#tell me i should call an ambulance... ok

[avvocarlo]

holy shit I hate the rules and politics within the community services industry

[miley1442111]

safe- a.hotchner

a/n: i imagined a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)

you and aaron have jack (obvi) and a daughter, ellie. :) (1.4k + words)

summary: you become an unsubs target

pairing: husband/dad aaron hotchner x wife/mother reader

warnings: general cm minds topics, knives, stitches, head wounds, trauma talk of harm coming to the team, the reader is harmed, etc.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

There you stood, your own blood as well as another's blood all over your body. 

What happened? 

You were just leaving work, you were going to pick up Jack and Ellie on your way home. It was taco night, you three would cook together tonight, though since Aaron was on a case a few states over, you would be the only ones doing it. So, how did that exact same unsub get to you?

You sat in the ambulance, stitches going into your skin, but you weren’t even flinching, you didn’t even feel it. You knew Jack and Ellie were expecting you, so was Jessica. 

“Can I make a phone call?” You whispered to the paramedic. She nodded her head, sympathy on her face. “Thank you.”

You pulled out your phone as she finished the stitches in your head, moving onto the ones in your arms. 

“Hey Jess,” You sighed into the phone. 

“Hey, is everything alright?” she asked. “Do you want me to take Jack and Ellie for the night?” 

You could honestly cry at her generosity. “Yes please, thank you so much Jess.”

“No problem,” she smiled, worried from the other line. “Are you hurt?” she whispered. 

“I’ll be ok, someone just… yeah,’ you sighed. “Tell Jack and Ellie I love them, yeah?”

“Always.”

You hung up. The paramedic finished up and the officer who had been sitting with you for the past few minutes escorted you to a squad car and brought you to the station, informing you that the FBI were on their way. The FBI, really? Surely it wasn’t Aaron, right?

God, you missed Aaron. You’d never wanted to see him more in your life. Just to know he was ok, that he was there. 

Such luxuries could not be afforded at that current moment. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aaron sat beside David on the plane, exhaustion pulling at his eyes as Spencer read out the latest attack. 

“Oh, apparently there was one survivor,” Spencer said. “That might be his next target.”

“We should look into them, what’s the name?” David asked as Aaron yawned. 

“Y/n Y/l/n, she has a son, daughter, and husband,” Spencer said, and Aaron was wide-awake again. 

“Pardon?” He asked, hoping he’d heard wrong. 

“Y/n Y/l/n. She was beaten pretty badly and had a head wound and a stab to the arm, she’s at the station now. SHe agreed to a cognitive interview. She’s a professor of nuclear physics at a university nearby-” Spencer reads off. 

“She has more pHds than boy genius, 5 and counting,” Penelope interrupts him from the screen. 

“Well, she is older than me,” he stressed, attempting to keep some of his pride. 

“By what, 4 years?” Emily snorted, the rest of the team laughed, but Aaron was frozen. 

A head wound? You got stabbed? He felt faint. Immediately, he reached into his pocket to grab his phone, trying to call you. 

You didn’t pick up.

He tried again as the team stared at him in bewilderment. What was he doing?

No answer again.

“Sir-”

“I want a profile before we leave this plane,” he ordered and the team all stared at him. “Is that too much for you?” He asked snarkily. They all shook their heads and began breaking off into groups to work. Aaron stayed seated, a million thoughts running through his head at once. Was Jack ok? Was Ellie ok? How much blood did you lose? Was the unsub already on his way to you again? Were you a target because of him?

“Hotch I think we have something,” Morgan stated after 30 minutes. “The unsub is targeting women with the same description as the survivor. I'd say he’s a college student who is jealous of her husband. He’s formed a parasocial relationship and obsession with her and his delusions have led him to hurt those closest to her. It makes sense she’s beautiful, described as being extremely kind and caring about her students, she’s ridiculously intelligent, and apparently she and her husband are madly in love with each other. What’s her husband’s name Pen?” Derek asked, looking at the computer. 

“Aaron Hotchner,” she said, a gasp following her words. Aaron looked up, meeting the eyes of the team as they stared back, shocked. 

He could deal with them later. 

“Send police to Jessica's house,” he ordered before he got up to go to the back of the plane for a moment of peace. He took out his phone, dialling Jessica’s number.

“Hey, is Y/n ok?” She asked. “I have Jack and Ellie right now, are you with her?”

“Not yet, I’ve sent police to your house, just as extra protection, ok?”

“Alright Aaron. Take care of her when you see her, she seemed pretty shaken.”

“Course,” he gritted out and hung up. This was going to be difficult. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sat in an office, a cop’s jacket strung over your shaking shoulders. You were still covered in blood, you still saw the horrible image of one of your students being killed in front of you.

Where was Aaron? 

 “Can I go and clean up?” You sniffled, asking the sheriff who was sitting at his desk beside you. 

“Course sweetheart,” she smiled softly. “There’s a bathroom down the hall, if you want a shower there’s one in the training centre.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, feeling smaller than you ever had. You were told to be careful with your stitches and that you’d be brought into the hospital in the morning once all of the stuff with the station was over. You walked down the hall to the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror, staring at your bloodstained face and clothes. The tears started falling, going down the drain with a red-tinge. 

You grabbed some tissue, wet it, and started scrubbing your face. The ache of your body was nothing to the turmoil in your head. Was it your fault one of your students was killed? Was Jack ok? Was Ellie ok? Was Aaron ok? 

You didn’t even notice him coming behind you until he took the tissue out of your hand. He discarded it, damped the towel from his go-bag in his hand, lightly washing your face. Tears fell freely as he did so, but he wiped them away, a comforting hand on your lower back as you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your clean cheek. He continued his gentle cleaning, bringing it down to your neck.

“I’m sorry too.” 

He smiled softly. “You don’t have to apologise for anything.”

“Neither do you, but we do it anyway.”

His emotions became too much all of a sudden, the feeling of nearly losing you becoming unthinkable. 

“I love you so much,” he whispered.  

“I love you too.”

After Aaron sufficiently cleaned as much of the blood off of you as he could, he took your blood-stained shirt off and replaced it with one of his extra dress shirts. Walking outside the bathroom, you felt eyes on the both of you. You recognised some of the team from stories and photos Aaron had shown you. They stared as Aaron wrapped you into his side and walked you back into the sheriff’s office. 

“I want the kids,” you admitted. “I know we shouldn’t but I’m so worried that they're not ok,” you cried into his bicep as he sat beside you. 

“I’ll send one of the team to grab them and Jess,” he nodded.

“Please don’t leave,” you whimpered, holding onto him for dear life. You needed him. 

“Of course not, honey,” he soothed. He signalled for Derek to come in. He walked in, careful of your feelings. “Will you go to Jessica’s house and pick up Jessica, Jack, and Ellie?”

“Of course sir, but… who’s Ellie?” he whispered the last part. 

“My daughter,” Aaron said and Derek went wide-eyed.

“I’ll be right back with them,” he promised. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Darling, do you feel up to telling me about it? Or even just something?" he whispered against your skin.

"I know who did it," you whispered back. You felt such guilt. You knew the unsub, he was one of your students Andrew. Andrew was obsessed with you, with your life, but you just took it as a student being interested in your life to get out of work. You didn't pay enough care to the way his interest dampened when you spoke about Aaron and when you talked about your anniversaries or dates.

"Honey-"

"His name's Andrew. He's in my chemical sciences class."

Aaron was silent for a moment. "Alright. I'll send officers his way."

"I'm so stupid, I didn't even realise-" you started but Aaron shushed you with a gentle kiss.

"Don't talk about my wife like that," he joked. You chuckled softly and he felt a sense of great accomplishment.

"I'm so glad you're here," you sighed into his neck.

"I'm so glad I'm here too."

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You're married?" Derek asked.

"Yes," Aaron admitted as he ran a hand through your hair as you lay on his lap asleep, Ellie and Jack playing by the sheriff's desk.

`'And you have another child," Penelope said, shock apparent in her voice and facial expression.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Spencer asked.

"I wanted to keep her safe," Aaron smiled. "I also just assumed you'd figure it out. Clearly you're not all as good as you think you are," he chuckled.

The team collectively rolled their eyes, but still smiled. Aaron was happy, you were safe, another unsub was awaiting jail, and they could almost feel the love radiating off of Aaron.

All was well.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :)

[seresinhangmanjake]

Daddy!Benny Cross x Momma!Reader

Your and Benny’s little girl gets injured playing on a bike and must go to the hospital. Benny doesn’t handle it well.

Warnings/Notes: mention of broken bones, cursing, angry but sweet dad Benny, protectiveness, typos, and I think that’s it.

Part of the Come Back Knockin’ universe. Takes place after Come Back Together and Together and More, but you don't have to read these beforehand to understand this fic.

Words: 1250

Benny Cross Masterlist

Benny’s going to lose his damn mind—that’s all you can think as you stand beside Wahoo in the hospital lobby, the both of you keeping sharp eyes out the wall-length windows to spot your husband. Facing him will be no easy feat and you need all the time you can get to prepare yourselves before he stomps through those doors. 

“Wahoo, I don't know about this. You really better go back to the meeting,” you encourage him, as you’ve done at least ten times in the last fifteen minutes. 

“Nah, I gotta stay and apologize to ‘im,” he replies. “But you shouldn’t have to wait here with me. You should go be with your girl.”

Your eyes scan the visible area from the benches in the flowered courtyard to the emergency sign attached to the building’s exterior brick before darting to the looped driveway reserved for ambulances. He’s nowhere in sight. But he will be soon enough. You called him—you peek at your watch—exactly twelve minutes and forty-three seconds ago. The shop is nineteen minutes away from the hospital and there’s no way he’s not speeding. 

“If I go, who is going to stop Benny from killing you?” you say, your heart hammering in your chest. 

You love your husband, but the man has a temper that can flare as easily as a swift strike of a match. He has started many short-lived fights, always requiring some patching up before the excitement finally settles down, but if Benny is given time to simmer, he can explode with an unrivaled rage.

Wahoo chuckles awkwardly, turning his head to look at you. 

“You got a point there, sweetheart,” he says. Then he goes silent amongst the background chattering of anxious families and ringing phone lines at the front desk.

You glance his way just in time to see the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple. 

“I won’t let him,” you promise. “You know…kill you.”

“Not sure you’re gonna be able to stop ‘im. You and the kid are the most important things in his world, and one of yous got hurt on my watch.”

A wince pinches your face at the memory and you’re so busy worrying about how the events of the next few minutes are going to unfold that you miss Benny’s entrance entirely. 

“What the fuck!” Benny shouts. It echoes throughout the room, making every head swivel, every conversation cease. 

As he storms closer, you step between him and Wahoo, your hands planting firmly on his chest. Murder is in his glare and though he could easily barrel through the barrier in his path, that would involve shoving you aside, and regardless of the circumstances, he would never do that.

Benny’s arm raises over your shoulder, finger pointed like a dagger toward his friend—well, enemy, at the moment. “What the hell you doin’ lettin’ my four-year-old on your fuckin’ bike!”

He tries to side-step you but you’re watching his feet, catching his movements before he can finish making them. 

“I’m real sorry, Benny,” Wahoo says meekly.

“Sorry? You’re sorry!” His tone is darker, fists clenching, anger overflowing and spilling onto the tiled floor. Without glancing at you, in a much softer—but still threatening—voice, he says, “Baby, move.”

You look up at him. Your hands slide from his chest to cup his cheeks in a failed effort to trap his attention. “Benny, it was an accident, ok? Alright? She was just playing pretend like she does with you and she wiggled out of his grasp and landed wrong,” you tell him. 

“I don't fuckin’ care if it was an accident.”

He’s so revved up, so locked in on his target, that your stomach twists for Wahoo. He’s been such a kind man and he’s so good with your daughter that he’s told you once or twice he wishes he could have one of his own someday.

When Lucy fell, it took all of two seconds for his visibly consuming guilt to settle in. He’d immediately picked her up, buckled her into your car, and followed you straight to the hospital where he has stressed over her injured state from the moment of arrival. He doesn’t deserve the abuse from Benny as if he was negligent. Benny, a man who regularly demonstrates little of his own self-preservation skills, but happens to go feral when his child so much as skins her knee. 

“Move.”

“Benny, please,” you say. “Honey, look at me.”

If you can get his eyes on you then he’ll be stuck to you like glue. He’ll calm down. The huffing and puffing of his chest will slow. 

And to your relief, when you stand up on your toes to invade his line of sight that is exactly what happens. The vengeance drains out of his face, replaced by a gentleness that only ever reveals itself to you and your shared child. 

“She’s fine,” you say. “She cried until the doctor gave her a sucker and now I’m not sure she even cares about her arm.”

Benny’s mouth dips into a frown. His brow pinches, then his teeth bite down hard on his bottom lip. “She got hurt,” he says, and your heart breaks for him.

You sigh. “I know.”

“I wasn’t there.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to stop it even if you were. It happened in a split-second,” you tell him. “You’re here now; that’s what matters. And wouldn’t you rather see her than argue?”

Benny’s exhale is a sharp release of air that subdues the remnants of his temper. “Where is she?”

You point to the double doors off to the side of the lobby. “Through there,” you say.

Benny swallows, nods, and takes your hand. But when he looks up, the glare resurfaces. “You're not gettin’ off,” he tells Wahoo. “I’ll deal with you later.”

As Benny pulls you along in the direction of your daughter, you quickly whisper to your friend, “I'll take care of it, but you ought to go.”

Wahoo’s smile is weak, never reaching his eyes, and his hands slip into his jeans pockets before he turns on his heel for the exit.

---

“Daddy!”

Lucy hops up from the floor where a few toys are scattered about from playing with the nurse in your absence. 

Benny plasters on a smile that barely conceals his agitation as he scoops her up in his arms. “You doin’ alright, nugget?”

“Mhmm,” Lucy hums, chipper as ever. “I finished my sucker. It tasted like grape.” She lifts her arm and Benny’s head jerks back to avoid a collision with his nose. “You like my cast?” 

You watch Benny struggle to come up with a positive reply, considering that within said cast is his little baby’s broken arm. “Y-Yea, Lu. It’s…It’s real great.”

“It’s blue!”

“I see that.”

The nurse chuckles as she rises from the floor and dusts invisible specks of dirt from her pristinely white uniform. “You’ve got yourself a lovely little girl,” she praises, tilting her head affectionately as he takes in the image of Lucy tucking her head into the crook of Benny’s neck. “The doctor says we’ll need to see you back here in six weeks.”

“Thank you.”   

She starts toward the door but pauses as she passes your daughter. “Goodbye, miss Lucy,” she says, her smile wide. 

“Bye, miss nurse!” With her good hand, Lucy gives an animated wave that the nurse returns as she closes the door behind her. 

Benny releases the sigh you’re pretty sure he’s been holding in since you called him. He cups the side of Lucy's head as if he could cradle her closer than she already is.

“You're not gonna be sittin’ up on any bikes for a real long while,” he says.

Lucy’s head shoots up, eyes widening in panic. “Nooo!” she whines. “You can't stop me!” 

“You wanna bet?”

“Yes!” she snaps back. “I…I'll do it when you aren't lookin'!”

Benny scoffs. "I'm not lettin' you out of my sight."

"I'll be real sneaky!"

The air of rebelliousness is all too familiar and it makes you snicker. Because despite the exhaustion of the day, despite the tears and the shouting and the drama that you hope will not reemerge later, all you can think as the bantering unfolds before you is that that little girl is definitely Benny Cross’s daughter.

---

Thanks for reading :)

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[bluesidez]

Gym Rat Miguel Part 14

content warning: mentions of vomit/vomit related terms, more angst

word count: 3.4k (shoutout to the BETAAAA @slushycoookie)

Prev | Next ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist

It was cold.

So cold.

The last thing he remembers was the prickles of the concrete through his pants.

Everything kept replaying in his head as if he were watching it unfold before him again. He still felt the way you pushed him, parts of his body flashing from where you shoved. The expression on your face was scorned and burned into his memory. The corners of your lips were deep, your eyes lost all color, your hands were trembling despite the steady tone in your voice, and you fought to keep the tears from running. It pained him.

He hurt you again and it was all a misunderstanding, again.

How was he so bad at this?

Miguel felt scared as he failed in opening up his constricted throat, but he couldn't stop it.

He kept thinking that maybe you would come back, maybe you were just around the corner waiting, but it feels like it’s been forever since you ran out of his room.

He needs to call you.

He needs to see you.

He needs to be near you.

Why can’t he?

“Miguel.”

A harsh hand shocks his shoulders, shaking him until the pivots and brick of the wall behind him scratch across his skin.

“Hey. Listen to me. Can you hear me?”

A frantic voice reaches the end of his ears, but it sounds far away. Was it his name? Were they talking to him?

It’s still so cold. His feet feel numb and his fingers won’t move.

The voice stops calling him and the hills in the wall are back in their rightful place, digging into his skin.

He wonders if you’re cold too.

The breath is knocked out of him, his eyes focusing on the ground under him. The air comes back into his lungs just as fast, the wind aiding him.

When did it start raining?

“Miguel,” he’s shaken again, but he can look up this time.

Peter squats in front of him with a worried face, orange bucket knocked over by his side.

“Did you just pour that on me?” is all Miguel thinks to say, his voice scratchy and almost gone.

“I panicked, ok? It was either this or the ambulance. It’s so weird to just drag your body back inside. Come on, get up before our RA actually does his job.”

With more strength than Miguel thought he had, Peter yanks him up and supports his weight, counting even steps as he guides him to their dorm room. The blood is slowly flowing back to his fingertips and the difference in temperature makes the hair on his skin rise.

One guy walks past the two of them with a look of curiosity, but the sense to not ask. Miguel starts to register how this looks.

