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irndad · 2 months

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here I lay me down - s.r.

a/n: ex!spencer gets shot, and you show up at the hospital to see if he's okay. spencer is still desperately in love with you. based on this post wc: 2.3k (she is LONG)

Spencer wakes to a cacophony of sounds, others breathing and various beeps and hums from a variety of medical machines. He hates the noise of the hospital, as he knows what always follows. It’s pain, and ever since he kicked dilaudid, he doesn’t get the relief that people are always pushing on him here.

The last thing Spencer remembers, he was in front of Morgan, who was about to get shot- it was a piercing memory, one that even the anesthetic wearing off slowly couldn’t numb. He’d jumped in front of it, and the pieces of Morgan pacing around his room and the whole being in a hospital thing click into place.

When he blinks his eyes open, he sees Hotch speaking to the doctor with his endearingly concerned eyebrow scrunch and it’s then that he notices a familiar scent in the air.

It’s perfume- he knows because he’d bought it- a mixture of jasmine and lilies, and the memory of the night he gave it to her bursts into technicolor when he closes his eyes. It had been her birthday, and he’d gone with Penelope and Emily to pick out a gift for her.

He remembers how she’d lit up, her warm doe eyes brightening with fondness that he’d earned, and the way his heart had flipped in his chest- the memory is in crisp detail. He remembers the way she’d kissed him, equal measure in thanks and in adoration, and it’s comforting to remember right now. He tries to think of her often, especially when waves of pain crash over him like an unruly ocean that threatens to drown him. There was someone who loved him at one point, he tries to remember.

He wants to compliment the nurse wearing it, but even as limited as his social skills are in this state, he knows that telling the nurse you like her perfume because your ex wore it is probably inappropriate.

A roar of desire presents itself in his chest- he has no desire to want her here, but Spencer can’t help but fantasize about her presence. Her nimble fingers running through his hair, her soft voice cooing at his injuries. It was always nice to come home to her after a rough day- her disposition warm and kind and good. It’s his fault he doesn’t have it- his fault that she doesn’t love him anymore.

It’s as if he conjured her, when she walks in the door.

He literally cannot believe that she is here, in his hospital room- he drinks in the sight of her like a man starved. She’s beautiful- he’d never forget this but it’s been so long since he’s seen her. The curve of her cheek, her cupid’s bow, the slope of her neck- the details he spent the best year of his life memorizing under careful touch.

Her body language is protective, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other at her mouth, her delicate fingers holding a tissue. Had she been crying?

Before he can think of what to say to her, she speaks to him.

“How are you feeling?”

He’d forgotten just how her voice sounded. Or rather, how it sounded when she was concerned for him. It’s addicting, hedonistic in the ways of wine and drugs and everything else you should have in moderation but had to give up. It’s just so comforting, her lovely doe eyes looking at him with warmth and concern.

“Hey,” he replies, not answering her question. He might be imagining her. They might have given him drugs. There’s no way she came and see him of her own volition.

She pauses for a moment, biting her lip in an incredibly endearing way (and god, he’d missed looking at her) before she makes the decision to walk over to the side of his bed. He tries to crane his neck to look at her and she scolds him, and this doesn’t make any sense.

“You got shot,” she says, voice warm and concerned, and if he squinted he could hear love in her voice.

“I’m okay,” he tries to reply.

“You got shot,” she says, eyes flaring with emotion. She always hated that he minimized his pain.

“You came,” he says, after a beat of silence. Her fingers are running through his hair and he tries to commit this to memory. It doesn’t mean she loves him. She’s the kind of person who stops on the street to give someone the last dollar in her wallet, of course she would visit her ex-boyfriend in the hospital after he got shot.

It doesn’t mean anything.

“Of course I came, Spence,” she says, intentionality in her tone, “You got hurt.”

It’s selfish to lean into her touch, but she smells like home and he doesn’t know if he will ever be held like this again by her. And he doesn’t care to be held by anyone else.

Hotch comes in, and if he’s surprised to see the two of them together, it doesn’t show on his face. He tells Spencer that the. Bullet had been clean through, and that he’d been lucky. He’d avoided internal bleeding and would need to stay at home for a week.

When Hotch leaves to ‘give him some space to process’, the silence lingers.

“Thank you for coming.”

It’s kind of worse, actually. The reality where she’s still his girlfriend is superimposed on top of this one, and he can feel the ghost of the kisses she’d pepper his cheeks with. If she still loved him, then she’d hug him and tell him that she loves him, tell him how angry she is for jumping in front of a stray bullet.

It’s my fault, he thinks to himself, eyes raking over her. She’d definitely been crying, he realizes. Her makeup had run and he think she might have slept here. How had he ever gotten someone like her to fall in love with him?

It’s his fault she doesn’t love him anymore.

When the doctor tells him that he needs someone to stay with him for the next few days, and she volunteers, he agrees.

It’s a nice kind of pain, he thinks. Any piece of her is more than he wants of anything else.

_______________________________________

It turns out that she is a wonderful caregiver.

Penelope had been incredibly supportive of this idea, somehow convinced that the proximity would bring them back together. This is a hope that Spencer does not engage in, but still- it’s nice to have her around.

She knows her way around his apartment- knows how he organizes her things. Half her things used to be there too.

Memory is a funny thing. The worst part by far of eidetic memory is the lack of forgetting, and up until now, this was best seen in the horrors of his work. Now, it’s all her.

Taking care of him when he got shot is not the same thing as loving him.

When she makes them dinner (which is so kind of her- he offered to buy takeout and she’d insisted on recreating his mother’s soup recipe. She’d kept a copy of it in her phone. Spencer had almost died of flattery), she sits next to him on his couch

It’s funny how the best memories of his life are so colored now- their trip to Europe, their first kiss, the first time he’d cooked her dinner and she’d watched Doctor Who with him. Ghosts of memory linger through the place, and it hurts to see her sit next to him on the couch with a foot between them.

“Thank you for being here,” he says after a beat of silence. She looks beautiful, and he always thinks this. She’s wearing his t-shirt which is just an awfully tempting view.

It’s his fault he can’t have what he wants.

“I told you I still wanted us to be friends,” she says, looking down at her bowl, “You’re my friend. I’m happy to do this.”

He can tell she means it as an olive branch but it cuts like a knife. Because he never wanted to be her friend. She was the first thing he even wanted enough to ask for it. He still remembers when he’d asked her out the first time, the stuttering and the way she’d looked, how impossible her liking him back had felt.

And then he’d managed to make her fall in love with him. It didn’t even take much- he just had to be himself, the way she says it, and he’d give anything to have that back.

“You’re a good friend,” he replies, instead of everything he’s thinking.

“Hotch thinks so,” she muses, not looking at him, “He was surprised I’d come here after you broke up with me.”

It’s a slight lash out, and it’s fair. It’s not fair that she’s here, wearing his fucking t-shirt, her collarbones exposed under the fabric. He know what her skin feels like under his lips, and now she make veiled comment on his couch.

“Why did you?”

He can’t figure it out. They’d broken up two months ago. He’d done it to protect her- after the anthrax case he’d been fucking fixated on her getting hurt. Because this is the stuff he can’t protect her from. Can’t help if biomedical hazards end up on his clothes, and if he comes home shot.

He got shot. He’s the kind of person who doesn’t get forever with the woman he loves, because he can’t keep her safe. Even if he quit just then- enough people have made an enemy of him. She’d never be safe.

So he made a choice to cut his ties and let her go, and yes, every fucking night since he’s had at least one nightmare about what she looks like crying and asking him to stay. He never, ever wanted to see her like that, but he also never ever wanted her to be a widow.

She’d find someone else. She’s so easy to love- he doesn’t like to think about someone else loving her, but he’s sure she won’t be alone.

His voice catches in his throat.

“It is nice of you,” Spencer chokes out, “I never wanted you to have to do that.”

“Let’s not talk about this now,” she says, getting up to get him another serving, and he grabs her wrist.

“Ba- Hey, please. Talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say?” she says at him, but she doesn’t pull her wrist back.

“I just-“ he stammers, but it’s heavy and something he can’t give up, the combination of her gaze under his and her soft skin in his grasp, “I can’t have you here and hate me. I just can’t take you hating me. I know- I know what I did. I know it’s not fair to ask and I know that we’re not together and I know it’s my fault but god, you can’t hate me. I can’t take it.”

“You think I hate you?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“You think I came to the hospital in the middle of the night, slept in a waiting room, cooked you soup and slept on your couch because I hate you?”

He doesn’t know what to say. How could she still love him?

“It’s you,” he replies. “You’d always do that for me.”

She’s closer now, moving into his space more and more and he can smell his own body soap on her because she showered here, and he’s overcome with a desire to hold her.

“Why do you think that is?”

She’s almost in his lap now, and there’s a greed to this now, the way he pulls her a little bit closer. She tips her head back in a bitter, tinny laugh that he doesn’t like the sound of.

“I mean, Spencer- I love you so much that I don’t even care if you love me back.”

“You still love me?”

“I’m working on it,” she says, a bitter smile on her face, “You’re hard to get over.”

“Don’t get over me.”

It’s not the smoothest thing he could’ve sid, and he kind of regrets the implication on her face, sees her gorgeous features crumple.

“That’s mean, Spence.”

“No! No. Don’t. Don’t-don’t do that. Don’t move on with your life and find someone else because this is the lightest I’ve felt in fucking weeks.”

Her eyes widen into saucers, and her grip tightens on his hands, and Spencer feels like he could fly.

“I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have made you go and I should’ve let you be the person who picks me up at the hospital and I know, I know how lucky I am that you’re still here, that you cared enough. Please, please don’t get over me. I know it’s not far to ask.”

She blinks a few times at him before opening her arms for a hug, of which he flies into at breakneck speed. His ribs hurt but he’d forgotten what it was like to hold her. And yes, maybe wanting this makes himself selfish, but he wants this. Maybe this can the one thing he lets himself have.

“I do love you. ” he speaks into her collarbone, and she shushes him.

“No, no,” he says, looking up at her, her gorgeous doe eyes shaky with uncertainty he knows is his fault, “If you’ll still have me, I’d like to-I’d like to try again. And I know that you probably can’t trust me and I have so much to make up for and-“

“Spencer,” she says warmly, twining their fingers, “I’d like to kiss you now. Okay?”

He nods a bit fervently, shaking as he does, but when she kisses him-

It’s just as he remembers. She leans into him, her delicate fingers cupping his jaw and he wraps his spindles arms around the curve of her waist, pinning her to him like she might float away if untethered.

When Spencer gets back to the office, he it’s not just his wounds that have healed.

#spencer reid #spencer Reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic

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cometkenji · 1 month

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killshot, baby

Pairing: Aaron Hotch x Doctor!Fem!reader Cw: Fluff (for real this time), LONGING (this is literally 9k words of pure yearning idek how I did that), mentions of blood, Hotch gets shot, Jack being adorable, Jack gets injured too :(, no explicit age gap, this is just rlly cute idk it's sweet I love Hotch so much I need him Summary: When you get hired as the BAU's stand-by medic, the team leader ends up being the hardest part of your job. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby! She's always fat coded, but like usual she's not described here. Just know a chubby person was imagined when writing this <3 WC: 9k (Hotch is the love of my life I could go on about him forever) This is definitely not medically accurate, please just enjoy for the sake of the story. I LOVE HOTCH I WANNA SMOOCH HIM

As weird as it was, band aids were the thing you remembered most from your childhood. You grew up as a canvas for any sort of scrape, cut, or bruise. Any wound that made your parents feel mildly worried to utterly terrified were ones that decorated your body frequently. You never tried to assign any meaning to why you became a doctor, simply crediting it as your call to the profession - to people. If you had to, though, your consistently bruised adolescent body is the best root cause you could think of. It seemed only right that the kid who couldn’t keep her skin in tact would grow to love helping others. You liked to think that’s how you kept your head an average size. Your bosses and co-workers had raved about your abilities no matter the job you took, and after a while you had to start prioritizing keeping your humility. You had started as just a kid with bruises.

You tended to ground yourself with those same memories in times like this. For as long as you’d worked in the hospital, you held some disdain for agents. You saw many federal ones, being so close to the HQ for divisions like Behavioral Analysis, but some locals swung by too. You’d had far too many experiences of them being snappy, demanding, and usually inconsiderate to the team of people trying to save someone. You understood the individuals you were committed to helping often got there by doing monstrous things, but demanding to talk to someone when they were bleeding out and half-conscious always forced your tongue between your teeth in an effort to stay respectful. Especially now, pushing a stretcher with 3 other workers while trying to shake off the feds trailing after him. You recognized them, Agents Rossi and Hotchner, if you remembered correctly.

“We’ll need to talk to him immediately.” The man - Rossi, you assumed, seeing as he was going gray and had less of a charge fueling his steps - spoke quickly as the two men followed your team.

“Be here when he’s out of surgery.” You didn’t bother to look back, trying to convey your annoyance and praying they got the hint.

“He’s killed three women and has another one hostage. We don’t have time.” The other one piped up, easily keeping pace with you.

Abandoning your previous strategy, you let your team push the man into the operating room, shutting the door behind them and whipping around to face the duo. “I understand that, sir, believe me.” You were more elevated than you would have liked, years of unease unfortunately slipping through your efforts to withhold them. “But whatever happened when you found him left him barely breathing. You can’t speak to a corpse. You’ll have your time when he’s stable. Go do your job and let me do mine.” You tensed your calves planning to turn around, but quickly felt the guilt catch up to you. “I’ll call you if he wakes up.”

“If?”

You sighed. You hated profilers. “I’ll call you.”

“Call the headquarters.” He was scribbling down a number on the back of a hospital business card. “Ask for Agent Hotch. We’ll be waiting.” You nodded your head once, taking the card from his hands. He started walking away as he thanked you. “We appreciate it.” Sure.

–

The surgery to save the man had been a trip and half. One of the bullets had internally ricocheted, and the other two were lodged next to crucial arteries. You praised your mother for giving you steady hands as you inched them out of him. It took you and your team six hours and fifteen minutes to get his heartbeat steady, you estimated he’d be knocked out all night. You should call, you thought. You had no idea how late these people worked but they were more than likely expecting to talk tonight and you didn’t know if that’d be possible. You fished the card out of your pocket, his handwriting was impressively neat for how fast he’d written the number. You heard the line ring twice before someone picked up.

“This is Penelope Garcia with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, who am I speaking to?”

“Uh- I’m Dr. L/n down at Quantico Med. I’m looking for Agent Hotch?” Your words tilted up at the end of your sentence. The casual nature of his shortened name left a weird feeling in your mouth after you said it. “I have an update on a patient he was asking after.”

“Is this about an unsub?”

“A what?” She lacked professionalism. You wondered briefly if he had just given you the phone number of an employee.

“I’m sorry-” she laughed slightly. “Is this about a suspect? Hotch told me someone might be calling.”

“Um - yeah it’s about a suspect. He was brought in earlier. Is Agent Hotch there? I’m sorry ma’am but I've been in an operating room for the past 6 hours and I want to go home.” You hoped she’d respect your honesty, you really didn’t have the patience to explain yourself to someone new.

She chuckled. “I got you honey, I’ll page you over.” The line went dead for a second before the ringing resumed. Please be quick, you prayed, get me out of this fucking hospital.

“Hotchner.” His voice was rougher over the phone. You guessed the long hours started to weigh on him by this time of night. You always felt it the most around this time, too.

“Hi, sir. This is Dr. L/n from the hospital. We managed to stabilize your guy, but it’s unlikely he’ll be up before tomorrow. I know it was assumed he’d be awake tonight but it took longer to operate than expected.” Your guys put 3 bullets in him, so sorry for the inconvenience. “I’ll be here all day tomorrow. You can come by at any time and I’ll let you in.”

“Are you positive we can’t talk to him tonight? I understand the situation is difficult but this case is extremely time sensitive. I’m sure that’s not lost on you.” You cursed the man for not being more condescending in his delivery. Thinking of the poor person either trapped or dead right now due to the guy you just saved made you sick.

“I know.” Fucking hell. “I can wake him up.” A quarter dose of adrenaline works wonders. “Be here in fifteen minutes. You won’t have much time to talk to him.”

“Thank you.” He hung up. You put your head in your hands. Just a little kid with bruises.

–

The layout of the BAU made you envious of the workers here. You’re sure they’d dealt with atrocities beyond what the average person could stomach, but you also worked within the belly of the beast and man were those hospital hallways claustrophobic. The daylight shone beautifully through the large windows, and you asked yourself if you’d be able to cope with all the paperwork in exchange for a feel like this. There weren’t any front desks, nowhere to sign in, so you sat in one of the chairs by the door and waited to see if something would happen. You had been specifically requested to visit the building , a note signed ‘Strauss’ being left with the hospital secretary. You didn’t like being called on by a stranger, it made you nervous beyond belief. You’re sure anyone walking by assumed you were being charged with something. Sweating like a sinner in church.

“Dr. L/n?” A woman was standing near you, having completely avoided your eyesight until now. “I’m the board supervisor, Erin Strauss. Thank you for coming.” The woman was nice enough, but she seemed rigid, clearly confident in her authority. She led you to her office and gestured to the chair facing her desk.

“I’ll cut right to the chase.” She smoothed her pencil skirt as she sat down. “The BAU is seeking a stand-by medic and I’d like to offer you the position. You’re revered highly by your previous places of employment and your current boss has only good things to say. Along with a personal reference by an employee of mine, you’re certainly a person of interest. You’d be working interchangeably with three other individuals, however you would be the first one called when needed.”

That is definitely not what you were expecting. You were almost immediately ready to turn down the offer. You didn’t work well with cops. You worked well in a hospital, going into the field to patch the wounds of both good and evil was a less than appealing deal to you.

“You’d be on call while you worked your current position at Quantico Medical, when you’re at home you can remain there, but you’ll be flying with the rest of the team when they leave. You will be entered into a federal database, and employed as a stand-in for hospitals near you when working abroad.” She went on to explain you’d be paid salary, and when you heard just how much you could add to your monthly income by doing this, you took it. You were doing fine, you definitely didn’t need the financial boost, but you had family that could use it. Your niece had been close to turning down college because of the cost, so some extra money could really set her up.

“Excellent. You’ll start your field training next Monday.” She was shuffling papers into a hefty stack as she talked. “Come back when you’ve finished this and I’ll arrange a team meeting.” The stack was even heavier than you expected when you picked it up. It was far too early to be regretting your decision.

–

The first day of training had been easy enough. You weren’t an agent, so you avoided having to learn weapons or combat. It generally consisted of learning efficiency, along with how to work properly with agents and the expected etiquette when dealing with an unsub. You had met the team only once by now. Everyone had been nice - Garcia especially - but aside from her nobody had been particularly welcoming. The conditions of your job were a bit strange, basically capitalizing on the what ifs that came with the FBI title, and that created a bit of distance between you and the rest of the team. They questioned the necessity of you, they’d survived this long without a stand-by medic with them, why did they need one now?

Above any disregard for those in law enforcement sat your stubbornness. You knew they were on the fence about you, the most logical thing for you to do now would be attend every session required of you and prove yourself through pure accomplishment. Easy in theory, much harder to execute when Aaron Hotch is the one you’re learning from. He was a good teacher - you’d give him that - he had a confidence to him that easily dominated a room, attracted eyes in a way other men couldn’t manage. You’d ignored the initial stir in your stomach when meeting him in favor of attempting to scold him and his partner. Now, it was much harder to quell the slight pound in your head or the sweat on your palms. He was just standing up front, lecturing on the importance of a team, but his attire was the only thing able to break through the haze in your mind. Every time he’d shown up at the hospital, he’d donned a suit, a slightly baggy blazer worked incredibly well as a shield to your curiosity. That had clearly changed, as he shed the overcoat when talking to the class, having just a white button up adorn his torso. You took notice of the rolled up sleeves, clearing your throat quietly to snap yourself back into focus. You had the intention of snuffing out this little thing of yours but were a living contradiction at this point, setting on the goal of avoidance while barely ignoring the sight of the veins on his arms. You pondered the thought of sleeping with some man at a bar just to get this out of your system, but remembered how little projecting attraction onto someone else helps a situation. In other words, you were probably fucked.

