I said I had a drawing I wanted to do for Pigsy and Mk in the au, and I did it
Mk really loves watching his Dadsy cook, especially when it's his favorite dish. If Mk where to ask anyone to help with some sort of bake sell, then it would be Pigsys.
Pigsy is the last one to warm up to Mk, sure he liked the baby, but he wasn't a kid person let alone a baby person. Of course no one can resist Mk's charm.
He was also the last one Mk said his name, he pretended he didn't care, but omg he cried so hard when Mk finally called him "Dadsy."
Tang not only had to convince him to live with Wukong and Macaque because of finances issues, but had to convince him to agree to take care of Mk if anything happens, honestly he didn't need much convincing and was just like.
"I don't want to get mixed up in no celestial war bullshit, but I rather be us to take care of him if anything goes wrong."
Also he use to just go in Pigsys hat and craw around, the hat covered his little body.
he still runs around with it on sometimes, especially if he doesn't want Pigsy to go to work
I promise Freenoodles is active in Mk's life. I just never know what to draw with them, or want to draw get monkeys
More Then a Woman | Frank Woods x Fem!Reader | Chapter 7 - Finale
Summary:
It all comes down to this. Will Frank be able to make things right?
Tags: Slow burn, fluff, age difference, angst
Tag requests: @direwolfspostsrandomshit
Chpt 1 | Chpt 2 | Chpt 3 | Chpt 4 | Chpt 5 | Chpt 6 Warnings: strong language, age difference, and references to depression like symptoms and past childhood trauma
Another hour passes. Another beer down.
The television drones on in the background while he stares right through it. Why is he even watching this? He hates TV.
He should be training today, maybe the gym or the firing range, but… He just doesn’t feel like it.
His stomach growls. He looks at the clock. He should get something to eat, but… He doesn’t feel like that either.
At last the cramping moves him to action, and sluggishly he gets up and wanders to the kitchen. He grabs his go-to as of late, a bag of chocolate chips for baking. His diet’s been such shit lately, and he knows it’s not helping. He hates that. And he loves it. Because right now he’ll do anything just to get even a flicker of feeling.
Good. Bad. He doesn’t care.
He just wants to feel.
It’s been a couple weeks since he last saw you, out back behind the CIA gym, and he’s been numb ever since. Mason’s been trying to bring him out of it all this time.
‘You did the right thing’, he says. ‘She’s just a kid, she doesn’t know what she’s doing’, and then, ‘If anything, you did her a favor. She doesn’t really want to get caught up like that with an old guy, right?’, he laughs.
He eats another handful of chocolate and looks down at himself. ‘She doesn’t want to...’ Is he really that repulsive? He runs a hand over his belly. It’s been feeling more rounded than usual.
Fuck.
For a moment, that same old burning, consuming flare of fury he’s so used to getting rises up. He grips the plastic bag so tightly, his knuckles turn white.
His discipline has been getting looser and his belt has been getting tighter, the polar fucking opposite of how things should be. His nostrils flare and lips draw back to reveal tightly clenched teeth, like a dog readying for an attack. Every muscle in his body tenses as he bores holes into nothing in particular. He starts to cock his arm back.
Throwing something will help him feel better.
Right?
He aims for the wall and winds up for an all star pitch, and then…
and then…
He can’t even muster the motivation for that.
As quickly as it came, the anger leaves, and as he lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his entire body relaxes once more. What the fuck is wrong with him anyway?
What, mommy and daddy didn’t love him enough, so now he throws little tantrums whenever the fuck he feels like it? He mocks himself, feeling almost ashamed suddenly of all his outbursts, but when he thinks about it…
Yeah.
Maybe that...
He sighs, suddenly feeling extremely defeated and very alone. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised you left him. Everyone else who ever loved him did.
Woods drops the bag of chocolate from his limply hanging arm and watches the pieces scatter and roll all over the floor.
Whatever. He’ll eat something else.
This is how it’s been for weeks and this how it’ll be for the foreseeable future. He lazes around, completely numb to the outside world, grazing his pantry and doing anything to distract himself from his thoughts. If only any of it worked. Then at night he’ll lay awake well past midnight, until either regular exhaustion or exertion from shedding tears sends him to sleep.
But it wasn’t always like this.
After the first few days since he chased you off, he tried to make up for it.
He called.
He tried to see you at work.
He even sent you some fucking flowers and a letter.
Not a word back.
Well, aside from the ‘Get the fuck out of here, and don’t you fucking dare come back’ he got when he came to your office. After that one…
He hasn’t cried that hard over a woman in… Well… Ever.
And that’s what really gets to him, isn’t it? Just a woman. You’re just a fucking woman. There’s billions of others out there… And yet, he can’t manage to land even one, can he?
This message plays back in his mind over, and over, and over again.
Even now, as a slow stream of tears leak from his eyes to his pillowcase. He looks over just a few inches away to the empty half of his bed. Frank sniffs and swipes at his nose before gently plopping his hand on the pillow beside his. The fabric is icy cold against his skin.
You know, Alex told him once that he’ll lay in his wife's spot on the bed to warm up the sheets for her at night.
She hates the cold, and Alaskan nights are no joke. Would you like that? He wonders. He heard once that women are always fucking cold. He’d warm up your sheets for you, you know. Or maybe, you’d like a blanket? He’d get you one. A nice one! Fresh and new, not any of the tattered shit he keeps in his linen closet.
Or, maybe, you’d like it more if he just… Held you? He could keep you warm all by himself if you wanted him to. Would you even like him to?
Would that make you happy?
Would he make you happy?
A fresh round of tears breaks over him.
He closes his eyes and curls in on himself as he lets the sobs take over him. Damn it, he promised himself he wouldn’t do this again… He thinks about you far too much. All the time, really. And where does it get him? Somewhere about like he is now, he supposes.
He stews in his own wretchedness like this for quite some time, and it’s not until a few days later that anything changes.
Mason pounds on the door of the dingy little house, “Frank?”, he calls, “Frank, open up you bastard, I know you’re in there!”
Truthfully, he’s only in town on some work related business, but… He can’t just stand by and let his friend suffer like this.
So, he waits and waits, and pounds and pounds until he's sure the door is about to come off the hinges. Mason cups his hands to the crack of the door, shouting into it as loud as he dare, “I’m not leaving until you come out here asshole!”
At last, a quiet voice comes from the other side, “What do you want?”
For a moment, Mason is rather dumbfounded. Never before has he ever heard his friend sound so soulless. So… broken. He shakes his head, and pulls himself out of it, “Frank will you open up? I’m here to check on you man!”
Woods sighs, “Don’t waste your time”, the voice trails off as though he’s walking away.
“Hey!”, Mason pounds on the door again, “Son of a bitch, get back here!”
The door swings open abruptly, and Mason nearly falls over as the door’s taken out from him. He stumbles a moment, then catches himself as he stands up straight.
Mason locks eyes with his old friend, and Woods says nothing. Alex takes in the sight of him. His stubble is out of control, the bags under his eyes are dark and purple, and the undershirt he’s wearing could’ve used a wash about a week ago.
“Jesus…You look like shit”
“Thanks”, Woods replies flatly, “Now go away”
He makes to close the door, but Mason stops him, “Wait wait wait… Ok, I’m sorry, I just… Wow, um… Can I come in at least? Let’s talk about this”, Alex motions to Woods in his entirety.
“Do I have a choice?”
Mason pushes the door all the way open, letting himself in and taking his friend by the shoulders as he leads him further into the house, “No, we’re having a fucking intervention”
He leads him to the living room and clears a pile of clothes and trash off the cushions so they can sit down. Alex commands his friend to take a seat, then follows suit. Once they’re both settled, Mason grows serious but maintains a cautious, sympathetic veneer.
Mason rubs his hands together and gives it to him straight, “Look, I know you feel like you fucked up. I know you’re feeling lonely and it’s got you in the dumps. But… Come on man, look what’s been going on with you!”, He gestures to the living space around them.
Dirty laundry and neglected trash sit in little piles all around in a room that smells of old must with a faint, queasy scent of booze. “This is no way to live, buddy!”
Frank says nothing. Instead, he sits and listens without even attempting to make eye contact, like a child receiving a tiresome lecture.
Alex grits his teeth and tries to keep his temper in check. “So… What I’m trying to say is…. Maybe you need to get out of here, you know? Go to a game, take a vacation, something!”, he scoots a bit closer, taking on a more personal tone with his old friend, “I don’t want to see you destroy yourself like this Frank…”
Woods recoils at that, snapping to life as though he’d just now entered the conversation, “I’m not! I just… I need some time to get over this, alright!”
Mason casts an exaggeratedly doubtful look at the other man. Frank jumps to defend himself once more, but Alex cuts him off, “Ok ok! How about this, let’s you and me go out for a little bit huh? Have some beers, some guy time! I just want you to get out of this place for a little while, is that so bad?”
Frank grumbles a bit, but somewhere in there is an agreement. Mason cheers, "That's the spirit!", and drags his friend upstairs to clean up. He pushes him off to shave and shower before going downstairs to help himself to the kitchen.
It takes far longer than he anticipated, but Alex doesn’t go up to pressure the old Sargent even once. At last, the staircase creaks softly as Woods descends. He looks like a new man. Clean clothes, shaped up beard, and a gentle wafting of clean, musky shampoo emanating from him.
Woods walks up without much fanfare for himself, but Alex offers him a smile and a firm pat on the back, “There, now isn’t that better? You look great!”
Frank grunts and perhaps even mutters a thank you, but Mason is too busy trying to keep the momentum up. Once more, he drags his friend along and out to the car. The sun is starting to set and options for places to go are beginning to dwindle. Woods wonders where they’re going, and yet as the streets race by, he finds himself caring less and less.
By the time the car comes to a stop, he’s nearly fallen asleep.
Mason turns off the engine and shakes him awake, “Hey don’t fall asleep on me now, we’re just getting started!”
Woods snaps awake, but has to shield his eyes immediately. It seems impossibly bright out considering how late it is. He blinks a few times and rubs his eyes. Once they're fully adjusted, he finds that what he sees does nearly nothing to alleviate his confusion.
Before him stands the front of a pulsating night club. Blue and purple neon blaze in the dusky twilight. He can only imagine how they must look in the dead of night. A pounding beat comes from somewhere within, no doubt the drum track to some popular, modern song. Small clusters of younger people and a handful of adults hang around the doors pregaming for what they must be anticipating to be a long, wild night.
The pair get out of the car, but Woods is bewildered all the while. When Alex finally comes around to him, he can’t keep silent any longer, “What the fuck did you bring me here for?”
Mason seems almost taken aback, “For some fun? Come on, I know this isn’t really your scene but maybe that’s exactly what you need! Something new and fun, right?”, he doesn’t wait for a response, instead he pushes his friend along as they head towards the entrance.
The air seems thick and hazy around him, a fact only highlighted by the glowing miasma created by the neon interior. If Alex wasn’t pulling him along, he’s sure he’d get lost.
Alex takes him over to a table buried back in the corner. They take a seat and despite being right across from each other, Mason nearly has to shout to be heard over all the noise, “Want a drink?”
Woods thinks about it for a moment, still taking in the environment as he does so. He’s trying to find the bar, and when he does he figures it’s impossible to miss. A huge back wall of glass bottles, all lit up by a halo of purple neon and cool fluorescent lights stands bright as a beacon behind a solid bar top and array of stools and customers.
“Sure, I can get my own”
“Great! Hey, grab my usual would ya? I’m gonna take a leak real quick”, he points over his shoulder and excuses himself as he makes for the restrooms.
This… is not at all what he wanted.
Suddenly, Woods feels trapped and alone again, no better than he was back in his own home. Except now he’s surrounded by the heat, noise, and stench of over a hundred other people.
The lights feel heavy and blinding, the pulsating pop music, deafening. He trudges up to the bar slowly yet surely, but with every step he comes closer to committing to his plan of escaping back to Alex’s car.
He never should’ve went along with this… he was just fine at home, damn it.
Lost in his thoughts and half blinded by the smoke and lights, he runs smack into another person. With a dampened thud, they hit the ground hard. Wood swears under his breath and figures he can at least offer a hand. He bends down to help up the fallen individual, only to see…
You.
Suddenly, it’s as if all the haze and fog has cleared from his eyes. He can see you clear as day down here, and the noise and smells of the crowd all fade away. A soft blue glow highlights your features, and an electric magenta bounces off your hair. The sparkling, sequined little dress you wear glitters in the halo of light descending around you, and a thousand flecks of light reflect back onto his worn, tired face.
Woods' hand hangs in mid air, half way through it’s journey to assist you. He whispers your name, quietly and fondly, as though he never thought he’d see you again.