Peter gets the door open fast and drops Miguel on a beanbag.

“You know, I didn’t expect for your party to turn out this wild. However, I also would have expected you to crash out back here. Or there. Or just, not in front of the dorm.”

Miguel’s body slumped and the events of today came crashing back onto him. He laughs, feeling the tears of his face mix with the water dripping from his hair.

He did have a party today and he did fuck up today. Majorly. The heels of his palms dig into his eyes as his body jerks, unable to keep up with his sobbing.

His roommate panics, “Did I say something wrong?”

Through what feels like a torturous hour, Miguel tells Peter what happens.

He was devastated.

It’s like a punch in the gut to repeat the words you said to him. They were like a betrayal, salt to the wound that was the finicky air between you both. He should have done more to communicate with you but instead he was leaving things up for chance.

You didn’t leave room for if’s or maybe’s and he stood there like a bumbling idiot, fighting to have you hear him.

On top of that, today was still his birthday. The party that one of his oldest friends gave to him sucked. A pack of gum would have been a better gift and for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why Xina did this.

Through this same hour, Miguel can’t stop crying. He can’t stop thinking about you and he wants to tear his heart out.

It’s not until his head hits his pillow that he has serenity, body tired from the day.

He thinks he’s called your number over seventy times. After the tenth call, the line didn’t connect. By the twentieth, there was only one ring and an automated tone.

By the thirtieth call, he’s trying not to freak out. By the fortieth call, he’s checking instagram to reach you there, but of course, you’re nowhere to be found.

By the fiftieth call, he’s sending message after message to the brick wall that is your number. At sixty, he’s considering digging up your school email from last year.

At call seventy-one, he’s wondering if carrier pigeons still exist.

It’s almost noon and Peter threatened to put his phone in a box if he didn’t stop trying to call you. Miguel hasn’t really moved since last night, not because it hurts, but because the warmth of the bed still felt like you were with him.

He hasn’t gotten up to eat or workout which is not the norm. He wasn’t hungry and his limbs felt extremely heavy.

Peter left to go find him something quick and easy, but Miguel isn’t sure if would be able to stomach it.

His phone buzzes, and a small part of him perks up hoping that it’s you.

Gabriel’s picture lights up the screen, a silly photo of him with his crooked goggles on inside of the water. The hope in him dies a little more.

He presses the green button and buries himself further into the sheets.

“What is up! I’m guessing you had a wild night last night since you didn’t call anybody.”

“I-“

“But before you tell me everything, I’ve got to catch you up. First of all, a squirrel stole my Aki-way sandwich. I knew Alvin and his brothers were giving their species a run for their money, but what did he say fuck me for? Then, it’s been a freaky ass club trying to get me to join in on their sexcapades. Dana said I could have eye candy, but the people in there honestly give me the heebie jeebies. Oh! I am now a godfather to several tiny doodles. My roommate’s dog unfortunately went on the prowl.”

Gabriel paused.

“Miguel, what’s wrong? You haven’t given your obligatory one to two sentences to break up my yapping.”

“Break up.”

“What?”

“She. She broke up with me.”

The silence was so long that when Gabriel started laughing, Miguel’s nerves jumped in his skin.

“That is actually so funny, like seriously. You got me,” Gabriel focuses the blurry screen back onto his face. “Are you crying?”

Miguel dropped the phone on his bed and sat up, bringing the collar over his shirt over his eyes and back down.

“Miguel, I thought you were joking. Please tell me you’re joking. This isn’t haha funny.”

“Why would I ever joke about this?” Miguel picked the phone back up, voice raw.

“Well, what happened? I don’t understand! You were so excited to see her yesterday. And- and you guys just had your anniversary.”

“I know that. God, I-I know that.”

“And I’ve never seen you this head-over-heels for anybody, not even for that girl that entertained you for like a week in high school. Did you do something?”

“Gabriel, please let me talk.”

His brother made a face as if milliseconds were too long of a time to think.

“This semester has been tough on both of us and we, no I, haven’t been making time to see her. It’s either studying or class or something else that gets in the way.”

“That’s not enough to warrant a break up. You’re not that shallow and neither is she.”

“She thinks I cheated on her.”

Gabriel sits up and tilts his head with a frown, “Huge bomb to drop out of nowhere. She’s all you can talk about sometimes, as in you can’t think about anything else besides her. And if school is causing you guys to not meet up, when do you have time to cheat?”

“I don’t! Even if I were to be in an alternate world where I’m this sleazy, terrible boyfriend, I wouldn’t have time. I go to the gym, I go to class, I go to the library, I go to my dorm. It’s because Xina is always-“

“Pause,” Gabriel put a hand to the screen. “Stop the fucking music.”

“What.”

“What do you mean Xina?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?”

“Xina. As in the one who kicked me out of your room when we were younger?”

“Yes.”

“As in the one who didn’t give you the time of day for years, but became friendly once you beat her highest test scores.”

“Yes.”

“As in the one who completely flipped the dynamic of your friend group.”

“That’s-“ Miguel falters, but Gabriel keeps going.

“The one who was at our house constantly, especially when she found out that your dad owns the biggest tech company ever.”

“She didn’t-“

“The one who mom conveniently likes.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“The one who’s been pining after you for years.”

“No, she has not. Why do people keep saying that?”

Gabriel barked out a laugh again, harsh. “Miguel, I love you, but you can’t be this much of a dumbass.”

Miguel clicked his teeth as Gabriel continued, over this conversation.

“Do you see the connection I’m making here? Or should I spell it out further. Because it’s so clear to me what’s happening and you don’t even have to finish the story.”

“The story is that my girlfriend just dumped me because she thinks that I’m cheating on her with Xina-“

“But why, Miguel? Why does she think that?”

“I,” he takes a breath and thinks back to what you told him while you were hurt, vulnerable on this same bed. “I have been spending a lot of time with her, but only because we share classes. And because she’s my friend. I don’t want to be with her.”

“Does Xina know that?”

“Of course she knows she’s my friend. I have no reason to not be her friend.”

Gabriel made a noncommittal noise.

“What the fuck does that mean, Gabriel?”

“Don’t get pissed off at me because I’m not gonna coddle you for being an idiot.”

Miguel wanted to end the call, but he knows it’s only going to rile Gabriel up more.

“It’s so blatantly obvious that Xina likes you. Not as a friend, but as someone to date, whether it’s superficial or not. I’m not sure how you went so long without noticing, but here we are. Every time you’re with her, you entertain her, and now that you have, shit, had a girlfriend, she’s realizing that it’s too late.”

The knot that was lodged in his throat earlier was unfurling. Maybe it’ll finally come up, but he’s not sure as what yet.

“I made it clear that I,” the words get gargled in and thrown back out, “had a a girlfriend. And even when I didn’t have one, Xina never gave me exact words-”

“Oh my god, Miguel. She didn’t have to! You’re friendly, you’re considerate, you’re caring, and she’s used that to her advantage. Please, open your eyes.”

It’s not that he didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to believe that someone he knew for this long would hurt him in this way.

“She was with me every chance she got. In classes or studying or going to the gym or just relaxing.” Purposefully taking his time.

“Out of everyone I introduced her to, she was only weird to my girlfriend.” When she wasn’t the center of his attention.

“She took my phone-”

“Crazy work, by the way. The phone and the weirdness.” Gabriel chimed in.

“-to silence my notifications, to block my girlfriend’s number. And I didn’t realize it, because I trusted her.”

“And that makes a lot more sense,” Gabriel laid down in his bed, face as stern as his mom’s. “Glad we got here. So what are you going to do now?”

He didn’t even mention what Andrew told him, about how he mistook his friend for something more. Is that how others saw them when they were walking around campus too?

Is this how you felt when you saw his phone?

Miguel sat up and hung his legs over the bed, “I want to puke.”

“Hold it in, big boy. This isn’t a marathon.”

“It feels like it.”

Miguel snatched his phone and went to the bathroom, stomach rolling like converse in a dryer.

“You need to find a way to talk to everyone, especially your girl. You need to explain yourself and the situation,” Gabriel’s voice echoed off the tiles. “You’re good at talking, no matter how long it takes you to realize things.”

He chuckled listening to his brother, sliding to floor. The room was hot and saliva was building on his tongue.

“I don’t think she wants to see me.”

“Maybe give it a week? Try the middle of the week if you can’t wait that long.”

He doesn’t know how he can reach you besides showing up outside of your door or your class. Isn’t that creepy?

Maybe he can catch you in the cafe.

“Gabri?”

“Yeah, Mig?”

The noise from his throat enters the air before his words do. All he sees is the white of the toilet and the fuzzy brown of the hamburger bath mat Peter insisted on buying.

“I didn’t think you were serious!” Gabriel shouts over his gagging.

Nothing was even coming up, just bile and the buildup of his feelings since yesterday.

“I’m turning you down,” Miguel can feel Gabriel grimacing without even looking at him. “You’re really lovesick. What are you going to do when you guys get married?”

His stomach lurched again.

“Will I even make it that far?” An image of you at the alter flashed by, and when he lifts the veil, the look on your eyes as you stood in this bathroom is painted on your face.

You might leave him at the alter. Forget the alter, you might not ever look at him again.

He coughed and heaved over the bowl.

“I hope you don’t do this when you actually talk to her, Miguel.”

“Shut. Up.”

In the brightly lit bathroom laid out on the floor is how Peter found him. By this point, Gabriel was practicing his instrument under the guise of calming Miguel down.

He leans over him with his hands on his hips, “Don’t tell me you got into my Twisted Teas without me.”

Gabriel paused his music to let out a sharp laugh.

“No,” Miguel groaned and put an arm over his head.

“He’s been crashing out for the past forty, almost fifty, minutes,” Gabriel says. “But now that you’re here, I’m gonna clock out. Let me know what you decide to do Miguel.”

Peter holds a bag up and smiles, “How does some warm, yummy potato soup sound?”

Miguel bolts up and gags.

“Not a fan favorite, I see.”

By Sunday, he’s able to get up with heavy eyes do some light walking around the park, the autumn sun a nice change of scenery.

He wonders how you’re faring.

A part of him hopes you’re not like him: sick, exhausted, and aimless. Another part of him, as crazy as it is, wishes for you to yearn for him as much as he’s yearning for you, to feel what he’s feeling, to care as much as he does.

He’s seeing you everywhere.

In the leftover box of cookies left on his desk, he thinks about how much time you could have spent on writing the messages.

In the figure of you both showcasing a night where you looked at him an aura of comfort.

In the brown bear keychain on his backpack that mocks him.

In the stickers on water bottle that he picks at while he walks.

In the lockscreen of you that he took of you as you were laid under him. You were in his hoodie, under his blanket, and staring up at him like he was giving you the world.

Perhaps he hit his head somewhere between Friday to today.

His throat is still throbbing from the crying, from running out after you in the chilled night without his keycard, but his head is clearer.

Now, he’s ready to think about how to approach you.

By Tuesday, everything seems to be blurring together. The only thing that has stayed consistent is the gym.

The gym gives him peace in a way that the right corner of his dorm doesn’t. It doesn’t change, only giving to him what he gives to it.

Maybe that’s what happened with you and him. You’re only giving him the pain that he gave to you.

He doesn’t want to go to class, but he can’t afford to not go.

So he drags himself to the computer lab.

Sitting down, he tries to think about what he wants to say, rolling the words over in his head.

“Miguel!”

Irritated is the first feeling that sits within him and the smell of that nutty sweet vanilla wasn’t helping.

“Dude? All of a sudden you don’t answer your phone?”

“You would know a lot about that, huh?”

Xina laughs and shakes the mouse at her computer, “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t have the patience for you to act like everything is ok.”

“I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about. Did you do some extra partying without me?”

“Xina,” Miguel turned to her, eyes tired. She was wearing another bright set today and the words that Gabriel, Tempest, Lyla, and Winston were telling him echoed through his mind. “What was the point of the ‘party’ you threw for me?”

“You’re upset over that? A simple college party?”

“That’s not what that was. You didn’t throw that for me. So please tell me why you’ve gone so far as to push my girlfriend away?”

“What?” Xina’s face switched like a light. “You must be joking.”

“Xina, I know you went in my phone and blocked her number. Why did you that?”

He’s giving her the floor to answer. To tell the truth.

“Of course this is about her. I, I just can’t”

“You-you can’t what, Xina?” the pitch of his words match her, head shaking incredulously.

“I can’t believe one girl is about to ruin an almost two-decade friendship because she can’t stand the fact that you have friends that are also girls.”

“You’re not serious.”

“No, you,” she points a nail at him, “are not serious. This is so fucked.”

“What’s fucked is that you’re avoiding my question, when all signs lead back to you.”

She stares at him, lips tight, “And you’re sure of it.”

“Who else would it be?” he motions to the space around him, “We’ve been tied at the hip this entire semester.”

“So this is seriously happening. Right here. Of all places.”

“You don’t get it, Xina. All of these years, I was the one who defended you. When everyone told me to leave you alone, I stayed by your side because I knew the real you. This,” he moves his hands up and down, “is not you.”

The face that Xina wears sours. For a second, Miguel wonders if, even in this situation, he was still wrong.

“So why aren’t you fighting for me anymore?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper. “Miguel-”

“I’m not going to fight for someone who is willing to hurt me in this way. I’m not fighting for someone who won’t even give me the truth when I’m begging for it.”

She pats at her cheeks, a useless action to stop the tears that start to hit her sweater. Her eyes find Miguel’s and she searches for something, anything, but his face is still.

“Understood.”

Just as quickly as she came in, she left.

Once again, Miguel was left questioning what he did.

divider by: cafekitsune + adornedwithlight + strangergraphics 🩵

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[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen**

Ezra part two

Ezra’s chapter finished second in the poll about who should return to the bakery, and it made me so happy. I'd never written Ezra before and he was a challenge! But the story came together well with the help of his language and personality. But it was also sadder than I planned it to be, and I really wanted to revisit him and continue the story. So please enjoy part two!

(I'm editing and posting this in slightly more unconventional circumstances, so please excuse any errors!)

With a sigh you lock the front door of the bakery and flip the ‘Closed’ sign to face outwards. It had been a long weekend, lots of customers, and not all of them very polite. And to make matters worse, your shop assistant, the high schooler who’d worked extra on weekends, had been accepted at the last minute into their first college of choice and this was your first weekend without them. You’re exhausted and looking forward to your day off tomorrow.

The knock on the back door makes you jump just as you turn off the lights in the shop. Cautiously you walk to the back room and stop by the door.

“Hello?”

“It-it’s me, Ezra,” comes a muffled voice in a stutter from the outside, “P-please…I..”

You don’t need to hear more, you rush to the door and unlock it, throwing it open and the man on the other side almost loses his balance, propped up against the door frame. His appearance makes you gasp, reaching out to steady him as he wobbles. The stark blonde patch in his hair is plastered against his forehead, stained with blood from the cut just above his eyebrow, another cut marks his cheekbone, a bruise already blooming around it. From the way he’s curled his arm around his torso, you can tell something’s hurting his chest.

“Ezra, what happened?” you wince, helping him to step through the door, his face twisting in pain as he puts weight on his left foot.

He only grunts in response to your question, inhaling sharply as you carefully try to take his weight.

“Lean on me, let’s get you to the chair, I’ll call an ambulance, it’ll be ok,” you say, making him lean on you as much as you can as he hobbles into the kitchen and sinks down on the chair with a groan.

“No, no ambulance, I am not that badly off,” he says, shaking his head as you pull over the stool on wheels and make him put his injured leg up onto it.

“What happened, Ezra?” you ask again, sinking down to get a better look at him. He’s pale under his golden complexion, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

“It’s nothing, no matter, I just need to-,” he says, but even as he says it, he closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose, his hand tightening over his chest.

“Ezra,” you implore again, putting your hand on his uninjured leg, “you’ve turned up, injured and bloody, weeks after you disappeared, and you try to tell me it’s nothing? Do you think I’m that stupid?”

With that he peels his eyes open and looks down at you, and the pain in his eyes almost makes your heart stop.

“Ezra…” you implore again, softer this time, “be honest with me, I want to help, you know that.”

“I’m…I’m ashamed…” he whispers, his eyes falling to your hand on his leg, “you know what I am. I know I left you without explanation last time, after you were so kind to me. And here I am, needing your help again, because I have no one else to turn to.”

“Just tell me what happened, please, Ezra,” you say, “let me help.”

“I…I’ve…some men…” he begins, his eyes still on your hand on his leg, “I’d fallen asleep on the bus stop bench, and some men seemed to take offense,” he looks up at you, and you’re suddenly reminded of the mask Ezra is so skilled at pulling up over his true face, it’s firmly in place now, his hesitancy gone as he picks his words.

“They decided to make me leave by shoving me off the bench, and I twisted my ankle as I fell. When I couldn’t get up they roughed me up, threw me in a dumpster when they were done. I hurt my side trying to get out of it, fell badly when my foot gave up,” he gives you a humorless laugh, “Turns out climbing out of a dumpster with only one good arm and leg is rather tricky.”

“Ezra…that’s terrible, we need to get you to the ER, they need to check your chest, you may have broken ribs,” you make to stand up but his hand comes out and grabs yours before it leaves his leg.

“No, please, no, it’s not necessary,” he says, squeezing your hand, “I just need to clean the cuts and, if you have one, a bandage for my ankle so that I can at least stand on it while I make my way home.”

“You need to get your ribs checked, Ezra,” you reply, not taking a no from him, “and you might need stitches on the cut over your eye, it looks deep. Please,” you add as you see him shake his head again.

“Sweet girl, I can’t, please just let me get cleaned up and I’ll leave, I won’t impose on you again.”