–

The first mission you worked with the team had you flying to a tiny Georgia town to investigate a string of bodies being found in ransacked homes. It seemed to be a simple motive, robbery turned to murder, but the team was called down to help once the kill count hit five. You had been expecting a long commercial flight, figuring you’d need to invest in a good neck pillow and some aspirin. Nobody had bothered to inform you the Bureau utilized private air travel, or that you’d be flying in one with people you’d known for two weeks. You’re sure you looked a little out of place, looking around the plane without being obvious you were doing it and adjusting to the sight of couches on planes. The others, having had this privilege for years now, took their respective seats. You had been nervous about that, unfortunately. The unsure feeling of where to sit reminding you painfully of high school cafeterias and inferior reputations. The only open seat happened to be right next to the man you’d been ducking away from the past two weeks. Lovely. He took a moment to look at you when you sat. You were prepared to talk to him, but for now you busied yourself with rummaging through your bag looking for nothing and pretending not to see him in your peripherals.

“Do you get sick on planes?” He seemed to have a deeper motive when he asked, like you saying yes would solve a puzzle in his head.

“Not really.” You’d only been on a plane a handful of times. “Turbulence can make me nervous, but I think that’s fairly normal.” You thought momentarily that perhaps he would blame your obvious anxiety on that instead of his proximity to you. He was a profiler, you’re sure he picked up on tells for nerves you weren’t even aware you had, but maybe he’d write it off. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem…” He trailed off for a moment, looking over your face to try and categorize your expression. “I don’t know, lost?” He smiled, light and easy, and you realized he was trying to reach out to you. The comfortability in the gesture made your head spin. It was like a shot of morphine, enveloping your body in a dull elation - an escape. You wanted that comfortability, wanted him to feel weightless around you. There had been a certain tension between the two of you since you started. He was warmer than the rest, but also more awkward. Your first real interaction had been an outburst, and it left you hesitant to talk to him.

You chuckled at his remark. “No I -” You shook your head as you spoke, as if shaking off his accusation. “Nobody told me about the jet. You’d think exclusive aircraft would be in the job predecessor.”

He nodded in agreement, holding a slight upturn on his lips. “Yes, you would.” He glances away to check the time, looking back to you quickly like you were his homebase. “Strauss has a habit of getting ahead of herself. Plus, we’re all pretty used to it by now. I have to remind her sometimes that normal provisions don’t have a TI.”

“I’m sure.” It was clear she’d worked with the unit for a while. “Even if they did, though, they’d never find another Garcia.” You thought of the woman, bright and sparkly and incredibly good at her job. “You guys are lucky to have her.”

He stared at you, losing a hint of the lightheartedness and letting a wave of genuinity intertwine with it. “You have her too, Y/n.” His eyes were like a trap, rich pools of honey just begging to tug you down in. “You’re a member of this team. Don’t think your newness makes you inferior to anyone else on it. We’re lucky to have you too.”

Fuck, you were whipped. “I really appreciate that, sir.”

He smiled, shaking his head and waving you off. “Don’t with the sir, please. It’s bad enough when Garcia does it. You can call me Aaron.” Not even the other team members called him that, a thought that seemed to strike you both simultaneously. “Or Hotch, whatever you prefer.”

You just looked at him, letting a smile rouse your lips and trying your hardest not to let the effect he had on you reach your face. “Ok.”

–

The first case had been good training wheels, simply tending to a vic who needed stitches and getting a feel for the life of a field agent. You’d been adjusting nicely to it, quickly getting used to working random hospitals and waiting to be needed on an active crime scene. The others had warmed up to you tremendously after getting back, opening their circle for one more, and you couldn’t be more grateful. A team like this was something you’d wanted for a while, growing more and more unsatisfied with the callous ER workspace by the day. Ironically, there was much more life in jobs dealing with murder. He had also been warming up to you. The two of you hit the status of work-place friends nearly instantly. The endearing encounter on the plane simmered inside you for a while. The memory of it prompting you to keep talking to him, always searching for a fix of the painkiller you’d felt that day.

You weren’t a profiler, but you were unfathomably infatuated, leading you to never miss his tone getting softer with you, or any one of his touches that lingered for just a second too long. It just barely bypassed the line of friendship, but you never lost sight of that linear barrier, so it was incredibly prevalent to you when he breached it. You scoffed at the idea of any reciprocity, brushing off every remark made by a coworker or the one horrific time you heard JJ refer to the two of you as ‘mom and dad.’ This wasn’t a plausible thing. This was a stupid workplace crush that was more of a hindrance than anything. The growing closeness between you and him would have it’s effects properly restrained to the confines of your head, only permitted to express themselves once you were away from the man. It was an odd dynamic, but Aaron wasn’t an obvious guy, so trying to define the edges of you two would only draw attention to the fact you had been looking at all. No thank you.

“Shit.” The team was sitting around the table going over their files. You were mainly there for support, as you were never a part of the lead up to the catch, the chase. You heard Hotch mumble the exclamation under his breath and looked over to see the trouble. He was looking down at his phone, jaw resting between his thumb and pointer finger. You got up and moved to sit next to him, the motion virtually ignored by everyone else as they continued searching for connections.

“Everything ok?” You mumbled to him, trying not to disturb your friends who were nearly nose-deep in their files.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Jack’s sitter canceled. I wanted to stay here to go over the latest crime scene but I guess I’ll have to raincheck.” The killings of your latest unsub had been increasing. You knew the collective stress that was starting to boil within the team. Him going home would only slow them down, a horrible addition to a killer that was speeding up.

You volunteered your night away before you even got a chance to think about it.

“I can watch him.”

Surprise was apparent in the raise of his eyebrows. “I appreciate it, but I couldn’t ask that of you.

You’re fairly certain you would do anything he asked of you, but the nobility of the man in this case almost made you roll your eyes. “No, please. I offered and I would love to. I’m not helping anyone just sitting here, and you leaving would slow them down. You know what to look for here, I don’t. I don’t want another girl going missing just cause your sitter flaked. I can do it.”

He seemed mildly speechless. “I -” He paused, trying to find the wording he wanted. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll send you the address, if you’re sure.” He looked at you with more adoration than you’d ever had directed at you, so intense your eyes instinctively ducked down. “Thank you, Y/n.” He was so touched by the action it made you slightly sad to think about. Had no one ever helped him? Maybe you were raised weird, this seemed hardly beyond common decency to you.

“What are friends for?” He exhaled a slight laugh in gratuitous agreement, but you saw the glimmer of his eyes dull slightly. The notion surely reflected in your own eyes as the words burned your tongue. Friends.

–

Jack was a delight. A well mannered, clearly well raised kid. Parts of his dad shined so vibrantly in him that you’re sure you’d be able to pick him out of a crowd based on mannerisms alone. Hotch had called Jack’s daycare, verifying your identity and giving you the ok to go pick him up. He seemed quiet on the way home, but rushed to give you a tour of the house, and excitedly led you to his line up of toy trains once you’d entered the place. There was a shift between you and Hotch that happened when you gave the offer. A shift that was now only just settling in you. This was his house. His space, his stuff, his place of security. He’d invited you into it, gave you permission to enter it, to exist within it, and it was strangely intoxicating. He was intoxicating, and you realized quickly how much you ached for the permanence of it. You’d made Jack dinner, played for a bit, went out for ice cream per his pleading, and wished him a peaceful goodnight when his bedtime rolled around. He’d dubbed you his ‘best babysitter ever’ and you knew as soon as the words hit your ears that you’d be watching him again. You’re sure situations like today popped up frequently for Hotch, you could be a valuable asset to him when you had free time. He would be saving money too. No need to pay a sitter when you were being paid by the Bureau every second you were there. Aaron had gotten home a few minutes past one, utterly exhausted and uncharacteristically apologetic. He was sorry for being gone so long, making you stay so late, everything and anything the man could apologize for was pouring out of his mouth. He’d welcomed you to stay, but his hair was messy from messing with it all night, and he’d ditched the suit jacket for a gray long sleeve. You’d wanted to take the opportunity, wanted to bask in the safety of him for as long as he’d allow it, but those restrained thoughts were clawing the walls of your skull with a vigor unlike anything you’d felt before. It would be abhorrent to dream about the man while in the confines of his home. You couldn’t do that - you wouldn’t. You brushed off any apology he could conjure and let him escort you out the door. His hand was on your lower back, and his voice was low from the siphoning nature of the day.

“Thank you, again.” He looked at you. “You’re a lifesaver.” You’d expected to hear some humor in his voice. The start of banter between friends, a casual appreciation for a job well done, but there wasn’t any. He sounded rough, slightly beat down, his eyes filled with a sincerity all aimed at you. A blend of pure adoration and a deeper level of dedication. Was this a commitment? What kind?

Heat bubbled in your stomach as you made eye contact. “Please.” You shook your head slightly. “Jack’s an angel. You’re clearly as good at this as you are profiling.” You nodded in the vague direction of Jack’s bedroom as you referenced the kid. “It was my pleasure. I’d love to do it again, if you’ll let me.”

He sighed out a small laugh and broke your gaze for a moment, looking back to you as he spoke. “I’d like that.”

–

You’d seen Jack a multitude of times after that. Aaron was never particularly fond of asking you, claiming that he appreciated the gesture but it was mainly Jack’s begging that made him cave. That, and your persistence. You liked Jack a lot, and more selfishly, you liked being around Aaron’s stuff. It was a little creepy, yes, but you felt better acquainted with him after being around his things. An energetic type of understanding, the type that deepened a connection without words. He was needed late tonight, and as much as you hated denying an offer to see Jack, you had priorities at the hospital. The previous sitter wasn’t able to watch him, so she gave a personal recommendation, and Jack got stuck with a stranger. You thought about him while working, probing and patching people half-focused with the desire to be elsewhere. You’d felt mildly guilty about it, but it’s not like it altered your work, so you figured it was harmless.

You wondered slightly if you manifested the event you were watching play out. You watched in pure disbelief as a sobbing Jack was being carried into the ER by a flustered blonde woman. There was blood staining the right sleeve of his shirt, pouring out of his skin in a surplus and completely soaking through the material. A jagged piece of glass was standing at attention in his wrist, having sliced through the fabric like butter. He was marked ‘urgent,’ who knows if the shard had hit an artery or where the glass had come from.

Most other doctors were busy, either operating or tending to patients. You’d walked to the front desk, remaining as calm as your racing heart would let you, and told the secretary to assign the case to you. “I know this one. Let me take him.” She just nodded, marking your name down as the primary doctor and allowing you to take him back.

Walking up to the blonde woman, you assumed this had been the new babysitter. She was a wreck, trying to explain what happened through her own hysteria while simultaneously having her words drowned out by the crying child. “It’s ok, ma’am.” You’d reassured her, obviously she hadn’t intended the injury. “Let me take him, I’m a friend of his father.” You saw the calmness dilate her eyes, making itself apparent in the relaxation of her tense shoulders. You removed the bleeding boy from her arms, holding him against you and cooing at him the way you would a baby. You took him to a stretcher a few feet away and laid him down, ensuring his wounded arm stayed flat in an attempt to slow the blood. He was on the brink of passing out, his body not having nearly enough energy for the sobbing on top of losing vital fluid. “Jack.” You addressed him directly, two more doctors aiding your transfer to an examination room. “I need you to stay with me, buddy. Just a little longer, I promise. You’re gonna be just fine.” You pushed with one hand, caressing his non-injured arm to emphasize your affection. “Just a little longer.” You looked at him in between looking forward to keep the stretcher straight, seeing that same adoration from his father’s eyes mirrored in his. You felt protective, realizing you cared for the Hotchners much more than you let yourself believe. Little kid with bruises, you skimmed through your origins in your mind in an attempt to center your focus. Just a little kid with bruises.

Two hours later, Jack was stitched up and sleeping soundly. You knew his sitter had called Hotch, probably as soon as something happened, and were not surprised to find him idle in a waiting room chair. He was leaned forward, head in his hands and knee bouncing violently. He heard footsteps getting closer, a feeling within him recognizing them as yours, and he looked up. His eyes were teary, tired. The look of a concerned father.

“How is he?” You’d never witnessed this type of worry in him, heard the amount of desperation in his voice.

You smiled lightly as a predecessor to Jack’s wellbeing. “He’s fine. Glass missed his arteries. We had him patched up in around an hour and a half. Gave him a lollipop and a light sedative to get him to rest. He should be all set to go in the morning.”

He sighed, and the amount of stress that audibly left his body made you feel a little lighter from where you stood. “Thank God.”

“Hey man, give us a little credit.” You joked, relieved when you heard the slight laugh come from his downturned head. Pity laugh, probably, but it was a cherished sound nonetheless.

“You have full credit, Y/n.” He shook his head, raising it to look at you. “Quite the hero.”

You almost physically recoiled from the term, rushing to correct him while maintaining the lighthearted nature. “Definitely not.” You rejected the praise. “Just doing my job. I’m glad I could help him.”

He leaned back in his chair, relaxing for a second before he planned to stand up. “Noble.” He chuckled. “But you helped my son. That’s about as heroic as it gets to me, doc.”

Blood rushed to your ears at your professional title being used so affectionately. “Go check on your kid, Hotch.” You waved back towards the direction of Jack, knowing that even though he was asleep, he’d want to see him anyway. You also hoped the slight distraction would draw his attention away from your increasingly flustered state. “You’ll have plenty of time to praise me.” You weren’t entirely sure you’d wanted the sentence to exit your mouth, but it was too late to bite your tongue.

He raised his eyebrows so slightly that you scolded yourself for having noticed. Such a minuscule action that seemed to move mountains within your brain. “Oh?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes at your own remark. “I’m walking away. You know what I meant.”

“Mhm.” He smiled, nodding his head dramatically and rising from his seat. “Just name a time and place, doc. I’ll do good on that promise.”

You went momentarily braindead, hoping your eyes weren’t giving away the less than work appropriate feeling pumping through your veins. You stared baffled at him for what was definitely a millisecond too long before giving a half-shocked, half-flattered laugh and gesturing him away. “Say that when you’re not obviously sleep deprived and delirious and maybe we can arrange it.” The last thing you heard was him, laughing the way you do when you’re very serious but desperately trying to pass it off as a joke. You knew it well, having done it almost every time you were around him since you started. Comfortable, witty retorts between friends. “Have a good night, Aaron.”

Aaron, he thought. He’d remember that.

–

That had been the second shift between the two of you. Felt immediately by both parties and tossing you both into the deep end of whatever you’d been building with him. He’d been much more touchy, seemingly subconscious on his part but noticed by every part of your body, mind, and soul. You thought about what it could mean, then sunk even further into your incoherent mind when realizing just how subconscious the actions really were. He was just drawn to you. You had viscerally fought that conclusion as it came to you but it genuinely could not be anything else. He was touching you more because - whether on the surface or deeper down - he just wanted to, and that fact was wrecking you. You were so fucking into him that it hurt. Hurt to look at him or be in his home watching Jack or have his knee pressed against yours in the back of car during a team outing. It all hurt because he wasn’t yours. He seemed into you, too. Of course, you didn’t know to what extent. You worried maybe he hadn’t said anything yet because he simply didn’t like you enough, and that hurt more than any other factor. It was a foolish notion - one you would have abandoned instantly had you peeked inside his head - but alas, no such luck.

He’d been more relaxed, too. The two of you reaching a point in your relationship you hadn’t ever let yourself dream about. He was funny, achieving that lightness around you that you’d wanted from the start. He’d gotten riskier, amping up the dial on his remarks a bit. Starting with those like the hospital, ending with ones that made you have to take a breather in the room where they kept the coffee. It hadn’t gone unnoticed, per say, but the others were certainly ignorant to the true depth of the change. You simply couldn’t measure it by witnessing, you had to feel it. And fuck were you feeling it.

A week or so after Jack’s ER visit, you’d asked after him. You didn’t know if the regret was immediate, but it flooded through you quickly. Aaron got nervous, shifty, like you’d touched a live wire of his and he now had to patch it up before it blew. You got concerned, asking if something happened with his stitches or if Jack was now showing some sort of trauma response to the event. Was that even plausible? You weren’t sure, PTSD wasn’t exactly your strong suit. However, he quickly stated that wasn’t the case, noting that Jack was actually in perfect health and had been relentless about wanting you over for dinner.

“He’s grateful.” Hotch was smiling with paternal reluctance, proud of his son for having such good morals but also uncomfortable with the possibility of rejection he was facing. “He wants to see you, say thank you for “saving his life.” He emphasized the last bit in a sarcastic tone, both of you knowing his life hadn’t been in danger but also knowing that fact wouldn’t deter the boy from considering you some type of guardian angel. “Would you be up for it?” If you hadn’t been so focused on snuffing out the heat rushing to your face, you would have seen that same heat reflected in a slight pink across his cheeks.

“Definitely.” You smiled at the thought of the boy bugging his dad about getting you to the house. “When were you thinking?”

“Saturday night?” Both of you were scheduled to be off that day, and you found yourself begging whatever merciful being would listen to not have some lead to chase that day. “He’ll want the day to prepare.” He chuckled.

“Oh no.” You joked. Prepare? You couldn’t even begin to imagine what that meant. “Well, I am extremely curious to find out what an eight year old boy has to prepare for. How about seven? Would that be good?”

Aaron felt his palms start to sweat. He’d never actually been around his house when you’d been there, only seeing you on your way out. “That’s perfect.”

“Great.” You smiled, checking the time and realizing you needed to get going to the hospital. “I’m looking forward to it.” You nodded slightly as one last confirmation and headed out, suppressing a giddy smile while trying to force yourself into a headspace you could work in.

In the meantime, Aaron watched you walk off from where he’d been perched on your desk, entirely oblivious to the man watching the scene.

“As I live and breathe.” Rossi had crept up on him, not spooking him but rather suspending him in a state of immeasurable embarrassment. “Aaron Hotcher has a crush.” The man held his shoulder, patting him there like a father witnessing his son get his first girlfriend. “She’s a good one. Quite the eye you got, Aaron.” Then he was gone, walking away with Aaron’s dignity clasped in his hands. Closing his eyes in pure mortification, Hotch simply thanked God that nobody else was around for that and walked away with the intention of fusing to his office chair to avoid ever looking at Rossi again. At least you’d said yes, he thought. He didn’t know how he’d cope with his friend watching him swing and miss.

–

The daylight seemed to be anticipating this more than you were, hours passing by like minutes until eventually the sun woke you up on Saturday morning. It was blazing through the cracks in your blinds, settling in slim lines across your floor, as light and gentle as snow. You’d been rehearsing your poker face in preparation for tonight. Writing safety manuals for any ungodly situation that could happen, everything from a fire to Aaron gaining the ability to read your mind and unearthing what you really thought about him. You were so happy that Jack held you in such high esteem, but your hands were shaking at the thought of sitting down with him and his father and acting like it wasn’t the dynamic you fucking dreamt about. You knew it was a good sign of compatibility if someone’s cat liked you - did their child liking you mean the same thing? You hoped Jack’s seemingly innate approval of you gave you at least a couple brownie points. Aaron had called you a hero. Swiftly ignoring the memory of what he’d said after he called you a hero, you pulled out your phone. You and him didn’t really speak outside of work and babysitting schedules, but you were pacing around your room and needed something to give you a semblance of structure, a reassurance - even if it was just for the time. You texted, asking if you were still on for tonight, then went to go make breakfast and inevitably pace some more. He’d gotten back to you about twenty minutes later, confirming the time and giving details of how excited Jack was about it. You smiled at that, praying tonight would be as smooth as humanly possible and you could walk away with an ounce of emotional control. You set an intention, this wouldn’t deepen your feelings for Aaron. Was it a pointless goal? Yes. Was it also highly unlikely to prove true? Yes. But the loose plan you worked around the resolution almost completely extinguished the anxiety that had been blazing for hours now. It would be fine, you thought. Completely and utterly fine.