For the first time in what must have been days, a smile breaks free from his stern glower.
But all you see is the asshole who teased you along for weeks, only to give you the highest embarrassment by sending you off like a misbehaving child after you were at your most vulnerable with him.
You were ready to give him your very body, and he only felt up what he wanted and sent you off.
With a sneer, you slap his hand away and hop up on your own. You don’t even bother to spare him a word. Instead, you stare daggers into him and walk off.
For a moment. For a second time… He watches you go.
He should let you walk away.
After what he did, you deserve at least the privacy. And that’s aside from the fact that you’re clearly pissed.
But he can’t. Not again.
“Hey, wait!”, he dashes after you, shoving his way through the crowd. A little too roughly, he grabs your upper arm and spins you around. You yank yourself free from his grip and glare right through him. Even through all the rage…
You look so beautiful in this light.
“I… I- uh. Hey”
“Hey?”, your blood is boiling. Is that all he has to say for himself?
The venom in your voice makes him recoil, shrinking back into himself. But still… “I uh, I just… H-how are you… I didn’t think you’d be in a place like this, heh…”
Out of pure manners, you respond, “Fine. What are you doing here?”, you cross your arms, defensive, but genuinely curious.
Woods looks over his shoulder then all round, searching for any sign of Mason. Nothing. He snaps his attention back to you, trying to come up with any reason at all to explain himself. Frank stutters for an answer, but you end your indulgent lapse before he can say anything coherent and turn to walk away.
“Wait! I… I-I miss you...”
You whip around, seething with anger. Then, very seriously, you ask, “Are you following me?”
“What? No! Fuck no! I just… I miss you, that’s all!”
You scoff, “Well maybe you should’ve fucking thought of that first”
“...You’re right”
That stops you dead. This is nothing like the Woods you know… You can’t recall a single time he’s had the humility, let alone the balls, to admit that he’s wrong.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah…”, he sighs, and even in the darkness of the club you can see a glimpse of just how much pain he’s in, “Look… I shouldn’t have done that, back there behind the gym. You trusted me and I fucked it up. I know. It’s just… I was scared”
A biting edge creeps back into your voice. You don’t buy that. “Scared? Of what, getting caught?”
“What? No! I was scared… that I was taking advantage of you, alright?”
You blink, and suddenly all the rage leaves you, as though the hot air was deflated right out of you. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“Well I mean… You know… Y-you’re just a kid, and I’m… not. I just- It didn’t feel right. Hell, I didn’t even get a chance to ask if you really wanted all that, I just… went for it”
You take a little step closer, your hard gaze softening just a touch, “Well… It’s not like I was saying no”, you chuckle
“Yeah, but that’s not the fucking same, you know?”
You look away, “Yeah…”
“So… Anyway… I’m sorry, alright?”
At last, you turn back and smile at him, “Alright. I forgive you, and… thanks. For saying that”
Woods nods and accepts your thanks. The two of you share a little smile and a short pause of uncertain silence until he breaks the silence, “So… What now?”
You look him up and down. He’s wearing jeans and a tightly fitting flannel, a stark contrast to all the trendy, flashy fashion of the rest of the clubbers, and yet it’s so… him. You trace a finger down his limp, tattooed arm, stopping at his fingers to intertwine them with yours.
“How about a dance?”, you tug his hand gently, then nod towards the dance floor.
A feeling like euphoria washes over him, and time seems slow as he floats along while you tug him through the crowd. Somewhere in the beautiful, prismatic show of lights, he hears himself agree. You lead him to a cramped, but vacant spot on the glowing dance floor and turn an ear to the music, “Hey, I love this song…”
Woods perks up to listen, just in time to catch the start of More Than A Woman, muffled slightly by all the noise and bustle of the crowd.
It’s like it’s playing from within a dream.
You rest your hands on his chest, letting them slide down so that the heels of your palms sit where the curve of his stomach begins to swell out. Frank has his hands on your waist, swaying in time with you slowly to the music. He clears his throat and looks away from your sparkling, gorgeous eyes, a nervous blush creeping up his neck.
He knows you’ve been over this before, but… “Yeah, uh… so, you know, I’ve been thinking I should lose some weight... You know, while you’ve been… gone”, he moves your hands up from his belly to clasp behind his neck.
You quirk up your brow, a confused smile on your lips, “Why?”
“Uh, I don’t know… I think it makes me look old, I guess”
You laugh and come a little closer, your bodies nearly touching, “Well, if it means anything... I don’t think so”, You inch up and kiss his cheek, bringing one hand down to rest on his softened pect. He huffs a nervous laugh and masks the flattered embarrassment with a timid smile as he covers your hand with his, holding it there just a little while more.
He's never forgotten how amazing your touch alone feels.
He clears his throat and re-establishes eye contact. A whole kaleidoscope of color plays inside your eyes. He could get lost in them for the rest of his life. “You uh… wow. You- you look beautiful tonight...”, he steals a quick glance as your little, sparkly dress and the neon rainbow refracting off the thousands of tiny sequins, “Nearly gave this old man a heart attack when I first saw you”, he laughs.
“Oh?”, you smirk and lead him into a turn, “ In that case, you should see me take it off”
His heart pounds underneath your palm, but his face looks frozen with surprise. He doesn’t hear women say that kind of stuff to him often…
“D-do you… Do you mean that?”
“Well, I mean… Maybe after this, I’d love t-”
“No, not that. I mean… Me. D-do you really feel that way about me?”
You stop dancing for a moment.
His words cut deeply with the quiver of hope they carry, as though it had never crossed his mind that someone would want to be with him.
“Of course I do. But… I want you more then just for that you know”, you chuckle.
His cheeks go pink, “Oh. Damn, so you like that kind of st-?”
You place a single finger to his lips, shushing him. “I meant… I love you”
Your words echo back to him in slow motion, as though reality and time itself are breaking all around him to unveil a haven of euphoria. His heart is beating in his ears, and yet it sounds slow and calm, just like the wild crowd and the blaring music all around him.
Everything grows quieter and softer until it all fades away, leaving behind just you and him.
He wracks his brain, trying to remember the last time he heard those words, only to come up empty handed. It’s been so long… He can’t even remember.
Frank looks back at you, a little neon angel clinging to his beat up old shirt. Gorgeous. That’s all he can think of when he sees you. He almost feels like he shouldn't even have the privilege to do so. You bat long lashes up at him and a slow smile draws across your soft, glossy lips.
More than a woman…
Slowly, you come up to meet your lips to his. You’ve kissed before, but this… It feels like the first kiss of his entire life.
He presses back gently, sucking softly as he draws you close. You smell like dark cherry and amber, some combination of perfume and lip gloss. The faint smell of whisky and musk radiating off of him mingles with the divine scent of you.
He can taste it all on his tongue, even as he slides it over to flick across yours.
More than a woman to me…
At long last you part, breathing softly as your eyes drift up to meet one another's. And when he looks down into those deep, glittering pools, he wonders how he never saw all the love and warmth they hold for him. The love they always had.
“I love you too…”, he whispers, tears stinging at his eyes and voice, before he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.
A/N: Hi guys! Here is chapter 3!!! I feel like it could have been better, but I really started feeling it at the end (and I think you can tell) Enjoy ahhh!! (and yes, the title of this is one big LCD Sound System Reference :))
Summary: You and Neil are sent on your first mission, but things get incredibly messy, as they always do.
Warnings: Guns, gun wounds, death, cursing, angst, and that’s about it!
Word Count: 5,765... If anyone wants to teach ya girl how to do the “read more” thing that would be fantastic...
Chapter 1 // Chapter 2
Sunlight pours through the small crack in the curtains. Your stomach is pressed up against the mattress. You shift around underneath the sheets, but an arm is wrapped around your body, keeping you in place. You inhale deeply, and the smell of his cologne fills your lungs.
Neil. You keep your eyes shut, reveling in his touch. He rustles a bit, and you feel yourself being pulled in closer to his chest. You maneuver onto your side, allowing him to bring your chest up against his.
His lips brush against your left ear.
He has to be awake, You think to yourself. A light kiss presses softly against your ear, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks. There is absolutely no way he’s still asleep.
“(Y/N)?” Neil whispers, as if to ask if you were still next to him.
Your eyes flutter open. “Good morning,” You mutter. Your voice is hoarse from a full night of sleep, the first full night of sleep you had gotten in what felt like ages.
The light catches Neil’s blue eyes, causing them to sparkle and glow in the rays of sun. His blonde hair was a ruffled mess. Still, he’s undeniably attractive. It didn’t matter how unkempt he appeared to be, there was still something about him; something about him that made your heart pound out of your chest, something about him that made it impossible and yet easier to breathe all at the same time. His presences was overwhelming and yet so calming.
He clears his throat. “Did you sleep well?” He asks, his arms still pulling you tightly against his chest.
Besides all the other times we’ve shared a bed, You think to yourself before saying, “That was probably the best sleep I’ve gotten in years.”
You remember that just yesterday he had said you two were “friends.”
But friends don’t do these kinds of things.
Neil smiles back at you, his nose less than a centimeter away from yours. “I’m glad,” He responds. You can feel his breath on your lips.
The last thing you want to do is get up. You silently hope that Neil won’t move. Eventually, the time would come to do the very thing you came here to do, unfortunately. But for now, you wanted to enjoy laying in bed with Neil, regardless of what it meant for him.
You watch as Neil sighs and furrows his brows. There’s something on his mind, and it’s very clearly bothering him. You always hated seeing him like this, and you couldn’t let it go unnoticed.
“Neil?” You ask. “Are you alright?”
He smiles sheepishly. “I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” Neil reassures, but you know there’s something wrong.
“If there’s something on your mind, you can always talk to me,” You say, bringing your left hand to rest on the side of his upper thigh.
You’re shocked to feel his exposed skin and not his boxers. They had scrunched up into his crotch.
You retract your hand immediately, feeling as though you had overstepped some unspoken boundary. “I-I’m sorry about that.” Your voice is distraught and shaky in the wake of your embarrassment.
“No,” Neil says. His voice is calm and a smile reappears on his face. “It felt nice.” You nod, allowing your hand to travel back to where it was.
You decide to start over and try again. “But really Neil, you can always talk to me, about anything,” You pause, choosing to go the confrontational route. “I know something is wrong with you. I can just tell.”
Neil’s arm tightens around you. You didn’t think it could be possible to get closer to him, and yet suddenly you were. “Well, last night…” Neil trails off. You can feel his heart beat grow louder in his chest. “I was going to talk to you about something.”
“Well, what is it?” You ask. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the moment Neil would tell you how he felt about you.
Neil inhales sharply through his nose. “(Y/N), it’s just that-,”
The sound of Neil’s phone roughly vibrating against the bedside table next to him cuts him off. He lets go of you and turns over to pick up the phone. You stuff your face into your pillow in absolute agony.
Another moment stolen, You think.
“Shit,” He mutters under his breath. “Hello?” He answers the call. “Already?” There’s a pause. “What do you mean it’s half past twelve?” Another pause. “I’m sorry we must’ve slept through the alarm I-,” Whoever is on the other line interrupts him immediately. “Alright, thanks. We’ll start getting ready now.”
You lift your face off of the pillow. Neil hangs up and puts the phone back onto the nightstand.
“It’s time already?” You ask. You feel your anxiety growing in the pit of your stomach. You know what’s coming next. You can feel it on the tip of your tongue. You can feel the uncertainty. You can already hear the gunshots, the screams, the cries for help.
Neil turns back over towards you, his arm wrapping tightly around your body yet again. “Yeah, it’s time,” He says, pressing a kiss against your forehead. His lips are warm and soft, reassuring even. But you didn’t want to go, not yet. Being with Neil was too good. For the first time in a long time, you were finally feeling normal. You had finally felt safe. And now, as you always did, you were going to risk it all.
I can’t do this, You think to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut.
“Neil,” You feel yourself tremble a bit, “I-I can’t d-do this,” You stutter, tripping over your words at the mere thought of getting out of bed.
“I’m so sorry, love,” Neil says, pulling you closer to him. “But I don’t think we have a choice.”
A choice? You hated the idea that anyone had a lack of “choice,” especially when it came to the organization. You hated the idea that nothing could be changed or altered to make something better. What’s happened, happened. And yet, you believed none of that.
Of course I have a choice. I’m an autonomous woman with agency and independence. You think to yourself. “And what the fuck is stopping me from saying no, Neil?” Your sudden fury causes him to jump back a bit. His grip on you loosens.
Neil’s shocked expression takes you aback. “I didn’t mean to make you-,”
You cut him off, feeling guilty for jumping down his throat so abruptly. “No, it’s not your fault Neil. It’s me,” You roll onto your back and Neil’s arms slide off of you. “This is so overwhelming. I’m a mess.”