“Ezra, you’re not imposing, except with your stubbornness, I’m taking you to the ER and that’s it. I’m not letting you leave without getting looked at by a professional.” You pull your hand from his and reach for your coat and he gives a forced little chuckle, smiling without mirth, his hand coming up as if to make a dismissive gesture in the air, but you stop him. .

“And don’t try that act with me, Ezra, I spent enough time with you last time to know when you’re lying, either to protect yourself or me.”

His hand falls back down, his shoulders slumping, “Your eagerness to help does you credit, but you don’t understand,” he says as you shrug into your coat.

He’s shaking his head, staring down at his solitary hand, picking at a fleck of blood on his stained pants, and you wait for him to press out the words. His words failing him in a way that is so far from his usual unstoppable stream that it makes you stop and look down at him with even more concern as he continues to pick at the blood.

“I…I simply don’t…I don’t have the…means, I just…can’t pay it,” he stutters, clenching his fist tight, his voice defeated, “I have no insurance…I don’t even have a valid driver’s license, they will not even let me in…” He doesn’t meet your eyes as you move closer to him, but he shakes his head again, his shoulders lifting up to his ears as the tension builds in his body, “No address.”

You sink down in front of the chair, taking his hand, stilling it against his leg, unraveling his fist as he sighs again.

“I’m as homeless as an alley cat, you see, sweet girl. I’m ashamed to say I have nothing, nothing to my name.” His voice is low, eyes downcast, and he doesn’t take your hand even though you wrap your fingers around it.

“I guessed,” you say, your voice low, trying to make him meet your eyes, “But you still need help, and I can take you to the clinic down by the church. They can check you out and get you more help, free if you need it,” you give his hand a squeeze, “Please, Ezra,” you implore, “let me help.”

You sit quietly next to the chair for a few seconds while Ezra seems to fight something inside him, his jaw ticking with the tension. With a small grunt, he finally gives you a short nod, his shoulders sinking down again, “You’re too good for this world, sweet girl,” he mutters, taking your hand properly and letting you help him to his feet.

“Not at all,” you reply, getting him to put his arm over your shoulder as you help him limp to the back door again, “but you’re my friend, and you need help whether you want to accept it or not. And I can be a lot more pigheaded than you.” The last you say with a smile in your voice as you help him down the back stairs. And it gets a small chuckle out of him before he winces at the pain.

You get him to sit in the back seat, his injured leg elevated as he grumbles about getting dirt in your car. Rolling your eyes in response, you strap yourself in and reverse out. Ezra shifts in the back, trying to get comfortable, in the rear view mirror you see him gently touch the cut over his eye that’s still bleeding.

“Would you recognise the men who did it?” you ask, looking back at the road.

“Maybe, but I’m not talking to the police,” Ezra replies, guessing what you’re thinking, “They don’t care about someone like me, I’m more likely to get into trouble for bringing their attention to my lack of address.”

“I was just thinking, maybe they make a habit of it, attacking sleeping people, they should be stopped.”

“Not by me, sweet girl, I don’t have enough fight left in me for that.”

You glance back at Ezra again, he never sounded so defeated the last time you saw him, and now he’s leaning his head against the window, staring into nothing, looking utterly forlorn.

Letting the subject rest, you drive in silence the rest of the short way to the clinic.

A nurse comes over as she spots you and Ezra coming through the door and soon he’s been told to lie back on a stretcher while you hover awkwardly nearby.

“Do you want me to wait outside?” you ask him as the nurse leaves to find the doctor on call for the evening.

“Only if you wish to,” he says, dropping his head back on the pillow and staring at the ceiling, “thank you for escorting me, but it’s not necessary to wait, I can manage on my own now. You should go home.”

“Ezra,” you hiss, keeping your voice low in the open room, only curtains separating his bed from his neighbors, “quit being such a pigheaded martyr, you’re such an idiot.”

His eyes snap to yours when he hears your anger, and you continue, “If I didn’t care about you I wouldn’t have opened the door in the first place, and I certainly wouldn’t have cried for a week after you disappeared the last time.”

His eyes widen at this and he opens his mouth to say something but you don’t let him.

“I’m staying. And you’re coming home with me when we’re done here. No arguments, so you can just hold that clever tongue of yours.”

Ezra closes his mouth and opens it again, meeting your glare with astonished eyes as he fumbles for a reply. But before he has time to compose himself, the curtain around the bed is pulled to the side and the doctor appears, followed by the nurse.

Ezra doesn’t protest any more as the doctor treats him. With a small bag of over the counter painkillers in your hand, and a crutch under his one arm, he slowly follows you back to the car without a word. Luckily no fractured rib, but a sprained ankle and a few strips of surgical tape over his two cuts is the tally of the beating, and you’re grateful it’s not worse. You’re even more grateful Ezra found his way back to you for help. You’ll be damned if you’ll let him go back to the streets, even if you have to shackle him to a radiator in your house. Ezra seems to realize this, and doesn’t say anything as you stop at a supermarket on the way home, and return to the car with a toothbrush and various other supplies he might need for his stay with you.

He doesn’t speak until you’ve closed the door behind the both of you and he’s hobbled into your living room. You put the painkillers on the coffee table and turn to help him sink down on the couch.

“Thank you. Truly,” he says, as you put a cushion under his leg, propping it up on the low table.

“Don’t fight it so much next time,” you tell him, “people are nice sometimes.” Straightening up you change the subject as your stomach rumbles, the time for talking is later, “Are you hungry?”

He nods, “Very.”

“I’ve got some leftover pasta sauce and bread, I’ll heat it up for us,” you say, leaving him on the couch. But it doesn’t take long before you hear him hobble after you into the kitchen, sitting down on one of the stools by the island.

“I apologize,” he says, “I was ashamed of showing you how pitiful my life is, both when we met last time, and today. I…I find it hard to accept help, I don’t want to burden anyone with my plight, it was my own foolishness who brought me to this low point. I should carry the consequences of my actions and not burden you with them.”

“Ezra…” you say softly, trying to keep any trace of pity out of your voice, “we all make bad choices, or just have a run of bad luck. Maybe next time I’m the one who needs help, and I hope someone is willing to give it then.”

He nods, but he still looks forlorn and you ache to put your arms around him, but you think he might see it as pity, so you give him a smile, and turn back to the stove.

“You should go back to the couch, Ezra,” you say, “put your leg up again, like the doctor said. I’ll bring you your food.”

“Will you join me on the couch for dinner?” he asks and it’s your turn to nod.

“Of course, I’m starving. Get comfortable, pick something to watch and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

When you return to the living room with two plates, Ezra has propped his leg up again and readily accepts a plate from you. Some nature documentary is playing on the tv and you gratefully sink down on your end of the couch and dig in. Ezra balances his plate on his lap and from the corner of your eye you can see him struggling with twisting the spaghetti onto his fork with his left hand. His eyebrows are pulled together in frustration and the fork clinks angrily against the plate.

You set down your own fork and leave for the kitchen, returning with a tray on legs, for having breakfast in bed.

“Here,” you say, putting it down and placing his plate on it, “Ask for help, Ezra.”

He gives you an indecipherable look, but you just return to your own plate, your attention on the rainforest birds on the tv.

“Thank you,” he says after a minute, looking over at you.

“You’re welcome,” you reply, giving him a quick smile that he returns, the first smile you’ve seen from him since he arrived back at the bakery.

The rest of the evening passes in companionable silence for the most part. You want to ask Ezra about where he’s been since you last saw him, how he’s been. You know why he didn’t return to the bakery, the other shop owners on the street certainly made it known that they didn’t trust him, and didn’t want him near. And you see now, even more clearly, how little value even Ezra places on himself.

I have nothing to give to anyone.

That’s what he’d written in his note to you, the day after his first visit. And it echoes in the back of your mind as you go over the events of the evening, stealing looks at Ezra sitting in the other corner of your couch.

He came back to the bakery when he was injured, but it seems even that had been a hard task for him, to ask for help, and then very reluctantly accepting it. He’d told you he lost his arm in a mining accident, but you don’t know if that was the true story or not. But whatever the truth is, you’re starting to understand the strange dark haired man with the odd blonde patch, a little bit better. He must’ve been fiercely independent before he lost his arm, capable, his skill matching his sharp intellect. And strong, if the shape of his wide shoulders and broad back is anything to go by. You can still remember how his muscles flexed and bunched under your exploring hands when he’d kissed you in the kitchen, a strength that hadn’t diminished when he lost his arm.

To lose that independence, and then his home, to be reduced to relying on others for help, even with the simplest things, it could turn any person bitter. And yet, the Ezra you met in the bakery, as wary as you’d been of him at first, had been warm and passionate, tender and gentle even. The mask he’d let slip while you baked together, had revealed a man you could fall in love with, even with the circumstances of his life twisting the person he showed the world.

You give him another look, his strong profile lit by the tv, his chocolate hair and beard longer and scruffier than before, more streaks of gray and the bags under his eyes heavy. But underneath the layers of grime, the stress of his life, he’s still a handsome man, albeit a little bit dirty right now. But that’s a problem for tomorrow you decide.

With a yawn you stretch and get to your feet, picking up the plates.

“I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket,” you say, “I left a new toothbrush in the bathroom, and a clean towel.”

“I can’t stay,” he says, predictably, and you ignore him, going back to the kitchen to put the plates in the dishwasher, turning it on before you return to the living room. Ezra is standing by the couch, the crutch under his arm.

“You’re staying, Ezra,” you interrupt him before he can protest, “You’re injured, and quite frankly, you’re dirty. Sleep here tonight, wash up in the morning, and then we’ll see.”

“Sweet girl…I can’t let you…” he begins but you shake your head.

“Do you think so little of me? That you think I’d let anyone, let alone an injured friend, sleep rough on the streets?”

Ezra looks back at your raised eyebrows and challenging look.

“Well?” you ask, “Do you think I’m that kind of friend?”

“No,” he says eventually, a small, exasperated smile, softening his face, “I know you’re not that kind of friend.”

“Good. Toothbrush and towel in the bathroom, go clean up, I’ll make your bed,” you point your finger in the direction of the bathroom and give him a stern look, softened by a crooked smile that Ezra returns.

“Yes, boss,” he says, and hobbles away.

Ezra beds down on the couch and you make sure his leg is propped up by a couple of extra cushions before you retreat to your own bed. You can hear him shifting on the couch, the old thing creaking under his weight, before you drift into sleep.

A loud crash startles you from your dreams hours later, early morning light coming through your curtains, and you shoot up in bed.

“Ezra?” you call out, scrambling out of bed, wrapping your gown around you as you hurry out of your bedroom. You find him by the open front door, cursing silently as he struggles to pick up the crutch from the floor.

“You’re sneaking out,” you state, stopping as you see him straightening up, the crutch still on the floor, his hand on the wall for balance.

“I’m afraid I have to depart, a pressing matter requires my swift attention this morning,” he replies, and oh, the mask is so clearly in place, the polite, apologetic smile, hiding the real man.

“What kind of pressing matter?” you ask, “Let me get dressed and I’ll drive you,” you challenge, crossing your arms and challenging him to just fucking dare to lie to you again.

“No, I can’t let you do that,” he smiles, wider now, even more apologetic, “I must converge with a most disagreeable drifter, a small matter of business I have with him that needs to be settled, I truly do not wish you to meet him. Such a rough, uncouth-”

“Ezra…” you say, your voice a warning, as you bend to pick up the crutch, holding out of his reach. It’s a dirty trick but he won’t get far without it.

“I assure you, sweet girl, I really need to depart, it would not be fortunate for you, or your excellent business, to be seen around town with myself, or this disagreeable man. I can’t bring this misfortune down on you after you’ve treated me with such kindness,” Ezra tilts his head, looking up at you through his dark eyelashes, the ringmaster at work, using his words to bend the audience to follow his ques, to believe his illusion.

You shake your head, and lean the crutch in a corner, away from him.

“You forget, Ezra, that you’ve bared more than you maybe intended to me, and I see what you’re trying to do,” you say, moving around him and closing the front door. “Your smooth lies don’t work on me anymore, I can see that mask you pull up whenever you try to bend me to your will.”

You stop in front of him, and he wavers, the smile, almost a leer, slips from his face. Carefully, as if he’s an animal you don’t want to spook, you bring your hand to his cheek, your thumb brushing across his scruffy beard.

“Ezra…you don’t need to fight so hard. Not with me.”

The mask is gone again, his determination to oppose your will melting away faster this time, and Ezra’s eyes fill with regret as he leans his face into your hand. You seek out his, hanging limp by his side and lace your fingers together, squeezing it lightly as you let him hold on to you for balance.

“I left you a note,” he whispers, “I’m truly grateful, I didn’t want to leave again without explanation.”

“What does it say?”

He sighs, closing his eyes briefly, “Same as I said last night, I don’t want to bring you more trouble, I have nothing to give, I don’t want to be a burden. And I know what you’ll say,” he looks up at you as he hears you inhale to berate him, “You don’t think I’m a burden, that I won’t bring you trouble. But I have not lived life honestly, and the people in this community know me as a trickster who cons them. It can only bring you trouble if they see you with me.”

“Have you stolen from them?” you ask, and he shakes his head.

“Not from them, no. But I have stolen in the past, and not only what I needed of food and clothes. And I conned them, used their good hearts against them, they will not pardon me and see me as favorably as you do, sweet girl.”

You caress his cheek again, “Maybe it wasn’t honest, but it’s not like you forced them to give you things, just like you didn’t force me to make you a soufflé. Even though I realize I was probably just a con to you too.”

Ezra drops his eyes from yours at that, looking away as he gives you a small nod.

“It was a con, at first, I have to admit it. I was hoping for a loaf or two of bread, maybe something sweet, but…the soufflé, it wasn’t a con, I promise.” He looks up at you again, your hand has slipped from his cheek, down to his shoulder, he’s so close you can smell the toothpaste and his unwashed clothes, the antiseptic from the bandage on his cheek and forehead. You remain silent to let him continue, to see if his mask comes up again, or if he tells the truth this time.

“I told you that you captivated me, and that’s the truth, I was watching you the first day I came into the shop, you were decorating a cake, your concentration palpable, you were clearly very skilled. And knew if I conned you, I couldn’t come back, so I bought a croissant…and I left.” Ezra gives you a small smile at the memory, “You wouldn’t even know, but that croissant…it bound me to you, it was that perfect. I couldn’t help but keep going back, to watch you work, to taste more of what you’d made. And then you noticed me, and I should’ve left, but it was too late, I had already made a plan to trick you, another kind of trick.”

“What kind of trick, Ezra?” you ask and he gives you the smallest of chuckles.

“The kind that let me spend more time with you, to let me be seen as something else than the sad, homeless drifter my life has turned me into.”

He sighs, letting go of your hand to drag his rough palm over his face, rubbing at his eyes, “I’ve thought since that perhaps it was the worst of ideas, that I tricked myself more than you. I let myself step into a bubble of what could’ve been, if I had been a very different man, build a fantasy in my head where you…never mind,” he cuts himself off, leaning on the wall for balance as you seek out his hand again, “I never conned you, and I wish things were very different.”

“Ezra, I missed you when you left, and I was hurt and confused by your note and what other people said about you,” you say, taking his hand in both of yours, “but I trust you, even if you don’t believe me, I trust you. And I want you to stay, at least until you’re better, please stay this time.”

“But your neighbors, your shop…” he begins and you step forward, pressing your lips to his, silencing him. He holds himself rigid for a beat, before you feel his lips part with a soft hum.

“Fuck ‘em,” you whisper against him, “Please, Ezra, just be selfish with me.”

You don’t let him answer, but you feel his arm move, circle around your waist and you take it as a capitulation as he pulls you a little bit closer.

The kiss doesn’t last long, just a mark to pick up where you left off the last time in the bakery. Instead you pull back from him after a little while, retrieve the crutch and lead him back to the living room. The note, Ezra’s lopsided, left handed scribble on it, sits on the coffee table next to his makeshift bed.

“Do I need to read it?” you ask and he shakes his head, taking the paper and crumpling it.

“No, I’ll stay, at least until you bid me to leave.”

“Not while you limp, you’re stuck with me for a while, con man.” The last part you say with a wink, teasing him, and you’re rewarded by the dimple appearing on his cheek as he smiles, his face transforming.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be stuck, sweet girl,” he winks back.

The morning passes easily, now that he’s decided not to leave as soon as you give him a chance. You make breakfast, stacking the bacon high on his plate, an extra fried egg with the bread and mushrooms, three sausages on the side and a large glass of orange juice.

“Sweet girl, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you stopped me from leaving just to give me a heart attack instead,” Ezra says, eyes bulging as you set the plates down on the coffee table in front of him.

“No offense, but you look like you haven’t been eating that well. Let me spoil you while I can,” you reply, sitting down in front of your own, smaller, serving.

"You’re not mistaken, and no offense taken, it has been a few arduous months,” he says while cutting into the food, humming in satisfaction as the yolk smears the bread. It’s the last you hear from him for a while, the food takes all his attention as he works his way the whole plate, even the extra mushrooms and bacon you slide over. Eventually he leans back, balancing a fresh mug of coffee on his belly, letting out a deep sigh.

“I fear I may burst if I eat another bite,” he huffs, his little tummy expanding as he takes a deep breath, “As usual, you’re too good to me, cream puff.”

“I told you, enough with the baking related pet names,” you laugh, leaning back with your own coffee. “I think we agreed on ‘honey’ last time, but I like ‘sweet girl’ too.”