The same words were looping through your thoughts when you got to his front door. Casual - but still minorly more dressed up than he’d seen you. You’d put a little extra effort into your appearance, mainly to pass the time if you were honest, and you walked in with mild confidence fueling your steps. You did your best not to ogle him, he was in an attire that was already threatening to unravel the safety net of the goal you set. You were used to the suits hidden beneath blazers you cursed the existence of, maybe a snippet of his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves late at night. Now, though, he sported a simple black tee, more comfortable than you’d ever seen him. Domesticity was practically oozing from the entire situation. You felt the pieces slip into place as Jack ran up behind him, and you almost cried with how badly you wanted this feeling to be your normal.

“Hey, buddy.” You laughed as he hugged you, reciprocating the act as well as you could from the multiple feet you had on his height. “How’s the arm?”

He raised up his wrist, now gauze free and proudly showed off the scar there. You played up the genuine admiration you felt for him. “That’s a pretty gnarly scar.” He nodded in response, probably feeling cool for the evidence he handled such an injury. “I don’t want to see you back in my operating room, you hear me? Scared the life out of us.” The scolding was playful, and he giggled at your words.

Aaron huffed in agreement, cocking his head to the side slightly. “You can say that again.” Jack looked between you two, smiling and seemingly thinking something neither of you could decipher. To break the moment of silence, Aaron patted his shoulder. “Why don’t you tell her what’s on the menu, buddy?”

He told you, and you hummed along to his words, commenting that it sounded delicious and actually meaning it. He ran away a second later - presumably back to whatever he’d been doing before you got there - and left you and Aaron alone. Venturing into the kitchen, you saw multiple pans and pots sitting neatly on the stove, table set and ready to be utilized. Everything was being kept warm, and you finally gained an appetite after having wrestled with nerves all day.

“Do you want a drink?” He asked it while entering the kitchen, pausing to look at you.

“Please.” You were desperate to calm yourself, eager to subdue the shaking of your hands. “Do you have any wine?” You weren’t the biggest fan, but you couldn’t think of a drink more fitting for the evening.

He nodded slightly. “Red or white?”

“White.”

He chuckled. “Thought so.” It was quiet, more to himself than you as he was already walking away from you when he said it. He’d thought about what kind of wine you liked, you thought. He’d thought about you. He pulled two wine glasses down from the cupboard, then walked over to the fridge. He reached above it, barely having to stretch, and pulled an uncorked bottle from the storage up there. You felt your legs tense looking at how tall he was, how sure he was of his actions. Jesus. It’s been five minutes and you were crumbling. You watched his hands as he uncorked the bottle, reading the label and realizing the brand.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Seems a little fancy for a dinner.”

He laughed under his breath as he finished pouring the glasses, walking back over to sit next to you on the island stools. “You’re a guest of honor.” He placed yours in front of you. “I thought it was fitting.”

You searched, but couldn’t find the humor in his tone. You raised your eyebrows slightly. “Am I?” It was sarcastic, you needed to stop the heat in your stomach from spreading. “I didn’t know doing your job earned such a title.”

He was drinking as you spoke, finishing his sip before joking back. “You’re a doctor.” He said. “I thought you knew that better than anyone.”

You sucked air through your teeth as if wounded by his words. “Touche.” You took a sip of your drink, relishing the taste. Damn, he didn’t come to play. He laughed, and you set your glass back down. “Ok, I have to know.” He drew his attention to you. “What the hell did Jack need the day to prepare for?” The question had been on your mind since he asked you.

He took a drink, chuckling with a mouthful then swallowing so he could reply. “He actually helped cook most of this.” He nodded towards the stove full of different dishes. “That was what he needed the day for. Time for trial and error.”

You grinned at the thought of Jack and Aaron spending the day in aprons, making sure everything turned out perfect. “That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He looked back towards Jack, coloring in the living room, close enough to see but far enough to miss your discussions. “He gets nervous around you.”

That surprised you. “Why on Earth would he be nervous around me?” You took your turn looking at the boy, an idea hitting you and making you feel sick. “Wait, I didn’t do something did I?”

He looked back at you, smiling. “No, no. Nothing like that. He gets nervous because he likes you. He knows who you are to me, too, so he wants to make a good impression.”

Your mind latched onto that sentence and played it like a broken record, bouncing between your ears over and over. “Oh?” Your lips were curling up at the corners, eyebrows furrowing as you got ready to hold him to that statement. “And who might I be to you, Aaron?��

Fuck. He’d let that slip past his lips without even thinking about it. So used to being in the confidential company of his son. Good thing he used to be a lawyer and could lie his ass off. “Most of his sitters aren’t also my coworkers.” He delivered it the smoothest way he could, smiling and drinking to hopefully exude a false comfortability that he certainly wasn’t feeling.

“Mhm.” You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to look sarcastic but in truth downplaying the sting you felt. What if this had been one-sided all along? You hadn’t prepped a safety guide for that.

Luckily, Jack came sprinting into the kitchen a second later, pleading with his father to eat now. Clinging to his leg and declaring how hunger was killing him by the second, dramatically threatening to wither away before your very eyes. You both shared a look, agreeing silently to put the kid out of his misery. The instinctual nature of the act hit you like a bolt of lightning. Both of you so in tune it was comical. The dinner had been lovely, and you reminded yourself to encourage Jack to keep up his cooking hobby. Maybe you could foster a professional chef. You’d talked with them both, light and the happiest you’d felt in a while. There it was, you realized. That weightless feeling you wanted to give him. You felt it in yourself too, and you could only pray it was because he felt it first. When dinner concluded, you’d help clean up while Jack resumed his coloring. His bedtime was soon, and you didn’t want him to spend his last hour washing pans. He was nearly delirious by the time 9:00 graced the clock, tired from the preparation of the day and needing to get to sleep. He’d given you a hug goodnight, thanked you for coming like the gentleman he was, and that was the last you saw of him. The rest of your time there was spent on the couch with Aaron, you both held a second glass of wine, and you noticed it manifest in the blush on his face. He was gorgeous, and you were staring. You know your eyes went to his lips a couple times as he spoke, low and rougher as the time ushered more light out of the sky. You saw his eyes slip down a few times too, this sort of unspoken, agonizing rule of look don’t touch. He’d walked you to the door, thanked you for your attendance, and then you were leaving. Sitting in your car, warm on the inside from both his presence and the anger you felt at yourself for not just kissing him. You were so incredibly needy for this - for him, and that fact just sat with you, like a raincloud constantly in a state of downpour, never letting you forget the pure fucking craving you had for him.

–

You think the start of your blackout was Morgan’s panicked voice over the speaker. You’d been stationed in your typical hut, equipped with medical gear and waiting on someone to need you. It was almost never your team in need of service, typically you were tending to an injured hostage or sometimes the unsub themselves, but never your friends. Your breath had been baited since you’d heard the gun go off. You knew the case was dealing with an aggressive attacker, you’d been expecting a fight, but nothing is ever more excruciating than waiting to hear who the shot was meant for. Derek crying out your name followed by a “get in here. Hotch is down, we need you in here.” had you ready to run the soles of your shoes down to dust just to make it in time. In time. God, in time for what? You’d ran past Emily and Rossi hauling out the unsub, anger evident in their treatment of him. How bad was it? How bad had he got him to have them acting like that?

The scene was bloody. Your brain switching off and forcing you into autopilot as you registered the pool of Hotch’s blood that Morgan was kneeling in. He was putting pressure on the wound, an attempt to stop the bleeding but it was flowing like a river. He wouldn’t make it to the hospital like this, you realized. He wouldn’t make it to the fucking hospital. You were holding his life in between your hands right now, the slightest tremor could sever that chord and you were feeling the pressure hard. Aaron was leaned against the wall, slumping down slightly which was only making the bleeding increase under the internal pressure.

You looked at Morgan, putting on the bravest face you could muster and effectively seizing control of the situation. “Morgan.” You got his attention quickly. “On three I need you to lift him away from the wall. I need to check for an exit wound.” He just nodded, doing exactly as you’d told him when you reached three. You checked the area, finding an exit wound in nearly the same spot. It’d been a straight line. You sighed in relief. Thank fucking God. “Ok, Morgan, I need you to put pressure on the wound on his back. I’m going to stitch the front to give us the time we need for the hospital drive but I need you to hold it. You got me?”

He nodded once. “I got it.” He moved his hand from the front to the back, Aaron wincing at the switch.

You took out the numbing cream from your pack, knowing it wouldn’t do much for a gushing bullet wound but hoping it would at least quell the sting of a needle. You took out the needle, threading it with hands frighteningly stagnant as the adrenaline gave you tunnel vision. You had to save him. “Aaron.” You looked at him as you prepped his skin for the procedure. “I’m gonna need to double stitch this, and it’s gonna hurt like hell. I need you to stay with me.”

The man just nodded, exhaling in exhaustion. “Do it.”

You worked as quickly as possible, gaining hope as you listened to the ambulance approach. “There you go.” You said under your breath, at this point you couldn’t tell if you were reassuring him or yourself. You looked to Morgan, who was still sealing the other injury. “Help me get him up. Keep your hand on there. These stitches are gonna give us twenty minutes tops. Hold his shoulders straight and walk quickly.” You counted again, both of you rising when you hit three, taking the man with you. The walk to the ambulance was the longest of your life. Aaron was clinging to his consciousness but you knew he was losing grip. Finally getting him to the stretcher and slamming the doors was a relief like nothing else. There was no time to debate anyone else going, you rushed him in and sat right down beside him, taking off almost immediately after. The bleeding had slowed, and your hand took the place of Morgan’s on his back. Since he was laying down, his full weight was on it, and you felt the circulation lessen more and more as it remained there. You couldn’t care less, you’d let the blood drain from your entire arm if it meant Aaron’s survival. He hadn’t passed out, which you thought was miraculous, simply walked the line of decently delirious. Groaning under his breath at every slight bump in the road.

“Why am I always having to save you Hotchner men?” You knew now wasn’t the time to be humorous, but you would have done anything to deviate from the tears in your eyes, the ball in your throat. You finally understood why it was frowned upon to date coworkers - it should be illegal to care this much.

“I don’t know, honey.” The pet name was the kicker, allowing a tear to break the dam and roll down your cheek as he chuckled. “You seem to be pretty damn good at it, though.” You laughed too, fighting the devastation you felt at the sight of him with the fact that he was clearly well enough to still be joking. “I should have kissed you when you came for dinner.”

Fuck. “Aaron, now is not the time.” You chuckled slightly as more tears fell. This is absurd.

“I know but-” He flinched as the ambulance hit another bump. Almost there. “I might as well say it now.” You wondered if there was genuinely something wrong with him. “You’ve been all I can think about since the moment-'' He paused to breathe slightly in exertion, you giving a disapproving look as his confession took it’s toll. “since the moment you started, you know that?”

“You are dying! Please, for the love of God, Aaron. Use this energy to prevent that from happening.” Your scolding was dramatic, but your actual concern shone brightly through your ruse of sarcasm.

“Exactly.” He was being equally as sarcastic. How on Earth did he manage this with a rapidly declining life force. “Give a dying man a chance. How unfortunate would it be if the last thing I hear before I go out is the woman of my dreams rejecting me?”

“Jesus Christ.” You shook your head in pure amazement. This was by far the most goal oriented man you’d ever met. “I’ll let you take me out if you shut the hell up and save your energy.” He smiled, letting his head hit the reclined back of the stretcher. “After you get better.” You added, reminding him that his recovery took priority. “Deal?”

“Deal.” This was probably the most insufferable man you’d ever met. “Such a good motivator.”

Scratch that. Most insufferable man ever.

925 notes · View notes

beetlesau · 5 months

Text

Bus Ride, Drabble Dabble, Bakugo/Reader

I'm obsessed with the idea that Bakugo would go feral for a woman that's as normie as his dad just because his mom CHASED his dad DOWN because she wanted him, And Bakugo is his moms twin. ANYWAY. Just messing around with a tame version of that idea. Being bored. Zero Edits, I don't even know if I spelt names correctly lol K Baaiiiii

"Why does your hair look like that?" Mineta peaked over the bus seat down at you. You instinctually pulled the collar of your shirt up to cover any cleavage that could have been showing from that view.

You sighed, it was a common question back in school before UA. You'd been made fun of for it for as long as you could remember, but you never cared. It was your second year at UA, you'd thought someone would have said something sooner than now, but here you were. You made an obvious glance up at Mineta's purple grapelike head before bringing your attention back to his face.

"Same reason yours looks like that, I guess. Our quirk just made us different." You looked back down to a Heroes Weekly Tabloid magazine you'd been busying yourself with prior.

Your hair was normal, bland even, save for the bands of white that flowed down from your temples. The doctors said that when your quirk manifested, it must have put such a strain on you that your body responded in the odd way it did. The same thing happened to your eye color. You had such intense grey eyes after your quirk appeared you hardly remember the color they were before that day.

"No I mean your haircut!" he chided. Your eye twitched before you looked up again at the pervert menace. You noticed that comment also grabbed the attention of the others on the bus.

In the seat across from Mineta sat Ashido and Uraraka. Uraraka, who sat by the window, glowered at the boy as best as her round sweet face could. Ashido sneered and shot a glance over to Mineta's seatmate, Kaminari. A look that said, "if you don't do something, I will."

Kaminari, not wanting to have his face melted off as collateral damage, stood in his chair and turned back to face you as well. He put on his best flirty smile and propped his cheek on his fist. "I don't know, I think it looks pretty good. Edgy. Mysterious."

"Yeah, it's a mystery why she has that haircut. It's so unflattering on you! You could be an absolute ten if you'd just--"

Mina flung her leg across the aisle, shoving her boot into Mineta AND Kaminari's sides.

"You dimwitted jerks! You're lucky she doesn't have Uraraka float your two asses and hog tie you to the bus like a couple of balloons!"

"Say the word and I'll do it, girl!" Uraraka looked at you with her dusted pink cheeks. She may have been a softy but she was a ride-or-die.

You laughed at your two best friends and shook your head no. It was alright. It wasn't anything you weren't used to.

"She cuts it herself." a gravelly voice across from you catches your attention. "Didn't you say that, like, first day of school? Do you not pay attention, idiots?" Bakugo takes one of his earphones out as he readjusts against his school bag. All the noise must have bothered him enough to chime in.

All four members of the conversation lean out into the aisle and look back at the blonde. Did he just say he remembered some random thing someone said about themselves?

"Oh. Right, yeah I kind of do remember that." Kaminari pulls out his phone and starts typing away like a madman. Not seconds later a couple of simultaneous dings are heard a bit further up the bus. "Uh, do you know why she cuts it herself though?"

"What's it to you dumbass? She's right there, ask her yourself." he sucks his teeth annoyed, but looks over to you. "Don't tell this shithead anything you don't want to." You smiled at him, your cheeks finding a bit of color before you turned back to Kaminari. You raised your eyebrows at him as though to say, "You heard the man."

Kaminari groans before trying a new tactic. "I mean, I already know the answer. I remember, I was just trying to see if YOU remembered. In fact, I think I probably know more about her than anyone else on this bus." he stated matter-of-factly. You looked at him with an incredulous expression before the hothead across from you spoke out again.

"You're full of shit." he turns to you again, "You cut it that way so it doesn't get in your way! That's why it doesn't matter what the hell it looks like. You're not trying to win fuckin beauty pageants, you're trying to kick villain ass."

"What's going on, what did I miss? What was that text about?" Kirishima crouched in the aisle, looking to Kaminari for answers.

"Kirishima, thank god! Mineta move, let Kirishima sit there, you've been a menace long enough today." Mineta checked the seat Kirishima had just come from and saw it was across from Yaoyorozu and agreed without too much fuss.

"Oh, man, you just missed Bakugo say that the lil lady back here isn't winning any beauty pageants." Kaminari slowly shook his head in mock disappointment.

"WHAT THE HELL? DID I FUCKING SAY THAT??? YOU WANNA KEEP PUTTING WORDS IN MY MOUTH?" Bakugo shot up from his seat, sparks popping off his hands that gripped the back of Ashido and Uraraka's chair, the smell of scorched plastic permeated before Uraraka opened her window.

"It's okay Bakugo, he's just trying to mess with you. You're right though, I just hate having my hair in my eyes so I cut my bangs myself." you blow air up from your mouth and watch as the short choppy fringe fluttered about just a bit. "One of these days I'm gonna have tech support just make me a built-in headband so I can grow them out. The grow-out stage is a bitch, is all. " you laugh.

"So that's why Bakugo called you Fringe for the first year of school!" Kirishima nodded in understanding.

"Hey, Kirishima, do you know her favorite color, by the way?" Kaminari ponders dramatically.

"Uh, It'd be a guess, but no I don't think I've ever asked--What is your favorite color?" Kirishima politely and enthusiastically requested the information from you now.

"Oh! Well now hold on a minute, maybe we SHOULD guess it." Kaminari's words were laced with a layer of sticky entrapment but you were curious to see where he was going with all this nonsense.

"Sure, go ahead." you shrugged.

"Let's take turns guessing. Is it teal?" he looked at you expectantly, and you gave him a cocked side-eye.

"No-"

"OH darn. Okay Bakugo, your turn. What's her favorite color?"

"This is stupid." he huffed

"Well if you don't know, just say so--"

"It's the same as her birthstone, jackass."

Your blush told Kaminari he was correct, or at least close enough.

"What makes you so sure? Did she tell you?"

"Obviously it's the same as her birthstone, she has a bracelet she wears that's that color, so why wouldn't it be? It's not that hard to figure out if you weren't an idiot."

"--you know her birthdate?" Uraraka's eyes were wide and she was blushing profusely, knowing full well what was happening.

"What's her favorite food?" Mina piped up, ignoring the subtlety that Kaminari was attempting, seeing exactly what he was trying to get from the angry blonde.

"How the hell should I know." Bakugo sunk back down in his seat, attempting to put his dead earphones back on, conveying he was done with the interrogation.

"Well that's a tough one anyway, I'll eat just about anything. I'm not picky." you shrugged, trying to save Bakugo from any more annoyance.

"Psh. Yeah, but you have such an annoying sweet tooth. I swear I came down to the common area one time and you were practically scarfing down a cupcake. I thought you'd end up eating the wrapper." Bakugo interjected.

"Oh, that's ... That's true actually!" you grinned. "Well, the sweets part. I was not going to eat the wrapper! Sato had made some for the class. Maybe if you didn't go to bed so early you could of known how amazing it was." you pouted.

"I don't eat sweets before bed, are you nuts? How's anyone supposed to sleep hopped up on sugar? I don't know how you do it." he mumbled, crossing his arms and spreading to take up more room in his seat.

"Ah, well I suppose I do have trouble falling asleep sometimes." you considered, "I should try out your schedule for a week and see if it helps!"

"WHY ARE YOU ALL STARING? What the fuck could you all have to look at? Fucking annoying." Bakugo stopped to yell when he noticed the small group of onlookers were, well, still looking at the two of you.

"Kaminari, he's right, you should mind your own business." Mina said as she and Uraraka turned back around to go back to their own thing. Mina turned to send you a glance and pointed at her phone, indicating you should check your phone.

Looking at your recent messages you see one from the pinkette,

So are you going to pretend it's normal for THAT guy to know everything about you??

You bit your lip as you glanced over at the annoyed guy staring into the back of the seat in front of him. His leg was bouncing in boredom and probably irritation if you had to guess.

Mina was your best friend, but she could be a bit dramatic.

You weren't sure you were ready to tell her that Bakugo had made it known to you that he was interested. Like, VERY interested.

And you were, less obviously, interested back. You knew his favorite food. His favorite color. He even told you things that made him feel insecure and confided his feelings about being a hero to you.