Neil shifts closer to you. He’s laying on his side. He brings his hand across your body and onto your shoulder, drawing light circles with his index finger. You sigh, his touch leaving goosebumps on your exposed skin. “It’s going to be okay, I promise,” He says. He lets you sit in silence for a few minutes. He somehow knows it's exactly what you need.
He always does.
You look over to the alarm clock on your bedside table.
12:34
“We should probably get up now,” You say apprehensively.
Neil nods, lifting his hand from your shoulder. He presses a kiss against your cheek before hopping off the bed. “Just for good measure,” He says with a wink.
Neil had been stealing kisses from you far more recently than he had in the past, and you certainly recognized it. You weren’t complaining, but it was confusing. You weren’t sure what he wanted. You knew there was at least a slight chance that Neil saw you as more than a friend. That was a natural occurrence of life. After all, you had fallen for him.
Who’s to say he couldn’t fall for you too. You immediately shake the thought off. Thinking like this could ruin the mission. You were too distracted for your own good. Now was not the time to be wondering how Neil felt about you, regardless of how puzzling the situation was.
Neil had shuffled off into the bathroom. You could hear the shower turn on and the glass door of the shower close behind Neil. You stifle any further thoughts in the back of your head, and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You walk over to your duffle bag and begin to rummage through your clothes. You were always incredibly indecisive when it came to what to wear.
After a few minutes, you finally decide on a pair of baggy, black menswear dress pants, similar to the ones you were still wearing. You grab an oversized white t-shirt to go with it. You pull your black high top converse out of the bag as well, letting them fall to the floor.
The door to the bathroom opens, and Neil comes out with just a fuzzy white towel wrapped around his waist. You stare too far down for far too long, and Neil is quick to notice.
“If you’re going to look at me like that, you should really buy me dinner first,” He jokes. He walks over to you and stops when he reaches his suitcase.
You feel the heat rising to your cheeks and you smirk a bit. “I-I just didn’t expect you to be-,”
“To be what? Practically naked?”
“Well, yes, to be honest,” You say, your smirk turning into a wide smile. Neil smiles back, and nudges you playfully with his elbow. You shut your eyes and shake your head. “I’m getting in the shower now.”
Neil chuckles as you walk away. “Can I have the same show you got? It’s only fair!”
How you wished he wasn’t just kidding around with you.
You step into the bathroom and shut the door behind you.
The shower is incredibly refreshing. The hot water almost puts you to sleep again, but it’s a welcomed feeling. Things seemed peaceful. But there’s always a calm before the storm.
Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door.
“(Y/N)?” Neil calls.
His voice catches you off guard. You almost slip on the water below. “Yeah?” You call back, catching yourself and regaining your balance.
“I think I left my boxers in there,” He says. Your face reddens as you predict his next words. “Is it alright if I pop in and grab them? I won’t peak, I promise!” You hear his muffled chuckle through the door.
You swallow hard. “Yeah, sure I don’t mind,” You say back. Your heart races in your chest. The glass of the shower door was completely fogged up, and Neil wouldn’t see a thing, or at least he probably wouldn’t. But part of you of wanted him to…
Your thoughts are interrupted as the door creeks open, and Neil enters the bathroom. There’s some shuffling around and you can hear Neil moving some things.
“Where the bloody hell did they go?” Neil whispers to himself. A giggle escapes your lips. “What’s so funny about this, love?” Neil’s sarcastic tone only makes you laugh more.
“I mean where could they have possibly-,” You say, cutting yourself off as you look up to see Neil’s boxers hanging over the top of the shower. “How did they even end up there?”
Neil chuckles now too. “I must’ve put them up there with my pants. I didn’t think I’d have time to iron my clothes, so I just threw everything over the top to get some steam on it,” He explains between laughs. Of course he was worried about how wrinkly his clothes would be, You think to yourself, letting another giggle out.
The shape of Neil’s body becomes more prominent as he walks over towards the shower. You feel yourself growing nervous upon the realization that Neil can most likely see a better outline of what you look like too. His hand grabs the boxers and he yanks them down.
“I promised no peaking, so I’ll get out of your hair now,” Neil laughs and you watch as he walks over to the door. You almost wanted to tell him to stay.
Almost.
Before you can say a word, Neil opens the door and steps back out. Flustered beyond belief, you force yourself to finish the shower.
You brush your teeth and put your stringy, wet hair in a clip to at least make it look presentable. You grab your clothes and slip them on, tucking your t-shirt into your pants and lacing a black, square buckle belt through your belt loops.
You take a look at yourself in the mirror and you can’t help but feel at least a tiny bit proud of what you were able to accomplish in such a short time, that is, until you open the door.
Neil is standing on the other side of the room, his left arm holding his weight up as he leans against the window, looking down at the city streets below. His grey suit jacket hangs below his hips and fits him perfectly. His white dress shirt is crisp, and a little green scarf serves as his neck tie. His pants are the exact same color as the suit jacket, and at the bottom are a pair of black dress shoes. He didn’t bother to gel his hair back, but it looked better when he let it be a little messy. When he gelled it he looked too uptight, too posh, too much like a tory.
You still remember the day Neil had taught you that word. You didn’t have a clue about British politics, and despite Neil’s well-off appearance, he was always adamant about not being a tory.
“But you’re as posh as anything Neil,” You said, breathing absurdly hard in between laughs.
Neil shakes his head erratically. “I’m posh in a cool, secret agent way!” He exclaims in his defense. “I’m not a tory, come on! I shouldn’t have ever taught you that word. You’re just going to hang it over my head forever.” He sighs dramatically, shoving his head in his hands for extra effect.
You rest your hand on his shoulder, reassuring him sardonically. “Oh Neil, fine. You’re not a tory.”
The rest of the flashback, the playful banter and the stolen, sneaky touches are quickly shut down by the buzzing of Neil’s phone. He breaks his stare from the streets below and picks it up, carefully reading the message he just received.
“It’s time, they gave us the location,” He says, still looking down at the message. You freeze instantly, as if you’ve become paralyzed. “(Y/N)?” Neil calls, walking over to you. He places his hands on your shoulders.
“I just,” You trail off, searching for the right words. “I just thought I’d have more time to prepare, I guess.”
Neil loosens his hold on your shoulders and wraps his arms all the way around you, pulling you tightly into his chest. “I know love, I know,” He whispers. You take a deep breath.
Maybe I could do this, You force yourself to think. I have to.
You untangle yourself from Neil and walk over to the chair to put your converse on. Neil studies you from afar, seemingly watching your every move. You don’t feel uncomfortable at all. You know he’s watching you to make sure you’re okay. Normally you wouldn’t want Neil to worry about you so much, but now his worry was welcomed. It made you feel safe. It made you feel validated. He truly wanted nothing but the best for you, and he made that abundantly clear.
You finish tying your shoes and stand up, lightly brushing away the creases in your pants. You grab your long, tweed, dark grey trench coat and throw it over your shoulders. You grab the pistol at the bottom of your suit case, and slip it into the inside pocket on the right side of the coat.
“I’m ready,” You say, looking over at Neil.
Neil nods, and walks back over to you. “Are you sure?”
You nod back. “No, but that’s okay.”
————
You and Neil make it down to the parking garage, but the Porsche is nowhere to be seen. Neil pulls out a set of keys from his pocket and presses a button.
“Can’t repeat the same ride twice,” Neil jokes as the lights of a black BMW flash in your face, just as the Porsche had done last night. You let a small smile break your furrowed brows and tightened face as you get into the car. Neil puts the keys into the ignition and drives off.
Neil explains the mission to you on the way there. The plan was to continue posing as Ophelia and Atlas Ryan, two newlyweds traveling the world together.
“But you’re from London,” You retort, posing a potential problem about the cover.
“You’re not,” Neil grins back at you. “Besides, who says I can’t show you around a bit?”
You grin back at him, finally accepting the plan.
“So we’ll be pretending to shop in this clothing store,” Neil starts, but you quickly interrupt him, knowing exactly what’s coming next.
“What’s it a front for?” Anxiety sits in your stomach like a rock. You couldn’t help but blurt out the question.
Neil swallows harshly. “There’s a Turnstile in the back,” He says, keeping his eyes on the road. “And some inverted weapons, although some may be an understatement.”
Of course there’s a fucking Turnstile, You think to yourself. You grip the handle on the side of the door as the GPS shouts directions.
Suddenly, the bombs in Neil’s suitcase all make sense now.
“And we have to stick a bomb…” You trail off, flabbergasted by the danger of the mission.
“We have to stick a bomb somewhere inside the store, and detonate it the second we leave,” Neil finishes your thought.
You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down, but it doesn’t work very well. You look back to the GPS on the screen, searching for your ETA.
1:35PM.
That’s when you look down at your phone and realize that it’s already that time. Neil slides into an open parking spot a few doors down from the store.
He looks over at you once last time.
“Are you sure you can do this? Because maybe I could find a way to do this by mys-,”
“No,” You state firmly, refusing to let Neil finish. “We’re in this together.” You put a hand on his thigh and look longingly into his eyes. “I’d never leave you, Neil.” Your eyes flicker down to his lips.
Neil smiles, and you can feel your heart burst in your chest. He grabs you and pulls you against him in a tight embrace. It wasn’t exactly what you were aiming for, but it most definitely wasn’t a miss. He lets go and you nod at each other subtly.
It was time.
Neil opens his door and hops out. You go to open your door, but Neil quickly walks over to your side, opening it for you. He grins, knowing that you aren’t allowed to complain. You were married now, after all. Neil grabs your hand, and helps you out of the car.
You walk along the street past a few cars before finally finding an opening to get onto the sidewalk. You and Neil stop in front of the boutique.
Through the Looking Glass
A far too perfect name, You think to yourself.
Neil’s hand is still holding yours. He squeezes tightly, and you squeeze back.
Neil takes the first step and opens the door. A bell rings. The white walls of the store are decorated with fairy lights and some posters.
“Good afternoon! Welcome in,” A tall, black haired woman says cheerfully from the behind the register. “Is there anything I could help you find today?"
Shit, You think to yourself. Her questions were simple. They were completely normal questions, and yet you were frozen again.
“We’re just taking a look around. It’s only my wife’s second time here in London,” Neil starts, developing a story, a reason to be here. “She came to meet my parents a few years ago, but she never really got the London experience, you know?”
The woman nods from behind the counter. “That’s wonderful!” She says ecstatically. You were amazed at Neil’s ability to keep his cool. You could tell he had her convinced. It was like a superpower or something. “Well, if you need anything at all, let me know!”
“Thank you so much,” You say, finally having the courage to participate in the conversation.
You and Neil begin to shift through racks, picking a top or skirt out every few pieces or so. You carried a few fake conversations: where to eat dinner, where to go next, what landmark to see first. Neil casually slips the bomb in your pocket in the midst of discussion.
Finally, after collecting a few pieces, you and Neil head back over to the woman behind the register.
“Do you think I could try these on in the fitting room?” You ask politely, a smile spreading across your face.
The woman smiles back. “Of course, right this way!” She leads you and Neil over to the back of the store and into a smaller room. There’s a row of doors connected to cubicles on the right side, and a set of pink tufted armchairs along the left. There’s a few doors along the wall ahead, and that’s where you assume the turnstile and weapons are kept.
She unlocks one of the rooms, and guides you inside. “Thank you so much,” You say pleasantly, trying to keep your cool despite how terribly you want to start trembling. You head into the room and shut the door behind you.
There’s a long mirror in front of you, and a small, tufted white armchair in the corner. The bomb would fit best behind the armchair, and could go relatively unnoticed. You decide that you should actually give some semblance of a fashion show before placing the bomb. Otherwise, you might blow your cover.
You carefully place your coat on the armchair, making sure that your gun isn’t exposed. You grab your first outfit, a navy blue turtleneck sweater and a plaid skirt. You slip into the clothes and open the door.
Neil’s gaze immediately settles on your exposed legs. “Wow,” He mumbles, looking you up and down.
You smile widely and blush. “Oh stop it,” You playfully say back, forgetting all about the mission for a split second.
“You look fantastic, really, (Y/N).” At first, you want to revel in his comment, but your eyes widen, quickly realizing what Neil had just done.
“Atlas, I don’t think that’s my name,” You whisper, hoping the women behind the counter hadn’t heard Neil call you by your name instead of Ophelia.
Neil gulps, and a slight smile appears on his face. “Ophelia darling,” He says louder this time, “You look incredible.”
You try to keep the show going, and you smile back. “Well then I guess I’ll just have to get this outfit, won’t I?” You say back, glancing over at the woman behind the counter. Her eyes were locked on yours, and she quickly breaks her stare. She grabs the phone on the counter and dials a number.