“Sweet as honey,” Ezra smiles, “such a delectable name for the most captivating of women, for someone with such compassion for the most miserable, unfortunate man. Although…” he tilts his head so that he can look over at where you’re curled up on the couch, “perhaps I’m not so unfortunate, I count myself the luckiest man to have wandered into your particular bakery and then even to be allowed to call you ‘friend’.” His smile is soft, “How did a wretch like me stumble into such fortune?”

“There is that charmer that stole my heart,” you smile back at him, “I’ve missed you, Ezra.”

“I did not want to leave you last time, but you understand now why I told you the illusion had to break?” He puts his mug on the table and takes your hand across the couch as you scooch closer to him.

“I understand, but I hope you know now, that you don’t have to leave, and I don’t want you too… however…” you trail off, as the smell of his unwashed clothes reaches your nose again, “you need to shower, and change…”

Ezra looks down at his clothes and frowns, “I have nothing to change into, but I do agree that these old breeches are somewhat on the smelly side. The rogues that roughed me up made off with my bag and the clothes within.”

“Ezra, you should’ve said, we could’ve bought you something yesterday,” you say, pushing off the couch and going to the hallway closet that holds your winter jackets, “I’ve got an old oversized sweatshirt, a relic from an ex, if you don’t mind?” You hold up the sweater and Ezra shrugs.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, if it fits, I will gladly wear it.”

“I’ll put your clothes in the wash,” you dig deeper in the closet, “these will probably fit, my brother’s old shorts, they’ve got paint stains from when we painted the bedroom, but they’re clean, I promise.”

Ezra accepts the clothes and retreats to the bathroom as you clear up the breakfast. You hear him run a bath, and even the satisfied groan as he sinks into it, making you smile as you load the dishwasher. But the disgruntled growl doesn’t sound good a few minutes later so you gently tap on the closed door.

“You ok, Ezra?” you ask and a grumble floats through the door as something clatters to the floor.

“I find that washing my hair, which it is in dire need of, is impossible with the way this bruise seems determined to burn a hole in my side. I can’t lift my arm high enough. And I only have one of those, as you know.”

“Can I help? Are you decent?”

“Sweet girl, I have no concerns about being decent in front of you,” he huffs, “You’ve already been privy to my very lowest state. Besides, your bubble bath really is very efficient.”

The last thing he says with a chuckle and you open the door. You’re met with Ezra laying back, no, Ezra laying back in resplendence, in your bathtub, all but covered by bubbles and a satisfied grin on his face.

“This bathtub really is a most colossal feature, I feel like I could go for a swim,” he smiles up at you as you bend to pick up the shampoo bottle from the floor.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it, it’s half the reason I bought the house,” you say, sinking down behind him, “Can’t believe you got me washing your hair too, Ezra,” you mutter, but there’s no venom and Ezra hears the smile in your voice.

“I’ll repay the favor tenfold once I’m all healed up again, honey,” he says and scoots forward, giving you free access to his dark curls.

He’s like a cat, all but purring as you scrub his hair, letting your nails drag across scalp, rinsing it out once and giving it another wash. As you massage his head he closes his eyes and breathes deeply, you’re certain he’ll start snoring any second, and you gently tap his shoulder for him to sit up for a second rinse.

“Conditioner, sir?” you ask him with a teasing tone, as he moans.

Ezra opens one eye and looks up at you, “Are you mocking me, baker girl?”

“Only your obvious attraction to the skill of my hands, your moans are loud enough for the neighbors to hear.”

“Oh, I’ve always been attracted to the skill of your hands, in more ways than one, and I’m sure I can think of other uses for them too,” he winks and closes his eye again, leaving you with burning cheeks as his double entendre makes heat rise in your body.

As you rinse the conditioner from his hair you brush it back from his forehead, running your fingers through the blonde patch, stark white now that it’s properly clean. On impulse you bend down and place a kiss to it as you move to get up.

“All done, sir, enjoy the rest of your bath now.”

His hand comes up and grabs your wrist, surprisingly fast for someone right handed using their left, and he pulls you back down.

“Thank you,” he says in a low voice, bringing you close enough for him to reach up and return your kiss, warm lips pressed against yours for a moment.

“Anytime, Ezra,” you reply when he pulls back a little, your voice barely a whisper. You lock eyes for a few seconds, Ezra’s chocolate brown darkening as he rubs his thumb over the thin skin of your wrist.

“Anytime, sweet girl,” he whispers back and lets you go.

You feel unsteady as you leave the bathroom, slowly letting out a long exhale as you go back to the living room, aimlessly tidying, moving three books from one end of the room and back again twice before you realize what you’re doing and give up. Slumping down on the couch you turn back to the nature documentary from last night and try to zone out, but it’s no use. As you hear Ezra come out of the bathroom you shoot up from the couch and head to the kitchen, doing what you always do to calm your mind; bake.

The rest of the day passes without any more heated moments between the two of you. Ezra rests his ankle and you feed him, he complains that he can’t help you in any way, but you shush him and prop an extra cushion under his leg. From the corner of your eye, you see the soft smile he gives you as you turn back to the kitchen.

When it’s time for dinner you join him on the couch for the Great British Bake Off, a show Ezra is well familiar with but he’s missed most of the past seasons so the evening ends with you going back through the seasons and starting over. Before you know it, you’re lying down, your toes tucked in under Ezra’s warm leg while he absentmindedly strokes small circles on your calf. The whole scene is so domestic, he looks calm, more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. His whole face transforms as he laughs at the tv, looking over at you to see if you’re laughing too. And you are, but mostly because it feels good to see Ezra so comfortable and content.

When it’s time for bed, you scoot over and kiss his scruffy cheek, smelling your shampoo on him.

“Sleep tight, Ezra,” you mumble, relishing the soft touch of his beard against your lips.

“Sweet dreams, sweet girl,” he mumbles back, giving your leg an extra squeeze, “Do you want me to leave in the morning?”

“Not even a little bit, stay.”

“Then I won’t attempt to slip out unnoticed again,” he says, a crooked little smile at you as you straighten up.

“Please don’t, waking up when something goes bang in the night is not my favorite way of waking up,” you say, “Night, Ezra.”

He does stay, the next day and the next and the one after that. You go back to the bakery on the second day, leaving Ezra sleeping on the couch and come back to find him making dinner, wobbling one foot, chopping a stubborn onion with his left hand. The next day he’s done all the dishes and made your kitchen spotless. You berate him for not resting his ankle but he just shrugs and smiles, his soft southern lilt becoming more pronounced as he tries to charm you into believing that his foot is all better now. When you scold him, he gives you the most insincere puppy eyes, mischief lurking just under the surface until you crack and smack his arm and laugh at him. You almost kiss him, his infectious chuckle, the way his dimple appears as his eyes crinkle. The evenings end like the ones before, tucked in on the couch with The Great British Bake Off, but on the third evening you yawn widely and he pulls you in, his strength no match for yours.

“Rest your weary head on my leg, sweet girl,” he says, putting a cushion propped up against his thigh, “don’t stay so far away.”

You do as he says, and he pulls the quilt down over you and rests his hand on your arm. His slow movements, calloused fingers softly gliding up and down over the quilt, lulls you to sleep and it’s not until Ezra gently shakes you, that you blink awake to the end of the episode, and you stumble to bed after kissing his cheek.

The next day you come home to find Ezra packed up, what little he has, in a plastic bag by the door.

“I reckon I’ve imposed on you long enough, sweet girl,” he says as you question him, “I still limp, but I can walk now.”

“You’re not imposing, Ez, you know that,” you reply, putting down your shopping and stopping in front of him on the couch as he gets to his feet, “I want you to stay for as long as you want.”

He is moving a lot better, you can’t deny that, but the cuts and the bruises are still visible on his cheek and forehead. The bigger bruise on his torso has faded into yellows and greens and doesn’t seem to pain him anymore.

“And besides, where would you go?” you ask. You don’t want to be unkind, but pointing out the obvious flaw in his plan of just leaving seems logical. “Stay here at least until you have a place of your own, you know I won’t let you leave just to sleep in a shelter or in a car.”

“Sweet girl, how long would that endeavor not take me? I have no employment, no money to my name, and without it, I have no choice but to find improvised shelter. And finding a job without an address is not easy, finding a job for a one-armed man? Impossible.” He shakes his head and moves around you, “No, I’d rather leave now, and leave you missing my company than stay and have you tire of my disagreeable old face.”

As he limps towards the front door you feel the slow gears of your brain working until it clicks into place.

“Ezra! I have a job for you!”

He turns and looks back at you, a pitiful smile as he shakes his head.

“Do not make up a job for me. Your kind heart does you credit but I won’t accept any more charity from you, sweet girl.”

“It’s not a made up job, Ezra, I need help at the bakery,” you say, “The high school student who worked extra left for college last week, this weekend was my first without them and I hardly got any baking done. I can’t manage the bakery and the shop at the same time, especially not since I'm going into peak season with weddings and graduations. I need someone to work in the shop and you could do that, even one handed I’m sure.”

“I fear it would not do your business any good to have me at the front of your shop, or do you forget how I conned my way around the last time?” Ezra shakes his head again, turning towards the door to pick up his sad bag of belongings.

“And if there’s anyone who can charm his way back into their good books, it’s you!” you protest, yanking the bag out of his hand. “I need someone who can start tomorrow, someone who understands baking and the things I make, and who is as passionate about it as I am. You’re the perfect fit, Ezra!”

You take a step closer to him, putting your hand on his cheek. You haven’t touched since the kiss in the bathroom, it’s just been a comfortable closeness on the couch. He seems to have been holding back, not wanting to impose another layer of complications to the situation of a homeless man sleeping on your couch. You, on your hand, have been squashing your feelings and urges to touch him, not sure what he feels, if he even wants you close, he seemed so intent on leaving as soon as he could. But now you touch him, stepping over the thin line you’d both drawn, needing him to understand how much you want him to stay, not just for the bakery or out of pity for him.

And Ezra leans his head into your hand as you gently caress his cheek, the scruffy beard soft under your fingers, as he looks down at you, something shifting in him too as you come so close to him he can smell the cinnamon from the bakery in your hair.

“I want you to stay, Ezra. I missed you when you were gone, and I need you, not just in the bakery, but I need you in my life too, if you could let yourself believe that.”

“I’m a selfish man,” he mumbles, his hand coming up to rest on your waist, “I’ve been telling myself to not complicate your life, but if you offer it to me, I’ll take it.”

“Please, take it then, Ezra, I’m tired of trying to convince you that you’re worth something more, just take it, you-”

He cuts you off, his hand coming up to your cheek as his lips find yours, pushing you back against the wall with his body as your brain catches up, wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers finding purchase in his hair and kissing him back.

You sigh into his mouth when he makes you part your lips, claiming your tongue the same way you remember from the bakery, the feeling you’ve been dreaming about since he left. He groans softly, his hand slipping down from your neck and curling behind your back to hold you even closer.

“Tell me again, I want to hear you say it again, that you want me to stay,” he whispers, pulling back just a little and looking at you with his dark brown eyes, filled with need, darkening with lust as you press your mouth to his lips.

“Pigheaded fool,” you smile, “How many times do I have to say it? I want you to stay.”

His responding groan, his mouth opening to let you taste him, sends a sharp jolt of desire through your body. Turning off all rational parts of your mind, you reach behind you and take his hand, pulling him with you through the house. When lead him into your bedroom he falters, an uncharacteristic shyness, or maybe uncertainty, flashing across his face.

“Sweet girl…” he whispers as you pull him onto the bed, making him tumble over you as he loses his balance, “it’s…been so long.”

“Do you want to, Ezra?” you ask, as he holds himself over you on his one arm.

“Yes, very much, I have dreamed so many nights of taking you to bed,” he breathes, his voice low, laced with both trepidation and lust, “I just never surmised you would ever want me like this, and I’m not sure these old broken bones could ever give you the pleasure you deserve.”

“How about we try out your old broken bones and let me judge how much pleasure they give?” you tease him, running your hands down his back, still as broad and muscular as you remember. He chuckles at that, some of the tension slipping from his face as you continue to stroke his soft shirt, tangling your fingers in the curls at the back of his neck, and then back down to his waist again. He puts his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and you can feel his warm breath over your lips, a slow exhale as he relaxes under your palms.

When you slip your hands under the edge of his shirt and pull it off he hesitates, the stump of his arm has always been hidden by his clothes or the bubbles in the bathtub that one time, now you sense his unease again.

“Do you want to keep your shirt on?” you ask, letting go of the hem and resuming your path up and down his back.

“No, no I want to feel your skin against mine,” he mutters, “I’m just afraid…you might find it…repulsive.”

With gentle hands you take hold of his shirt again and push it up his torso, making him roll over onto his back as you pull it over his head, freeing both his arm and the scarred stump. Ezra watches you with dark eyes, apprehensive in a way you’ve never seen him before, watching your reaction as you lean down and place a soft kiss on the scar tissue that covers the end of his arm.

“I’m sorry you lost it, Ez, but I’m glad you’re still here,” you whisper, placing another kiss on the rough texture before his large, remaining, hand cups the back of your head and guides you up to his mouth, his hot tongue seeking yours.

Now it’s his turn to tug at your shirt and you slip it off, tossing it over the side of the bed, letting your bra go the same way. As you sit up, straddling his narrow hips, the apex of your thighs rubs over the growing hardness in his pants, he growls and grabs your hip, rolling his own up into you. You gasp and Ezra pulls himself upright, his eyes now fully dark, lust blown and all trace of hesitancy gone as he pulls your core down over his cock.

“Sweet girl, I’m determined to make you cry my name until your voice is hoarse,” he says, his voice rough and low with a layer of intensity you’ve never heard from him before, “I really have craved you so many nights, dreamt of having you unfold underneath me, make you moan so prettily in my ear again, like you did when I kissed you before.”

He cups your sex with his hand, bringing the heel down over your sensitive nerves, making you ride it through the denim of your jeans, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His mouth leaves heated, wet marks on your skin when he sucks bruises into your collar bone. Hand moving over the buttons, he peels down the zipper and you feel him slide down inside your pants, fingers meeting flesh as he ignores your underwear.

“What if I can make you cry ‘Ezra’ in that delicious moan, make you pant for me, with just my fingers buried in your cunt?” he growls, hot breath on your skin, “Will that prove me worthy of your devotion?”

“You-you…already a-are…” you gasp, his fingers slipping further down, thumb finding your swollen bundle of nerves, two of his thick fingers sliding deep inside and curling back. You feel him chuckle against your throat when you buck your hips, demanding more.

“Fuck, Ezra…” you moan, head tipping back, his beard scraping over your throat as he sucks another mark into the thin skin of your neck.

“Let me feel you fall, sweet girl,” he mutters, pulling back, his dark eyes finding yours half closed, blissed out, “So beautiful, captivating, my sweet girl.” He looks hungry, greedy, and he surges forward, seeking out your skin again. You feel his teeth nipping on the curve of your jaw as he curves his fingers deep inside you, finding a spot that sends stars through your veins. Your fingers dig into his broad shoulders, leaving fresh marks on his flesh as he brings you closer to the peak.

“My sweet girl,” he purrs, close to your ear, his thumb rubbing tight circles, “come for me, honey, I’ve got you.”

It topples you over, his dark voice tickling your mind into submission, your back arching, pushing down on his fingers as he brings you through it. You cry out his name, pant it into the dim room, and he licks his tongue over your sweat salt skin.

“Ezra…” you croak, dropping your head onto his shoulder as he slowly caresses your slick folds and pulls out, his sticky hand curving around your waist and landing on your back. It takes a few minutes for you to catch your breath, Ezra mumbles into your ear, his words wrapping around your brain, trapping them in the haze of your orgasm. When you turn your head and scrape your teeth over the thin skin of his neck, your tongue licking the edge of his ear, his breath hitches, interrupting his torrent of sweet nothings. Against your core you can feel his cock twitch, ignored and aching.

“Take your pants off,” he says, the command soft in his voice, “And take mine off too.”

It doesn’t take long for you to rid the both of you of the rest of your clothes. Ezra hisses as you pull his cock free, letting your hand stroke it, catching the weeping head with the pad of your thumb before you stand up.

“How do you want me, Ezra?” you ask, returning from the bathroom with a condom in your hand. He’s flat on his back, his hand slowly moving up and down his cock as he watches you walk naked across the room.

“On my lap, my symmetry is sorely lacking in balance, I fear I might give you a bloody nose if I was on top,” he smirks, moving himself to sit against the headboard, giving his thighs an invitational pat.

“Just admit it, you’re lazy,” you wink at him, “just want me to do all the work.”

He grabs your hip and pulls you down, his hard length pushed up against the soft swell of your belly, “Oh, sweet girl, if I had both my hands I’d trap you beneath me and not let you leave until you were a quivering mess, begging me to let you come,” he smirks, kissing you hard when you bend your head down to him.

He rolls his hips, giving friction to his cock pressed between you, and you feel him hiss into your mouth, groaning deep in his chest.

You push back and unwrap the condom, slipping it on while he watches your hands with dark eyes. When you rise up on your knees, his fingers dig into your hip, his teeth capturing his bottom lip, biting down hard with a groan as you position yourself. With one hand wrapped around his twitching length, the other on his shoulder for balance, you stroke the head through your slick folds, watching Ezra let go of his lip, an almost animal snarl escaping him.

“My sweet girl, honey…” he pants, opening his mouth to continue, but you sink down over him, squeezing his length, and he groans, a low rumbling pressed up through gritted teeth, head tipped back, eyes closed. You feel him buck his hips, his hand guiding your hip, as he tries to fuck up into you and you hold on to his shoulders with both hands, stroking down over his arms, caressing both his good side and the edge of what remains on the other.

Ezra curls his arm around your waist and pulls you down, bucking up again with another groan. He sits deep inside you, making sparks run through your veins, the feel of him giving you as much pleasure as his graveled groans and panting breath. .