It happened suddenly one day. You noticed him looking at you, like actually looking. He held you back after class and said your actual name and not just fringe. That was when you realized you had feelings for him. You didn't hate the nickname, and you considered yourself on good terms with him. He acknowledged your strength and treated you as an equal. But something about the way he said your name made your mind go fuzzy. It felt like you'd just woken from a dream and saw him for the first time. Were his eyes always that intense?

"I talked to my old man the other day, and he told me some gross shit about how when he and my mom met- she pursued him relentlessly. Borderline insane is what it sounded like to me. My pop apparently doesn't have a spine and he just gave in. Whatever." Bakugo rolled his eyes before waiting for you to say something.

"Oh! Um, I don't know, I guess I can see how that's romantic. Uh, why are you telling me this though?" you shuffled your weight from one foot to the other, noticing there was a bit too much heat bouncing off the two of you.

Bakugo bit the inside of his cheek, taking a moment to find the wording. "I'm not crazy like that. I'm not some clone of my old Hag I just wanted to say." he lifted his arm to stretch his back, his actions nonchalant for such an odd topic of conversation. "Anyway, I waited a year is all I wanted to say, so I think I'm going to persue you now."

"Wh-what? You waited. Ah what?" you stammered, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. "W-what if I don't want you to pursue m-me?" you laughed. You were nervous. And nervous you always say something to deflect the awkward feelings.

"I'm not very good at not getting what I want, but like I said-I'm not crazy like that old hag, I'll let you have your own say. Anyway. I'll see you later." and then he left you standing there dazed and confused.

You looked over to him now, sitting alone in his seat. Why else would you have been sitting in the back if not because you knew he'd be back here? You smile to yourself. While this could be your secret for a little while longer you really couldn't resist after seeing his commitment to knowing you in front of the others.

You pull out your earphones, put one ear in, and hold out the other to Bakugo, who accepts without hesitation. He shoots you a nod and pushes his bag to the floor making room for you to sit by him.

And you do. You probably will for the rest of your life if he has his way, and you're happy with that.

#bakugo katuski #bakugou x reader

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matan4il · 3 months

Text

Daily update post:

Today, Israel is voting in its local elections (for mayors and city councils). ALMOST all of Israel. The original date was at the end of October 2023, for obvious reasons, the elections were postponed. There were also a lot of mayor nominees, who were summoned for reserves service due to the war, and one of the reasons why the elections were postponed more than once, was to give as many of them as possible a chance to finish their service, and participate in their own election campaign. But even so, there are still hundreds of thousands of people from evacuated communities (displaced people, internal refugees, however you wanna call them), and therefore not everyone will be voting today. For the evacuated cities and towns, the elections were postponed until November. Looking at things, it's not sure they'll be back in their homes by then either, so IDK what their elections will look like. And then of course there are the hostages. Save for two, 4 years old Ariel Bibas and his 1 years old baby brother Kfir, they all had the right to vote, and none will get to. We remember them and hurt over their absence and everything being continuously being stolen from them on this day, too. On a side note, the national supervisor of these local electional is Rayan Ghanem. And if you know Jewish last names, you know Ghanem is not one of them. I'm trying to remember a time in apartheid South Africa when a non-white was a national supervisor of elections.

Despite still pointing out that the International Court of Justice has no right to judge the case brought to it by South Africa (becaue of SA's false claims to bring this case to court), Israel has filed a report in accordance with one of the ICJ's provisional measures, showing that its actions are in compliance with all of them (like providing humanitarian aid to Gaza, and doing all it can to protect civilians).

Meanwhile, at Harvard, just 6 weeks after she was appointed to lead the task force meant to combat Jew hatred, the university's antisemitism tsar has quit her position, with reports saying that she's frustrated over her inability to implement practical measures.

Remember when I wrote about Idan Amedi, the Israeli singer and actor that most people outside our country know from his role on Fauda? He gave a really moving speech when he was released from the hospital. I've wanted to share it for a while, but couldn't find it translated well. I found this bit:

But it really doesn't cover how moving the whole speech is (it's 9 minutes long). Among other things, he also thanked medical teams, assured Israelis we have the best ones, and apologized to his soldiers who died in the same incident in which he was injured. He also mentioned that he was unrecognizable when he was rushed into the hospital, and that doctors only identified him by the note that was attacked to his hand. It turns out, he really wanted people to see what he was talking about, and to understand that by the time he gave this public speech, he was already looking much better than on the day of he was wounded. So here is the image he shared himself on his IG (just scroll quickly past it, if you feel like it is too much for you, which is an understandbale reaction):

This is 68 years old David Edri.

On October 7, he was held hostage with his wife by Hamas for hours. At a certain point, he even covered his wife Rachel with his own body, in order to protect her from the terrorists' shots. They both survived. Yesterday, we got the news that he has passed away. His family said the trauma and stress from the massacre, and the news of its scale, had aggravated his medical problems for the last couple of months, until he could no longer go on.

This is 23 years old Raz Mizrachi.

In May 2021, she was injured in a vehicular terrorist attack in Jerusalem, but survived. On Oct 7, she was attending the Nova music festival. Her last phone call was to the police, to help instruct them on where she and dozens of others were hiding from Hamas terrorists, inside a public bomb shelter. Raz was murdered shortly after that. When her mom got a copy of the call's recording, she said it was a great source of comfort to the family, to know that Raz was a fighter till the last moment.

May their memory be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #antisemitism #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #terrorism #anti terrorism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #israelunderattack

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insanescriptist · 14 days

Text

Cremation is just another fun(erl) service

So blaming random 4am thoughts that have been plaguing me all day for this

----

Jason woke to a bright room, thin sheets and the smell of a hospital embedded in his body.

First as always, assess. Hospital. No affiliation printed on the walls or anywhere. Private room, but small. That door looked like it led to a private bathroom. Generic flower picture, a mounted screen turned off. Really fucking bright sunlight from the windows.

There was no fucking way he was in Gotham then. Everything was too nice. Normal by standards outside of Gotham. There were blinds, not metal shutters. The walls were cleaner than Gotham allowed outside of Downtown and he could see greenery through the window.

Okay. So what had he been doing? Jason remembered and then wished he had his Jerichos to shoot himself with. Mystic Shit™. Okay. Okay. That was not one of his better ideas, but if he's recovering in a hospital, it worked. World saved.

So recovery. How fucked was he?

His skin looked so fucked. Which meant he had been worse. He's had time to recover and lose muscle tone in, going by how twiggy his arms were. His hands looked good. Clearly someone knew he cared about those if they went through the effort of restoring those.

Hmm, that was odd. No matter how much Jason hated the Lazarus Pits and all its by-products, it would have been a faster and more simple way to recover from near-death than the long incarceration in a hospital for a John Doe.

Jason wasn't sure if he'd been abandoned yet again by those who called themselves his family because he could, "take care of himself," or if he had been written off dead. Again.

Hospital beat the coffin by a long shot.

And it was with that cheery thought, a nurse -obvious meta human nurse- came in and burst into excited Japanese, because that was of course, his luck.

It's after the nurse and doctors leave that Jason loses his shit.

It looks like he's sulking in bed, but mentally everything in his head is exploding. Imploding.

Three. Fucking. Years. Coma.

Burn victim so bad they not only expected him to die in the first couple of days, but still expect it because of the infection risk his fucked up skin represents.

Still the conversation with the medical staff -of varying degrees of bizarre- was enlightening.

No, he has no idea who he is. Did he ever get anyone visit? How did he get here?

Of course some amnesia is to be expected. No, some of the nurses visited. No one knows how he got here.

Does he know what his quirk is? Uh?

Trauma blocked amnesia, the doctor mutters.

What's the last date he remembered?

Saturday. Maybe? The last year? No, I'm pretty sure my memory is shit and I'm trying hard not to freak out over not knowing anything. So could I get the year number?

And then there's the fucking year number. Once he got it translated into more normal terms.

Mystic Shit™ said fuck you to the future.

Except Jason knows this is not his future. Again, if it was, this would have been treated as a fucking inconvenience. Effective skin restoration goop -the proper name escaped him- was easily available to those with the right connections. A normal baseline human with 2nd and 3rd degree burns would be fine in less than two weeks with it, with nary a trace to show for it.

Thanks to the three year coma, his muscles were all atrophied as fuck, despite their best attempts at physical therapy. Because of all the burns and later burn scars and infections making it basically impossible to actually do fuck all about maintaining muscle tone until he was basically burnt skin and bones anyway.

He was so fucking weak now. It wouldn't last forever. He'd escape this hospital before he was discharged, before whatever "benefactor" showed up for whatever "purpose," he was suppose to serve now, as they had the medical debt over his head or was threatening his loved ones or whatever. If one didn't show up in the next week, he was losing his genre-savviness, because shitheads always wanted to claim shit, if it looked useful.

And Jason was used to looking useful, until he was no longer useful and they just didn't care. The amnesia made him less shiny, but Jason couldn't pull off the brain dead zombie imitation without actually being a brain dead zombie crawling up out of his grave.

So under the thin hospital sheets, Jason twitched his muscles.

Two weeks of emotional freak outs, watching the news, physical therapy and drugs Jason had had enough.

And he broke out.

----

Yeah, he regretted it almost immediately. Hard not to in the stupid paper gown, barefoot and bare ass.

Thankfully people were people, even with the plethora of meta humans he had seen, so it actually wasn't hard to find clothes. Someone left a hoodie in their car and Jason broke into said car. Put on the hoodie. Hotwired the car and drove off.

Somehow for being in the fucking future by two centuries and change, cars really hadn't changed. More evidence of Mystic Shit™ slamming him sideways.

He drove to the next town over, picked another direction, drove some more. Parked the car near what looked like a chop shop, negotiated the car for some money. He probably got ripped off, but better than nothing.

He walked to a corner store, bought some flip-flops after bullshitting an excuse that his had broken. First aid stuff. You know, for his feet. Hair dye in three different colors, because Rose Wilson could pick out a bad dye job at a hundred meters and so Jason learned how to dye his own hair properly so as to avoid her mockery, only to get mockery (affectionate) anyway.

It was a mix of instinct and lifelong observation that let him find an empty apartment quickly. He stole some sweatpants and passed out on the bed.

----

The thing is, Jason doesn't regret his crimes like Bruce thinks he ought to do, with a massive pity party and flaming self-hatred and punching criminals instead of shooting them. He hates the necessity of doing crimes, even if that crime is a net gain to society, but that's why all his serious crimes are premeditated. He's homicidal, not a psychopath.

Not Pit-mad either, no matter what the rest of them might have thought.

Again, he's homicidal, not a psychopath. And when he doesn't have to be some sort of costume soldier to be discarded by family for the disgrace of disfiguring the memory of a dead boy? He's actually chill and boring.

That is to say, he crashed at that apartment for three days, felt progressively more like himself, especially after the dye job -white hair all over, now a solid and boring black- but it still didn't change all the other issues the Mystic Shit™ inflicted on him.

This body isn't actually his. Too young, scars not right where the burns didn't fuck him over. Thankfully his existing coping mechanisms for dysphoria work and it's shoved to the side.

It's also a shit body. Not even a month out of a three year coma with inadequate -by his standards- of medical care. It's weak and building muscle to do everyday civilian shit, is going to take months to do. Pushing as hard as he did during the escape wrecked him the next three days. Jason may not know what's going to happen, but with his luck, it's going to suck and training is preparing to make it suck less. The only certainty he's got is that his skin or lack thereof is going to kill him from infection if he doesn't fix it.

He's got no legal identity here. Which basically puts him back onto familiar ground of legally dead.

Beyond the lack of paperwork, he's got a lack of funds. He also has no easy target to steal funds and equipment from, even just for fun.

For more disadvantages, he's in a different country, with different laws and a whole different culture. He would be climbing on board a fucking plane to Gotham, if it existed in this world, for some familiar ground.

He really is the unluckiest Robin. It also means he is also the most prepared Robin.

---

The first six months after waking up in this mockery world of heroics were the absolute worst.

He started at one foot in the grave and crawled out of it before the casket could really eat him alive. Jason had experience in casket busting. He didn't wanna repeat it.

He still didn't know who he was -in who was he inhabiting- but it wasn't like Jason had a lot to go on. 'His' quirk was thermo-manipulation, most obviously in the blue fire he could call to his hands but he could do some ice too; it was thanks to Duke's light and shadow manipulation that he had even tried for the duality. He had white hair. Presumably Japanese heritage but quirks had really erased or blurred a lot of racial lines. Also presumed dead and young.

Access to the Quirk Registry took some doing, but again, not everyone followed basic computer security, much less what it took to keep someone bat-trained out of their systems. Again, for nearly two centuries in the future, a lot of the technological development had stagnated. Searching through the Quirk Registry hadn't yielded any result but none of his other methods had struck anything either. And he had looked at the recently dead and/or presumed dead. Sure, he had some leads that looked viable, but he wasn't going to follow those up yet.

He had fixed a few of his most pressing issues the past six months. His ignorance of the local area, the local and national politics and so on. This world supported and had an entire industry catering to making child soldiers and sell their image and reputation to make money and more child soldiers that called themselves Heroes.

His weak ass body no long cried doing daily tasks and only hated him after working out. Yes, Jason was pushing it but he was well aware of how months of preparation could mean shit in the face of seconds.

His infection risk was severely reduced after quick research bender let him make the most generic knock-off brand of the skin restoration goop in a shitty homemade lab. Did it fix his skin being patchwork fucked in places? Some. He wasn't going to get feeling back properly, but at least he looked more normal. Maybe with enough moisturizing he might look a little less Frankenstien's monster.

He also had a cash inflow. It wasn't great, but it supported his apartment. And the second set of papers. And the 2nd apartment.

Which meant in grand old tradition for Jason, time for him to bounce to the next apartment and come up with a new name.

#time for Izzy to slep #Izzy does fic #jason todd #dabi

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beyondthesefourwalls · 1 year

Text

Remember You Even When I Don't (8)

Summary: A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement.

Words: 5.5K

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw/Reader (no use of y/n, so can be read as unnamed oc)

Warnings: angst, hospitals, memory loss, language, suggestive themes, smut

Notes: Please note the updated warnings. These next few chapters are a new stage of Bradley and Pumpkin growing back together, and while I'm very excited about it, I know it may not be for everyone. For everyone who sticks around, please continue to comment and reblog, and my inbox is always open! I love to talk about these two :)

This was inspired by a one shot by the lovely @roosterforme and would not exist without her assistance. If you haven't read any of her stuff, please check out her masterlist - you won't be disappointed! All of the thanks to her and @mak-32 for being the best cheerleaders and friends I could ask for!

-------

You’re working today. You hadn’t wanted to, but a local congresswoman you had requested an interview with months ago finally agreed to a conversation in her office, and Bradley wouldn’t let you pass it up. It was only for a few hours, but he finds himself missing you while you’re gone.

This is the first time he had really been alone in the house for a long period of time since he got back from the hospital a month ago, and he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He had tried to read a book, or get lost in a movie, but nothing had really kept his attention. He was laying on the couch, the news on the tv in the background, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. He hadn’t fully dove into all that it contained, and he figured now was the time to do it, even if you weren’t here to answer any questions that he might have.

It’s interesting, seeing himself this way. Groupchats where he was an active participant, talking about parties or plans he has no recollection of, or discussing flight schedules for the week. He swaps Star Wars and Harry Potter trivia with Fanboy and gym regimes with Hangman and sends music back and forth with Coyote.

When he opens the text thread he has with you, the only one pinned to the top of his messages, his breath catches at the last message received.

I love you so much. Please don’t leave me.

It was sent the day of his accident, and he knew by the time stamp that it was sent after the crash. You must have texted that to him while you were waiting for news on his condition, and not for the first time, he feels both guilt and gratitude go through him; he’s so sorry that he’s hurt you like this, but he’s so glad he’s here now.

He scrolls for a while, reading you rambling to him about your work day and bouncing ideas for articles off of him, jumping from one topic to the next while you know he’s in the air or teaching a class so he doesn’t have his phone on him. Based on his responses that come later on, he knows he never minded the almost nonsensical messages. Even now, he finds it adorable and enjoys reading through them. There are conversations about dinner and what true crime documentary the two of you were going to watch that weekend.

There’s a little bit of everything in these messages between the two of you, but his brow furrows when he gets to a point about a week before his accident.

I’m on my way home, he had texted you, You better be ready for me, Pumpkin.

He scrolls further up, trying to find the beginning of the conversation that led to that, and he almost wishes he wouldn’t have.

You had texted him earlier that morning, when he barely must have left the house to go to base, a picture of you. There was a playful smirk on your lips, and you had what looked to be the cap from his formal dress whites perched crooked on your head. That in and of itself wasn’t what made his breath hitch, though. It was the fact that you were still in bed, your arm draped over your chest where he could see everything but everything, you hanging onto only a single shred of decency.

Fly well today, Lieutenant Commander.

It had descended into a day full of teasing from there, each message dirtier than the one before. Descriptions of what you wanted him to do to you and him warning you of what he would do when he got his hands on you. He feels flushed all over, but he keeps scrolling up. He bypasses recipes you wanted his opinion on and a reminder of what the Hulu password was, and eventually finds more pictures. Some are more risque than others, but all of them make him feel like the temperature in the room rose by multiple degrees.

There’s a tickle in his brain again, and he finds himself closing the messaging app and going to his photo albums. There’s a locked album there, and he knows, he just knows what it’s going to contain.

He shouldn’t. He knows that he shouldn’t. It feels like a strange invasion of privacy. But he’s wracking his mind to try and remember what the code would be to get into it anyway, and he curses when he gets it wrong first once, then a second time. He enters your birthday on the third attempt and groans out loud when he’s immediately met with the filthiest images he’s ever seen.

It’s a whole gallery of you, or the two of you together, and Bradley can’t stop himself from looking. He bites his lip as he takes in the photos, his mind so overrun with thoughts of how fucking stunning you are that he can barely think straight at all.

He stops at one in particular, clicking to enlarge it, and loses all thoughts entirely. Neither of your faces are in it, but he doesn’t need to guess that it’s the two of you. You’re sitting back against his chest, his ankles hooked over your legs, forcing them wide for him. He can see your nails biting into his thighs, but it’s his own hand that draws his attention. With the hand that’s not taking the selfie style photo, his fingers are gliding through the wetness gathered between your legs. You shine against the dark wedding band on his left land, one that’s noticeably absent from his finger now. He’s practically panting as he stares.

He’s so hypnotized by the way the two of you look together that he doesn’t hear the garage door open or the sound of you walking into the house.

“Baby?”

Your voice makes him jump so high that his phone goes flying out of his hand, a curse leaving his lips. He scrambles to pick it up when he sees you reaching for it as well, and your eyebrows are raised high as you look at him in surprise.

“Hey,” his voice cracks, higher pitched than normal, and he blushes. Your eyebrows raise a little bit higher. “Hi, sorry. Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yup,” he nods, faking a cough so he could try to clear his throat, his face flushed. “Totally fine.”

It’s not difficult to see how skeptical you are, and it’s hard for him to maintain eye contact with you and not let his eyes flicker down your body now that he has an idea of what rests underneath the smart dress you wore.

You eye him suspiciously, “Are you sure?”

He contemplates for a moment, trying to figure out a way to get himself out of this conversation, because the longer you looked at him like that the hotter he became under the collar. He took a deep breath, nodding again.

“I was looking at messages and pictures,” he says all in one breath, not liking the idea of completely lying to you. He rationalized that a different version of the truth was okay, even as the pictures flashed in his mind again. “Trying to see if anything jogged my memory.”

You search his eyes, and he tries his best to appear innocent, willing the hardening in his jeans to go down before you took notice. He suspected you already might have from the hint of a blush on your cheeks. “Did it?”

If he thought hard enough he swore he could almost feel you. Your back against his chest, how soft your inner thighs left. How warm your wetness felt against his fingers as he took you to the edge.

“No,” he stutters out after a moment, shaking his head, his face burning, “nothing yet.”