“Atlas,” You whisper, getting closer to Neil. “I think we’re a bit fucked.”
Neil turns around quietly, and watches the woman on the phone. She looks like she knows what she’s doing.
She looks like she knows who you are.
“What should we do?” You ask, whispering even softer now.
Neil remains in the chair, and turns back to face you. “Put on the next outfit. I’ll keep an eye out.” You nod, and head back into the room.
You take off the skirt, and grab the light beige menswear dress pants off their hanger. You put them on, one leg at a time, trying to listen to what was going on outside the room. You slip the navy sweater off and grab a turtleneck in a darker shade of beige to put on.
You step outside, and luckily, Neil is sitting exactly where he was sitting before.
“I like that one a lot too,” He says, looking you up and down just as he did before. “I meant what I said before, you really do look fan-,”
Neil is cut off by the opening of one of the doors. A tall, brown haired man steps out of the door and walks over to the woman by the counter. You keep your smile on your face in an attempt to salvage whatever is left of the mission. Neil does the same.
“You know, we should probably get going now if we want to make it to our lunch reservations,” You say as the idea pops into your head. This was your way out.
Neil grins at your cleverness. “Oh wow, I can’t believe it’s time already. Still feels like the day just started!”
“Time flies when you’re having fun, my love,” You say as you head back into the room.
You’re overdoing it, dumbass! You mentally yell at yourself. You knew your cover was blown. You take the clothes off, and go to put yours back on. In all your shuffling and panic, you forget one crucial thing.
The bomb is in the pocket of your pants.
The second you take your pants off the armchair, the bomb falls out and crashes to the floor. It slides under the door all the way to Neil’s feet.
“Shit,” You hear Neil curse.
BANG!
A gunshot rings out in the store.
You grab your gun from the pocket of your trench coat, force your pants on and run out of the room.
The man is collapsed on the floor and Neil’s gun is aimed at the woman. You cock your gun and aim as well.
“I should’ve fucking known from the start,” The woman says, shaking her head. “North American scum, you’re all the same. Slimey little-,”
“Shut the fuck up!” You shout. “You’re going to call whoever you just called, and tell them that you don’t need any further assistance, do you understand?”
She cackles. “No. Why the bloody hell would I do that? There’s at least twenty men on their way down here.” Before you can respond, she reaches for something behind the counter.
BANG!
You feel a wetness in your right shoulder. It’s an odd, numbing sort of feeling. Everything appears to be fuzzy for a split second. You can’t hear properly, you can’t see properly, it’s like static on a television set.
BANG!
Everything begins to come back as Neil rushes over to you. He crouches down. You hadn’t even realize that you had fallen over. You look down to your right shoulder, and notice the blood pooling underneath your shirt. You take a deep breath, knowing that this wasn’t the end. You had to push through the mission.
“(Y/N)?” There’s nothing but panic in his eyes. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” You say, standing up. Neil grabs your arm, helping you. “I mean it, I’m okay. I can do this.”
Another man bursts into the store through one of the back doors. He brandishes a gun. You hold your pistol up and shoot.
BANG!
You hit him in the center of his chest, but the knock back causes you to fall to the ground. “Sh-shit,” You mumble. The pain is too intense for you to say more than that. You take a few deep breaths, trying hard to put yourself back together.
Another man enters the room, and he grabs the bomb off the floor.
“We need to go, I can’t have you here like this,” Neil says. He kneels down next to you and scoops you up in his arms. He frees his right hand ever so slightly, aims his gun at the man, shoots, and misses.
Then, the man aims his gun towards you and Neil.
There’s another bang, followed by the sound of shattering glass echoing in the store and down the street.
“N-no, we can’t go. I’ll just shoot with my left hand, I can do it.” But before you could protest any more, Neil had already ran out of the boutique and towards the car. He secures you in the BMW, only for you to unbuckle and attempt to get out.
But it’s too late. Neil slides in, turns the ignition, and presses down on the gas.
“No!” You scream. You turn around and watch the boutique disappear behind you. “Neil! What the fuck?” You look over to him. His eyes are locked on the road.
“What? You wanted to stay back there and die?” He asks, anger growing in his voice.
“If it meant the mission succeeded and you got to live, then yes, I would have happily died,” You say, turning behind to see if anyone was on your tail.
Sure enough, three black SUVs were following close behind. Neil looks into the rearview mirror.
“Shit,” He curses, pressing his foot down onto the gas pedal as hard as he possibly can. He weaves through traffic, turning down a few streets rather erratically before finally hitting the highway.
“We need to get to the safe house,” Neil explains. “TP said he had the directions to one programmed in the car before we got it. It should be the only directions in the system.”
You nod, reaching over to the screen and selecting the navigation app. There’s one pre-programmed destination. You click the destination, and the directions load in immediately.
“I’m going to get them off our ass, okay?” You say, opening your window and grabbing your gun.
Neil frantically looks over to you, and then back at the road. “What? No! Get the fuck back inside!” He commands, but you ignore him and unbuckle. You carefully slide out the window and sit down on the thin edge.
You aim your gun at the windshield of the closest SUV and fire. The windshield barely dents. It’s bulletproof.
“Get inside!” Neil shouts again, shifting lanes quickly and strategically.
You ignore him again, and aim towards the SUV’s forward right tire. You shoot, and the tire deflates immediately. The car looses control and crashes into the center divider.
“Fuck yeah!” The exhilaration is like a high. You forgot what it felt like to be back in the field and actually doing well at your job.
The other SUVs are close behind, and you aim once again, this time of the back left wheel of one of the vehicles. You pull the trigger, sending the car off into the grass, crashing against a tree on the side of the road.
“Be careful, alright?” Neil shouts his reminder, hoping that it will have some effect on you.
There’s one SUV left. Just as you take aim, a man lets himself out of the passenger window and sits in the same position as you. You take a deep breath, and switch your aim to the man instead of the tire.
“Hey fuckass!” You scream, diverting his attention from the wheels of the BMW to you. “Over here!” You shout.
“(Y/N)!” Neil shouts angrily. “What the fuck are you doing?”
BANG!
“(Y/N)!” Neil screams, making sure that you’re still right next to him.
You take a deep breath. “I-I’m fine. He missed,” You say, but you’re not entirely sure that he did. The burning pain on the right side of your stomach tells you otherwise.
The man goes to aim towards you again, but before he can shoot, you pull the trigger, hitting him directly in the head. He topples out of the car, giving you the space to shoot the back wheels of the car. The SUV spins out into a nearby street light.
You slump back into the car, and close the window. Neil takes a quick glance into the rearview mirror to make sure no new SUVs appeared,
“Are they gone?” You ask, silently hoping that Neil would say yes.
“Yeah, for now,” Neil says, shifting his focus over to you. “Holy fuck, (Y/N), you said he missed!” Neil exclaims. “This is exactly why I fucking took you back to the car in the first place.”
You shake your head. “I didn’t ask you to do that. That was your choice. I make my own choices,” You pause, trying to catch your breath. “I’m an adult, you know. I’m not some kid for you to babysit.”
You look down at your side, and notice that you’re bleeding out onto the seat. “Oh sh-shit.”
Neil’s gaze focuses off the road and onto your wound for a quick second. “Jesus Christ what the fuck happened, (Y/N)? What did you do?”
“I saved the mission, what did you do?” You say, frustration heavy in your voice. “I didn’t ask for you to save me. If we just stayed in the boutique another second we could’ve blown the whole place up and-,”
But you can’t finish. An immense stabbing pain pulses strongly at your side. Your eyes begin to well up. There’s so much pain that you can’t even scream.
Neil is too focused on the road again to notice what’s happening with you. “Don’t blame this on me! What did you expect me to do? Leave you there? Fuck no,” Neil doesn’t realize that you’re dipping in and out of consciousness. “You don’t understand how much I care about you. You don’t understand what my life would be like if you died. It would be hell (Y/N), absolute hell.”
Neil stops his rant and looks over to you. “Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Neil’s voice is filled with worry. “Say something (Y/N), or at least try to stay awake.”
You’ve already lost so much blood. It was too hard to concentrate on what Neil was saying, you were too concerned with simply keeping your eyes open.
“N-Neil, a-am I going to make it?” You whimper earnestly. In truth, you were thankful for what Neil had done, you had just been beyond angry that your first mission back was a failure.
Neil nods, and places a hand on your thigh. “You’re not going anywhere, I promise. I’ve got you,” Neil says. He pushes the gas pedal into the floor. “Just stay awake for me, please.”
But you can’t. Your eyes shut, and suddenly the world goes dark.
Emily is the glue that holds the family together, aka five times the Hotchner family needed Emily.
A story in the “5 times + 1″ format.
Part of the Whatever Tomorrow Brings universe.
Chapter 1 - Amelia.
Read on AO3 via this link, or below the cut
March 2010
Aaron wakes to his bed being empty. He rubs his eyes, trying to remove the last remnants of sleep, and he turns to check the alarm clock, groaning when he sees it’s 3am. He touches the other side of the bed and feels that the sheets are cold, indicating that his wife had been gone for some time. Amelia had been off the evening before, their usually happy baby grouchy and sleepy. Which was always the first sign that she was coming down with something. Theo had been ill the week before, a bug he’d picked up from school, and Aaron had naively hoped they’d managed to avoid it being passed on to the youngest Hotchner.
He sits on the side of the bed and spots light filtering out from under the ensuite door. He walks over, opening the door to find his wife laying back in the bath, Amelia dozing on her chest. Emily looks tired, a small smile on her face when she spots him. “Hey.” She rasps out, staying quiet so she doesn't wake their daughter.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Aaron walks in and kneels on the floor next to the bath. “Everything ok?”
“She woke up about an hour ago, she had a fever. I thought a lukewarm bath might bring it down, but she started to cry every time I tried to put her in here herself.” Emily says gently, placing a hand on Amelia’s forehead. “It’s come down a bit.”
“You should have woken me up.” He says, placing a hand on their daughter's back. “I’d have helped.”
“It’s ok, honey.” She says placing her hand over his. “You need your sleep, work has been rough on you lately.”
“Right.” He says, with a raised eyebrow. “Because your job is a piece of cake.” Aaron links their fingers and runs a thumb over her knuckles. “You don’t have to do it all on your own anymore, Em. I’m here now. We’re all here.”
She purses her lips together and nods at him. It was still her instinct sometimes to try and do it all by herself, especially anything to do with the kids. Memories of those months spent alone waiting for Foyet to be stopped were sharp, and sometimes it still took her breath away. How close they had come to losing everything.
“Can you take her?” She asks softly. “She should be fine for now.”
“Of course.” He lifts the toddler off of his wife's chest and wraps her in a towel. Amelia wakes almost immediately, grumbling at being removed from her mother. “Let’s go get you dressed sweetie.”
He takes Amelia to the nursery and puts a fresh diaper on her, and a thin sleepsuit. He frowns at the warmth still on her skin, and soothes her when she starts to cry again. “I know what you want, you want Mommy.” He lifts Amelia into his arms and kisses her forehead. “I don’t blame you, I always want her when I feel sick too.”
Emily is already in bed dressed in one of his shirts when he walks back into their bedroom. Amelia immediately reaches out for Emily, the little girl's face already scrunched up as she cries. He passes Amelia over, lets his wife take him into her arms. “Mama.”
“You’re ok, sweet girl.” Emily says, running a hand over the back of her daughter’s head. She kisses her forehead and frowns. “It’s gone down, but she’s still warm.”
“We’ll call the doctor if she’s still got a temperature in the morning.” He says. Emily nods, settling Amelia so she is resting against her chest. The little girl's favorite place to sleep when she was sick or sad. “Sweetheart, you aren’t going to get any sleep if she’s in here.”
“I know.” She replies, soothing the small coughs coming out of Amelia by rubbing her back. “I’ll get someone to drop some case files and paperwork here tomorrow, work from here until she’s better.”
“And if you get a case?”
She glares at him. “Then I’m sure the team can handle it without me. It’s not like they haven’t before.”
“Sweetheart-”
“I’m not leaving her if she’s sick, Aaron.” She says, her voice firm. “She only settles for me if she’s sick and I’m not putting either of you through that.”
He knew his wife somehow felt responsible for his delicate relationship with his daughter. Things were better now, so much better, but he couldn’t say it didn’t hurt when Ameila, or any of their kids, immediately reached for Emily when something was wrong. The six months they had spent alone together had formed a bond he loved, but that he was also, in his worst moments, jealous of.
He wants to argue, wants to say that eventually something would happen with one of the kids when she wasn’t there, but he knows this isn’t the time. That it can wait until it isn’t almost 4am and she has their feverish daughter pressed against her.
“It’s a good thing your boss is so understanding.”