“I’m not going to last,” he mumbles, biting his lip again, “I’m…you feel…f-feel so good.”

You roll your hips over him, your clit rubbing against the dark curls at the base, moaning as he bucks up, rubbing over something electric deep inside. The sight of his face tilted back, eyes half closed in bliss, as his arm sits like a vice around your waist, it brings you to the edge of your own climax much faster than anticipated. Your thighs are protesting, sweat drips down your back, and Ezra claims your mouth again, while you work yourself up and down over his slick cock.

He’s rambling, mumbling into your mouth between licks of his tongue, he’s getting messy, kissing the corner of your mouth, down your jaw, burying his face into the crook of your neck while he grinds against you. His teeth sink into your shoulder as he cries out, his body going rigid underneath you, a hoarse shout against your skin and your own climax explodes. You know you’re leaving marks on his skin, but you can’t let go, Ezra is rolling his hips up, pumping himself into you as best he can, pulling you down onto him.

As your muscles relax you feel him loosen his grip on you too, and you drop your head down on his shoulder, caressing his back, his arms, pressing slow kisses into his sweat damp skin.

“My sweet girl,” he mutters, kissing the mark he left on your shoulder, “my sweet, sweet girl,” heavy breaths still making his chest rise and fall as he pants.

You rake your fingers through his damp curls and lift yourself off him, helping him handle the condom and toss it. Ezra stretches out and you curl into his side, sighing deeply and closing your eyes.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch anymore,” you mumble into his chest, and you hear the chuckle rumble under you between deep breaths, still recovering.

“I’m sure we’ll figure out other usages for the couch if you intend to keep this up with my broken old bones,” he says, smiling, his eyes closed as he begins to caress what he can reach of your back.

You both lie in peaceful silence for a little while, your breathing returning to normal, and your bodies cooling down. When the air raises goosebumps on your skin, you pull the covers over you both, and Ezra makes you curl closer to him.

“You really don’t find it repulsive?” he asks after a while, and tilt your head to look up at him, you know what he’s referencing. His dark eyes are turned to you with a questioning look, the smallest hint of worry clouding his forehead.

“No, I really don’t,” you say, moving your hand so that you can caress the scars at the end of his severed arm, “It’s just skin, or proof that you’ve survived something very difficult, why would I find it repulsive? I’m very happy you survived it.

Ezra places his lips on your forehead, kissing you softly while his one good arm pulls you in tighter.

“Thank you.”

“There you go, Mrs Levinson, all set for the weekend, I envy your guests, you sure do spoil your grandchildren! But I know you would spoil me just as well if turned up on your doorstep like a stray dog.”

Ezra gives the elderly lady his warmest smile and a wink, mischief twinkling in his eye as she returns the wink.

“Ezra, you scoundrel,” she giggles, “you know you’re both always very welcome for dinner any day, and I’ll make sure to spoil you rotten.”

“Never would I be so uncouth as to impose such inconvenience on you, Mrs Levinson,” he replies, a hand on his chest in mock shock, “You should come to our house, I’ll cook my famous one armed bandit stew,” he grins and Mrs Levinson giggles again.

“Oh Ezra, you really do brighten my day, you’re such a treasure to have around,” she titters, collecting her shopping bags, “And I’ll be sure to take you up on that offer.”

“You’re too kind, Mrs Levinson, enjoy the rest of your day now, you hear!” he smiles as she gives him a wave and steps out through the front door.

Ezra turns and heads back into the kitchen, where you’re preparing the final batch of millionaire’s shortbread, sprinkling chopped peanuts over the melted chocolate.

“I may have invited Mrs Levinson for dinner,” he says, coming up behind you and wrapping his arm around your waist, “Said I’d make my stew.”

“I heard,” you reply, “your famous ‘one armed bandit stew’? You’re too much, Ez,” you laugh as Ezra chuckles.

“I did always have a flair for marketing,” he smirks, "maybe we should rename the bakery too, make it official.”

“Make it official that the scandalous baker and her ‘one armed bandit’ are in it for the long haul?” you ask, turning around so that you’re facing him and can see his warm smile as he looks down at you.

“Are we in it for the long haul, my sweet girl?” he replies, bending down to brush the strong curve of his nose across your check, pressing a small kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Well, it’s been two years, and you haven’t tried leaving again, so I think I finally made you realize I want you around,” you mumble as he nudges your head to the side to make better rooms for his kisses.

“You’re stuck with me now, sweet girl,” he mutters, “do you regret it?”

“Not even a little,” you sigh, tangling your fingers into his soft curls and he chuckles.

The bell over the door jingles and Ezra straightens up.

“Go on, Ez, go charm another customer into buying more than they need.”

“Yes, boss,” he smirks, pressing a final quick kiss to your lips before he hurries back into the shop.

“Good afternoon, ma’am, how may I help you on this most beautiful day?”

Part Fifteen

Specifically tagging my Ezra mentor @morallyinept !

 @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers  

[spnjediavenger]

It Won't Last Forever (Chapter 1)

Title: It Won’t Last Forever (Chapter 1)

Type: multi-chapter; father!Hotch x teen!daughter!reader, some bau x teen!reader (platonic!)

Warnings: canon-typical Criminal Minds sadness and/or violence, blood, light injury description

POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNINGS: panic attack description, flashbacks, alludes to PTSD, family death

Spoilers: S5 SPOILERS

Notes: I changed the end of the episode a bit. Sorrynotsorry.

The panic attack and PTSD description is a mix of my own experience and some I read online - this is not how ALL panic attacks and PTSD are experienced.

Y/n/n is a general nickname, N/n is going to be a nickname only Spencer uses for Y/n

Information creds at the end; I took some info verbatim to use in some of Spencer’s info dumps

As always, love and/or constructive/friendly criticism is welcome and encouraged!

Word count: 3,169

“Sometimes the loudest cries for help are silent.” Harlan Coben

The scene the team walked into wasn’t quite what they expected it would be. Hell, it wasn't what Hotch expected it would be. Not in the end anyway. He expected the blood on the floor. Even on the walls. But he thought he would walk in and find Foyet and be part of the final fight. What he didn’t expect was to find his daughter slightly beaten standing in the bedroom with a gun in her hands and Foyet dead on the floor - a bullet hole dead center in his forehead. 

Hotch quickly went to check that Jack was ok and send him out of the house with JJ before coming back to see his daughter. 

Y//n heard his movement and spun on her heel, gun pointed at him, eyes wild and body shaking.

“Y/n, honey, it’s me. It’s dad,” he said, holding his hands up in a calming manner. 

“Daddy?” she whispered shakily, body still trembling. 

“That’s right, sweetheart. It’s ok now. I need you to drop the gun, honey.” Hotch had tears running down his face from grief and he couldn’t hide that right now. But he also needed to talk Y/n down, who was clearly in shock. 

The girl’s eyes flicked down to the weapon in her hands and she began to shake more. She looked back up at her dad. “I worked the case, too. I… I had to… I couldn’t let him hurt Jack too…” she trailed off as she turned her head to the ground and saw her mother’s lifeless body laying there. 

“I know, honey. It’s ok. But I need you to drop the gun now, ok? It’s all over.”

She looked down at the gun again, to Foyet’s body, then her dad and finally dropped the gun. Hotch was quick to kick it away and pull his daughter into his arms, glad she was safe. Her arms stayed at her sides and she stared straight ahead into the hallway. Hotch pulled back and tried to look into her eyes but they were devoid of anything. He called Morgan back into the room and asked him to take Y/n outside to have her looked at and informed him that she was in shock. Hotch walked over to Haley’s body and Morgan put an arm around Y/n’s shoulders to lead her to the ambulance outside. 

Each member of the team watched her, ready to offer comfort and condolences but Y/n just stared empty ahead. They looked at each other, concerned, but chalked it up to her being in shock. Some might think this day would be the eye of the storm. But the storm was just getting started. 

Hotch did his best to be there for his kids through losing Haley while not neglecting his own feelings and need to cope. Jack was so young that he didn’t fully understand what was going on; Y/n, though, should have been showing signs of coping. Or even just feeling. But she didn’t. For a teenager who just lost her mother, she was surprisingly calm. Hotch hadn’t seen her cry once since her death. And frankly, he was concerned. He tried approaching her and getting her to talk but she just kept telling him she was fine. She put on a happier façade around Jack but Hotch could see right through it. The rest of his team, when they would visit, noticed too. They were all worried. 

One Saturday, Hotch had to go into work. Jack was over at a friend’s house and would be sleeping over so that would leave Y/n by herself. 

He stopped by her room and tapped his knuckles on her door. A very quiet ‘come in’ sounded and he opened the door to find the girl sitting in the window seat staring outside, arms hugging her knees to her chest. 

“Hey, sweetheart. The team and I have to go into work. Do you want to come with me? Say hi to everyone? They all miss you. Might be a good idea to get out of the house for a bit with Jack at his friend’s,” he suggested.

Y/n let out a sigh through her nose and reluctantly nodded. She grabbed a hoodie and her mini backpack. Hotch held an arm out and she let him wrap it around her shoulders and lead her to the car. 

The ride to the BAU was quiet and uncomfortable. Well, it was uncomfortable for Hotch anyway. He spared glances at Y/n as she stared blankly out the window as they drove, no emotion to her features. 

As they entered the bullpen, all eyes looked up and smiles appeared on everyone’s faces. 

“Heeey! What’s happening Y/n/n?” Morgan said, getting up and opening his arms for a hug. Y/n returned the hug to a bare minimum and remained quiet. 

“Hey, how’s it going Y/n?” Emily was next, rocking her a bit as they hugged. The girl shrugged and let Spencer hug her next. 

“I think I found the perfect book for you to read next,” he said. Y/n forced a half smile and nodded. 

JJ came up next but decided against saying anything, noticing her reactions, or rather, lack thereof. 

“Oh my goodness gracious did I hear that baby Hotchner is here?!” Penelope’s voice rang through the room. She ran over and practically crushed Y/n in her arms. “Why did no one tell me our favorite Hotchner was coming?! Oh uh, no offense, sir,” she added, looking at her boss. 

He gave a small, humored smile. “Non taken.”

Penelope looked back to Y/n and frowned. “Oh my sweetness. What’s going on? Talk to Auntie Penny.”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, then turned to her dad. “I’m gonna go to your office.”

“Alright, sweetheart.”

The team watched as she ascended the stairs, accepting a hug from Rossi as he came out of his own office, and shut herself in her dad’s. 

Morgan looked over to Hotch as Rossi came down. “She still isn’t saying anything?”

Hotch shook his head. 

“Have you tried taking her to therapy?” Rossi asked.

“She won’t even talk to me, Dave. Why would she talk to a stranger?”

“Because it’s not you. You should know that sometimes it’s hardest to open up to those you’re closest to.”

Hotch sighed. “I don’t think she’d take to the idea. She won’t even admit to anything being wrong.”

“Could she still be in shock?” Morgan offered.

“This far away from the trauma? It’s been a couple weeks - is that common?” JJ asked. 

“Typically, emotional shock lasts for minutes to days, but can last for weeks to months depending on the severity of the trauma. And considering there are multiple sources of trauma for Y/n that her mind is pulling from it’s actually not surprising that she’s still experiencing symptoms,” Reid came in with an info dump. 

“As much as I’m worried about Y/n, I’d like to get this case out of the way,” Hotch said, trying to change the subject. The others nodded slightly solemnly and got to work. 

A few hours into the visit, Y/n left her dad’s office to grab a snack. She passed the round table room and heard snippets of the team talking. 

“He may have the same mask but this man is nothing like Foyet.”

Y/n froze and almost tripped over her feet. Her breath caught in her throat and she shook her head to try and clear it. 

The movement caught Morgan’s attention and he tapped Hotch to stop his mention of Foyet. 

“You ok, kid?” Morgan called out to her. 

Snapping out of her thoughts, Y/n nodded. “Yeah, fine,” she said, and continued walking. The team shared looks but continued their work. 

Y/n bounced down the steps to the break room. She grabbed a glass from the counter and filled it with water and went to get a snack from one of the cabinets but the door was stuck. She groaned and gave a harder tug. With a bit too much momentum, the door flew open and the corner caught her under her eye. She gasped and dropped the glass, causing it to shatter on the ground. This caught the team’s attention from upstairs. 

The sting under her eye sent her back two weeks and suddenly Foyet was in front of her. 

“You weren’t the one I was figuring on fighting. But I’ll take it,” he smirked, punching her again. She fell to the ground, hands getting cut on the glass under her. But she didn’t notice. 

She kicked his knee, sending him to the ground with her. He grabbed his leg and she had the chance to get up. 

“Y/n.” That wasn’t Foyet’s voice. 

She grabbed the gun that had fallen out of her hands and pointed it at Foyet. He grabbed her legs and pulled them from under her. She gasped as her head hit the ground. 

Hotch tried grabbing Y/n’s flailing limbs to keep her from injuring herself further. He was trying to get through to her and get her to open her eyes but it was like she didn’t hear him. 

Y/n kicked her legs at him and landed one in the face. She took the moment to stand once more and shoot him square in the forehead. 

“Y/n!”

Y/n sucked in a deep breath as her eyes opened and she saw her father in front of her, his familiar grip on her wrists. 

“Daddy?” she whispered. Her body was shaking. 

Hotch swallowed the sob his body wanted to release at the familiarity of these events. “That’s right, sweetheart. It’s ok now.”

Y/n glanced around the room to remind herself where she was and saw blood on the ground. 

Haley’s body lay on the floor, blood seeping through her clothes from multiple gunshot wounds. She let out a broken gasp and moved away.

She jerked and tried to back away but Hotch kept his grip on her. She began hyperventilating. 

“Y/n, honey, everything is fine. That’s your blood, you cut your hands. You’re at the BAU.” He tried to keep his tone light but he was desperate to help his little girl. He didn’t know what to do.

“Hotch, maybe let me try?” Spencer spoke up. 

“She’s my daughter,” he defended. 

“Aaron, she needs someone who’s level-headed right now,” Rossi said. “Let the kid help.”

Hotch gave Spencer an apologetic look and nodded. Spencer hobbled over and carefully knelt down to Y/n’s level. 

“N/n, it’s Spencer,” he said gently. “I need you to look at me; can you do that, sweetheart?”

Y/n’s ears picked up on ‘N/n.’ Only one person ever called her that. Her wild eyes looked around until they landed on the youngest member of the BAU team. 

“Spencer,” she gasped, still hyperventilating. 

He smiled a bit. “That’s it. I need you to try and breathe for me ok? You’re having a panic attack. Can I help you move away from the glass?”

The girl nodded and Spencer guided her away and into a chair that Rossi had pulled out for her.

“Good job. Now, follow my breathing ok? Breath in for four, hold for four, let out for four.”

The girl nodded but as soon as she tried to take a deep breath, a sob came out making her practically choke on it. Hotch held a hand over his mouth and turned away, unable to stand seeing his daughter like this. 

Spencer rubbed Y/n’s back soothingly as she coughed. 

“Alright, that’s ok. Put your head between your knees instead. Putting your head below your heart will increase blood circulation to your brain and keep you from getting dizzy or passing-“

“Reid,” Morgan interrupted him, afraid his info dump would make things worse. 

“No,” Y/n whimpered. “Keep talking.” Listening to Reid talk was actually helping and giving her something else to focus on.

The boy nodded and kept guiding her actions as he continued talking, keeping a gentle tone instead of the usual teacher-like one his info dumps typically sported. “Morgan, grab some ice,” he said over his shoulder then turned back to Y/n. “Panic attacks are common for a number of psychological illnesses and can be connected to trauma. There are different types of attacks and I’m assuming this is situational-induced attack; these occur as a response to something specific and expected. They can happen in anticipation of a trigger or immediately after exposure to it. Triggers from traumatic events are quite common. Thanks, Morgan. Here, hold this. One way to stop panic attacks, especially when steadying your breathing is difficult, is to stimulate the senses. This works to interrupt the automatic reactions to the panic attack to snap the body out of the symptoms. Smelling something strong or holding ice are common methods and usually the most helpful. And one of the most important things to remember,” he added as he saw she finally began to relax, “is that while panic attacks may feel like they are never-ending, they usually peak within 10 minutes. It won’t last forever.”

“It won’t last forever,” she whispered after him. 

Spencer nodded and pushed some hair out of her face when she looked up. “It won’t last forever. You did great, N/n.”

The girl gave a small smile. It was the first real one Hotch had seen since before Haley died. He let out a relieved sigh and Rossi squeezed his shoulder. 

Spencer glanced at Hotch and looked back at Y/n. “Can you let your dad clean your hands and eye up, Y/n? Those need to be taken care of.”

The girl nodded and Spencer smiled and kissed her head as he stood to walk away. Hotch put a hand on his shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. A silent ‘thank you.’ Spencer patted Hotch’s shoulder and left the room. 

Y/n’s eyes drooped a bit as tiredness overtook her. The panic attack had drained a lot of her energy. Hotch let her sit in silence as he tended to her wounds, not missing the flinch when he first touched her eye. But he wouldn’t bring it up now. He now knew he couldn’t wait for her to be comfortable talking but he would at least wait until she had more energy.

After wrapping her hands and cleaning her eye, Hotch took Y/n home. The team was just about done for the day anyway and the others told him that Y/n was his main priority right now. He thanked them and left.

It was around dinner time when they arrived home so Hotch suggested Y/n get changed into some comfy clothes and take a nap while he ordered takeout. She wordlessly nodded and went to her room. Hotch sighed and grabbed his phone to get working on dinner.

When the food came, Hotch and Y/n ate in silence save for the TV in the background. Y/n seemed to be a little less tired but Hotch could tell she had a lot of things running through her mind. 