________

He finds himself rubbing his thumb against the fading tan line on his left ring finger, something he had seen you do time and time again. He hadn’t really wondered up until this point where his ring was, but ever since he saw the picture with it so clearly against your skin, he couldn’t get it out of his head.

He’s helping you in the kitchen a few days later, mesmerized as always by how efficient and easy you made everything look. You roll your eyes when he comments on it.

“It’s cookies, Bradley. Nothing fancy.”

“But they’re from scratch. The dough isn’t pre-made. That’s fancy!”

You laugh at him in response, shaking your head. You take the rings on your left hand off, sitting them beside the sink as you wash your hands before the two of you get started. It raises the subject back to the forefront of his mind. He had been desperate to ask you for the last few days, but hadn’t built up the courage to do it. But he can almost feel it on his finger now, can feel a ghost of your fingers as you slide it into place, and it’s suddenly more of a need to know.

“Can I uh…can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What happened to my wedding ring?”

You pause from where you’re cracking an egg into the mixing bowl, your eyebrows raised high. You set it down gently, turning to face him.

“Does it bother you…that I wear mine, still?”

“No!” he insists, hating even the idea of you taking it off. “It doesn’t bother me at all. I promise. We just have never acknowledged mine? I know that I wear one - I remember wearing one, and I’ve seen it in pictures, too.”

“You love your ring,” you tell him softly, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. But you give him a small smile, though he can see the pain in your eyes, and shake your head.

“You don’t fly with it on,” you explain, “you tried, at first, but you had been flying so long without anything on your hands that you couldn’t get used to it being there when you were operating the controls.”

He thinks for a moment and the words come to him slowly. “You were the one who told me to start taking it off when I fly.”

“I was.”

“Why?”

Your lips quirk and you shrug. “I’m more worried about you flying safely than wearing your ring at all times. You keep it in one of the pockets of your flight suit when you go up in the air now.”

Of course you were more worried for him. He should have expected nothing less from you and the way you effortlessly care for him. He can also picture that, he thinks. It’s easy to imagine not wanting to be separated from the physical reminder that he belongs to you, so even if he couldn’t wear it, he’d at least have it on him, in the inner chest pocket right above his heart.

“So..” He doesn’t quite know how to ask his question, but you must read it on his face.

You twist your own ring on your finger in the way you always seemed to do to center yourself. Pain flashed across your face and Bradley knew you were remembering, too. “They uh..they had to cut your flight suit off, before you went into surgery. You weren’t breathing and were bleeding…” you cut yourself off, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking the visual from your head. “But it was still in your pocket. So. I have it.”

He sets down the bag of chocolate chips he had been holding and walks the few steps to where you’re standing at the counter. When he holds his arms open, you don’t hesitate to step into them. He presses a kiss to the top of your head as he breathes in your scent.

“I’m so sorry I put you through that,” he whispers into the strands of your hair, and he feels the way you squeeze him in response.

“You’re okay now,” you speak into his chest, and he thinks he might feel you press a kiss there, directly over the spot where that inner pocket of his flight suit would be, where he kept you when he had no other choice.

The two of you stand there wrapped up together for a long moment. When you lift your head, your eyes are glassy, but you give him a smile and a small kiss to his lips.

Later, after the cookies have been made and devoured, you join him on the back porch. You had taken to sitting on the swing together and when you sit beside him tonight, he sees you rolling something between your fingers. His breath catches when he sees exactly what it is. You’re staring at it too, your gaze intense and pondering. He doesn’t speak, not quite knowing what to say. Eventually, you break out of your haze and meet his eyes.

“You don’t have to put it back on,” you tell him, holding your hand out to him. His wedding band sits on your palm, shining against your skin. For a moment he sees you in white standing right in front of him, wildflowers in your hair.

His fingertips brush yours when he takes it from you, admiring the piece of jewelry he wasn’t aware that he missed until it was back in his possession.

“But it’s yours. I want - I want you to have it.”

He rolls it between his fingers, contemplating for a moment. He swallows, suddenly overcome with emotion he hadn’t seen coming and that tingling that’s starting to become familiar to him. You had picked it out yourself and he knows when he looks, he’ll see an engraving of your initials beside his. He was always so proud to be able to wear this, knowing that it symbolized being with you, a small way of telling anyone who saw it that he was lucky enough to be your husband.

But he wasn’t him - not yet, not completely. Everyday brought him closer to thinking that he could be, though.

“Pumpkin, I…” he trailed off, not sure what to say.

“Hey,” you murmur, cupping his cheek and turning his head to meet your eyes. You didn’t look mad, or upset, and you’re giving him the gentlest, kindest look anyone ever had. But your eyes didn’t hold pity or sympathy either - just a trust and love that he’s still not sure what he could have ever done to deserve. “Whenever you’re ready. And if you never are-”

“I will be,” he cut you off; he wanted nothing more than to be ready. “I just…I still have something to prove to myself.”

You nod, and Bradley leans forward to kiss you softly. He leaves his forehead pressed against yours when he pulls away, relishing in the calm you brought him.

“I’ll get there,” he says, “I promise.”

—------

He’s spent time alone, but he hasn’t spent time away from you with other people. He’s hesitant to accept the invite from Mav to visit the hanger he had here. But planes and his godfather had been a staple of Bradley’s childhood, an influence on his whole life, really. He had been cleared to drive earlier in the week, so that Saturday, he leaves early. He’s anxious at the thought of being away from you but he knows that the him from before wouldn’t have said no to the invitation and he was so determined to get back to who that was. And he knows that you have a life outside of taking care of him, too. You’re getting brunch with Nat and Coyote’s wife later and he knows you’re excited, even if you hung onto him a little bit longer than a normal hug when he said goodbye. You had made him promise that he would call you if he needed anything and the whole way to the desert, his fingers twitched, wanting to call you just to hear your voice.

Mav greets him with a large smile and a tight hug, “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Me too,” Bradley says. He means it, even if he does miss you already. He looks around the hanger, taking note of the few planes and motorcycles throughout the long stretch. It was a lot more than the collection he had when Bradley was 17. “What are we working on today?”

Mav gives him his signature grin. “I want to show you something.”

He follows him to the end of the hanger, where a large blue tarp is covering what can’t be anything but a plane. His godfather gestures to it. Bradley raises an eyebrow but walks up to it, grabbing hold of the tarp and yanking it back. Like he suspected, he’s greeted by a Cessna. It’s a classic 172 by the looks of it, a smaller four seater. It’s a sleek white in color with subtle burnt orange line work. Bradley whistles. It was beautiful in a way that only planes like this could be.

“When’d you get this one?”

Mav smirks, shaking his head. “I didn’t.”

“What?”

“Take a look at the other side.” He nods his head, urging Bradley forward. Confused and intrigued, he follows the instructions, walking around to the other side of the small plane. He gets what Mav was saying, then, and sucks in a breath. Right there emblazoned on the side, in an elegant script, was Pumpkin.

This wasn’t Mav’s plane; it was his.

“You got her about six months ago,” he says softly when he joins him at his side.

Bradley reaches up and runs his fingers over the name. It’s foggy, but he thinks he can remember now. He had always wanted to own his own plane since the first time his godfather took him up in one at 6 years old. It was always a pipedream, though. He was never in one place for long enough, and while he was generally good with saving money, it was a bigger purchase than he had ever made. But then the two of you got married and a permanent station here in California. Between both of your savings and what he still had of his parents life insurance, the funds were there. It was you who had made the suggestion of finally pulling the trigger, and it was him who had suggested a four seater instead of a two seater so that if the two of you ever had children, you could all fly together. You cried when he showed you the name he had painted on it.

“Still needs some work done before she’s flyable. I thought maybe you’d want to work on it today.”

An eager smile appears on his face and he nods, already peeling his jacket off and heading toward the toolbox. If Mav noticed that he didn’t need to instruct him on where it was, he didn’t comment on it.

The two work in tandem for hours. It had only been six weeks since his accident, but he couldn’t recall a time since flight school that he had gone this long without being near a plane and it felt good doing so again. It’s easy, getting into the rhythm of twisting bolts and tinkering with the engine wires. He thinks it won’t be long until he can get this cleared to go in the air and he knows without a doubt that you’re going to be the first passenger.

His phone buzzes in the early afternoon and he doesn’t hesitate to put down the wrench he was working with and dig it out of his jeans pocket. You had sent him a selfie earlier when you had gotten to brunch, sunglasses on and a bright smile on your face with a mimosa in your hand, and he hoped it was another picture. His eyebrows furrow when he sees it’s Phoenix calling him, instead. He picks up, bringing the phone to his ear.

“Nat?”

“Your wife got stung by a bee. We’re on our way to the hospital.”

He can feel the dread as it settles over him. His heart beats faster in his chest. “What?”

She sighs on the other line, and he can hear commotion in the background. “She’s severely allergic, Rooster. We sat outside at brunch and we didn’t even realize it happened at first. She didn’t have her epipen on her so we had to call an ambulance. She’s going to be fine, but you should get here anyway, okay?”

He feels like he can barely breathe, like the room is closing in on him a little bit. Mav must notice the panic written all over him because he’s quick to come over and take the phone out of his hand, taking over the conversation. He can barely hear him over the roaring in his head. You were hurt. He knew you were extremely allergic to bees. That was something he had remembered. You were supposed to carry an epipen on you at all times. He can’t remember if you’d ever gotten stung when he was there. He can’t remember how bad it got if you ever were. But now you were in the back of an ambulance and on your way to a hospital and he could feel his fear all the way down to his bones.

“Bradley, hey. Look at me.”

Mav is in front of him, hands gripping his shoulders. He meets his eyes and tries to breathe, but all he can see is you, struggling to catch a breath and being loaded into the back of an ambulance.

“I’ll drive, okay? Let’s go.”

He follows him to the car, not really calculating anything other than the fact that he was almost an hour away from you and what if there was traffic and why didn’t you have your epipen on you?

“She’s going to be okay.”

“But-”

“Phoenix said the paramedics administered epi as soon as they arrived, and it didn’t take them long to get to her. She was awake and was already breathing easier when they left for the hospital. Didn’t even need to use the sirens.”

That doesn’t make him feel better. Not really. Knowing that trained professionals weren’t panicking must have meant that you were okay, but he knows how serious anaphylaxis is, too.

He can’t reconcile everything that he’s feeling right now. He has never, ever felt like this before. The thought of something happening to you is scarier than any mission he had ever been on, any enemy he had encountered in the air.

“Mav I can’t - I can’t lose her. I just got her.”

“You aren’t going to.”

Bradley doesn’t say anything, can’t think of a single thing to say, and instead buries his head in his hands from his spot in the passenger seat. You were going to be okay. You had to be okay. Because he may not remember everything about the two of you, but he did know for certain that if something ever happened to you, he would never, ever recover from it.

He doesn’t wait for Mav once they get to the hospital, the older man opting to drop him off at the front before going to find parking. He’s practically sprinting as he goes through the emergency room doors and vaguely, he remembers you telling him about the time this happened before, when you took yourself to the hospital and ended up needing surgery. He can almost feel that panic now, and it makes what he’s already feeling worse.

“Can I help-“

“I’m looking for my wife. She was brought in because of a bee sting-“

“Sir-“

“She’s really allergic and-“

“Sir!” The nurse behind the counter snaps, raising her voice over his to get through to him. “I need your wife’s name if I’m going to find her for you.”

Oh. Yes, he thinks, your name. They need your name.

It’s the first time he’s said your full name, and your first and his last name feel so right coming off his tongue. But he can’t focus on that right now, giving all of his attention to the nurse who is typing so slowly.

Before she can even hit enter, though, he hears his callsign echo behind him. He spins, heart racing with anxiety, and spots Nat making her way over to him. She gives the annoyed nurse a kind, charming smile as she grabs Bradley by the arm

“Sorry about him, ma’am. I got him from here.”

She pulls him away without another word, heading toward the hallway off the packed waiting room.

“Is she okay? Nat, is-“

“She’s fine, Rooster. Coming down from the adrenaline rush that the epinephrine gave her, but she’ll be okay.”

“What about-“

Nat stops in front of a closed door, lowering her voice. “Bradley. She’s okay.”

He’s pushing past her before she even finishes, spotting you on the bed through the glass and half drawn curtain. You look so small amongst the crinkly white sheets, still in the clothes you wore to brunch. Your makeup is a bit smudged and your eyes are red and he hates to think that you were scared enough to start crying. You’re holding an oxygen mask in your hand at your side.

“Hi baby.” Even your voice sounds more pitched. He’s quick to make it to your side.

Your breathing is slightly elevated, and the heart monitor is beating a little bit faster than he thinks is normal. He grabs the hand holding the mask, placing it over your mouth to start providing you with the supplemental air again. You make a small sound of surprise, but take in a deep breath of it anyway before pushing his hand away.

“I’m okay.”

But your hands are shaking and your eyes are wider than normal. The skin that he can see is splotchy with hives.

He looks back at Nat, who is still hovering in the doorway, an eyebrow arched and a small smirk on her face. He ignores the look. “Can you grab a doctor?”

You protest from the bed, but Bradley doesn’t waiver. With a fond roll of her eyes, Nat disappears from view.

“Bradley. Sweetheart.” You grip his wrist, trying to get him to focus on you. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

“You’re in the emergency room because you went into anaphylactic shock. You are not fine.”

“But I am,” you insist, smiling softly at him, even as your body trembles as it works to burn through the adrenaline that was injected into it, “medicine worked just fine.”

The door slides open before he can respond, an attending doctor who looks like he’s been up for longer than is healthy and in wrinkled green scrubs introducing himself as he walks in.

“Is she okay?” Bradley demands immediately, and the tired man looks startled for a moment at how abrupt the question was. Bradley stares at him, his eyes wide and unblinking as he waits for the answer. His heart is still pounding in his chest. He feels you tangle one of your hands with one of his and he squeezes back when he feels the pressure from you. He knows you’re trying to reassure him.

“And you are…?”

“I’m her husband,” he answers easily, the words falling off his tongue like he had said them a thousand times before. You suck in a small breath and tighten your grip on his hand again.

“Ah,” the doctor hums, flipping through the chart he’s holding. Bradley wonders if all non-military hospitals move this slowly or if it was just because of how anxious he is at this moment, but he really, really needs him to answer his question.

“Is she okay?” he repeats.

“Bradley,” you murmur, but he keeps his eyes trained on the man in the scrubs and white coat.

“She responded well to the epinephrine that was administered by the paramedics who brought her in,” he finally says, looking up from the chart and taking a step toward your side. He stops when he sees that Bradley doesn’t move an inch. He sighs, switching direction to go to your other side instead. “How are you feeling Mrs. Bradshaw?”

You answer his questions as they come, Bradley paying rapt attention the whole time. Your throat doesn’t feel tight anymore. You aren’t lightheaded, but you do feel a little shortness of breath. You feel jittery - wired, almost. You’re both assured that it’s completely normal as the drug works its way out of your system. They can give you something to try and calm you down, and they want you to stay for a few hours to make sure you don’t go back into the allergic reaction once the epinephrine has worn off. The thought makes his blood run cold.

“Should she stay overnight?” he asks, but the doctor shakes his head no.

“The standard observation timeslot should be just fine, Mr. Bradshaw. But we’ll make sure you both know what to look out for when you leave.”

He walks out without saying much else. Bradley feels you tug on his hand, his name leaving your lips in a whisper. He meets your gaze and he watches as your eyes soften even more.

“Sit down, honey.”

He listens to you, dragging the chair beside your bed as close as possible. He rests his elbows on the mattress beside you, holding your hand tightly between both of his.

“I’m okay,” you repeat again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your fingers and taking a deep breath. “I…this really scared me.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” you say softly, running your thumb over one of the hands holding yours, soothing the skin and helping his racing heart. Your touch is like magic to him, providing an almost instant calm that he desperately needed. Guilt curled in his stomach, knowing that even now, you’re the one helping him.

“I should be the one comforting you, not the other way around.”

“We comfort each other, baby. That’s how this works.”

“Why didn’t you have your epipen on you, Pumpkin? Don’t you normally carry it?” he asks quietly, a touch of urgency still in his tone. He couldn’t stop thinking about what would have happened if you were alone and this happened, with no one around to call 911. He could have lost you, all over a silly little bee sting, and he can’t wrap his mind around that. He just got you. He had had you, he knew. But he was just getting you back.

“I switched bags this morning and forgot to take it out of the pocket of the old one, I guess. I haven’t had to use one since college. I forget about it, sometimes.”

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to rid himself of the worst case scenarios. He’s the one that normally reminds you to always have it on you, he thinks. He vaguely recalls having a spare in the glove compartment of the Bronco, and in the drawer in the kitchen and maybe one in the bedroom, too.

Not for the first time, he curses his memory and the accident that took it from him.

When he opens his eyes, his look is intense, “Never again, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, but Bradley shakes his head.

“No. Promise me. Please?”

Your lips part and you stare at him for a long moment. His gaze never waivers from yours. He needs you to listen to him. To hear him.

“I promise,” you finally whisper.

He rises from the chair, pressing a kiss to your lips. He keeps his forehead against yours, breathing you in.

“Will you lay with me?” You ask quietly, shy in a way reminiscent of when you asked him to say I love you on the porch all those weeks ago. He hates that you felt you even needed to ask.

With no hesitation, he maneuvered himself into the small bed beside you. He kisses your forehead once, twice, three times, holding you as tightly as he could. Your body still gave the occasional tremble but they had lessened now, your breaths coming a little bit easier, and he felt the tightness in his chest ease.

“Sorry for being a mess,” he whispers into your hair.

“Don’t,” you whisper back, and he feels you shake your head from where it’s tucked into his chest. “It means you care.”

The words are there, right on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t say them, not yet or here. You deserve more than a frantic hospital room confession.

-------

Part Nine :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: I hope you liked this one! We're nearing the end, but I think everyone is really going to like the next chapter. Would love to hear any thoughts you may have :)

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dragonagitator · 4 months

Text

House MD fans: You wake up in the PPTH ER in summer 2004. What you doing?

Scenario parameters:

All your memories of the show and the past 20 years are intact.

You are stuck there/then and cannot return to our universe/year.

You have nothing but the hospital gown on your back.

Questions:

So, what do you do?

How much would you tell House?

How would you get him to believe you?

Who else would you tell?

How much would you tell them?

Inspiration:

The author self-insert isekai fanfic "Intervention" by VivatRex (aka @acrownforaking). They've been writing it for the past 11+ years and are still updating. It's already nearly 300k words long despite only being up to the events of S02E15. I AM IN AWE.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about this scenario ever since I read that fanfic a month ago. I'd love to discuss it with other House MD fans and hear what you would do.

(Apologies to the mutuals for the abrupt blog topic change. A new brainrot has taken hold.)

My short answer:

My long answers are below the cut.

So, what do you do?

My primary objective would be to enlist House in averting the pandemic.

My reasoning: If anyone can nip it in the bud before it gets out of Wuhan, I figure that a world-renowned genius doctor who is an infectious diseases specialist, speaks Mandarin, and now has a 15-year head start would have the best chance.

Difficulty level: Babysitting a narcissistic manchild with the self-preservation instincts of a toddler until the year 2020 so that he makes it there then alive, out of prison, and with his sanity, medical license, and professional reputation intact. To quote Quantum Leap, "Ohhhhhh boooooooy."

Strategy: I'm in the "I could fix him, but whatever's wrong with him is way funnier" camp, so I wouldn't try to change him (that always backfires anyway). Instead, I'd try to change his circumstances:

A stable romantic relationship would help, so I'd seduce him if I can (I'm not his type but a gal's gotta shoot her shot), try to get him together with Dominika earlier if I can't, and tell him how horribly his relationship with Cuddy ended so he knows better than to even start it.

Avert the shooting. Moriaty was a patient so his info is in the PPTH files. I AM THE ONE WHO KNOCKS. Or for a less murdery approach, try to get him arrested in April 2006 for violating New Jersey's strict gun laws.

Warn House about Tritter so he can switch patients with another clinic doctor.