Emily smiles at him. “Well, I do repay his understanding with blow jobs so I think it’s earned.”
_________________
May 2024
Ameila was Emily through and through. It was something Aaron, and just about everyone they knew, said frequently. She looked like Emily. She had her nose, her dark eyes and hair, and the same smile that had always been able to convince Aaron to do just about anything. Amelia had inherited her fathers jawline and his seriousness, her frown, a pure ‘Hotch’ look that Penelope had often joked would serve her well in whatever she decided to do in the future.
She also had Emily’s attitude. A need to know everything, to push all the boundaries around her, that often drove Aaron to the edge of his sanity in a way neither of his sons ever had. Elizabeth often commented on how similar Amelia and Emily were, and he never missed the way she smirked at him when she said it.
Emily was fiercely protective of Amelia. Aaron knew it was because their daughter was the only one of their kids who didn’t remember the incident with Foyet. She was so small when it happened, only a few months old when her family was torn apart by the actions of a psychopath, and they were grateful for it. Jack and Theo still bore the scars of what happened, years of therapy had done them wonders, but it still surfaced at times, almost unexpectedly. Leading to Theo calling in the middle of the night, the now 21 year old plagued by nightmares that his mother was dead, only calmed down by the sound of her tired voice over the phone.
The first time Amelia really pushes the boundaries with her parents is when she comes home one day with her nose pierced. The ring in her nose was massive, big enough to allow for the swelling that would follow, drawing her parents attention to it immediately.
“What the hell is that in your nose?” Aaron asks, annoyance clear in his tone.
“It’s a nose ring, Dad.” Amelia answers, her eyes rolling as she hangs her keys up. “I got it done after school.”
“And who said you could do that?”
“It’s my nose. I didn’t realise I needed permission.”
“Ok.” Emily interrupts, placing a hand on her husband's arm to try and diffuse the situation. “I think what your dad is trying to say is that you should run this stuff past us, ok?”
Amelia scoffs. “Well it’s your nose I inherited, surely you understand why I wanted to do something to it.” She walks past her parents and goes up the stairs before the conversation can go any further. “I have homework.”
_________________
Aaron walks into their en-suite later that night to find Emily standing in front of the mirror scrutinising her appearance. He leant against the doorframe and watched as she turned her head side to side, running her finger down the slope of her nose. Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked at herself straight on again, her finger pressed into the tip.
“Em?”
She turns to look at him, taking her hand away from her nose as she does. He doesn’t miss the shy look on her face as she wrung her hands together. “Do you think my nose is weird?”
He frowns at her. “What? No.”
“I know it’s ridiculous. I’m 53 for fuck sake.” She mutters to herself.
He kisses the tip of her nose and she smiles at him. “You’re beautiful.”
“And you’re ridiculous.” She wraps her arms around him anyway, pulling him in for a kiss. “It will look better when she can switch to a smaller ring.”
“It will look better when she just takes it out.”
Emily laughs, shaking her head at him. “Come on, let's go to bed. Some of us have work in the morning.”
He raises an eyebrow at her as he always did when she referred to his early retirement, even though it had been years since he left the FBI. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
_________________
The casual mention of a boyfriend, a boy from Amelia’s art class called Chase, almost sends Aaron orbital. He manages to keep his opinions to himself until Amelia has gone to bed and he’s just in the kitchen with his wife, helping her with the dishes even though it was long ago established as her chore since she never cooked.
“She’s not that bad, Aaron.”
He scoffs at his wife. “She’s going to make me go grey.”
“Honey. Amelia is a teenage girl. A pretty well behaved one in comparison to what I was like.”
“Suddenly I feel a lot more sympathy for Elizabeth than I ever have before.” He mutters as he continues to put dishes away.
“What was that?” She raises an eyebrow at him.
“Nothing, sweetheart.”
She narrows her eyes at him as she passes him another plate, patting his cheek with her spare hand. “You’re already grey, Aaron. It’s got nothing to do with the fact our daughter has a boyfriend. Or a nose ring.”
_________________
Emily finally loses her cool two weeks later. They are eating dinner, just her, Amelia and Aaron, when she spots something on her daughter's wrist as she reaches for more salad. Emily grabs Amelia’s arm and pulls her sleeve back slightly to reveal a, admittedly very small, heart tattoo onto her daughter’s wrist. It was crude, slightly wonky and clearly not a professional one.
“What the hell is this?” She asks, staring her daughter down.
Amelia tears her arm out of her mother’s grasp and pulls her sleeve back down. “It’s a tattoo, Mom.”
“A tattoo? When did that happen?” Emily looks over at Aaron, who to her annoyance looked slightly amused that she was finally reacting like he had been all along.
“We did them at school.” Amelia answers, taking another bite of her dinner.
Emily’s initial reaction of telling her daughter how dangerous that was, how stupid, was drowned out by her overriding fear of who exactly had done this. “What do you mean ‘we’?”
“Chase and I did them. We have matching ones.” Amelia says, looking at her mother with a challenge on her face. “I don’t see what the big deal is Mom, you have tattoos.”
Emily glares at her husband when he chokes out a laugh at that, and he quickly excuses himself from the table. She turns back to her daughter. “Amelia, it really wasn’t very safe to do that. You have to let professionals do this kind of thing.”
Amelia rolls her eyes as she takes the final bite of her dinner. “Whatever.” She gets up from the table, already half out of the dining room before she speaks again. “I need to go FaceTime Chase.”
Emily puts her head in her hands as soon as she is alone. Her daughter was too much like her for her own good, independent and wilful almost to a fault. Emily loved that Amelia was like that, that she was so sure of herself in a way that Emily certainly hadn’t been at her age. She took it as a testament to her and Aaron’s parenting, but right now she was struggling with it. She just wanted to sit Amelia down and tell her that not everyone in the world had her best intentions at heart, and Emily had an increasingly sinking feeling that Chase was one of those people.
She blows out a breath and stands up, starting to collect the dishes from the evening meal. Emily hears her husband re-enter the room. “I’m going to get her some antiseptic cream to put on it. Who the hell knows where they got the needle they did it with from.”
“Emily-”
“She gave herself a matching tattoo with her boyfriend, Aaron.” She says, putting the dishes she had been holding back down on the dining room table. “They’ve been together for 8 weeks.”
He steps towards her and places his hands on her hips. “What was it you told me last week? That it will work itself out eventually.”
“She thinks she loves him, honey.” Emily lamented, allowing her husband to pull her into his arms. “And I know he’s going to break her heart.”
Aaron kisses her. “Sweetheart, we can’t protect her from that.” He kisses her again, cupping her cheek with his hand. “All we can do is be here for her if it happens.”
Emily rests her forehead on his chest. “Now who's being annoying ok about all of this?”
_________________
“This is where I found out I was pregnant with you.” Emily says offhandedly, a wistful smile on her face. It was so long ago now, but she still remembered the joy she had felt when she first saw Amelia on screen. The baby she had always been told she couldn’t have was now this amazing person she couldn’t imagine her life without.
Emily looks at her daughter when she doesn’t get a response, and she stops herself from laughing when she sees how pointedly Amelia is ignoring her. “Oh really, Mom?” She says to herself. “That’s so interesting.”
“Mom, I cannot believe you are doing this.” Amelia seethes, looking at the floor of the clinic they were in. Embarrassment coming off of her in waves. “This is so embarrassing.”
Emily rolls her eyes, and bites back a comment about how if she found birth control embarrassing then she should think twice about having sex. “I just want you to be safe, ok? You’ve got a boyfriend now and whilst I am not exactly delighted at the idea of you having sex.” She says, not missing how her daughter grimaces. “I don’t want you to take any chances.”
“Amelia Hotchner?”
Emily and Amelia look up to see Joanne standing at the door to her office looking expectantly at them. Emily smiles at her, Amelia does not, and the latter sighs as she stands up. She takes a few steps towards Joanne, only pausing when she realises her mother isn’t following her.
“Well you may as well come in. This was your idea after all.” Amelia says, annoyance colouring her tone. Emily sees past it, spotting the way her daughter nervously wrings her hands, fingers digging at her cuticles in a way she had picked up from her.
“Of course, sweetie.” She stands and walks up to her daughter, and guides her into Joanne’s office with a gentle hand on her back.
_________________
“You did what??” Aaron asks, seething, as they get ready for bed side by side in their ensuite. He turns to her, a disbelieving look on his face.
“I took her to get birth control.” Emily answers around her toothbrush, spitting into the sink. She rinses it and places it next to his in the holder.
“Why?” He is glaring at her, and she's suddenly more glad than ever that she hadn’t broached this subject with him until after Amelia had a packet of pills sitting in her bathroom cabinet, with very explicit instructions on the importance of taking it correctly from both Emily and Joanne. “Is she sleeping with him?”
“I don’t even know if she is having sex yet. But you know these things happen. I bought the boys condoms when they were teenagers.” She purposely misses out that she had also bought Amelia condoms, thinking that admission might make her husband's head explode. “I wanted to make sure she takes precautions if she takes that step.”
“She’s 15, Emily.”
“Yeah, and so was I.” She closes her eyes and sighs, turning to look at her husband as she crosses her arms across her chest. She looks at him and bites her lip, trying to figure out what she’s been wanting to say. “Aaron, I just don’t want what happened to me to happen to her.”
Emily can see the moment it registers in his head. The way his brow unfurls, his whole body unclenching as the anger seeps out of him, replaced by concern for her. He takes a step towards her. “Sweetheart…”
She shakes her head at herself, wiping a stray tear away that had fallen at the admission. “She deserves better than that.”
He sighs as he drags her into a hug, one she gladly returns, wrapping her arms around his back. “You deserved better than that too.”
Emily buries her face into his neck, breathes in the scent of him that had comforted her for more than half her life. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
_________________
Three days later it becomes a non issue. Amelia is out with friends, and Chase, leaving Aaron and Emily with the house to themselves.
Emily is sitting in her husband's lap on their couch. His hands up her shirt and his tongue in her mouth, when she hears it. A car door slamming on edge of her consciousness, someone running up the steps of their porch. She pulls back from Aaron, the dazed look on his face surely matching the one on her own. “Did you hear that?” She breathes out.
They hear a key in the door and break apart like they’ve burnt each other, both standing as the front door opens.
Amelia bursts in, tears streaming down her face. She drops her bag at the front door, her school things abandoned in the foyer of their home, and as soon as her eyes land on Emily her face crumbles. The steady stream of tears turning into sobs. “Mom.”
“Amelia?” She closes the gap between them, concern for her daughter overriding anything else, any lingering hopes she had of alone time with her husband gone in an instant. Amelia is in her arms in seconds, clawing at her shirt to try and get as close as possible. She buries her face into Emily’s shoulder and weeps. Emily cups the back of her daughter’s head, and runs her other hand up and down her back. “Oh sweetheart, it’s ok.” She soothes. “You’ll be ok.”
Emily exchanges a concerned look with Aaron over the top of their daughter's head and she shakes her head at him slightly when he takes a step towards them, silently asking him to leave it to her. He understands, just like he always had, and leaves them to it despite wanting to know exactly what has upset Amelia this much.
“Mia, honey.” She says gently, hand still tangled in her daughter's dark hair. She tries to pull back slightly, cupping Amelia’s cheek, but she holds on to her tighter, sobs still tearing out of her throat. “Let’s move over to the couch, ok?”
Amelia nods against her but doesn’t separate herself from her mother at all. Emily carefully guides her over to the couch and sits down. Amelia curls into her, wrapping herself around her in a way she hadn’t done in years. Emily wraps her arms around her, and whispers random words of comfort into her daughter's hair.
“Sweetheart.” She says gently, pulling away enough that she can cup Amelia’s face in her hands. She wipes tears away from her cheeks with her thumbs. “You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, not until you’re ready, but I need to know if you’re hurt.”
Amelia shakes her head. “Not hurt.” She says, her words choked by her tears. She leans back into Emily, pressing her face into her neck.
“Ok, sweet girl.” Emily says the old nickname, one she hadn’t used since Amelia was 9 and turned her nose up at it, slipping out without thinking. She presses a kiss on her daughter's head. “I’m right here.”
It takes almost 30 minutes for Amelia to calm down, for her sobs to dissipate into sniffs and a hoarseness in her throat as she takes in ragged breaths. “He broke up with me.”
Emily frowns, holding her daughter impossibly tighter. “What?”
“Chase broke up with me.” Amelia says, pulling back so she could look at Emily properly. “He said I was boring.”
Emily covers her reaction to that, keeping her surprise away from her face. Boring was not a word she would have ever used to describe Amelia. She tucks some of Amelia’s hair behind her ear. “I’m so sorry, baby. I know you really liked him.”
