forgot something again?’ He asked with a smirk on his lips.

Negan laughed, you wished you could keep the butterflies in your stomach cool. ‘Fuck, not this time William. Actually, I’m here to give you these cookies.’

Deciding to form a friendly banter with him and yourself you popped the question. ‘Wow, did Coach Negan learn how to cook finally?’ You teased slightly.

He bit his lower lip before answering your simple question. ‘I wish I could fucking say yes but no, Eleanor baked them.’

Yeah, he indeed moved on.

@negans-network​