Warn House to never get on a bus with Amber.

Tell Kutner I'm from the future and he's the only one who can prevent something horrible from happening (he's a Trekkie so he'll want to believe), then unfurl my big timeline poster and point at the "Kutner suicide early 2009" stickynote and ask him "so what's up with that, dude?"

Tell Wilson everything I can remember about his cancer -- he's an oncologist and thus can work backwards from there to figure out when to start checking for it so he can cut the tumor out while it's still just a tiny baby.

I would take a harm reduction approach to House's drug use, e.g., suggest that he try microdosing psilocybin and extend his liver's lifespan by substituting cannabis for some of his Vicodin and alcohol consumption.

Methods: Even though he doesn't have one for most of the show, House mentions a few times that he's entitled to hire an assistant, and I happen to be excellent at administrative work.

I think he'd be willing to hire me because working as his executive assistant / department secretary would position me to recognize patients as they come in so that I can discreetly pass along anything I remember, e.g., the kindergarten teacher has pork worms in her brain, ask the scientist in Antarctica to show you her feet, etc.

Meanwhile, I could lurk around the hospital preventing miscellaneous shit, e.g., get the gift shop volunteer from S01E04 to go home sick, ensure that the gunman from S05E09 is promptly admitted, diagnosed, and treated before he snaps and takes hostages, etc.

Possible sidequests:

Use my foreknowlege to get rich by milking online poker bonuses until the passage of the UIGEA in 2006, use my poker money to start flipping houses until 2007, get in on the "Big Short" in 2008, and set a Google Alert for "Bitcoin" so I can start mining/buying it from day one. Unfortunately, I haven't paid enough attention to individual stocks to play the market other than knowing that Amazon would be a good long-term buy & hold.

Use my riches to change the outcome of the 2016 election and try to steer the development of the internet and society in general in a slightly less stupid direction.

Send Pete Carroll a letter postdated just before the 2013 Superbowl telling him the outcome, then suggest for the final play of the 2014 Superbowl that the Seahawks try handing the ball off to Marshawn Lynch instead of throwing it because that throw will be intercepted. PRIORITIES.

How much would you tell House? How would you get him to believe you?

Your story about being from the future of an alternate universe in which House and everyone he knows are characters on a fictional TV show is already too batshit crazy to believe even without his kneejerk "everybody lies" skepticism. How would you differentiate yourself from all the patients who pull crazy stunts to try to get him to take their case?

My answer: For the "from the future" part, I'm hoping there's some sort of test that House could run to confirm that I was indeed vaccinated with a mRNA vaccine against the COVID-19/SARS-COV-2 virus. Given that neither of those things existed in 2004, that would be physical evidence that I'm not from around here now.

If producing physical evidence isn't possible, then I know that Vegetative State Guy from S03E15 is already a patient at PPTH because he'd been there for 10 years, so I'd find him and tell House about his son. I could also tell House enough about the cases from the first few episodes that I'm pretty sure he'd believe me by Christmas. I want in on Chinese food with Wilson.

I would wait until House accepted the "from the future" part before broaching the "fictional TV show" issue. Until then, "I watched a TV show about your life and cases" is a 100% true statement and it's not my fault if he assumes that show was a documentary. :)

Once he believed me, I'd tell him everything.

Who else would you tell? How much would you tell them?

There are people out there who would literally kill for your knowledge of the future, so going public or being too open about it seems highly risky.

My answer: I'd tell House, Wilson, and Chase right away. Kutner but not before Jan 2009. Maybe eventually Cuddy and the rest of the Diagnostics team if keeping my foreknowledge of the future from them proves too difficult.

House is the only one who gets to know everything. Everyone else is on a "need to know" basis.

I might also bring Bill Arnello (the brother/lawyer of the mob informant in S01E15 "Mob Rules") into the circle of trust because he could be a very useful resource for some of my sidequests, e.g., changing the outcome of the 2016 election far far far in advance and in the most direct way possible. (Hi, Secret Service! This is a purely hypothetical discussion about time travel and not at all indicative of any real criminal intent, pls do not pay me a visit, kthxbai.)

I think the only people I would tell the "fictional TV show" part to would be House, Wilson, and Chase, because there are things I need to warn them about that definitely wouldn't have been in a documentary. Like Chase needs to know that killing Diballa is 100% the right thing to do but he seriously needs to work on his OpSec. Everyone else gets the implied documentary lie of omission.

If I get caught knowing too much by random patients, I'll just claim to be psychic. Way more people believe in that than would believe in time travel.

What would you do?

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websterss · 4 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝟑/𝟒 — 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: With the rising questions of whether ghost lock is a permanent form. Your doctor decides to run test on you, much to Lockwood’s like, to analyze your sudden loss of memory and to determine how much you actually do recall.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): mentions of amnesia, death, angst, some fluff if you squint

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 6,773

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: Hope you enjoy it! I don't know how to feel about this, you guys let me know alright lmfao this doesn't feel like my best work...

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

“Lockwood!” Lucy marches after him. The poor man before was pitiful. He walked away from the big court area. Never one to allow anyone to see him break. He kept running a hand through his hair, down his face, he was a mess.

A man who has a lot of experience in hiding his emotions suddenly finds he's had enough. Lockwood was furious. He was on the verge of tears, but he wasn't about to cry. He was shaking with anger and frustration. He walked down the long hallways to the elevator.

“Is this some bloody joke?” He breathes out a laugh not finding anything at the moment hilarious.

It was the worst thing that could have happened. The agency was already struggling. Now this. It had to be some sort of prank. He was still on the verge of tears, the thought of his best friend not recognizing him, not even remembering they were friends. It broke him inside out. He punched the elevator button with the bottom of his fist, over and over again. It didn't make the doors open any faster. His knuckles ached from the impact. “She can’t remember…S-She can’t remember anything.” Anthony grabbed at his tie, loosening it more so than usual.

"Lockwood..." Lucy put her hands out trying not to scare him in her approach. Her heart broke for you but more so Lockwood, the impact this weighed on his heavy heart.

He pulled at his tie again, eyes glued to the closed elevator doors that wouldn’t open while telling himself. “She’ll remember, she’ll remember. I know she will. It’ll take some time. People who suffer from amnesia don’t always get their memories back, but there is still a chance.” He spoke to himself but knew Lucy was behind him. He wouldn’t speak to her though. He was too upset, too hurt to give her any sort of response.

“Lockwood.” She tried again.

He turns to face her. His expression is stony, with red-rimmed eyes and tense lips. He was trying hard not to lose control but when he saw her eyes tear up, he couldn’t be angry. All his aggression melted away the second her arms shot out to pull him into a tight embrace and then he sobbed like a broken child.

He let the tears fall. He didn’t care anymore. “S-She can’t remember anything.” He whispered to himself, in a cracked voice, as the elevator doors finally opened. The timing was impeccable. “She doesn’t remember me. She doesn’t know who I am. She doesn’t know any of us.”

Lucy couldn't bear to see him like this. She'd never seen him this emotional. She gently held him in her arms. Her fingers softly traced the outline of his face. She pressed her forehead against his, eyes shut. She wished he would allow her to comfort him. If she could only speak some words of healing. But that's not how trauma worked. She couldn't heal his heart, however much she wished she could. All she could do was hold him and let him cry. She squeezed him tightly.

"I've lost her-" He began but Lucy shook her head.

“You haven’t.” She urged. “She’s still here, still with us. She’s just lost at the moment. But we’re gonna help her find her way back to us. But she’s not gone, we didn’t lose her physically.” She squeezed his hand. She wanted to reassure him. She wanted to calm his mind from the panic and pain.

"I'm not gonna be able to survive this Luce, have to relive the memories she doesn't remember I-"

"Then we make new memories with her. Instead of focusing on the memories that are lost, how about we focus on the ones that are being made? She has a second chance now."

“It’s the old ones I’d prefer that are not all lost…” He looked away from her.

"I-I bet she’ll remember them, and if she doesn't..." She struggled for the right words. She wanted to say what he wanted to hear, but that wouldn't be right, it wouldn’t be entirely true. "Then we can tell her. You can talk about them. They’ll be new to her, but we-" She paused having run out of words of comfort. “We’ve all lost her Lockwood, but we’ll get her back together.” She nodded, placing a reassuring hand against her upper arm.

He knew she was right. He couldn’t forget how distraught all of them were when DEPREC came along and whipped you into the back of an ambulance in a hurry. They all had you to lose, but they now had you to gain. He’d make sure of it.

“I think we should make our way back…” Lucy suggested, but it made Lockwood confused. “I think you might have scared her, you did storm off after all.”

“Oh god…” He closed his eyes. “She’s gonna think I-”

“Have unresolved anger issues?” She poked and teased with a timid smile.

“Hilarious.” He huffed and pushed past her to make his way back to the refectory.

You continue to nibble on the sandwich Lucy brought to you. Silence had fallen over you and George. The shouting dispersed down the hall, but you had yet to feel slightly relaxed. George picked up on your hesitation, seeing you avert your eyes after meeting his own for a split second. He only had a very brief moment to fully grasp the fact he was actually sitting across from you. You were awake and fully functioning much to his surprise. He went through various stages and emotions of grief and disbelief.

When he found you and Lucy together at a table, he had gawked at you, mouth wide open, finger slowly pointing at you in disbelief. He kept trying to form coherent sentences, but all that came out of his mouth was stuttered gibberish nonsense. Lucy gave him one lousy second to accept your return before she began pushing him forward. Ushering him off to retrieve Lockwood and bring him here. Now that he was finally sitting across from you without interruptions. He attempted to make conversation, or at best, just a way to familiarize yourself with him. Reacquaint and introduce himself. Amnesia…he couldn’t begin to fathom what you must be going through.

“I’m George, in case you were wondering.” Your head snapped up to meet his smile.

“Oh yes hi!” You awkwardly let a laugh out. “I heard Lock–Anthony say your name.”

“You remembered. We’ll remember the things you’re told…sorry.” You hadn’t taken offense to his wince though. Instead, you asked.

“I suppose there’s a last name to go with George?” You muster a timid laugh. Your best attempt to lighten the mood. You weren’t fond of the tension in the air. It made you feel out of place.

“Karim.” He tells you. “George Karim.”

“It’s a beautiful name.” You tilt your head. A lopsided grin plastered on your face. George’s eyes narrow slightly, he had a hard time grasping that you were gone, but you're right here in front of him.

“You’ve said that before…” George’s shoulders fall. It wasn’t meant to change the mood of the conversation, more of a nostalgia for memories. He offers a gentle smile, one that brings you warmth. Warmth and trust you can find within a friend.

“I suppose I was one for handing out compliments then?” You breathe out a laugh.

“Not just compliments. It wouldn’t be fun without your jokes. Though you’re particularly known for your insults as well.” George smirked seeing your eyes widen.

“Insults? Oh, that doesn’t sound like me. All in good fun I hope?” Your eyes widened in hope.

“All in good fun.” He promises with a nod.

You accept the reassurance. Taking another bite of the sandwich. Chewing on the piece of bread. The awkward wave once again filled the air. You glanced over your shoulder. Hoping to see his face reappear once more. He was rather easy on the eyes, a vision.

George, having picked up on your uneasiness, offered his reassurance. “They’ll be back. It hasn’t been easy for Lockwood. Much less Lucy. Though he’s been taking it far worse than us…as you can imagine already.” He implied towards the burst of anger Anthony unleashed. You look up at him. Your eyes held hope in them. The glisten in them made George want to reach out and hold you. You were holding onto his word. Hating the feeling of being seen so small and vulnerable with how you curled yourself into your tray of lunch. Adding to your sense of unfamiliarity with your new, but rather old friends. You truly felt lost with no direction.

Lucy had chuckled and followed behind Lockwood. Walking back towards where you and George sat. Once back in the refectory, she met eyes with George first and then with yours as your head turned swiftly. Anthony stopped alongside her, shortly allowing the situation to sink in fully, you were awake, you were okay, he hadn’t entirely lost you and you were staring right back at him. Those beautiful eyes he saw turn white were back to their original color. He offered a smile in hopes of easing your worry, it had as the corners of your lips reciprocated his own. God, you were a breath of fresh air. He knew one thing though, that they had to get some answers.

When you reached the third floor, you weren’t quite sure what to expect. Nurses' eyes stared at you like you were a historical exhibit. A new gallery to gawk and stare at. You were the talk of the hospital. You shrink under their whispers and stares. Lockwood sees you trying to make yourself invisible and failing to do so. It brings you comfort when he calls them out on it.

“Don’t you have patients to attend to? Nothing to see here!” He guides you into the room he didn’t find you in.

As you entered a man with white hair, a tall frame, and black-rimmed glasses stood at the end of your bed. A chart in his hands. A sheet lifted into the air as he read something off the bottom one underneath it. Lockwood cleared his throat, which gathered his attention. When he snapped his head to the door where you all stood in front of. He double-takes. Not expecting to find you standing amongst them…even more so awake.

“Bloody hell…They weren’t kidding.” You wrapped your arms around you as he made a cross on his chest. “Hello, Y/n. I’m Dr. Trainor. You have become quite famous today missy.” He tries to lighten the mood with a laugh, but it only makes you more aware of the attention you’re gaining.

“Famous?” You raise a brow in question. Dr. Trainor chuckled at your confusion, thinking you were messing with him.

“Why yes, it’s not every day one comes out of a ghost-locked state.” Everyone winces, except you, when he says this. Lockwood steps forward pushing you behind him. He didn’t want Dr. Trainor to further confuse you. You already questioned him about what sort of research you did. It was enough to clarify that you did not have any memory of being an agent. Let alone about the epidemic that broke out a few years ago. Hell, you hardly knew who the hell you were, and that scared him. You were more vulnerable now than you had ever been, all because you sacrificed yourself for him. How would he ever repay you for that?

“Dr. Trainor, there's something you need to know.” Lockwood steps forward.

“Yes?” He averts his attention to him now, but you manage to ask the question lingering on your mind.

“What’s ghost locked?”

Everyone turns to you. Dr. Trainor finds the question humorous, but as he turns to look at the others. He finds that no one else is laughing along with him. Anthony meets his eyes, immediately shaking his head with a stoic expression. Dr. Trainor's face falls flat. Then snaps his head to you. Your genuine curiosity and innocent nature were by no means a prank. You were serious.

“Oh…” Dread paints his face. He sighs heavily. “Oh, you poor child.”

“We believe she has amnesia. How much she’s forgotten, we don’t know.”

“Amnesia…” Dr. Trainor breathes out.

“Can you help her?” Lockwood asks with a plea.

“Mr. Lockwood amnesia isn’t something you can just fix.” He laughs lightly. “How much has she forgotten?” He looks to the others, then to you. He guides you to the side of your bed. “Dear, is there anything that you can remember?” You look to your friends, who’ve managed to give you some of yourself back. “I’m Y/n Y/L/N. My favorite color is green?” You look at Lucy, she urges you to continue with a smile. “I’m a…swifter?” You raise your brow with uncertainty.

“Good god.” Anthony curses under his breath. He closes his eyes and runs a hand down his face. He’s so close to ripping strands of hair from his skull.

“She means swiftie. She’s a big fan of the singer.” Lucy steps in to clarify the doctor's vivid confusion. “She’s forgotten everything I’m afraid. Her identity. Being an agent. She’s unfamiliar with everything that has to do with being an agent. No recollection of the epidemic that broke out either.” Lucy inquires. “I found her and she didn’t know who she was, didn’t know who I was.” She gives you a sad smile.

“I see…So everything you’ve recalled to me is information you’ve been told. Okay.” He unravels his stethoscope from his neck. “Any headaches, pain anywhere?” He turns to ask you. You shake your head no.

“I feel fine.” You admit.

“That’s a good sign.”

“It is?” Lockwood questions. The doctor rolls his eyes.

“Yes. It means we don’t have to worry about anything internally happening.”

“Try mentally…” Lockwood mutters under his breath. Yet, Lucy and George give him a deadpan stare, whereas the doctor chooses to ignore his tasteless comment.

“So what does this mean for others that remain in ghost lock? Would you say that ghost lock is no longer terminal?” Lucy held such high hopes. This would mean a great deal for her. It would be a great deal to Norrie, who wouldn’t stay in ghost lock forever. She’d no longer have to be in that psychiatric ward they held her in for surveillance and observation. Dr. Trainor gestured to the knot on your neck, your eyes widened as you reached up to untie it.

“It’s hard to tell so soon, this does happen to be a very unique and uncommon occurrence. We’d have to look into this situation more to be able to determine if ghost lock no longer is terminal, but at the moment this is out of our hands as we have no information to help us fully understand what we’re dealing with.” He moves the stethoscope across your back stopping in various spots. “Deep breath in, exhale out.” You do this about 3 more times. The metal felt cold against your skin. “Breath in.” You inhale deeply. “Breath out for me now.” You exhale. Then continue to breathe as normal. Lucy comes around to help adjust the ties around the back of your neck securely again. Lockwood leans forward, hands gripping the edge of the bed. He tucks in his lips, eyes furrowed deep in thought. The doctor wraps the stethoscope around his neck. Now fetching a light to examine your eyes.

“What of her memories?” Anthony spares you a glance. Watching the doctor have you follow his finger. “Will she get them back?” He looks up to Dr. Trainor.

“Can you follow my finger?” You shift your gaze left then right, then up and down. He leans forward to take a closer look into your eyes, slowly reaching forward to pull at your top eyelid. You feel uneasy when his face contorts into that of curiosity and interest, “Huh?”

This makes Anthony straighten up. “What? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing quite alarming, but have your eyes always had a white ring around them?” Dr. Trainor knows the answer since he’s checked them for the past weeks now, so this was new to come across.

“White ring?” You question. “I wouldn’t know…” You turn to look at your friends for answers. Anthony walks over to you.

“No.” Anthony confirms his question. He steps closer, silently asking if he can peer into them. Your nod of confirmation has him gently bringing his hands up to your face. His thumbs slowly push up your eyelids as the doctor provides the light. When he sees the white rings sitting around your eye shade his heart plummets slightly. “They were never there before. Should we worry?” He turns his attention to the doctor.

“It doesn’t appear to be affecting her sight, or mobility, so until they do become a cause for concern I’m writing it off as nothing to be worried about, but to keep in mind if it starts causing problems.”

“Is she allowed to be released tonight?” Lucy buts in.

Dr. Trainor gives you a once-over, contemplating. “I’d recommend she’d stay another night for observation…but her vitals have been fine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone wake up with your mobility and strength my dear. No headaches or pain?” He asks you once more.

“No.” You reassure.

“Then I’ll allow you all to take her home, but if you sense any form of change in her health, you bring her to me. Understood?”

“We will.” George says.

“Alright then if there’s no further question, then dear you are free to go. I’ll go ahead and get your discharge paper.” You nod and thank him for everything, then watch him make his way to the door, but Anthony grabs ahold of his upper arm, pulling him to the side.

“And her memories?” Anthony emphasizes his need to know. Dr. Trainor sighs.

“I’d recommend to give it time. Don’t try to rush her to remember things. This is amnesia, not an exam. She doesn’t need to remember everything all at once.” He directs his raised brow at him with a warning not to push you. Lockwood only nods solemnly. The doctor turns his gaze to you and Lucy, laughing about something he wasn’t sure of. George gives them a tight lip smile as he brushes past them into the hall. Lucy helping you find your clothes. Dr. Trainor slowly moves the both of them out of the room and closes the door behind them. He walks them to the far end of the hall away from any possible listeners “I wouldn’t worry too much about her memories…”

“No?” Anthony scoffs.

“This is a very vulnerable situation you are dealing with Mr. Lockwood.” He looks down the hallway. “I’d keep a close eye on her if I were you. News is going to spread quickly about her awakening, and it won’t be pretty. Cherish the moments of peace while you still can. Though that isn’t much of a concern to me.”

“Oh no?”

“Her eyes. I’ve seen it once, in the papers. A child, much younger than she is. Tragic ending.”