Amelia snuggles back down into her, sniffing as she lays her head on Emily's shoulder. Emily runs her hand through her daughter's hair, soothing her as she finishes calming down. “What do you want to do?” Emily asks. “We could get Dad to go out and get Taco Bell.”
Amelia chokes out a laugh but shakes her head. “I think I just want to go to bed.”
“Whatever you want.”
_________________
Aaron is pacing their bedroom when she enters it, softly closing the door behind her. He stops and looks at her, an expectant look on his face.
“He broke up with her.” Emily says. “She is heartbroken.” She hears how her own voice breaks as she tells him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like that.” She shakes her head at herself. “The worst thing is when she told me what happened I felt relieved. She’s sitting there absolutely hysterical and I’m relieved?”
Aaron closes the distance between them and hugs her. “You’re a fantastic mom, Em. I won’t let you believe anything other than that.”
She chokes out a laugh, somehow still surprised after all these years that he was able to guess what was really bothering her without her saying it outloud. “You’re a pretty great dad yourself, Mr Hotchner.” Emily lets herself relax in her husband’s embrace for a little longer, she pulls back and looks up at him. “I’m going to go in and sleep with her tonight.”
“Ok, sweetheart.” He kisses her quickly before letting her go so she can get ready for bed. He watches as she pulls on pyjama pants and a soft t-shirt that once belonged to him.
Aaron admires his wife as she takes off her makeup from the day and puts her dark hair up, smiling as he catches sight of some grey flecks that she hates as she twists it into a bun. She never believes him when he says it, but he thinks she's more beautiful now than she was when they first met all those years ago. Emily had always been beautiful, from the 22 year old she was when they first met. Teasing smiles and flirty comments as she coaxed him out to a bar with her.
Emily always lamented aging, wondering where the time had gone. More self conscious now than she had been the entire time he had known her. All he saw in lines on her face that she thought made her look old was all the laughter and joy they’d had over the years. She was softer now, her hips wider, evidence that she had given him two of their children that made him find her even more attractive. The grey flecks in her hair, that he knew she’d get dyed again soon, that showed him just how long they had loved each other.
They had been together 31 years and sometimes Aaron felt every moment of it, every single thing that had happened to them since she kissed him at one of her mother’s events. It somehow also had passed in the blink of an eye, decades gone in seconds and he was still somehow lucky enough to have her by his side.
“You’re staring.” She says, pulling him out of his thoughts with an amused look on her face and a teasing tone to her voice.
He pulls her into his arms again, kisses her cheek, then her nose. Making her laugh as she tries to squirm away from him. “You’re beautiful.”
Emily rolls her eyes at him. “You’re ridiculous.”
_________________
Ameila smiles shakily at her mother as she walks into her room. Emily walks over to her bed and climbs in on the spare side, settling down for the night. She lays on her side and looks at Amelia, tucking some hair behind her ear. “How are you doing, sweetie?”
Amelia sniffs, suppressing a sarcastic laugh. “I’ve been better.” She settles into her mother’s side, resting her head on her shoulder. In the darkness of her bedroom, with Emily’s arms wrapped tightly around her, she finally feels like she can admit the truth. “It’s because I wouldn’t have sex with him.”
“What do you mean?”
Amelia closes her eyes as she catches the tone in her mother’s voice, the dangerous edge to it that she was so rarely on the receiving end of. She had only ever really overheard it when she was talking to someone about work over the phone, or one the rare occasion her parents had a full blown row, their angry voices soon turning into other noises that Amelia thanked whoever was listening for the invention of noise cancelling headphones.
“That’s why he broke up with me.” Amela says, feeling tears build back up in her eyes. “Because I wouldn’t sleep with him.”
She feels her mother’s hold on her tighten, and the sharp intake of breath that she takes beneath her head. Emily kisses the top of her head. “You’re ok, sweetheart. Go to sleep.”
Amelia drifts off to the feel of her mother stroking her hair, something she hadn’t had happen since she was younger. She was surprised to realise how much she had missed it, regret for how she had started to rebuff her mother’s affection a few years back building in her chest. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too.” Another kiss to the top of her head. “Now get some sleep.”
She falls asleep, completely unaware of how Emily laid awake for hours, anger for a teenage boy she had only met once burning through her veins until she came up with a plan.
_________________
Emily wakes in the morning to the sound of Amelia’s door opening. She opens her eyes to see her husband standing there, a takeout coffee holder in his hand, and an unsure look on his face.
She smiles at him as she sits up in bed and beckons him in. He switches the light on, which immediately wakes Amelia, her groans the first indication that she was up.
“Morning, sweetheart.” Aaron says kissing his wife before sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Morning.” She murmurs against his lips, before lifting the coffee she knew was intended for her. Cold brew with enough sweetener in it to rot your teeth.
“You guys suck.” Amelia groans from below the comforter, voice still thick with sleep.
Emily chuckles. “I think you’ll change your mind when you see what your dad has brought you.”
Amelia lifts the comforter from off of her face and shoots up when she sees her favourite frappuccino in her fathers hands. “Dad, you are the best.” She takes a sip and moans, the sugar hitting her tongue. “No wonder Mom has put up with you so long.”
Aaron laughs, glad to see that she seemed her usual self after how devastated she had been the night before. “Are you ok, Mia?”
She smiles at her dad, a shaky thing that was always the first indicator from his wife and daughter that tears were on the horizon. “I will be.”
______________
Emily’s first thought is to set Penelope on Chase. Let her hack into his social media accounts and digitally ruin his life for upsetting her little girl. For trying to pressure her into something she didn’t want to do. She knew Penelope would do it without a second thought. She was the most trusted confidant of all of the younger Hotchner's outside of their parents. Jack had asked for her help planning his over the top proposal to his now wife. Theo had come out to her first, a nervous teenager in her office asking for help on how he could tell his parents. Amelia went to her for advice on everything from boys to elaborate hairstyles, and Penelope gently discouraged her from dying her hair bright purple when she was 13, knowing it would have given Aaron an aneurysm.
Emily was finishing getting ready for work, Amelia already on her way to school, as she started to formulate a text to her friend, a cryptic request to come see her as soon as she got to work, when Aaron snuck up on her in the kitchen.
“You can’t get Penelope to ruin his life.”
Emily jumps, cursing under her breath. “Damn it, Aaron.” She turns to look at him, a sheepish look on her face. “I wasn’t planning on doing anything of the sort.”
“Oh really?” He raises an eyebrow at her. “You weren’t thinking of having her hack all of his social media accounts and freeze his bank account?”
Emily flushes and puts her phone down on the counter. “I can’t just let him get away with it.”
Aaron smiles at her and pulls her towards him with his hands on her hips. “Baby, this is something we have to let her deal with ok?” He kisses her cheek, his smile deepening as she narrows her eyes at him. “No getting Penelope involved.”
“Fine.”
Plan B it was.
_________________
Emily is never happier than when she has all of her family in her house. The boys were coming round for dinner, Jack and his wife Sara and Theo and his new boyfriend Zach, someone he had met at college. Theo texted her that morning, a list of strict instructions of things that absolutely couldn’t happen the first time Zach was meeting the family.
She had just let them in, hugging her son fiercely as he walked in and feeling love bloom in her chest when he hugged her back just as tightly, no embarrassment at giving his mother this affection in front of Zach.
She lets him go and turns to the young man standing next to her son. “You must be Zach, I’m Emily.”
He shakes her hand, a nervous smile on his face. “Nice to meet you.”
Amelia bursts into the house, slamming the front door behind her, and immediately breaks the first rule on Theo’s list. “Мама, какого хрена?”
“Не сейчас, милая. У нас гости. И не ругайся.” Emily replies, tilting her head towards where Theo and Zach were standing.
“Ты должен был подумать об этом, прежде чем угрожать моему бывшему парню!”
Zach leans in to Theo, a confused look on his face. “Are they speaking Russian?”
Theo sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he did so, and looks at his boyfriend. “Yes.” He turns to his mother. “Ne pouvons-nous pas le faire? C'est la première fois que Zach rencontre tout le monde.”
Amelia rolls her eyes and Emily smiles at Theo. “Je suis désolé, chérie. On va bien se comporter.”
“Are you speaking French?” Zach asks, looking even more confused at the complete nonchalonce all of the Hotchner’s were showing at the multiple languages being thrown around as if it was nothing. The slight look of amusement on Aaron’s face as he walked into the room. “How many languages does your mom speak?”
Theo grabs his boyfriend's hand and leads him further into the house, away from the rest of the family. “Six. Seven if you include English.”
_________________
Emily eyes Sara curiously when she turns down wine with her dinner, a small look passes between her and Jack when she asks for soda instead. Emily shares a similar look with her own husband, a look on his face saying he had spotted what she had too, and she gladly gets an alternative drink for her daughter-in-law.
Amelia sulks all the way through dinner. Rebuffing her brother’s questions about school, a glare fixed on her mother almost the entire time. It’s when she refuses her favourite dessert, cheesecake, that her brother’s interest is piqued.
“Mills.” Theo asks, amusement on his face at his sister’s behaviour. “What’s up with you?”
“Why don’t you ask Mom?” She said, pointedly looking at her mother. “Мама пытается разрушить мою жизнь, вот в чем дело.”
“I did not try and ruin your life, Amelia.” She says, rolling her eyes at her daughter's dramatics. She looks at her sons and their respective partners. “All I did was have a conversation with the boy who made Amelia cry herself to sleep a couple of days ago.”
“Yeah. By explaining that you’re a Section Chief at the FBI, whilst you had your gun and badge on display.” Amelia exclaims.
There was a moment of silence at the table before it descended into laughter, confusion all over Zach’s face on whatever he had walked into.
“Oh sweetheart.” Aaron says, looping his arm around the back of her chair to place a hand on her shoulder. “Not again.”
Amelia frowns, looking at her parents in shock. “Not again? What the hell does that mean?”
“Mom’s crazy, Millie.” Theo says, a laugh bursting out of him.
“Hey, I resent that.” Emily says, sinking back into her chair slightly, glaring at Aaron when he laughs at her and kisses the side of her head.
Jack gives Emily a look with his eyebrows raised before looking back at his sister. “My first ever girlfriend broke up with me the day before homecoming, Mom scared the absolute shit out of her by showing up at her cheerleading practise the following day. She somehow managed to mention that Dad once killed a guy with his bare hands.”
“Your dad did what?” Zach asks, leaning in to Theo who just shook his head. A silent promise that he’d explain later.
“In my defence.” Emily says, crossing her arms across her chest, a slight flush to her face. “This one was really sick at the time and I was pretty sleep deprived.” She says pointing at Amelia. “I wasn’t entirely in control of my emotions, and you were just so sad.”
“She also made me very aware of what she does for a living when Jack and I first moved in together.” Sara pipes up, nothing but amusement on her face when she looks at her mother-in-law. She turns back to Amelia. “I think it’s sweet.”
Amelia shakes her head at them all and turns to Zach. “Run whilst you still can.”
__________________
Emily closes the door behind Jack and Sara as they leave, promises of getting together soon uttered in between lingering hugs.
“Mom?”
Emily turns to see Amelia standing behind her, her hands in her pockets as she avoids her mother’s gaze. It’s the calmest she’s looked all evening, any frustration she had towards her and her actions having melted away.
“Look, I’m sorry, Amelia.” She says taking a step towards her daughter. “I know I probably shouldn’t have done that. But you were so upset, and he deserved to-”
Her ranting is cut off by Amelia throwing her arms around her waist and placing her head on her shoulder. “Thank you.”
Emily smiles and hugs her daughter back, kissing the top of her head as she pulls her closer. “You’re welcome, sweetie.”
“I always thought it would be Dad, or Theo or Jack who went after a boy for me.” She says against her mother’s shirt before she pulls away. “At least I can tell any future guys that my mom is crazy.”
_________________
Emily turns to lay on her side as Aaron joins her in bed, she smiles at him and pushes some hair off of his forehead before running her blunt nails over his temples, the mix of dark and grey hair rasping as she goes. “When do you think Jack and Sara are going to tell us she’s pregnant?”
A laugh peels out of Aaron before he leans forward and kisses her, pulling back only to press his forehead against hers. “Whenever they are ready.”
Emily shifts so her back is against him and pulls his arm over her waist, sighing when he settles his chest against her. “You’d think they’d learn they can’t hide anything from us.”
He kisses the top of her head and holds her a little tighter. “We’ve got some pretty great kids.”
“We really do.”
“You have got to stop threatening anyone who hurts them though.”
“Sure, love.” She says, pulling his hand up to her lips to kiss his knuckles. “I’ll stop.”
→genre: friends to lovers
→synopsis: comfort can manifest itself in many forms. some find it in the fantastical world of the arts. others find it in sports. but, for you, comfort is a person.