Once they finished eating and the dishes were taken care of, Hotch approached Y/n before she could retreat to her room.

“Honey? Can we talk please?”

Y/n looked at her father and saw hope in his eyes. But almost in a pleading way. She weighed her options in her head but soon gave a resigned sigh and nodded. She took her dad’s outstretched hand and let him lead her to the couch. Y/n hugged her legs to her chest and Hotch brought a leg up so he could face her.

“Y/n…you don’t have to share anything you don’t want to…I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. But sweetheart, you have to let something out. Anything. I was going to let things go until you weren’t in shock but after today I don’t feel comfortable considering that luxury anymore. We’ve all been through a lot and you’re no exception. Keeping things bottled up isn’t healthy. As much as I hate to see you upset, it’s worried me that you haven’t cried once. Please just tell me something, honey. No one can help you if you don’t let us in.”

As Hotch talked, Y/n could feel the slightest sting begin behind her eyes. In all honesty - she was worried about her lack of emotion too. But she didn’t have it in her to say anything about it. It took too much energy.

She let out another sigh and looked down at her hands. “I haven’t said anything the past two weeks because I haven’t felt anything the past two weeks,” she said quietly. “It’s like my mind was a void. I put on a happy face for Jack because I know he needs me. But the rest of the time I just couldn’t be bothered. But today…”

Hotch watched her as her voice drifted off. “What happened today?” he asked gently.

Y/n took a shaky breath. “I heard someone say his name and I froze. I don’t know why. But I couldn’t move for a second. Then in the break room the stupid cabinet was stuck then it hit my eye when I tried jerking it open and all of a sudden I was back there. He was in front of me. It was like I was living it all over again.” At this point, her voice started shaking and tears were glossing over her eyes. “He had punched me when I threatened him and that’s what I think brought it on. It was in the same place the door hit. I could hear you calling my name sometimes but it sounded far away. But I saw everything again and I…I felt. I think it happened too fast the first time and my brain couldn’t catch up, b-but this time…this time it could.” She turned her red eyes up to her father’s, which were also beginning to redden. “I-I shot him, dad. I killed someone. And mom-” a cry escaped her lips and Hotch wasted no time in pulling her into his arms.

Ugly sobs forced their way out of Y/n’s lips as she clung to her father for dear life. Her fingers dug into his shoulders but right now he couldn’t care less.

“I couldn’t save her, daddy! I tried!”

Hotch started crying harder at seeing Y/n breaking down. “I know- I know you did, sweetheart. It’s ok. It wasn’t your job to. It’s not your fault.”

Y/n buried her face into his shoulder, soaking his shirt with tears and snot. They both wrapped their arms around each other tighter and cried. Hotch held her head with one hand while the other remained on her back, rubbing up and down. 

Nothing else was said. Right now, nothing else needed to be said. The Hotchner family had each other’s backs. They had a long road ahead of them, but they would get through it. Together.

Misty Copeland once said: “Be strong, be fearless, be beautiful. And believe that anything is possible when you have the right people there to support you.”

(Chapter 2) ->

Creds: how-to-stop-a-panic-attack-5202930

anxiety-101-how-stop-panic-attacks-their-tracks

[medusapelagia]

13 Missing moments

written for @steddieangstyaugust (prompt:"Please, stay?" ) and @augustwritingchallenge (Prompt: found footage ) @aug-kissed (prompt: Gentle peck) Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve/Eddie TW: established Steve/Eddie, implied reference to cancer, sick character, mention of vomit, open ending Words: 1141

Eddie knocks on the door softly, not wanting to wake Steve if he’s finally asleep. It was a hard night for both of them. Steve woke up at three am, struggling to breathe and he was determined not to call the ambulance, so the only thing Eddie could do was hold him tight to his chest, brushing away the hair from Steve’s sweaty forehead, promising he would feel better soon and hoping it wasn’t a lie. And when, almost ten agonizing minutes later, Steve’s breath finally slowed down, Eddie took a big breath of relief he didn’t know he was holding.

“Come in. I’m awake.” Steve replies in a graveled voice.

“Did you throw up?” Eddie asks, worriedly, smelling the acrid scent in the air.

“Sorry. I opened the window.”

“Hey, I don't care, I’m just worried about you. You sure you don’t want me to call the doctor?”

“It’s the new meds. We knew it could happen, right?”

Right, they knew Steve’s new meds had some collateral effects but not that Steve was going to experience every single one of them.

“Maybe we should tell Owens you’re feeling like shit.”

“And change meds again? I’m halfway through. Just give my body a few more days to get used to the new meds and I’ll be ok.”

Steve’s thick mane is now as thin as a baby's hair. Stupid meds that are making him feel worse.

“I guess you don’t want to eat, right?”

Steve shakes his head quietly, patting the other side of the bed, “Please, stay?”

Luckily today is Sunday. The girls are at Aunt Robin’s home and he doesn’t have to leave for work, so he moves as slowly as he can not to jostle Steve too much and lies next to him.

“How are you feeling, baby?” Eddie asks, even if he knows by now that getting a true answer from Steve is almost impossible.

“I’m better. Thanks.”

Eddie gives him a gentle peck on the forehead, frowning when he finds it too warm but he says nothing. He knows that Steve’s immune system is way too weak right now and he really hopes that the little fever is his body trying to fight the sickness.

“Do you want me to read something for you?”

“Don’t think I could follow if you read for me.”

“You don’t have to. I know you find my voice really soothing.”

“I love your voice. I’m your biggest fan, did you forget?” 

Eddie chuckles, remembering that both Robin and Steve got to the first official Corroded Coffin’s concert with twin homemade t-shirts with that sentence.

“Yes, you are. Maybe you prefer some music?”

“Yeah. Can you fetch me the first tape you made for me?”

“When we started dating? But it’s almost thirty years ago! I have no idea where it is!”

“Maybe the attic?”

Eddie stares quietly at Steve, “Are you trying to find me something to do to keep me occupied?”

Steve shrugs, “Maybe? I’m going to fall asleep soon and I know you won’t dare to move if you’re in the bed with me and I don’t want you to spend all the Sunday morning lying in bed with me.”

“That sounds like a perfect way to spend the Sunday morning, actually.” Eddie replies, kissing Steve’s cheek, “But I’ll let you rest. I’ll be back with that tape. I swear it on my honor.” he promises.

“I know you will. You’re my champion, aren’t you?”

“Of course, I am, my king.” Eddie kisses Steve’s hand before leaving the bedroom, then he moves toward the end of the corridor and pulls down the ladder to the attic.

The attic is dirty and dusty, they haven’t been here in ages. Everywhere there are cardboard boxes with Steve’s neat handwriting. 

Melissa and Elisa’s toys.

Eddie’s show costumes.

Hawkins.

And a little one: VHS.

Eddie opens the VHS box, wondering if inside there are the Disney movies the girls were obsessed with when they were kids: Cinderella, Pocahontas, and The Little Mermaid.

But under the Disney VHS, there are some older recording tapes that Eddie doesn’t remember. He lifts the box and takes it down in his studio, where he still has an old television with a VHS player that he really hopes is still working.

The first VHS is just a mix of blurred images of Robin, while Steve’s voice, out of the screen, asks, “Do you think this thing is recording?”

“The light is red so I think so.”

“You sure? I can’t fuck up! Eddie will be mad if I did.”

“You won’t, dingus, come on, let me see what we recorded.”

“How?”

“Oh my god! Steve! Turn off the camera and let’s see what is recorded.” Robin says, stepping closer while the camera is pointed to the red moquette.

“Dingus! You’re still recording! If Eddie doesn’t have a feet fetish I don’t think he’ll appreciate footage of your feet and the ground. Turn the camera off!”

“I did!”

“You did not! You have to push here-”

The images stop abruptly leaving space for a series of grays and whites.

Eddie smiles, years have passed but Steve’s relationship with technology is still very complicated. He accidentally sent a lovely meme to the family’s group chat instead of sending it to Eddie, causing a series of fake gagging from the girls and a lot of mockery for a couple of months.

After the interruption the video starts again, this time the camera must have been positioned somewhere to film Steve and Robin. Their heads are abruptly cut out from the shot but they are both wearing the ‘Corroded Coffin Biggest Fan’ t-shirt and they are talking about how excited they are for the first official Corroded Coffin’s concert.

Another interruption and then a very clumsy and shaky shot of Eddie, playing The boy with the nailed bat in his heart begins. 

Eddie can barely hear his own voice over Gareth’s drum. The acustic in that forum was horrible, but it was their first officially paid gig.

He can’t hear himself sing, but he can hear Steve’s voice singing as loud as he can. He’s definitely out of tune, but Eddie smiles fondly at the footage. He sounds so happy.

Eddie grabs the VHS cardboard boxes that he found, and he discovers a treasure of memories he forgot. Silly little moments that got lost in all the time they spent together. Robin’s graduation. Dustin’s wedding. Their first family holiday with the twins and many other little precious memories. But Steve is not on the tapes. Not even one. He’s always the voice behind the camera, asking to look at him, or describing what’s going on.

When the last tape ends Eddie’s eyes are full of tears, and he promises himself that he’ll make sure not to miss any moment lived with Steve. 

[rdng1230]

Any SalTommy headcanons?

Thanks for the ask I have literally So many! ok I’m putting these into categories. The first is happy fluffy fun, the second and third is something I’ll probably have to discuss in therapy next week 🙃. For reals, I almost deleted those last paragraphs because here this nice person has come to my ask box and my brain has decided to reciprocate with the most hurt no comfort shit it’s ever concocted. Ok happy stuff first!

Saltommy as besties:

they are attached at the hip and their two favorite activities are Muay Thai and action movie marathons. At some point they get overly into the Guy Ritchie British gangster type movies and Hen has to institute a “stupid British accent” jar for the two of them.

Tommy and Sal don’t hang out that often once they leave the 118. But Tommy is ride or die for Sal’s daughter. He’s the fun uncle that isn’t constantly there but when he is he does something insanely awesome like build her a treehouse or a bottle cannon or something.

The reason Gina dragged Sal to twilight was because she is bisexual and just as into Kristen Stewart as he is. When Tommy *finally* comes out it’s actually Sal that suggests Gina take Tommy to his first pride. Sal stays at home with his daughter so Tommy and Gina end up having a very fun and alcohol filled night a la the bachelor party that wasn’t. (goddammit I think I just gave myself another fic in the series to write.)

k well that’s enough happiness this is about to get insanely angsty for no fucking reason besides apparently that my brain wants me to suffer today. If your brain does not desire to feed the angst demon inside of you, for the love of god stop reading now. I will NOT be offended because I wrote the damn thing and I think I took it too far. Also it gets a lil NSFW from here.

Evil toxic fucked up Saltommy:

Tommy’s fucked up dad and then fucked up army superiors and then fucked up captain Gerrard taught tommy he was safer following the big tough guy. He knows Sal is bad for him, knows Sal doesn’t love him, but he figures being useful is good enough when he knows he won’t be wanted. He lets Sal take more than he should, usually discreet hand/blowjobs in the showers or broom closet (yeah the metaphor isn’t lost on him)

They have a horrible call where the one person they did manage to rescue suddenly codes in the ambulance. A version of Sal that Tommy’s never seen before shows up at Tommy’s house. It’s the only time Sal ever lets Tommy fuck him and after it’s over, Tommy holds him and runs his hand through Sal’s hair. They fall asleep together but when Tommy wakes up Sal is long gone. The following week Sal is absolutely vicious to everyone. He ends up getting hurt and Tommy patches him up. As Tommy sterilizes a wound just above his eye, Sal grabs his arm and stares at him. It’s an apology, and it’s also an ending. Tommy still follows Sal, always one pace behind, but they’re never intimate again.

Idk I guess doomed lovers Saltommy? Sal’s not as much of a monster but they’re still not healthy:

There’s always a heat to Tommy and Sal’s banter and Tommy genuinely wonders if someday Sal might tip them into something more. One of the 118 probies dies and Sal on some level believes it’s his fault. The night of the probies funeral Sal’s just numb and Tommy suggests Sal crash his couch. Tommy hates seeing Sal in pain like that and hovers in front of the bedroom door wondering if he should go to him. He’s shocked when Sal opens the door and suddenly they’re in Tommy’s bed. He’s surprised by how cuddly Sal is. (And if you’re like hey that sounds a bit like Booth & Brennan shhhhh you saw nothing)

after that they start sneaking around. At this point Gerrard is gone and they’re in the revolving door of captains stage. Tommy starts talking about potentially telling Hen and Chim, and Sal just knows deep in his gut that Tommy is the braver of the two of them, and Sal won’t be ready in the time Tommy needs him to be. Sal starts picking fights hoping Tommy will run off on his own. Eventually they do stop seeing each other romantically but Tommy’s still so *close* it’s driving Sal insane. He wants to run away with him and he wants to run away from him at the same time. When Bobby shows up and doesn’t know his ass from his elbow a lot of the time, Sal let’s all that anger and tension bubble up, on some level he knows he can’t bring himself to leave Tommy, so he pushes Bobby into sending him away by force.

After he moves to the 122 he buries himself in the work. He makes captain, even starts dating men, but still in the shadows. He hears through the grapevine that Tommy is dating the 118’s hotshot. He sees a photo of Tommy and Buck at the medal ceremony in the morning paper, looking so obviously head over heels for one another, and it’s the first and only sick day as a captain he ever takes.

[bridgertonbabe]

Bridgerton Spouses Support Group Chat #?

BSSG Group Chat

Kate: Guys can I ask you all a question?

Michael: Shoot.

Kate: Did you all go paintballing without me last week?

Message seen by everyone ✔✔

Kate: Ok it's been 24 hours since my last message and I know for a fact you've ALL seen it so what fucking gives?

Gareth: look if i send a cute video of george and you guys all flood the chat with comments and stuff then hopefully we can drown her out and lowkey gaslight her into forgetting all about it

Kate: What?!

Gareth: oh fu

Gareth sent a video

Michael: Awwwwwwwwww bless he's so adorable

Lucy: he has the cutest laugh!!! 🥰

Sophie: I can't believe he's getting so big already! 💗💗

Phillip: Cute x

Penelope: omg I love the onesie do you know where it's from?

Simon: See I told you he'd love the crawling crab.

Gareth: @ Penelope i'll ask hy

Gareth: @ Simon he can't get enough of it, it's his favourite thing atm

Kate: @ Penelope Well I got it from Bambino

Kate: And I fucking saw the message you obviously sent to the wrong GC @ Gareth , so you can all quit trying to GASLIGHT me!

Kate: Now I'll ask you again; did you or did you not all go paintballing without me?!

Simon: Ok fine we did.

Kate: AHA! I KNEW IT!

Penelope: How did you find out?

Kate: Greg asked me if I enjoyed the spouses paintballing afternoon when he came to pick Katie up yesterday.

Gareth: omfg wtf @ Lucy

Michael: Yeah rare L from you Lulu

Lucy: guys I'm sorry I forgot to take the wristband off before I got home and he instantly recognised where it was from so I had to fess up

Gareth: dammit you've jeopardised our entire set up

Lucy: no no no it's fine I swear! I know some of you guys don't have any trust in your partners but greg can keep a secret and respect our spouse group privacy! it won't get back to any of the other bridgertons, you've got to believe me!

Phillip: He literally blabbed to Kate.

Lucy: yes but only because I didn't tell him that she wasn't invited!

Kate: And why was I not invited?!

Sophie: Because you would have ruined it! You would have turned a fun afternoon into anything but just like you do with every other game and activity we've played before! You're just as bad as the Bridgertons when it comes to anything vaguely competitive and the rest of us just wanted some lighthearted fun without everything descending into chaos and the world burning around us, ok? And that is why we didn't invite you!

Phillip: Yep

Simon: Very that.

Kate: Wow.

Michael: Look Kate you've got to understand it's not you. It's just the psychopathic competitive Mr Hyde in you that scares the bajeebus out of us.

Penelope: yeah it really isn't personal

Gareth: except it is

Kate: For god's sake I'm not that bad! Sure I have my moments but that doesn't mean I should be excluded from your group activities! I can control myself! I've never done anything to cross the line enough to be compared to Mr Hyde for crying out loud!

Sophie: You accused me of faking going into labour with Alex and refused to call me an ambulance when we played Cluedo.

Simon: You keyed my car after Daph pissed you off in Monopoly.

Michael: And you threw Newton's poo on mine when I won charades.

Phillip: You've always mocked me for having panic attacks during game nights.

Penelope: You pushed Colin down the stairs.

Lucy:

Kate: Oh boo fricking hoo! I'm so sorry you're all a bunch of whiny oversensitive little babies who can't take the slightest bit of heat from some perfectly healthy competition!

Gareth:

Lucy: is the perfectly healthy competition in the room with us?

Phillip: I dread to think what you consider to be unhealthy competition.

Kate: Oh go have one of your little anxiety attacks about it then you weakling

Michael has removed Kate from the chat

Sophie: I would say I'm surprised she can stoop to a new low but I'm really not.