“You said it wasn’t a cause for concern!” Anthony whispers and yells.

“I know. I’d still like you to keep an eye on her, if you feel the slightest change in her health…in her demeanor, don’t wait. That child’s parents were reluctant to accept acceptance and it ended with a funeral. Don’t wait.”

“Demeanor?” Anthony straightens up. “What– Why are you telling me this?”

“You never quite know who to trust…and if I were you, I'd also concern myself with how you’re going to explain to her how she can hear and see ghosts.” Lockwood felt a shiver run up and down his spine. He falters for a quick second because he’s right. He does have to concern himself with that, yet as far as he knows you’ll be on house calls for as long as he deems it necessary. He has to concern himself about telling you a lot of things, but for now, he settles with a tight-lipped smile.

“Good day to you, Dr. Trainor.” He pats the man and turns around.

“Expect a check-in house call, Lockwood.”

“We’ll call you!” He finished with a wave of his hand as he walked down the hall, where you wait for him now.

“Ready?” He sighs.

“I think so. Is this all that was on my person?” You look down at your outfit and shoes. Your neck and fingers are decorated with simplistic jewelry, each one you wanted to ask about and what it meant to you, or if any were given to you. Anthony takes notice of the necklace that hasn’t been tucked into your shirt yet. The small A and ring that was your mothers sitting comfortably on top of your black shirt. You then lift the rapier with gauged eyes. “W-What is this?” You eye the weapon with uncertainty. Anthony pulls out of his daze and reacts quickly.

Anthony reaches forward and takes it from your hands. “Don’t know who gave you that!” A light panicked laugh reaches your ears.

“What is it though, is it mine?” Your innocence was killing him. “Are we in a sport? A-A team?” Your eyes brighten with curiosity.

Anthony curls in his eyes, deadpanning to Lucy and George. “Please tell me the cab is here?”

“Fencing! We fence!” You exclaim.

“Oh thank god!” Anthony visibly moans at the sight of a black cab sitting patiently at the entrance.

The whole ride home Anthony couldn’t contain the smile he tried to fight back. His fingers were over his mouth to hide it from the others, but even Lucy found it quite amusing as George practically pointed out various places. It was like your own practical tour, and you represented that of a kid whose mother granted them the pleasure of going to the candy store. You were quite the sight. Though he anticipated your reaction when the cab had stopped in front of their home, your home, the one you had no recollection of. He tracked your quiet exhales as he made the first exist. He stood at the door allowing everyone to leave, then held his hand out for you. You hesitated to take it, yet when your fingertips slid over his palm, well he just about lost his composure.

Your eyes had yet to remove themselves from the door. Anthony’s smile lingered, watching your every move.

“Welcome home.”

“This is home?” You breathe a laugh of disbelief.

“It’s not much but-”

“No…It’s perfect.” Your smile grows as you look over at him. Your attention turns away once more, and you find the plaque. “A.J Lockwood & Co. Investigators…after dark ring the bell and wait below from the line.” You immediately look down at the line that was placed before the stairs. “Why the line?”

“Uh I– S-Safety precaution, we never know who might come around. Better to be safe. Why don’t we head inside? I can give you the grand tour.” He offers, wanting to trail away from your curiosity. In time, he reminds himself. He visibly relaxes knowing you’d be safer inside, knowing the curfew was about to be set in stone soon. Nightfall was emerging.

Your eyes wander after he offers to take your coat. The space bringing you a sense of warmth. The house looked lived in, what a home should represent. You walked further down the entryway, your footing colliding with boots. Anthony swivled around hearing you laugh.

Your laugh, such a contagious melodious sound. Oh, how he missed it. His heart soars. It’s always been something his heart reacts to. He’d thought the worst of the visit, thinking he’d see you in your coma-like state, he never assumed that the day would lead to you being here with them again. In your shared home, awake, laughing at various items that needed to be put away. Your laugh was so innocent, making it all the more precious to him. He didn’t want to look away, but he did anyway. “Let’s start in here.” He gestured to the living area.

"Out of all the rooms in this house, you start with the least interesting one." George's voice rings out as he and Lucy enter the living area too. "I think she'd find the bas-"

Anthony met his gaze, immediately shaking his head no at him. "That's enough, George." He cuts in firmly, but not angrily. He didn't want to scare you. His gaze lingers on George before turning back to you. "Plenty of rooms to go by, but I think one at a time will suffice for now. Wouldn’t want to overwhelm you." He mustered a smile.

“I think one at a time is fine, but I would like to at least know where I’ll be able to sleep.” You laughed halfheartedly.

“Are you tired? I’m sorry I wasn’t considering ho-” You reached forward to stop his rambling.

“I’m not tired, promise. Just curious.”

He was relieved that you weren’t tired, at least not as much as you could be. Your presence alone seemed to have brightened everything in front of them. Things felt as though they’d turn bright side up quickly. He couldn’t have been happier than in this moment. “Well, we shouldn’t waste any more time, the tour awaits. Lucy will be able to show you your room later as you share it with her.” You looked over to Lucy and nodded.

“We share a room?”

“It was originally yours alone, but I came after and we made it work. I promise you I don’t snore.”

“Oh okay.” You laughed.

Anthony chuckled at the thought, finding your amusement contagious, but he knew it wouldn’t take much more than a glance to make him join you in your lightheartedness. He took a breath, steadying himself. There was no need. Your smiles were so infectious it was like there was never anything to feel stressed about in the first place.

“Let’s continue. Now if we go back through this door straight ahead we will find my personal favorite…the kitchen.” Anthony winked at you. “Are you hungry because George just so happens to be a great co-” You all stopped and turned toward the front door as the doorbell went off. Everyone stiffened and held their breaths.

“Who’d show up now…curfew just started.” Lucy questions.

“No one good…” Lockwood keeps you all behind him as he makes his way over.

“There’s a curfew?” Your brows furrowed.

“Well talk about it later Y/n…” He muttered softly to you before he opened the door. “Inspector Barnes?"

“She here?” He looked past his shoulder and stilled when he met your confused gaze.

“We haven’t broken any guidelines…” He tried to keep him from entering, but he saw you. The one thing he didn’t want happening.

“I'm aware, good on you…that’s not why I’m here.” Barnes entered slowly walking over to you with his hands raised. Though Anthony walked over to you and stood before you, in Barnes's path. “Hello again Miss Y/L/N it’s good to see back to your old self again.” Your mouth widened as you turned to look at Anthony, Lucy, and George for answers.

“Y/n, go upstairs,” Anthony orders blocking you from the man who arrived.

“Upstairs? Oh did I do some-”

“No, you didn’t do anything. I just need you to go upstairs for a second please.” Anthony kept staring at Barnes. He shifted his gaze over his shoulder to where you hadn’t moved. “P-Please.” With uneasiness, you finally nod and make your way up the steps slowly, casting a glance back at them. Your gaze not leaving the stranger who entered your home.

“What roo-”

“When you make it to the first landing keep climbing the staircase up, there will be a door, that’s your and Lucy’s room.” He instructed softly.

“O-Okay.” You nodded and kept making your way up the steps.

A few beats passed before he closed his eyes at the shut of the door upstairs. His anger takes over his body once more.

“She doesn’t recognize me…” Barnes's surprise drawing out. He points to the stairs.

“I see your vision works.” Anthony gives him a tightlipped smile.

“Amnesia?”

“What are you doing here? If you wanted to visit a phone call would’ve done nicely.”

“Lockwood-” George could feel the tension begin to disrupt the nostalgia and peace they were swimming in earlier.

“I’m here to ask Y/n a few questions.”

“She’s not taking any visitors at the moment, maybe ever, sorry. Doors over there.” Lockwood gestures behind him.

��DEPRAC would like to get an understanding of her situation–”

“She has barely been home for a few minutes!”

“I understand but if we could get a few words with her or anything out of the three of you then we-”

You had made it to the room Anthony said was yours. You slide down against the closed door, legs sprawled out in front of you, as you try to calm your breathing. The arguing voices downstairs do nothing to provide you comfort. You stare off into the space of the room blankly. Your eyes unfocus and refocus on different objects and trinkets that lay around.

“You can't just come into our home unannounced and-“ You hear Anthony exclaim angrily.

You close your eyes, letting your head thud against the wood. Why was yelling constantly involved when you were the center of a conversation? Were you problematic that it made your friends feud? You craved peace and clarity when in reality chaos and confusion embraced you. You glance down around and spot a small device on a nightstand. You're reminded of Lucy informing you of your love for Taylor Swift and can’t help but wonder if the mp3 player is yours. You get up and go over, slowly retrieving and bringing it to life.

As you scroll and insert the earbuds into your ears. The artist playing in your ears doesn’t satisfy your innermost thoughts. Your pain. The song you’re listening to, the one said to be your favorite, is very upbeat. Hardly the type of vibe you’re looking for. You read off each artist and song title. Every song is unfamiliar to you. Music you don’t recall liking or loving. The trio had done a wonderful job emphasizing that you couldn’t live without the mp3 player you hold in your hands on the way home. The device doesn’t create a sense of security. None of the songs feel melodious or relatable. You're a stranger to your music taste.

Your brows furrow, a frown evident in your saddened features. Your breath shudders as another loud yell echoes faintly through the door. You flinch, hoping that if you close your eyes they will stop, at least for your sake. You can’t take the shouting for much longer though. You glance down and press on a song that catches your eye. Settling on one, instead of nothing was better. You don’t think too much of it, but you're thankful that a soft sad instrumental beat starts to fill your ears. The silence of the bedroom no longer. You let the device slide out of your hand and onto the floor. You don’t hear the clatter, you don’t hear the yelling. You rest your head back against the door again, letting the music drown out every sound, every burst of anger being heard downstairs. You let the music consume you, taking advantage of the comfort it provides because, at this moment, it’s the only real thing that can help you make sense of the world again.

Anthony sets out to check up on you after making Barnes leave and call him back when they think it’s best for you. His heart clenched with each step he took upstairs. He gripped onto the railing, his knuckles turning white, making his way up to your and Lucy’s shared bedroom. He thought of every worst-case scenario as to why you wouldn’t have come back down. Where dread hovered, worry loomed over tons of times worse. It's all he’s been feeling really.

Worry and concern over your well-being. The swelling in his heart was further amplified by having you back at the apartment…one you held no recollection of. Another reason to add to the list of things that would surely keep him awake all night. He only hoped as much as Lucy and George had that you’d gain your memories back. That you would remember the best times and the worst times of your lives together. The laughs you’ve all shared and the way you’ve all let your walls down around each other have allowed to see glimpses of each other's vulnerable sides.

When the raps on the door weren’t acknowledged he stepped in and climbed up to the landing of the room. The room had some life brought back into it as his eyes roamed. Your fairy lights were plugged in once again, as well as your mushroom night light. The shadows of it cast circles onto the ceiling. He teased you about it once, and you went on a rant about how having them light off your ceiling was cute, aesthetically pleasing as you put it. He couldn’t judge your preferences though, not when they brought you comfort. You had looked around a little, he could tell, since things were shifted or moved by you.

His smile vanished as his eyes fell on your form. In hopes that he’d find you okay was wishful thinking. Not when your face was dipped between your arms placed over the top of your knees. You weren’t even aware that he had entered. From the loud echo of music coming from your earbuds, he didn’t doubt that you were blaring the music as loud as it could go. How your eardrums didn’t burst, he hadn’t known. He approached you slowly. Kneeling down and lightly running his hand over your kneecap. He was cautious about not wanting to startle you, but the flinch you gave, and gasp you emitted had him falling on his ass. His heart only broke further seeing the redness from your eyes. Blood vessels form around your irises. Your eyes were puffy. You tried your best to act like you were fine, wiping under your nose as you sniffled, but once your eyes met his. Another tear fell past your waterline.

He was so accustomed to wiping your tears that it became a habit. His arm moved on its own accord before he fully registered that he had slid closer to touch you. He reached up to rid your cheek of the tear stain gently. You showed no signs of discomfort, inviting the lingering caress of his thumb. He smiled faintly feeling- seeing you subconsciously lean into his palm. He rubbed against your skin for a few minutes then let his hand fall back down to his side. He scooted over to one side of you, crisscrossing his legs. He let out a sigh as his back felt the hard cold metal frame. His eyes landed on small objects or loose pieces of clothing thrown around the room.

A coping mechanism he picked up during your absent days from the apartment. Still hospitalized and ghost-locked. It made him want to tear up as he was reminded of the days he longed to see you conscious and sitting beside him. Just as you were now. He inched his pinky to brush against yours. You made no act to shift away, unknowingly to that as you wrapped yours around his, you’d done so many times. Anthony breathed out a shaky laugh as you tightened your pinky around his own. His eyes lifted to yours, finding you already waiting for him to look up at you. He let a tear fall past his cheek as a chorus of deja vu flooded his mind. He was all too familiar with where he sat, in this exact spot.

Funny enough, Anthony found himself in this very spot for weeks. Sat up against the foot of your bed frame. Trying to find comfort in the disarray of your belongings. Hoping to hear your laugh within the vacant chair at your desk, or even a soft cry as his fingers glided over one of your favorite books coated with tear stains. He wanted- hoped to find you here in the mess. Each time he’d turn his head to the right of him, he hoped to find you there next to him, smiling at him, but it always ended the same way. Having his eyes burn holes into the wall he was met with instead of you each night.

Yet even now, as your eyes locked and the corner of your lips curled upward. He believed this all to be a dream. Too scared to look away because he felt once he did, he’d turn back to find you gone. That you’d evaporate into thin air as he’d try to grasp at you. But you were right here, in his reach, in his grasp. Right beside him…you were home again.

“I see you settled yourself in. Find anything you like on it?” He gestured to the device to your right. You take out your right earbud and let it dangle. You lift the device and swirl the circle around to lower the volume.

“No.” You meet his gaze as you chew your bottom lip. Your eyes cast onto his shoes to distract your nerves from building up. “I think it's only left me with more questions about myself, rather than answers.”

Anthony’s heart tears down right in the middle as you remove the other earbud and slowly hand over the mp3 player. He’s left confused not knowing what to make of this.

“As silly as it may sound…It doesn’t feel right to take it, feels as though I’ve stolen it from her- or rather, me?” You shake your head. “My former self?” You look away from his lap. Picking and pulling at loose threads from a sweater you hardly recognize as your own. “The music that she- that I listened to…Nothing feels familiar.” You breathe out shakingly.

“You say it like…like you’re dead.” His chest falls and rises slowly, but it's threatening to increase in pace. “But you’re not, Y/n. You’re still here.”

“What if I am though? The old me you all miss. What if she’s gone for good and you can’t get her back? What if I can’t remember? What if we can’t-“ Anthony reached forward to hold your shoulders as you began to hyperventilate.

“I wouldn’t think so negative just yet. You’ve only just gotten discharged, we’ve barely brought you home… ” He breathes a smile. “The doctor said this could take, and that this isn’t something that should be rushed. Though as much as I do miss our inner jokes.” He beams with a solemn gaze. “I’m willing to wait. However long it takes, even if it means months till- till you come back to us. It’ll be worth the wait.” He unravels your joined pinkies and interlaces his hand with yours instead. You glance down, and a spread of warmth and hope entices you. Yet there’s still that lingering dread and fear casting a shadow.

“And what if…What if I can’t remember anything?” Your eyes tear up. Your mouth is slightly agape as you breathe through your mouth. “What if all the memories we’ve all made don’t come back?”

“Then we’ll recreate them again. Memories as wonderful and as painful as the ones we’ve shared. I’ll make sure you get your life back the way it was before, as we were before, even if that means starting from the beginning.”

“You’d do that for me?” You laugh lightly as tears fall down your cheeks. He reached up and wiped them away. You didn’t even know half of what he was willing to do for you.

“You don’t even know that majority of it.” He gave you a steady nod. You squeezed your eyes, floored with joy and a mixture of sadness combined. You are overwhelmed. You opened your eyes back up expecting to meet Anthony’s charming grin. Yet the loud gasp you released had startled him. You were met with a void of darkness in his place instead.

“Y/n?” Anthony shifts to sit up.

“Did it work?” His heart plummets as the intensity of the white rings in your eyes grows. Almost like they were turning white again.

“Did what work?” His voice darkens.

“It did…She let her guard down, I’ve taken over.”

#anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood imagines #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood oneshot #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #anthony lockwood x reader #writings by juls #my gif

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bts-0t-7 · 6 months

Text

So What? | MYG | Chapter 8

Pair: Hybrid Cat Yoongi x F Reader

Summary: Running from a past that foreshadows him, Yoongi is adamant about ever turning back to his human counterpart form, in hopes that nobody would recognise him and take him away. You worked at a cafe with your best friend. As a more-than-normal day seemed to go by, you discovered something amidst your housing block. Perhaps - just perhaps, the nighttime is where the angels arrive.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid, non-idol au

Warnings: Contains explicit language, abuse

WC: 2.4K

Taglist: @bearr02 @svnbangtansworld @vintageoldfashion @rkivemaar @ldysmfrst @codeinebelle

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A pounding headache, aching limbs, and stiff neck were not how you hoped to wake up. It felt like you drank five cans of beer and downed the whole rainbow shot. You groaned, pulling yourself into a sitting position at the head of the bed. All you remember was getting really sick and blacking out many times. Your fevers had a way of spiking and scaring even yourself.

You sighed and looked around your room. At least it was neat. Seokjin must have cleaned it while you were bedridden. You took the thermometer across your bed and measured your temperature.

36.8°C.

Exactly how long were you out of it? You got out of bed and headed over to the washroom to clean up. You felt like shit and you needed all the accumulated sweat to be scrubbed off your body. Seokjin wouldn’t have bathed you, you rolled your eyes. You had to get something for your brother to thank him for coming over. Working extra hours isn’t going to cut it - mainly cause you don’t want to work those extra hours. You’d rather be home snuggled up and lazing about.

You sloshed around the water on the floor of the shower room and lathered your shampoo, figuring it would be best to not take too long to shower. You just got better - at least you hoped - and you weren’t about to get sick from the cold just because you wanted to soak.

Quickly drying yourself with a towel, you headed over to the connecting wardrobe, pulling on some comfy clothes and doing your skincare routine. You weren’t a girl who puts on makeup at home but you knew a thing or two about taking care of your skin.

As you rubbed in your moisturiser and walked out of your room, you spotted many things at once. Hoseok was sleeping with his legs up in the air on your sofa and it seemed that Yoongi’s doctors were here as well, and Seokjin was teaching an unknown voice something in the kitchen. You cautiously walked to the kitchen and saw both of them wearing aprons, a random male was busy on the chopping board while Seokjin was busy stirring some stew and giving him instructions at the same time.

You walked into the kitchen and headed straight for the medicine cabinet. “Well, isn’t this a sight to see?”

Both males whipped their heads towards you.

“I didn’t realise you were up already. I’m sorry, I should’ve paid more attention.” The male held his head down, hands wringing themselves tangled in front of him.

It only now did you realise the tail in between his legs and the two fluffy ears pressed down against his jet-black hair.

You paused, hands automatically moving to his hair. “Yoongi?” You breathed out. You were so out of it when you fell ill you that all you saw were his eyes. You didn’t even take a good look at your hybrid you had forgotten what he looked like. Or perhaps you were having some memory loss.

His head shot up so quickly that his ears got squashed against your hands that couldn’t retract fast enough. Seokjin was just watching this whole scene with that stupid smile on his face.

“What?”

Jin shook his head, turning back to the stew. “I told you she’ll remember you. It’s not like she has never seen you in human form before.” Jin continuously stirred the stew and pointed to the chopping board. “Faster, get those chopped or the soup is going to burn.”

Jin left the ladle in a bowl half filled with water and went over to you, hands immediately touching your forehead. “You seem fine. You can pop the panadol down, it’ll do you some good in relieving the headaches.” He pointedly looked down at you. “Not too many.”

You nodded.

As you watch the boys in the kitchen move about fluidly, the doctors in your living room catch your attention. “Why are Yoongi’s doctors here?”