→word count: 6.5k
→pairing: jeongin x gender neutral reader
→warnings: drunk jeongin, mentions of puking
i.
“Why are you doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“That,” your eyes go wide as you nod at his stature. He’s hunched over your trash can. Blue gloves shield his hands as he digs.
“Oh. I think I lost my earring or something.”
“And your first instinct was to search my trash can?” you quirk an eyebrow. Perhaps you should mention that this isn’t just any trash can, it’s your kitchen one. Full of discarded, burnt ramen and your roommate’s weird protein shakes that will clog your drain otherwise.
He nods, as though this is the most normal first step to a lost earring. Yang Jeongin is many things, but being questionable is one of his strongest traits.
You slip behind him to get to the fridge. Water bottles line the right half, more commonly known as your roommate’s side. You reach for one.
“What are you doing on March twenty-fifth?” he asks, arms deep in your trashcan. He’s really going to endure this conversation without a single shred of his pride disappearing.
You try not to look at him as you glance at the calendar. Two weeks away, the small square for that Saturday reads “NATIONALS” in large red letters.
You hum to yourself. “Dog sitting.”
“What?” he looks at you, eyes squinted in confusion, “Why?”
“Danceracha’s going out of town for the dance contest. I told you this.”
He exhales a deep, surrendering sigh as he straightens his back and plucks the gloves off. He shakes his hands in the cool air before starting for your sink. The calm stream of water trickles out. “Man. That sucks.”
“Why?” you question. Your fingertips draw marks of condensation along the plastic.
“I was gonna invite you to a party,” he mutters. A pout comes to his lips. For a moment, your heart drops. He looks the same as when you met him. All those years, long with memories but short in quantity, whizz past you.
“Party?” you repeat.
“Yeah,” he nudges the water stream off.
Parties and Jeongin don’t mix well. History has proven this.
“Whose party is it?” you start for the living room, knowing he’ll follow.
“You don’t know him,” he says, his voice never once fading because, indeed, he’s on your tail.
“Okay, but what’s his name?”
“Chan. Actually,” he hesitates, “you might know him.”
As you sink into the couch, chipped leather scratching your legs, you glance at him. His eyebrows are scrunched into his thinking stance. Then, his features light up once he finds the answer. “Do you remember sophomore year’s biology class?”
You nod.
“Remember when that senior came in to make fun of Mr. Lee?”
Again, you nod.
“His best friend is Chan. You probably saw them in our freshman yearbook for spirit week. They dressed up as Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum for Twins Day.”
Your mouth forms into an acknowledging part. “Got it.” In fact, the recurring image instantly pops into your head. You can thank all the hours spent staring at it with stifled laughter for that.
“So what’s the party for?”
He shrugs, “Some college achievement shit.”
“And you got invited?” you laugh. Jeongin barely made it out of high school. He took one harrowed glance at the local campus and nearly cried. You don’t blame him, though. That place is stressful. Even as a freshman you can say this.
He rolls his eyes. “I’m cool, you know? I don’t need to be in academics for them to know that.”
“Sure,” you nod.
“I’m serious!” His lips quirk up in a defensive manner that sends a spark through your chest.
Among other things, Jeongin is confusing. Questionable and confusing. These are the words you say when someone asks you what he’s like. Because seriously, why does he always do things so infuriating yet endearing?
He runs a hand through his hair as he unlocks his phone. His thumb works quickly to swipe through a message log before he tilts the phone so you can see. “See?”
The conversation in question is short, a maximum of four texts. The details blur as he snatches his phone back as quickly as he showed it. Again, infuriating.
“Are you planning on going alone, then?”
This question makes him freeze. He stares at the wall wielding a mounted TV, whose black screen reflects the image of him by your side, shoulder to shoulder. A small smile tilts his lips. “I guess. People want me there. So I’ll find my niche.”
See? Endearing.
You have no doubts that he can find a place to fit in. He did it in high school and he’ll proceed to do it in the future. That’s just how he is. Plus, maybe he can allow someone else to feel safe too. Like he did for you.
ii.
High school is a demon with a comforting smile. When you’re forced to transition, they tell you it’s all fun. Sunshine and rainbows, if you will. What they don’t tell you is that luck will always make it so you don’t get any of your friends in your classes. And this, with your contradicting lunch shifts, will slowly force you out of the friend group you had stuck with since elementary school.
Perpetual tears are stocked behind your eyes. Waiting for the perfect moment to fall because let’s be honest, any minor inconvenience could push you over the edge. Stress does that to you.
In third period of your second week, your math teacher announces that she’s decided on her seating chart. She makes you line up against the walls as she grabs her reference sheet, lined with the images of desks, names scribbled atop them. “Jeongin,” she says, pointing to a desk in the front row.
A boy a few feet away from you steps out from the crowd to claim his desk. He’s wearing an oversized maroon hoodie whose back is marked “Yang” in white letters.
Your teacher stops at the seat next to him. She glances at you and your heart drops. “Y/N,” she points to a desk.
Sitting up front is worse than the incessant plagues of high school drama. All eyes permanently burn into the back of your head, even when not a single soul acknowledges you.
As you try to settle into your seat, back a little stiff from trying to shrink yourself into a tiny marble, the boy beside you leans over. “Hey, you okay?”
For the first time, your eyes lock. His remind you of the innocence of childhood, that blank yet full gaze. You nearly melt, but instead, your back loosens.
“Yeah. I just don’t like sitting in the front,” you chuckle awkwardly.
He smiles. Not one of the pity ones, but a real toothy smile. “Aww. Me neither, I always feel like everyone’s watching me.”
Finally, a person who gets it.
“But I just have to trick myself into not caring,” he says, glancing at the whiteboard. Shadows of poorly erased marker line the corners.
Abruptly, after his serene gaze, he jumps back to you. “Do you like coffee by any chance?”
Despite the initial shock of the question, you say, “Yeah, I do.”
As it turns out, his family owns this huge coffee shop right next to the bookstore you used to frequent. His mom was rather happy to see a new face. On that day, she accepted you as family.
And math didn’t turn out to be so hard that year.
iii.
The apartment grows quiet after Jeongin inevitably has to leave. Your roommate’s dog comes trotting out from his room. His nose is upturned, scouting for a soul to give him attention.
“Come here, Kkami,” you pat the empty spot on the couch beside you. He runs the rest of the way. Instead of resting on the couch cushion, he prefers your lap. This pickiness he obtained from his owner.
Hyunjin’s anything but a bad roommate. He does the dishes, sweeps when he finds a large puff of Kkami’s fur traveling your hardwood like a tumbleweed, even brings home coffee when you have a huge study night ahead of you. However, when it comes to you and Jeongin, your mutual hangouts on weekends, he has a very specific need. And that’s to be around you two as little as possible.
He claims it’s because he can’t stand third-wheeling. Jeongin refuses to understand this concept. “If we’re not dating, it’s not third-wheeling?” he’d said, numerous times.
Hyunjin won’t budge on the subject.
The tune set as Jeongin’s ringtone, chosen by him, plagues the air. You reach for your phone, placing a protective hand on Kkami’s side to prevent him from falling.
“Hello?”
“Problem: What would you do if your brother told you he got a girlfriend?”
You squint at your reflection in the TV between scene transitions. It looks odd without him beside you. “Which brother?”
“Guess which one would make me more dumbfounded. Hint, it’s not the older one.”
“Your younger brother got someone before you?” you snicker. Jeongin holds his pride in his individuality. Losing to a younger brother with something like this is hilarious.
“This isn’t funny! Should I be a serious big brother and talk to him or should I just seethe in silence?”
“Neither. Leave him alone.”
He does something akin to a whine. “But-”
You stick up a finger, though he can’t see you as you interrupt, “C’mon, Jeongin. He’s a teenager. Let him be.”
Sometimes, it feels like he’s the outsider and you’re the true, reasonable sibling.
He sighs. You imagine him pushing his hair out of his eyes and staring up at his ceiling. All lost in the possibilities that lay before him, since you and him both know he won’t listen to you.
“Can I hang up now?” you ask, glancing at the front door.
“Are you gonna abandon me for your significant other too?”
You scoff as the front door opens. “You’re ridiculous.”
Hyunjin steps into the apartment. His hair is damp with sweat and lays jagged in front of his eyes. You raise a hand to wave.
“It’s a real question, though. You know whoever it is will be jealous of me.” Now, you know, he’s just prodding for a reaction. You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.
“Yes, Jeongin. I would one hundred percent drop you for some person who offers emotional stimulation,” you monotonously chide.
Hyunjin gives you a curious look as he passes. You would think he’d be used to this by now.
“Okay but,” Jeongin’s voice grows low as he settles onto his bed, “would you really? Tell me you won’t.”
“I won’t,” you press your back deeper into the couch. It’s not like you’ve had many romantic opportunities since meeting him. Jeongin, though also needy, is more interesting than anyone else you’ve met. He’s a shiny emerald among a sea of charcoal.
“Good,” he says, and you can tell he’s smiling. The image of his little dimple indenting makes you mirror the sentiment.
“Now can I hang up?”
“Fine,” he sighs.
Through a laugh, you manage, “Goodnight. Love you.”
“Love you too.” And then the line goes dead.
iv.
“Are you sure you don’t like him?” must be a trendy replacement for ‘good morning.’
“Who?” you ask, rubbing your eye as you start for the cereal cabinet.
“Jeongin. Who else?” Hyunjin says. He sits at the kitchen table. A plate of freshly heated blueberry waffles sits before him.
Without turning to him, you say, “I’m sure.”
It’s a reflex, really.
He exhales in the most exaggerated way possible to grab your attention. His eyes are cold with the hunger for an answer. A real one.
“I don’t like him,” you say slowly, allowing each word time to sink into the air.
The thought has surely crossed your mind. It’d be unrealistic to say you’ve never pondered the great possibility of being in love with your best friend. But ultimately, you don’t think you are. Sure, you’d take a bullet for Jeongin. Just not in the ‘wow I’m madly in love with you’ kind of way. You tell yourself it’s in the ‘you’re going to do so much good for the world’ kind of way.
“Fine,” Hyunjin admits, picking up one of his waffles and taking a caveman bite.
Most of breakfast is quiet as you sit opposite him, staring into your bowl. Your milky reflection takes you off guard a few times.
“You know,” Hyunjin says after a while, his voice raw and a little croaky. He has to bring a hand to cover his mouth as he clears his throat. “You should get him to stay with you while I’m away.”
As you look back up at him, he adds defensively, “I’m not trying to play Cupid.”
You shrug, “He probably has other plans.”
Yet when you text him a few hours later, he jumps on it. “It’ll be like a sleepover! Don’t you miss when we did those?”
You did, but you don’t admit it.
v.
The week of nationals arrives too quickly for your mind to process. One minute, you’re studying for an upcoming exam and the next there’s a knock on your bedroom door. It doesn’t wait for a sound before opening.
“Hey, I’m leaving.”
Hyunjin’s dressed in black sweatpants and a black hoodie, which covers his messy hair. Perfect for his night of sleeping on the bus. A duffel bag packed and puffy hangs off his shoulder.
“Good luck,” you smile up at him.
“Thanks. Don’t try sneaking into the venue with your rat like you did last year,” he returns the smile.
“Hey, it wasn’t my idea,” you rush to defend yourself.
He scoffs. “Yeah, right. You still played into it.”
“And we got to support you as your lovely friends.”
“You were the only people cheering during the contemporary dance,” he mumbles, stepping back into the hall.
“To be fair, we couldn’t realize because we were so involved!” you shout to match the increasing distance.
“Right!” he calls, a laugh shaking his words.
Studying is now a failed mission. Every time you glance at the words printed on the textbook’s glossed pages, they just blur together until your mind drifts to Jeongin. When is he coming over? He said he’d be here by seven. It’s roughly a quarter past. He has a key, so it’s not like you have to be free when he gets here.
When you succumb and close the textbook, you hear shuffling in the living room. Shortly followed by Kkami’s familiar barking, which he only pursues when someone’s here.
The feeling of a generously excited puppy fills you as you follow the source.
“Hi,” you smile.
Jeongin has treated himself to a coffee. He must have just worked a shift.
“Hi,” he hands you the paper cup.
“Oh, is this for me?” you take it. It’s hot against your palms.
“Yeah. It’s hot chocolate. Thought you might want it.”
He drops his backpack, likely stuffed with potential party outfits, by the couch. He stands and scans your face as you take the first sip of the drink. The sweetness takes over and makes you shiver, but the warmth minimizes the shiver to nothing. Surely enough, this is his mother’s hot chocolate.
“Thank you,” you say, looking into his eyes. The living room light has speckled his eyes with stars.