Lucy: and this is why I also don't regret not inviting her to laser tag or the escape room

[riordanness]

cruel summer — [emercy] — 🫧 ᯾ 👙 ❀ 🌊 ✞ 🐚 ☘︎︎ 🫶🏻 ༄

— 🫧 ᯾ 👙 ❀ 🌊 ✞ 🐚 ☘︎︎ 🫶🏻 ༄

an emercy [perseus jackson x emma rebekah] social media au fic (part one) featuring,, percy, emma, leo, piper, jason, hazel, annabeth, and frank

— 🫧 ᯾ 👙 ❀ 🌊 ✞ 🐚 ☘︎︎ 🫶🏻 ༄

liked by abethchase, lxvepipes, and 46 others

erebekah, fyi, don’t take percy anywhere he acts like a literal toddler

sassyjackson: ok so says you

-> erebekah: me?? a toddler?? be so fr rn

lxvepipes: this is why you should take me out instead

-> erebekah: yes good let’s ditch boys together 💋

-> sassyjackson: i see how it is

abethchase: miss you idiots (sort of)

-> erebekah: BETH I HOPE TRAVELLING IS GOING SOSO WELL I MISS YOU

hzllevesque: my favourite pair of besties 💜

-> valdezinator: “besties” my ass

-> jgrace: right?? i sense a ship here i’m ngl

-> frankzhang: hazel aren’t we your favourite pair?

-> hzllevesque: ofc we are 💜 ily

liked by erebekah, jgrace, and 53 others

sassyjackson, someone tell this moron to stop blasting taylor swift in my car all the time

erebekah: someone tell this moron i can play whatever i want if i’m passenger princess actually

-> sassyjackson: emma i’m sick of cruel summer

-> erebekah: how dare you i hate you

-> sassyjackson: wait do you actual? no stop i’m sorry play taylor all you want

-> valdezinator: someone tell both of these morons they’re in love already

jgrace: where’d you guys go?

-> sassyjackson: she wanted to “go on a roadtrip” but we’re both broke so we just went to walmart

valdezinator: 🚨🚨

-> erebekah: we didn’t even speed??

-> valdezinator: no that’s the ambulance, i called them bc y’all are clearly blind if you still think you’re just friends

liked by erebekah, hzllevesque and 279 others

lxvepipes, the best day with my girl 💖 (finally stole her away from percy)

tagged, @erebekah

erebekah: I LOVE YOU

-> lxvepipes: ILYSM 💘

erebekah: hey siri play today was a fairytale by taylor swift

-> lxvepipes: no play something gayer

-> jgrace: guys 😭

sassyjackson: so this is why she won’t answer my texts

-> lxvepipes: gods jackson she isn’t yours 🙄 she was my girl first

-> valdezinator: he wishes she was his tho

-> sassyjackson: she’s literally my best friend tho??

-> valdezinator: dude. not what i meant

liked by jgrace, lxvepipes and 103 others

valdezinator, i’m sick of this weirdos

tagged, @sassyjackson @erebekah

erebekah: hey dumbass we aren’t weirdos

-> sassyjackson: yes we are

erebekah: also help how often do we fall asleep on each other 😭

-> lxvepipes: a lot babe

-> jgrace: lots

-> abethchase: if you’re the same dumb duo you were before i left, then a ridiculous amount of times

-> hzllevesque: like constantly

-> frankzhang: every single movie night

-> valdezinator: literally so much, emma

jgrace: this is for REAL a ship now i’m the captain

-> valdezinator: this is literally my post bro i’m the captain

liked by hzllevesque, sassyjackson and 107 others

erebekah, beach day with my fav beach boy 🩵

tagged, @sassyjackson

valdezinator: hey, em, you spelt ‘date’ wrong!

-> jgrace: aww beach date, how adorable

-> lxvepipes: you boys are menaces, i’m joining

sassyjackson: you’re my fav beach girl

-> frankzhang: AW

sassyjackson: 🩷

-> valdezinator: leaving her heart emojis now are we jackson

-> jgrace: what are we calling this ship they need a name

-> lxvepipes: hm something like emercy? yk, emma and percy

liked by erebekah, jgrace, and 95 others

sassyjackson, 🌊

jgrace: someone check up on emma after that shirtless pic

-> erebekah: what is that supposed to mean

-> valdezinator: 😈

-> erebekah: you boys are weirdos

hzllevesque: percy come back emma misses you

-> frankzhang: um yeah she’s kind of annoying everyone bc she doesn’t have you to annoy

-> erebekah: hey i’m not annoying

-> valdezinator: yes you are, percy just thinks it’s hot so he never says anything

erebekah: 🥵 (deleted)

lxvepipes: dang i’m ten minutes late to the post and sm drama happens in the comments already

-> sassyjackson: tempted to turn my comments off fr

-> erebekah: don’t you dare do that

liked by sassyjackson, lxvepipes, and 30 others

erebekah, 👙

sassyjackson: em

sassyjackson: emma

sassyjackson: emma rebekah i swear-

-> erebekah: 😁😁

valdezinator: oi rebekah i think you broke jackson

-> erebekah: 💥

lxvepipes: do y’all reckon this is revenge for the shirtless pic percy posted yesterday

-> jgrace: oh yea fs

-> hzllevesque: i’m jumping on this emercy train too now

-> valdezinator: the more the merrier

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Best and worst of both worlds (part 2)

Tw: vomit , drunk, religious stuff, breakinf sum bones

Ok maybe monty may seem out of character here but trust me its cause reader is more cringe fail than he is so hes mothering by default, but if ur the more assertive type like a newyorker, hes defo getting pegged

part 3

You studied too hard and studied too long. The sky is now dark and the only people around are those who are handing their assignment at the last minute. Luckily, the library opens for 24 hours.

But it's time to go home, it will take a 45-minute bus ride to your house, shared with seven other housemates. At least you get your own four walls around your room, albeit thin.

You have your back hunched as you struggle to carry an elephant's worth in the weight of study materials. Grunting and grumbling as you stomped to your bus stop.

The bus pulled over, you slung the backpack over your back again and huffed. You were prepared to enter, but you had to hop backwards because a rather large man, came tumbling down the exit stairs.

He was doing so well, but he came crumbling down when his foot slipped.

He tried his best to push himself off, but to no avail because he was that drunk. So you announced that you're going to help him before grabbing him by the ankles. You think you yanked on him too hard, because he groaned in pain as his head hits the concrete ground.

You pulled him to the side to the best you can, so you could board the bus- hey!

The bus drove off in a hurry. You tried chasing and flagging it down, but it wouldn't stop and it didn't care.

You sigh. Looks like you have to wait for another one.

You returned to the bus stop to see that he was lying on his back. His shaggy brown hair covering his eyes.

You sat on the bench, staring at the unconscious man in front of you.

Feeling frustrated, you stood up and kicked him on the leg. He made you miss your bus!

But you immediately regretted it because he started vomiting, and choking on his own sick. His body was convulsing and you heard painful gurgling sounds from him.

You let out a brief scream before pacing back and forth, panicking on what to do.

Then you remembered that one first aid class that you took.

You didn't lay him on his side. You didn't call emergency services, you didn't do the Heimlich maneuver.

You end up doing a bastardized version of CPR, where you put your entire body weight and your backpack onto his ribs. Using your foot, stomping on him like a bike tyre pump.

You heard a sickening crack, but it worked. A fountain of vomit sprayed to the top, showering you and him in it.

Yuck! You whined and spit.

You flicked away as much as you can. Now he's coughing and sputtering, but at least he's breathing. And conscious.

His bloodshot eyes opened and stared at you. You can't tell if he's grateful that you saved him or offended that you broke a rib of his. Maybe a mix of both.

"I-it..." He wheezed. "...Hurts..." He rasped.

You begin to panic again, but this time it lead you to calling the ambulance.

"No... please. I..." He gulped. "I... can't afford it."

Your eyes darted between him and the phone. You should have paid more attention to your ethics class, because you don't want him to die, but you don't want to put him in crippling debt.

You only dialed the number, you haven't called it yet.

You told him that he's going to die.

He chuckled bitterly. "When... has anyone ever cared...?" The stranger slurred.

You said you did. You didn't want him to die, at least not in front of you, and the next bus is arriving an hour later.

"You... care?" Something glimmered in his eyes. He seem to have selective hearing.

You start to cry, ranting in between sobs that you just wanted to go home and have a nice bowl of instant noodles, as that's the only thing you could afford for now. You wanted more time to study for your midterms and you're just a University student, you don't deserve to face this weird, traumatic dilemma. You complained that your bag is heavy and your back hurts, you reek of his vomit and do not want to wait with a corpse.

He must be sobering up, because he looked concerned for your mental health. The man probably didn't understand whatever you're going through, you thought that he had it worse. But you didn't care, you needed someone to talk to, and this near death drunk man is your perfect victim. He probably wouldn't remember you in the morning anyways.

You concluded that you had a long week, you just want to go home, clean up and rest too. You simply want to get through the hour without him dying before your eyes.

There was a pregnant pause between you and him.

Finally, you heard some shuffling, shadows from that man shifting slowly as he tried to get up in agony. He cradled his heavily bruised side, you couldn't see its severe discolouration because it was concealed under his puke-stained clothes.

You instinctively hover your arms around him, readying yourself to catch the man if he falls. To him, it only solidifies that you truly do care.

"I'm okay, I promise." He coughed into his fist. "I won't be dyin' tonight."

You wiped the last of your tears and nodded. You put your phone away and sat down on the bench.

He sat a distance away from you. Understanding that you would want your space.

The man slumped his head against the side, closing his eyes, fighting the nausea and trying to ignore the throbbing pain under his chest.

He was shaken awake by you, screaming bloody murder his ear. Each time you yank him back and forth, the stabbing pain in his ribs worsened.

He hissed in pain as you shook him like a cocktail mixer.

"I'm alive! I-I'm alive, stop shaking me!"

You let him go and his head hits the wall of the shelter with a thud.

He groaned as he now cradles his head.

You apologized for breaking his rib and shaking him.

"H-hey, it's okay. I'm fine, don't cry, don't cry. Shhh..." He tried to console you by stroking your forearm.

You began mumbling about how the bus is taking so long and it feels like the world is against you. The embarrassment you faced today is indescribable, your cringiest moments are going to keep you up at night, make you lose sleep and force you to fail your exams.

You blabber nonsense, things that you always kept to yourself came spilling out just because you think this man isn't going to remember.

"Hey, h-hey." He tried getting your attention, but you continued rambling your inner demons away.

He sighed and slumped back down, watching you vent to your heart's content.

He waited. Eventually though, you stopped. Because you ran out of steam.

You checked the time. You still have 20 minutes to go until the bus arrives.

You're still visibly agitated and jumpy to him, clearly needing more comfort now. The roads are barren and if it wasn't for this one singular lamp post, you wouldn't be able to see anything around you.

"Hey, hey, look at me." You snapped your head to him.

"It's going to be fine, sweetheart." He smiled. "I'm still here."

He felt relieved when he saw the tension in your shoulders disappear. You sat back down and swung your legs back and forth, most likely to expel more anxious energy that's built up inside.

"What's your name?" He asked.

You tensed up again, not trusting him, you decided to come up with a fake name on the spot. Admittedly, you're not very good at performing under stress and time restraint.

"Your name is... Joe M.?"

You had to physically bite back the urge to complete the joke. So you squeaked a confirmation with the corners of your lips curled up suspiciously.

He must have picked up that you might not be entirely truthful. Because he stared at you for a bit before replying.

"My name is Montgomery. You can call me Monty if ya' want." You nodded and promptly forgot about his name. It's not like you're going to ever meet him again.

"So... you go to the university 'round here?"

You immediately denied it.

"Alrighty then." He took that as a hint that you didn't want to disclose more information about yourself. Because he can clearly see the massive University logo plastered on your soiled hoodie.

A blanket of silence drapes itself onto you and him.

"You wanna say a prayer with me?" He asked out of the blue.

You hesitantly agreed.

He closed his eyes and began.

"Dear Heavenly Father..."

You zoned out as he proceeded to have a lengthy conversation with god. Appreciating the things around him, your presence and to have a roof over his head; literally. He prays that you reach home safe and sound, and that your stresses will pass- among other things.

Regardless of whether you're religious or not, you found his words of faith comforting. Almost like a bubble of protection around the entire bus stop.

"...In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."

Amen, indeed.

As soon as he ended it, the bus arrived. You hurriedly gathered your items and rushed to the doors.

You said your goodbyes, apologies and thanks.

He gave you a weak wave. "Have a good night, and take it easy, okay honey? You're gonna be fine."

You nodded before climbing the steps.

Montgomery watches the bus leave. Sighing because he was supposed to get on it too. Well, he can always walk home.

Painfully.

[catwyk]

tsv finale spoilers below. i wrote this during my first listen through. its long as fuck. im dead im ruined.

cull calling out to rane instead of faulkner.... rane is truly the real leader now

FAULKNER......

"katabasian rane? sister thurrocks?" im gonna be sick

"hes basically a cow" spit your shit carp

"people in my life keep leavin to serve a cause i just cant understand" BASHES MY HEAD ON THE WALL

"we must love them for fleein from our touch e must not run after them" oh baby :(

this is actually fucking destroying me right now oh poor faulkner. failed by the world.

"of course i recognize you. youre carpenter's ghost" // "yes. i am" // "that must mean that im being punished. arent i?" he sounds so small and young oh my god

"if this is my punishment, then why am i smiling?" OKAY PARALLELS TO HIS VISIONS IN S2. OKAY. IM NOT GOING TO CRY. I WONT.

his monologue is ruining me actually oh god.

"they invented their own faulkner. and they forced me to be him" THATS WHAT IM SAYIN

he called her his sister...

im sure hes gonna die

"you crashed a car??" // "yeeah. i crashed a car." i love her

"they need to fix you, they need to make you better, and ill, ill watch over your bed, ill be there, carpenter. ill pray, ill pray and pray for as long as i need to" christ alive. i need to lay down RIGHT NOW.

méabh de brún too good at acting like shes in pain im abt to dial an ambulance

EM??? EM MENTION. EM MENTION

ok this is fuelling my hc that faulkner reminded carpenter of em in some painful and undefinable way

"i should tell paige that story, if i get to see heg again"

"OUR paige?" CRYING FOR A MILLION YEARS. AND HIS "HUH" AS WELL WHEN CARPENTER CONFIRMS

twin mouths truther forever

"i hate you too, faulkner, i truly do. and i love you, too. in spite of everything" // "always on the very precipice of understanding one another"

faulkner's "DEAD, DEAD, DEAD!" is fucking me up b narr the voice actor everrr

SHES GONNA LEAVE HIM A CAIRN 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

"there'll be a place for you, and itll be beside me" DRIVING STRAIGHT INTO A LAMPPOST AS WE SPEAK

NO HES GONNA TRY AND KILL HER ISNT HE

"yeah. perhaps thats it. do you?" again. coolest fucking character on the planet

"this is when the waters parted, and at last..! at last he understood!" jesus christ. jon ware the writer that you are

"say you were raised in the service of a god of fire. so you feel like the world would be a much better place if more things were on fire" i busted out laughing WHAT a tone shift

"dennis duplace helped. hayward.. dad.. carpenter.. im leaving all of you behind" i am a husk of a person. lucille valentine knocking it out of the park

"best feeling in the world, seeing you walk away" holy fucking shit this is DAMAGING ME.

i wanna write every quote thats making my heart sting but the transcript is already up so theres no real point

every single va is popping the FUCK OFF by the way. i have to keep reminding myself theyre acting so i dont like. kill myself

val saving hayward was NOT on my bingo card what the fuck

"and before she died... she remembered who she was" OHHHHHHH MYYYYY GODDDDDD

hayward doing his own rites of the cairn maiden for himself :(

no gods coming for hayward but "fuck it. this one's not... for any of you. this ones for me"

WHY IS FAULKNER BACK. NONONO ITS ONLY GONNA BE BAD. PLEASE NO

i never realized the parallel between faulkner's gardener father and his gardener god

carpenter meant so much to him :(

"Sister! I love you! Where are you going? Dont turn your back on me! Dont you dare- Sister! I need you! SISTER! SISTER! MARCO! MARCO!" FAULKNER NO NOT LIKE THIS NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

FUCK YOU JON WARE (<- COMPLIMENT)

THE FAULKNER BODY FAKEOUT. SEE ABOVE POINT

carpenter's scream...... oh god.. oh méabh de brún the woman that you are

"he could be a face from my childhood. or his" charlie.......

HES BEEN BLOND THIS ENTIRE TIME????????????? i should have fucking known

"but no matter how it starts, no matter how it turns out for us, it can end with love, cant it? it can end with love. it can end with kindness." i said oh my god out loud

the delivery of "and then i let him go" why not just drive a railroad spike through my lungs

"the river is vast, and no dam can block every channel, and ours is a world of miracles." i said jesus christ out loud

i wheezed when she just. got back up this old bitch cannot die can she

not nana glass' song............

FUCKING TAINSLEY. CHEKHOVS TAINSLEY.

oh my god. a final heartbreaking credits scene

i had to just sit and lean back for a second. what a fucking ending. what a fucking podcast. this is one of those pieces of media that takes up residence in your brain forever. im never gonna stop thinking about this

[try-set-me-on-fire]

just really needed a hug sort of hug

for the soft prompts <3

Uhhhh this is a little angsty and vibey sorry about that! Set a few years in the future in a world where the lightning strike had bigger and longer lasting impact on Buck than it did in canon. Send me soft prompts! The rest I’ve done are on a03!

Eddie is pinching the skin by his elbow, the shiny part where it's new. Well, a few months old at this point, Chimney supposes, but he still gently smacks the man's bicep as he passes him to sit at the table.

"Quit it, Diaz."

Eddie makes a face at him but he puts his hand flat on the table. He then makes another, more stressed out face, and waves the hand in the air in a vague but emphatic motion.

"I want to call Buck again."

"You were on the phone half an hour ago."

"Yep." His palm presses into the wood again. "I am aware of that."

Chim hooks his left ankle over his right knee. "You two ever get word…"

"Every test came back fine- within normal- they didn't find anything. They have no fucking idea why his blood pressure dropped like that." Eddie crosses his arms. "Between the two of us we've funded the Los Angeles ambulance budget for the fucking year and the best advice anyone had was for him to 'rest and drink plenty of fluids.'"