“I called them over once I couldn’t handle you anymore.” Jin turned around. “Exactly what have you been doing other than working recently? This round is one of your worst.”

You shrugged. “I just worked and went home, slept, ate, watched shows, do some hobbies. About there. I’m not too sure how I got so sick either.”

“No symptoms?”

You shook your head. “Too surprising. I had no idea.”

Jin turned back to the stove, putting the freshly cut mushrooms into the stew. “Y/N, go get some bowls. Yoongi, go wake the gang. Lunch’s ready.”

You gave Yoongi’s ears a scratch as he passed you and he nearly collapsed right there and then. He refused any ears scratched or pats from anybody during the time you were sick. Hybrids need the physical connection as well and they didn’t want him over-stressing and not having a way to rest. Even the two hybrids in the house gave him a choice to let them do it but he refused. It felt so good that a loud purr broke through that soon turned into a whine when your hands left his hair.

You giggled, walking away to grab what Seokjin needed.

“Please wash your hands after that. Don’t contaminate my food! Hair lice, you never know! I worked hard for it, you know?”

Lunch was served and the three sleepyheads trudged into the dining room. “Why, hello. Finally woke up?”

Hobi was the first to see you, immediately bolting over to your seat and engulfing you in a bone-crushing hug. You tapped his shoulder, warning him that you were going to die from the lack of oxygen if he didn’t let you up soon.

“Y/N! I didn’t hear you come out?” The sudden weight on Hobi had him confused.

“Nope, you were too deep asleep.” You snickered. “Legs in the air and everything.”

He scratched his bed hair and sheepishly answered, “Oops. Hehe.”

The Parks walked in, hair tangled and clothes dishevelled. “Good to see you’re awake, Ms. Y/N. It was hell the past few days.”

“You had better owe us some coffee.” Dr Ji-hyun yawned.

“For sure. There is a coffee machine in the house for a reason. Feel free to finish my beans.” You offered. “Although, I do have another guest room. Why did you not rest there?”

“Oh, we did. But it was easier access from the living room if anything happened.” It seems like Dr Park was too out of it and Dr Ji-Hyun was answering all the questions.

“Is…” You started. “Is Dr. Park okay?” You owe them more than coffee. If Jin was to be trusted and this is one of the worst fevers, then it would have been more than hell for the doctors. At a young age, your fevers have never done the doctors in the hospitals any good - always giving them a heart attack whenever your fever spikes.

Dr Ji-Hyun waved a hand. “Ah, he’s fine. Just came back a few hours ago after being called in for an emergency patient. He’s good, just tired.”

“I’m sorry.” You hung your head. You didn’t call in anybody else as you knew your brother was capable of handling your fevers. But if even he couldn’t handle it…

“Don’t be.” Dr Park answered. “It’s every doctor’s responsibility.” He smiled, eyes turning into crescent moons. “And, no need to be so formal. Just call me Jimin and my wife Hyun.”

Oh… They’re married?

“Oh. You’re married.” If you weren’t already so embarrassed, your mouth would have hung to the floor from the revealing truth.

“Yeah. Most of our clients don’t know. We don’t have a habit of putting it out there.” Jimin laughed.

Seokjin came in shouting “EXCUSE ME! HOT MAN COMING THROUGH!” before putting the pot of stew on the table, effectively ruining the mood.

“Hot man?” You blanched. “Steaming stew, yes. Hot man? No.”

Jin looked at you offended. “Hey! I’m your oppa, have some manners!”

You rolled your eyes.

Lunch was more than eventful.

You were kept up to date on what happened when you were halfway gone in your own world. From Hoseok telling you about Yoongi, to Yoongi retelling his story, and how they all link together. The conversation then gravitated towards exactly how out of it you were the past few days. Vomiting on Jin right after his bath, flirting with Yoongi till the cat was beet-red, and nearly yanking Jimin’s head off when he attempted to wipe you down.

It was your turn to be beet-red. Your cheeks flamed with embarrassment as you ducked your heads in your hands. Everybody was laughing their asses off - literally, after having Jimin fall off the chair with the force of his laughter, making everyone laugh even harder.

“I’m sorry… Gods, this is so embarrassing!” The group burst out laughing again. Glad that they find your misery funny. Even Yoongi was sporting a smile of his own.

The doorbell rang and the six of you turned your heads towards the door. It rang again. You got up from your seat and opened the door, revealing a dishevelled Lillianne standing there with bags and bags of groceries. Lils pushed past you and placed the grocery bags on the kitchen counter as you shut the door and walked in.

“Wanna tell me what’s up?”

Your best friend gave you a one-over before tackling you in a big bear hug. She is called a bear for a reason. Hugging is her sport.

“Seokjin won’t let me visit you until you have gotten out of bed.” She moaned her complaints to you.

“Yah, you are another problem I refuse to take care of! Obviously, I won’t let you in!” Seokjin yelled back.

“I don’t need you to let me in! I know the passcode, I can let myself in, thank you!” Lils rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue at him.

This just made Seokjin competitive and the both of them started a catfight on who can let themselves into your house.

You left the bickering two in the dining room and headed back to the kitchen to see Yoongi dissecting the bags that Lils had brought over. “Let’s just put the things in the fridge and then return to lunch.”

Yoongi shook his head. “You can go. I’ll pack them up.”

You frowned. “I’ll pack with you then.”

Just as your hand reached to unpack the first bag, Yoongi’s hand shot out to stop you, holding your wrist in a tight hold. You were shocked at the speed and strength that was getting tighter and tighter - a warning. It wasn’t until you winced that Yoongi immediately let go, eyes filled with fear.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Yoongi fell down to his knees. “I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to, I swear! I’m sorry!” Tears were welling up in his eyes, head bowed, and neck open as a sign of submission. Your cat was in hysterics while you were in shock.

You didn’t know what best to do in this situation other than to kneel down - which did not help his panic - and wrap your arms around him. “Yoongi, Yoongi. It’s okay. I’m not gonna scold you, it’s fine. Nothing hurts.” Your cat just cried even harder - really just wailing at this point. You sighed. “Yoongi, don’t cry. It’s fine. I’m okay.” You jutted your hands out. “See? I’m okay.”

Yoongi took your wrist in his hands, gentle as if you were made of glass, and licked the reddening part. You squealed, shocking him and he shuffled back even further.

“Yoongi-” The group came out, wondering what the commotion was.

“Oh, dear,” Jimin said. “Ah… Let’s all, go for a walk in the park. I’m craving some desserts. Let’s go buy some.”

“I got flour.” Lils didn’t get the hint.

Seokjin yanked her along. “Let’s go, Lils. The two need to handle this themselves.”

“Oh. Oh… Yeah, yeah. We’ll be back! With cakes and macaroons in tow!” She screamed from the main door.

It was only after you heard your door close did you slowly slid your way to Yoongi, who was curled up into a ball in the corner of your cabinets. His tail was slid around his waist and tucked in, ears flattened down onto his hair, and sobs wreaking his body.

You cautiously brought your hand to his shoulder, slowly moving up to caress his hair and finally moving to his ears. Yoongi did not move or stop you, with no signs of tensing. You took this as a sign to continue. Slowly in circular motions, you rubbed the base of his ears, moving to the tip and coming back down, paying attention to the little knots and groans that come out of him.

Yoongi’s sniffles subsided as he leaned his body weight into you against the cabinet, pushing his head into your hands. “More?” You giggled.

“Please…” Yoongi groaned.

Surrendering to his demand, you continued. Only when Yoongi was about to fall asleep on your stomach, did you stop. Yoongi whined. “Whyyy?”

As much as he was adorable and you just wanted to keep going, this wasn’t the point of why you started. “Yoongi, we gotta talk about what happened.”

Yoongi stiffened against your stomach, head curling into himself. “Don’t wanna.”

You sighed. “Yoongi, I will never understand what you’ve gone through, lest how you feel. So I won’t tell you what you should do and what you shouldn’t do. However, I will tell you that - no, I promise you that you are safe with me. I will do whatever I can, within my power, to make you feel safe. Feel safe, Yoongi. That’s home.”

The air was still for the next few moments until Yoongi moved and looked up at you from his position. “Home?” He asked, big brown chocolatey eyes sparkling with wonders. His ears twitched in anticipation.

You nodded. “There is a home here, shall you wish to stay.” You smiled at him.

Yoongi shot up, grabbing you into a tight hug, tail snaking over to grip your waist. He buried his head in your neck, sniffing you away.

“Yeah… Home sounds nice.” You could feel your shirt getting wetter beneath his face. But this time, you cried with him.

Yes, home sounds nice.

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louislovesdilfs · 6 months

Text

Homesick

this is a Doctor who fanfic, it's almost like a big experiment that I'm doing with a lot, LIKE A LOT, of theories or headcanons in it, crucial to this story (not all of them but whatever). I will put every source I use in this fics and if this series continues they will be A LOT. today's source tho it's just one @/whynotjohnlock I took something from them so thank you for the informations. There are some "uncanny valley" references but I tried to explain them as best as I could, let's just say it's full of nerd stuff and it will only get worst :)

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pairing: 9th Doctor x reader (will eventually become 10th later on.)

English is not my first language so I apologise for the mistakes.

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The street Y/n is walking in makes him nauseous, he saw that street so many times...the buildings, the houses, the people...all the same all the time, it's like living a nightmare: 20 years always in the same place with the same faces and the same dreams, dreams that not even he can believe.

Y/n lights up a cigarette letting the smoke fill his lungs and brain, it's poisonous yet it feels so good, the way his brain gets dizzy everytime the smoke gets in his body it's what he needs, it's the best feeling he can get in that small town somewhere.

He looks at the too familiar place with dead eyes, not even an emotion, maybe disgust for the place, he knows he will die in the same house he grew up in, like all the people in that fucking place, he will die sad and alone like his father before him, and the father of his father; lonliness and bad behaviour run strong in his family, as much as he hates it he is his parents' son, he has the same destructive, hot tempered and maybe pessimistic side of his father but the horrible, pathetic, useless kind heart his mother had..great woman his mother, always there to help the others until one day she helped the wrong person.

The street is looking as he remembers except for a tiny little detail, there's a phone box hidden in an alley, he has seen that alley a million times before but that blue box? it appeared from no where, almost a glitch in the matrix, he thinks; he's such a nerd.

Y/n steps closer carefully looking in case the owner is around, he feels the blue wood on his fingers genlty caressing it with his right hand, it's almost like the blue box can feel it, Y/n can swear he saw it light up for a tiny second. He steps away shaking his head, the door of the box is locked, he does take a picture tho, unusual to see something like that, it brought up feelings Y/n forgot he had.

"and who are you?" A voice behind him makes him flinch for a second, he never heard that voice before, Y/n turn around trying to go back to his stern look rather than the curiosity that made his face soften making him look like a kid.

"Is that yours?" Y/n asks crossing his arms, the man is wearing a big leather jacket and he's almost bald with a really noticeable nose, but overall he looks attractive Y/n has to be honest with himself

"answering a question with a question?" The man smirked in a sort of cheeky way, not arrogant even if it seemed that way

"avoiding to answer the question?" Y/n shot back tilting his head slightly, the man was a bit taller than him, probably much older, his eyes were at least, to the point where his face didn't match them.

"that is mine" the man answered in a calm tone, he looked weird tho, he didn't fit in properly, he was an english guy with a northern accent owner of a blue box in a hidden alley. Y/n looks at him suspiciously, his mind racing trying to think about what could be in that blue box, the most stupid reason comes to his mind but it's too late to stop his own mouth.

"what do you hide there? drugs? It won't take long for someone to notice it, it's a small town people talk." Y/n says looking around the alley but apparently there was nobody except for them, the man looks at Y/n puzzled and then speaks

"will you talk?" he asks waiting for an answer, Y/n raises his eyebrows, he was so weird, yet fascinating.

"no.." Y/n answers unsure looking between the man and that blue box

"great then, see ya" he says entering the blue box, but he leaves the door open, Y/n looks around the box, he hears noises coming from inside, he takes a look not sure what to expect but anything was better than the usual.

The blue box was bigger on the inside, Y/n couldn't believe his eyes, he steps in rapidly scanning the place and taking information, he processes everything as fast as he can but he feels his mind about to explode; the man is going around the console pressing buttons untill he notices the young man and smirks

"do you always come in when you're not invited?" he asks looking at Y/n with the same smug face as before

"do you always leave the door open for strangers?" He answers back quickly, too busy wondering around with his eyes to pay attention to the man

"this is the TARDIS, Time And Relative Dimension In Space" he explains crossing his arms and leaning on the console

"I was going to say bigger on the inside but.." Y/n starts to walk around biting his lower lip to think "maybe pocket dimension, this TARDIS is probably on another plane of existence or does it expand this one?" Y/n asks but wasn't waiting for an answer he just keeps thinking stopping sometimes humming a bit and then keeps talking

"if it travels in the fourth dimension, commonly known as time then it has the ability to change its weight and size...even appearance" he kept going mostly talking to himself

"it needs an incredible amount of power...a star maybe, a black hole even if less likely..fascinating tho, this can't be human and neither can you" He turns to the man who had a surprised look rather than a smug one, even a little bit amused by the man wondering around his TARDIS

"almost like uncanny valley just less scary I guess, my brain recognised you as an human being, yet something about you seemed off even if I couldn't recall what was it," Y/n affirms tilting his head to the side, that's what he always does when he's pointing out or suspecting something or at least that's what the man in the leather jacket noticed about him.

"so, what's your name?" he finishes getting closer to the man

"The Doctor" he answer with a tiny smirk crossing his arms in front of Y/n

"Doctor who?" Y/n asks raising his eyebrows, 'The Doctor' chuckles, he heard that question a lot Y/n thinks,

"just The Doctor" He says smiling at Y/n, a wide smile impressed by the younger man knowledge

"apparently you don't need me to explain how the TARDIS works.." he says while Y/n shrugs

"I failed physics 4 times, I know it by heart now" he explains in a low tone as if someone else could hear him and call him a nerd.

"you want to see it in action?" The Doctor says pressing some buttons as Y/n tryes to play it cool and hide the excitement

"is that even a question?" he just says screaming internally, finally something different, he can't believe he is leaving that small town, this can't be real, he might have bumped his head and now he's in coma.

"where are we going?" Y/n asks still focusing on the Doctor's movement, which buttons he presses and when, he can almost feel the levers and buttons under his fingers, he wants to drive the TARDIS, just to know how it feels like.

"anywhere you li-" as The Doctor tries to finish the sentence the TARDIS shakes making both of them fall to the ground, Y/n bumps his head as he groans in pain raising his hand to reach his head.

As the TARDIS stops Y/n stands up still holding his head massaging it and then turns to The Doctor with a stern look

"who gave you the licence, a fucking monkey? no not even a monkey, they would drive it better!" Y/n complains but the other man doesn't listen to him, instead he steps outside with a courious look on his face, Y/n follows him mumbling things under his breath

"we're in London?" he says looking around, Y/n scoffs

"anywhere in time and space and you bring me in London...in 2005!" he whines following the man in the city, Y/n clearly doesn't fit in, with his earrings and general piercings he looks like the lost member of the Tokyo Hotel however he tries to let the weird looks from the people slide for now,

"I didn't bring you here, the TARDIS brought us here for some reason," The Doctor answers

From that moment on things happen, they meet Rose,she's great and Y/n likes her. they fight with mannequins and a disgusting looking thing, Mickey is there too, not as great as Rose but whatever. It's time to go, Y/n knows the Doctor wants to take Rose with him, something is going on, it's clear in their eyes. Mickey is hiding behind a pallet, pathetic, Y/n thinks but doesn't say anything about it.

"a lot of good you were" Rose says looking at the man who's leaning on the TARDIS doorway, Y/n is outside, watching the scene carefully, his bleeding due to scratches on his face he tried to clean them with a tissue but that's what he gets for starting a fight with mannequins.

"Nestene Consciousness? Easy" he says with a smug smirk, Rose and Y/n let out a scoff

"you were useless in there, you'd be dead if it wasn't for me"

at the end of it Rose runs in the TARDIS, The Doctor smiles widely running to the console, even Y/n let's out a little smile looking at Rose, letting her know he's happy she came with them.

"Right then, Rose Tyler, you tell me. Where do you want to go? Backwards or fowards in time. It's your choice. What's it going to be?" The Doctor asks turning to Rose while Y/n quickly turns to him with a annoyed face,

" hey! what about me?" he says, after all he still didn't get a trip, or well he did but in London, 2005...that could've gone a bit better honestly.

"I don't talk to people with a black eye" he says turning to Y/n who mumbles "wait until I get you a black eye"

After the end of the earth, Y/n feels bad, mostly because Rose was so sentimental and sad of watching the earth get burned, he insisted watched, he watched with relief, the place that hurt him many many many years ago is burning down, he's watching it burn down. Rose calls her mom, she feels homesick, she doesn't want to look at it, Y/n tho he is watching every second of it, he's silent, his hands in his pockets, his face still bruised by the first trip, in his eyes the reflection of his world burning but no sign of sadness, to be clear no sign of anything. Rose's homesick, Y/n's home makes him sick.

The Doctor notice it, he sees the difference between his two new companions, he sees the difference in how they perceive things, when they killed Cassandra, Rose knew it was the right thing and maybe was even ok with it, Y/n wasn't, he glanced at The Doctor with rage and disappointment, how could he kill someone so easily? The Doctor tries to put a hand on Y/n shoulder but doesn't, instead Rose talks while watching the asteroids

"The end of the Earth. It's gone. We were too busy saving ourselves. No one saw it go. All those years, all that history, and no one was even looking. It's just" Rose stops not able to continue, The Doctor shifts his gaze from Y/n to Rose smiling as he easily understand her better than he can understand him.

"come with me" he says heading back to the TARDIS with rose following him, Y/n tho stays still amd that's when Rose notices the white knuckles of the man getting white while his fists get tighter,

"Y/n, you're coming?" she asks touching the man's arm lightly almost afraid, his hand relaxes as he looks at her trying to fake a calm expression as his gaze softens

"sure," he nods forcing his lips to curve in a smile.

They're back in London standing in the crowd, kids crying, people yelling and all that, Y/n sighs looking around, he doesn't understand if he's as relieved as Rose at the sight of normality but for now he turns to the other two as the Doctor begins to speak

"You think it'll last forever, people and cars and concrete, but it won't. One day it's all gone. Even the sky. My planet's gone. It's dead. It burned like the Earth. It's just rocks and dust before its time." he says opening up, Y/n remembers what they said, the last of his kind, he listens closely not talking or interrupting, he just listens to the man.

"I'm a Time Lord. I'm the last of the Time Lords. They're all gone. I'm the only survivor. I'm left travelling on my own 'cos there's no one else." he continues after Rose asked a few questions

"you have me, us" she corrects herself looking at Y/n, he looks at her and The Doctor nodding even if he knows it's not how Rose thinks, it's cute how she thinks that enough but it's not, The Doctor is alone, he doesn't have anyone to share his grief with, as much as we try no one could understand his feeling, he's alone, he will always be alone no matter how many companions he has no one will ever fill that void, Y/n knows as he looks in The Doctor's eyes and The Doctor knows too as he look at Y/n almost like he read his thoughts

"You've seen how dangerous it is. Do you want to go home?" The Doctor asks the both of them but mostly looking at Rose, she hesitates for a few second but before she can answer Y/n speaks

"I want chips, who's with me?" he says as the other two laugh and nod

"chips it is then" The Doctor says and Rose takes his arm looking up at him

"Right then, before you get me back in that box, chips it is, and you can pay." she says chuckling slightly flirting with the man

"no money" he answered and Y/n let's out a light scoff almost like a chuckle

"my treat," he says looking at the two

"see that's a gentleman" Rose jokes nudging The Doctor

"yeah, he almost won me" The Doctor says and Y/n winks at him

the three laugh heading to get chips before going back in the TARDIS for another adventure.

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