"Shit."

"Mhmm." Eddie's knee is bouncing anxiously, and he looks exhausted. He has looked exhausted, frankly, since a fourth story floor went out from under him in June and he gained the dubious honor of being the first member of 118 A shift to sustain third degree burns. He doesn't pinch at it again, but he's gripping the scarred bend of his arm tight enough that it might fall under Buck's strict instructions to tell him to leave it alone. "He shouldn't have been back at work yet."

"He seemed fine, Eddie."

Eddie exhales, shaky and unpleasant. "He seemed like he was getting better from the flu, and then Chris found him on the kitchen floor. He seemed better on Thursday and then-" he shakes his head, breathes in, blows the air out slowly. "I've told myself that a lot today - he was ok when I left this morning, he’s fine, he’s texting me, it’s going to be ok. But he was ok when I left those mornings too." He blows out air again, and it whistles through his clenched teeth.

Chimney thinks Eddie wouldn't appreciate it, but he thinks very hard and loud that the universe should give the Diaz family a fucking break. He extends his leg so his boot taps into Eddie's.

"He was doing so good- he felt good in a way he hasn't in a long time." Eddie makes direct eye contact for the first time this conversation. "We were talking about him working towards recertification. Coming back here. He really does love the call center and he’s good at it, but he misses being a part of the team, still. And then-" he makes an unhappy little sound. "He exhausted himself taking care of me and now this… We can both say 'healing isn't linear' until our mouths bleed but he’s almost back to where he was right after the strike and- and he's disappointed, I know he is and just- just not knowing what life is going to be like one day to the next- It's just been… a rough fucking year." Eddie's mouth turns up in a real grimace of a smile. "But we have experience with those. So… we'll just keep getting through it."

Two memories play out in Chimney's head.

First: A beach day, sometime in the first summer after Buck and Eddie were married. The jeep had arrived first, but as Chimney did what Maddie referred to as his Dad Jog to the trunk of his own car to start unloading he noticed that none of its occupants had got out yet. From the place he was standing he could see Buck, lit up golden in the afternoon glow, twisted sideways in the passenger seat and gesturing wildly as he talked, absolute glee written all over his face. Eddie in the driver's seat and Chris, unbuckled in the back, leaned their whole bodies towards him like plants seeking photosynthesis. Chim had wondered if the sun had been lonely before it had planets to orbit it, and then laughed at himself for being poetic, and anyway he wasn't sure that's the order the universe formed in. Buck would know, he'd have to ask him.

Second: Thursday, when Buck had made it through pneumonia like a champ and then gone back to his job at dispatch only to take a nap in the break room that no one could really wake him up from. It gets more ethically dubious by the year for any of the 118 to treat each other what with their tangled web of marriages and less official family ties, but Maddie had sounded panicked over the radio, and they’d been the closest first responders, and Chimney is certain that even if they weren’t nothing could have stopped them from coming for their brother, son, husband. Chimney remembers Eddie kneeling in front of the couch, the exact quiet tone of his voice as he’d said “Honey, I’m right here,” and the lethargic movement of Buck’s hand coming to weakly grip his shoulder. But the real thing, the clip that’s going to stay in his mind forever and repeat without permission, is looking up from establishing a line in the ambulance and watching how Eddie was curled down towards his partner as he tried to keep a flash of blue appearing between fluttering eyelids. Eddie was talking and Chimney doesn’t remember any of the words because he was also stroking his thumb over Buck’s brow and Chimney can’t stop thinking that he has never seen a human being touch another that gently.

Eddie’s phone buzzes and he looks at it, huffing a laugh and scrubbing a hand over his face. “He’s asking about pasta shapes. Wait- is he in the kitchen?” He frowns and hits dial, and the phone only gets out a single ring before Buck picks up.

“Hey,” his voice drifts, tinny, into the room and Chimney feels some tight little thing in his chest relax a little.

“You better not be cooking, Buck, you’re on speaker so I have back up if I need to yell at you.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” Buck laughs. “I’m exploiting child labor.”

Distantly, Christopher says “Hi, dad.”

“And you’re not helping at all?” Eddie raises his eyebrow and Chimney bets Buck can see it, miles away at their home.

“Chris is doing all the work, I swear, and we’re just gonna dump on the sauce I made, uh- Wednesday? Tuesday? Whatever, I can supervise boiling water. I didn’t even pick a pasta shape, c’mon, farfalle or fusilli?”

“Fusilli. You should be resting, Buck.”

Buck sighs, staticky over the speakers. “All I did today was move from the couch to the kitchen table, and I walked very slowly. I’m wrapped in a blanket and everything.” There’s a faint rustling sound and then Buck continues in a quieter voice. “I promised I’d tell you if something felt wrong. I’m alright, Eddie.”

Eddie bites his lips, and then takes the call off speaker and steps towards the kitchen. “You’re ok? You feel alright?” He spins his silicone wedding band around his finger as he listens. “Yeah. Yeah, before you wake up, probably.” He says “Buck” and Chimney always wondered how Eddie said that name and made it mean so much, folding in care and exasperation and adoration like he’s laminating butter between layers of dough. “Alright, I love you. I love you. Yeah. Tomorrow.”

He hangs up and as he exhales the alarm goes off overhead, because of course it does. Eddie starts towards the stairs but Chimney hurries forward and grabs him first and pulls him into the tightest hug he can. Eddie clings onto him for a moment, and they can only spare seconds for this attempt at comfort but he looks grateful when he pulls back, looks a little less tense.

"I love you, bud," Chimney says, and Eddie actually laughs at him as they head down the stairs. Chim swipes at the back of his brother in-law in-law's head as they pull on their gear and load into the engine and Eddie dodges with the practiced ease of a man with siblings. When they're in their seats and headed to the scene, though, Eddie leans forward and knocks his elbow into Chimney's knee.

"Love you, too." Eddie smiles. Three silhouettes in a car. A gentle touch. Things are going to be ok.

[johnnycakesswitch]

Tell me Sodas not the kinda fucker to pull a:

*loud bang from the bedroom*

Darry: “what was that?!”

Soda: “nothing! A shirt fell!”

Darry: “that sounded awful loud to be a shirt falling”

Soda: “yeah well I was in it when it fell”

Darry:

Which leads me to my next point on the slideshow that Sodapop Curtis is the clumsiest bastard that has ever lived.

I’m telling you this boy is consistently covered in cuts and bruises and people are like “omg who’d you get in a fight with?!” The answer is doorknobs, countertops, and air.

Just a poor accident prone boy he is.

But he also just shakes it off like no problem. He’ll fall down 3 flights of stairs and everyone’s like “oh my god is he ok?! Should we call an ambulance?!”

Meanwhile Soda:

This boy is SO clumsy 😭 always falling, barely allowed to be in the kitchen unsupervised because he’ll burn or cut himself somehow, always getting hurt at work. Imagine he just bruises like a peach too so if you grab his arm too hard he’ll bruise 😭 and yes he absolutely will shake it off like no problem, there’s been times where he’s gotten his shit absolutely rocked during football and everyone is like omg is he okay and he just pops back up like nothing. Or at work once he hit his head really hard and Steve was like are you okay?? And Soda’s like yeah I’m perfectly fine until like 10 minutes later he puked all over the floor bc he was definitely concussed 😭 he’s like a little kid, always covered in bruises, knees always skinned, main bandaid user of the house. Isn’t he just precious

[loving-strawberry]

✶Stray Kids reacting to cop!reader coming home from work for the first with a face injury✶(HCS)

It was a request!

A little note: Honestly, I tried to make it seriously, but I half failed... So I guess there some humor as well

Genre: A bit of angst(maybe...?). Fluff. Some crack.

Pairing: Bf!Skz x Fem!Reader

Warning: Swearing(?). mention of injuries, blood, stitches, bruises. Probably some writing errors.

Bang Chan☆

Dad mode activated... Or protective boyfriend mode activated

He knows about your career and he supports you fully

But since you two began dating, he never saw you coming home with a busted lip

Of course he started asking questions

"What happened??"

"A drunkard punched me. Nothing to worry about."

"But... There's blood on your lip?? How should I not worry??"

"It's already a usual thing almost. I'm gonna be fine"

He is so proud of you for being this strong and still super supportive

But now he's also double worried about your safety

He fear that something else will happen on your next patrols

He just doesn't want to lose you in any way :(

Lee Minho☆

He will act like he isn't worried, but inside he's PANICKING

Knowing what your job is, he was always worried for your safety

But now that you came home with a black eye???

He almost doesn't want you to go anymore 💀

"You won't go to your job again. You need to find something much safer"

"Min, I'm fine. I promise. It's pretty common to me. I don't even care anymore."

Now he is flabbergasted...

What do you mean common?

His kitten is almost constantly injured??

Now he is even more against you going back to that work place

But won't continue arguing with you about it, knowing how much you love that job and how much you love protecting people

But be prepared for him checking every body part of yours whenever you get back home from work-

Want to make sure you are not getting any serious injuries

Seo Changbin☆

Tries his best not to cry and will pout

Tell me otherwise. He's a softie

And seeing you with a bruised eye is making him super sad

He wants to protect you, even though you can very well protect yourself

But there is danger around every corner, and this is proven him right

You see his pouting face of your boyfriend and try to reassure him

"Bin, I'm fine. I promise. It's not the first time happening on a patrol."

That surely reassured him...

"That doesn't seem like fine to me. You are hurt, baby..."

He will take care of you all day then, whether you like it or not

And lots of cuddles

Hwang Hyunjin☆

Coming back home to your boyfriend, and having a swelling, bloody lower lip?

*Hyunjin dramatical gasp*

So shocked that he doesn't know what to do

Should he call an ambulance? Should he better take you directly to the hospital?

Literally worried and extra drama queen

"Hyunnie, my love... I don't think you need to exaggerate like this. I will be fine. I'm used to it."

"That doesn't mean you don't have to take care of it and be careful when working with dangerous people!"

He know there is no way of avoiding these situations

Because people can be super violently

But you still need to be extremely careful, you can get killed

And the last thing he wants is you dead

Han Jisung☆

Drama queen no. 2...

This man will start panicking worse than Hyunjin and Minho together

It's the first time you are coming home with a big bruise on the corner of your mouth and your nose with bandage on it from one of your patrols

"Whats wrong with your face???"

"Um... I beg your pardon...?"

"You. Have. INJURIES!"

"Ok. And?"

Also flabbergasted no. 2

Why so calm? It's happening frequently?

Is his baby punched in the face almost daily at work??

He still support you and trust you with your job

Because you are strong and he couldn't be more proud

Lee Felix☆

Unlike Changbin, he will cry

You came home a bit late than usual with stitches to your lip

"Flower...? What happened?"

Your mission: Try calm him down

"Oh Lixie... I've been through worse than this. This is nothing. I promise I'm fine"

Mission failed: Felix is now sobbing

Even his scared for your life, that one day, something really serious will happen

He will remain your no. 1 support

The proudest of all the members

Kim Seungmin☆

Just like Minho, tries to look like he doesn't care

But he is indeed worried that it could've been ended up worse than just a bruise around your eye

"You need to be more careful"

"It's not that big of a deal, but thanks for caring"

"Of course I care"

Will bring an ice pack for you to put in on your eye

And will do whatever you ask for, just to make sure you are ok

Even for just a bruise

He loves you and that means he does everything for you

Yang Jeongin☆

Poor baby doesn't know how to react at all

He should be shocked? Sick? Sad? Proud of you for being this strong?

He is just trying to process everything

Because seeing you with a busted lip isn't what he thought he's going to see

Your job can be super dangerous and he knows it

But it still shocked him

"Is there anything I can do for you, love?"

"Hm? Oh, no. You don't have to worry about anything. I'm fine, Innie."

He will definitely be worried

Still end up take care of you that evening.

.............................

✧ Masterlist ✧

✧ Tag List ✧

@bangchansbae @tattywood @nebulousbrainsoup @https-skzology @sp00ky-spr1te

[danganronpafan777]

Tsurugi, Rei, Teruya, Utsuro, and Hajime Reacting to S/o Fainting

Ask: Ok, how about when their s/o faints in front of them, I don't matter what characters though lol

Alright, I decided on Tsurugi, Utsuro, and Hajime cuz trauma, and also Rei and Teruya simp lol

Tsurugi Kinjo:

He’s always on the lookout in case something happens to you, so the moment you mentioned that you felt lightheaded, he was already preparing for the worst. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Y/n? We should go to the shade, do you need water?”

Tsurugi reached his arms out the moment you began to sway, catching you immediately as you fainted. 

“Y/n!? Are you okay? Y/n!”

He gently tapped your shoulder a few times to check if you were responsive, before carefully laying you down. He was skilled in first aid, so he quickly loosened any tight clothing you had, and lifting your legs above your heart level, so blood could easily flow to your brain. 

Demanding someone nearby to call for help, he prepared himself to give you cpr if you stopped breathing. Tsurugi hated how his face turned red when he thought about that…

He completely steps aside when help arrives, but still checks on you whenever he can. 

For the next few weeks, he constantly asks you how you feel, if you need to lay down, and to tell him if you ever feel lightheaded again. Even if everything turned out alright, it’s a new worry that keeps him up at night, and it will take a lot of reassurance to convince him that you’re okay.

Hajime Makunouchi:

He was worried the moment you started yawning. He recognized every sign at first glance, and quickly offered you water or to take a break from training, but you insisted on continuing

"Are you sure?...Alright, but if you get too tired, let me-"

Hajime caught you the moment you began to fall, gently laying you down and checking if you were breathing. He wouldn't hesitate to give you cpr, and he sure as hell wouldn't leave you 

He yelled for Shinji and Yuki, who were training not far behind you, to call for help. He placed a hand on your forehead, then quickly fanning you with his hand. He didn't even realize he was shaking, he just couldn't stop thinking about you. 

He gets in the ambulance with you when help finally arrives, refusing to let go of you for even a second. Hajime knew exactly how you felt right now, and he would never abandon you like his parents did to him. 

"Y/n....it's going to be okay...I'm here...I'm here."

He gives your hand a soft squeeze, trying to reassure himself that you'll be fine.

Whatever happened, his luck should help you. And… he wasn’t sure he could take losing you. The moment you recover, you’re met with your favorite boxer, who doesn’t waste a second to hold you, hoping you don’t realize the tears rolling down his face

Rei Mekaru:

Under most circumstances, she would've been able to tell right away that something was wrong, but with, in her words, your "ineffectual comprehension" of yesterday's math lesson, she was too busy lecturing you to notice the signs

"You use the derivative to find the increasing or decreasing interval, Y/n. If the first derivative of a function is positive, then it is an increasing interval. However, this is only correct for a real-value-"

Thud!

Rei's eyes widen in surprise. Her first thought was, 'real funny, Y/n' but her gut had a heart wrenching feeling...

Her knowledge is first aid was pretty basic, but she was quick and well at assessing the situation. She quickly checked for a pulse, tapping your shoulder and calling your name.

"Y/n? Can you hear me? Y/n!"

Placing you in the recovery position, she tells a nearby student to call for help. Rei retraces her steps from her time with you. Had you drank enough water? Were you yawning a lot before you passed out? Did you say anything about feeling lightheaded?

Her thoughts race as she lightly fans you. She would never admit how worried she felt, not hesitating to chew out any onlookers. 

"What are you still doing here!? Are you idiots going to help or just watch!?"

She's much more patient when the first responders arrive, stepping aside and letting them do their job, while also sneaking as many looks at you as she can. 

Rei would be restless and more irritable for the rest of the day, checking up on you as soon as she could. 

You sigh a bit when she scolds you for scaring her like that, but it made you smile how she genuinely cared. 

Teruya Otori:

Teruya had been telling you about the new shipment of overseas products that his father had showed him that weekend, holding your hand and rambling with an oblivious smile

He noticed that your hand felt sweaty, and you looked rather anxious about something, but he chalked it up to nerves

"Hey, Y/n? Ya nervous 'bout somethin'? You can tell meh!"

"It's not that... it's just...I..."

He's completely caught off guard when you suddenly drop to the ground. He tried to catch you, but ended up falling down with you.

"Y/n!? Y/n!" 

Teruya quickly gets to his knees and lightly shakes you. You mumble an incoherent response, and he yells for help. 

He knows basic first aid, so he lays you on your back and loosens any tight clothing on you. (Blushing heavily as he does so) 

He steps aside when help arrives, beginning to bite his nails in worry. He tries not to get in their way, but he’s desperate to know what happened to you.

Teruya is glad to know it's not serious, making a mental note to tell your teachers you were absent, and to visit you when you recover, a banquet of flowers in hand

Utsuro:

He notices you seem to sway a bit, and your steps slow, but with his luck protecting you, just brushes it off

It wasn't until he heard a small thud from beside him that he felt a strike of worry

"...Y/n?"

Utsuro thinks you're joking at first, lightly tapping your shoulder. He puts his hand in front of your face to make sure you're breathing, unconsciously letting out a small sigh of relief when he feels your breath

He nudges you a few more times, before hoisting you up against his shoulders. Your breath lightly tickled his neck as he brought you to some shade. 

Feeling your forehead, he signals for help. 

This whole situation is strange for him. Divine luck should keep you safe from...everything! He knew nothing about first aid, and somehow his divine luck wasn't waking you up yet. 

Was it heat stroke? Were you dehydrated?

It was the first time in years he felt... fear. Why were you still unconscious??

Besides Akane, you were the only person he had who truly loved him. He spent his life being used for his luck, just for it to disappear when his S/o was hurt?

It felt like an eternity before help arrived. 

His heart... was beating fast... He tried to keep his unbothered face, but it became increasingly difficult. 

Just what happened to you?