“Of course.”
A moment passes of just looking at each other. Not a single word. You’re not even sure if you’re remembering to breathe.
It breaks when he glances at the TV. “Movie time?”
Settling on the couch doesn’t take long. He sits close enough to you, resting his head on your shoulder. He’s done this for as long as you remember, but why does it feel so close all of a sudden?
He chooses the movie. A tradition you’ve established ever since you accidentally chose a movie so repulsively awful you had to take a break from watching movies at all. The teasing was barely bearable.
Even now, when someone says something similar to that movie, you shiver.
“Are we feeling sci-fi?” he asks.
You almost shrug until you remember where his head is. “I don’t care,” you say instead.
He chooses a romance movie, his safe pick.
And he falls asleep not even ten minutes in.
Hyunjin’s question returns to you in neon lights. Certainly, this tight feeling in your chest couldn’t be akin to liking someone. When you like someone, there’s always a telltale sign. There’s a bright moment of realization. That’s never come for you. Even now, all you can do is question. Question. Question. Question.
vi.
Jeongin’s party outfit is the most conspicuous thing ever. A light blue tee from middle school that has all his classmate’s signatures on the back. Black jeans with holes at the knees. You can’t tell if he’s going to a child’s party or not.
He catches your tilted gaze, matched with the furrowed eyebrows, and huffs. “Would you rather I get puke on a good shirt?”
You blink. “I’d rather you not puke on yourself.”
A noise close to laughter bursts past his lips. “Ha. Funny. I won’t reach that point. I’m thinking people puking on me.”
You nod. Jeongin’s a lightweight, from what you know. But hey, if it helps him sleep at night.
He departs after a long phone call with Chan. He offers a little wave as he opens the door. “I’ll give you live updates.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I will.”
And indeed, he follows through. Selfies bombard your phone every three minutes. One is taken with Chan, but it’s so shaky and dark that they look like blobs with highlighted cheeks.
These only make you more confused. Maybe Hyunjin was right. But you don’t want him to be. Nothing makes you feel more foolish than catching feelings for a friend who is just that. Friend. That painful, heartbreaking word.
You open Hyunjin’s message log, prepared to reach out and ask if he can help you break down what you’re feeling, but his contact transitions to consuming your entire screen—perfect timing, he’s calling.
“Hello?”
“Guess what?” His voice is drowned out by external shouts.
“What?”
“We took second place!”
“Congrats,” you smile to yourself, leaning against the couch arm.
“It’s all thanks to Felix’s freestyle. That surprise category threw us off, but he really came through,” he rambles. He tells you about all his points and each error, which ultimately seem mundane but apparently make a difference in his detail loving mind.
“Anyway, I just wanted to call. See how you’re doing, you know.”
“I’m doing good,” you nod as though to convince yourself.
“How’s Jeongin?”
“At a party,” you say as your phone buzzes again. Another selfie. This time, he’s in a lonesome bathroom and posing in the mirror. A peace sign that surrounds his eye. That stupid dimple makes your heart jump.
Hyunjin giggles at something on his end and says something not aimed at you. He quickly returns to his serious tone with, “How are you really feeling? Don’t bullshit me.”
You stifle a laugh. Resting your head on the back of the couch, you glare at the ceiling, “Confused.”
“About Jeongin?”
He slips into a quieter place. You sigh. Why are your hands shaking all of a sudden? “Yeah.”
“Well,” he starts, “I pushed you into thinking about it for a reason.”
“He doesn’t like me like that.”
“How do you know?”
“Because friends don’t like friends like that.”
“But you like him like that, so doesn’t that ruin your statement?”
You sit in the silence for a minute. “I guess so.”
His breath is amplified and you can hear each inhale and exhale. “You’ll probably just brush this off, but I think you have a shot.”
You nod. “Sure. A shot at going to the moon maybe. A shot at Jeongin liking me? No way.”
“Look, pessimism isn’t gonna get you anywhere. If you’re too much of a pussy to talk to him, I will. But not because I want to, because it’s terrible seeing you sulk,” he mutters.
A round of applause for your roommate.
“Just give me some time. I still don’t know if I like him,” you glance at the dog, who’s cuddled up on a pile of blankets. Why can’t your life be that simple?
“Not trying to force you or anything, but I think you know the answer to that.”
He’s probably right. It’s not like you can retaliate anyway. There’s a distant knock before he says, “Sorry. I gotta go. I’ll be home tomorrow.”
The following silence is truly suffocating.
vii.
That party changes everything.
Jeongin stumbles home, each step a potential path to faceplanting. It’s this exact stumble that forces him to trip over a box.
The noise draws you from sleep. Through squinted eyes, you stare at him as he tries to regain his balance. His arms are splayed out, searching for a stable support beam.
“Jeongin?” you whisper, though you know it’s him. Who else would be drunkenly returning home at, you glance at your phone, three in the morning?
“Y/N,” he gasps. Your voice prompts him to follow it.
As you stand, he finds his way through the narrow path between couch and coffee table. He throws his arms around you.
“I missed you,” he mumbles, words meshing together.
“I missed you too?” It’s only been six hours.
He holds you at arms length, palms resting on your shoulders. “I love you,” he slurs, eyes drunkenly taking a long blink.
“I love you too?”
“No, like, I really love you. ‘The moon is beautiful’ type of stuff,” he nods.
You’re not sure what he means by this. But it doesn’t matter if you try to question him, because he continues.
“I think about the future a lot,” he says, hands falling to his sides before he falls onto the couch. “Nothing’s ever consistent. But you’re always there.”
“That’s-” you begin.
He wasn’t finished. “I think our wedding would be nice.”
Now, he goes silent as you stand there in shock. He thinks about that? How often?
The moment your lips part to ask these things, a light snore escapes his lips. You grab a blanket from your room, the Totoro one he loves, and you gently cover him. You lean over his face. His cheeks are a little swollen, as are his lips. You push his hair away from his eyes before going to your room. You’re careful not to make a noise as you shut the door.
He’s gone by the time you wake up. For the first twenty-four hours, you shrug it off as a painful hangover he’s just sleeping through.
Most hangovers don’t last a week, though.
One time, sitting beneath a sky littered with stars, Jeongin released a deep breath. “Do you think we’ll ever stop being friends?”
Jeongin’s not insecure about many things, as his philosophy is that if one person finds something unattractive, there’s a hoard who will think otherwise. But this topic is an exception.
“Unless you do something unthinkably terrible, no,” you mumble. And you truly meant it.
So, Jeongin: You haven’t done anything unthinkable.Why have you disappeared?
Life without Jeongin has been incredibly boring. It’s prompted an imminent heartache. Attending class is a lame option considering your bed is so much more comfortable. You never knew missing someone could form a black hole in your body, consuming each grain of energy.
Hyunjin’s the only reason you’re eating. Since he knows you’re not up for any meal, he brings you snacks and another bottle of water—to add to the mountain of empty bottles on your desk.
“Do I need to go break his ankles?” Hyunjin asks one day, nearly a month after his tournament.
You shrug. You know he’s joking, but laughter doesn’t seem to bubble up. It’s lost in the dark cave that is this confusing state.
“I texted him today. No response yet,” Hyunjin adds.
You nod. You got the same treatment, but you stopped trying a while ago.
“Have you gone to the coffee shop? To see his mom or something?”
You shake your head. “No point in it. He doesn’t tell her much. Plus I don’t want to pin her against him or anything.”
Hyunjin sighs. He doesn’t know what else to say, or offer, or do to help you. Not that you’re a lost cause, but he’s starting to lose the ounce of hope he had. To him, you’re too good for this. Telling and convincing you of that is a difficult task.
When he leaves you alone, you cry again. At this point, your eyes hurt when you aren’t crying. But hey, at least you’re sleeping nice. The desperate need to escape can do that to you.
viii.
You tell Hyunjin your conclusion at dinner—something he’s finally tricked you into eating. “I think I love him.”
He nods. “Yeah. Didn’t we already establish that?”
You push the noodles around. “I didn’t want to admit it.”
“Why?”
Averted gaze set to the ramen, though his remains scalding. “I don’t know.”
He reaches across the table to regain your focus. He knows the noodles aren’t that interesting. “That’s okay. Look, we can go beat his ass if you want. Or we can hunt him down and hold him hostage-”
He stops when he sees the small hint of a smile turning your lips up. One of his own appears, and in his mind, he’s breaking into a congratulatory dance. The crack in the sadness is exposed, and it’s slowly breaking further. All that’s next is revealing the ravine of happiness.
After dinner, you sit on the couch and decide to watch a movie. Unlike Jeongin, he gives you movie pick. It reminds you of the bitter taste that’s overcome your mouth since he up and left.
Halfway through the movie, some shitty one Jeongin and you watched a few months ago, Kkami barks at the couch. He looks between you and the crack behind it as if to say, “Hello? Get my bone!”
You glance at Hyunjin, who also waits for you to get up and retrieve the dog’s lost bone. Normally you take turns with this task, but he seems to have forgotten it’s been his turn for the last five times.
With a muted sigh, you pull yourself off the couch. Hyunjin doesn’t even bother to pause the movie. Jeongin wouldn’t do that.
You lower yourself to look into the dark tunnel. With a blind hand you swipe against the floor. A small object connects with the palm of your hand. You drag it out. A small metal earring glares back at you. You drop it in the pocket of your hoodie—which was a gift from Jeongin as you drifted into adulthood. You return to the bone search with a sting in your eyes.
ix.
Happiness is a fragile object.
At the same hour that Jeongin had said the unthinkable, your phone buzzes loudly against your side. Ultimately, this brings you back to the post-sleep daze as you trudge to answer it. Looking at the contact is the last of your concerns.
“Hello?” Your voice is raw. A long gulp of water would be kindly appreciated.
“Hey, Y/N, right?” This is a voice you’ve never heard before. You pull back to look at the contact and, unsurprisingly, there isn’t one. All that stares back is a string of numbers, unique to this person.
“Yeah?”
“Hi, sorry for the late call. I’m Chan-” you nearly hang up out of defensive instinct, but you let him finish. “I kind of need a favor right now.”
“What kind of favor?”
In the background, there’s a loud retching noise. “Um, so Jeongin, right?” Chan nervously laughs.
“We’re not really-” you start.
He interrupts, “I know. But he’s been talking about you nonstop. He’s really a wimp, you know. Actually, I guess I’m not really asking for a favor. I’m doing you a favor.”
You know where he’s going with this. “I’m sorry, Chan, but I don’t think that’s a-”
“Hush,” he says before his voice distances.
“Y/N? It’s Y/N?” the familiar, slurred voice asks.
He wasn’t going to give you an option. Deep down, you’re kind of grateful for that.
When Chan returns to the phone, he says, “I can send you the address. We’re on the first floor, so it shouldn’t be too bad. I would offer to come pick you up, but I’m babysitting.” At these final words, he laughs.
You consider waking up Hyunjin to take you—he’s the one with the car—but you think against it when you realize it’s only a five minute walk.
Despite the daytime weather that is clear sky and sun that hugs your skin, the nighttime
version is a little less welcoming. Indeed the air is breezeless, but it’s a bitter cold. Grabbing a hoodie would have been smart, but alas.
Chan opens the door with a smile. “Hi, come on in.”
He points to a closed door, “Jeongin’s in there. He should be decent. Just a little pukey.”
You follow his directions, while he starts for the couch. At least he’s allowing privacy, you think. You knock lightly on the door. After a long trial of waiting with no response, you slowly push the door open.
His cheek is resting on the cold porcelain of the bathtub. Through dazed and squinted eyes, he looks at you. “Hi?”
“Hey,” you say, stepping into his space for the first time in over a month. Despite the stain of puke on his shirt, you realize that he hasn’t changed much. What physical changes can someone go through in a month? Well. Everything.
You appreciate your mind for allowing his appearance to never leave. Otherwise, you might have looked at him just now and been disgusted. Because it’s Jeongin, and because of this weird tugging feeling in your chest, you don’t. In its place, you look at him as though he holds the world’s most valuable object.
He tries to sit up, nearly falls on his face, but manages. “Do you hate me?”
“No. I don’t think so,” you squat next to him. The familiar weight of his head meets with your shoulder.
“I shouldn’t say this,” he laughs. His mind is going a mile a minute, but his lips refuse to go at an accompanying speed. “I love you.”
You stare at the top of his head. “I love you too.”
“Really?” he lifts his head. He seems to search your eyes for the similar sparkle his hold.
“Yeah,” you nod. You decide to save your cheesy comments until the morning. No point in wasting them if he won’t remember this when he wakes up.
“Did you know that I,” he says, trying to lift himself to his feet. He leans a little too far on a foot, prompting you to rush and steady him. “thought you and Hyunjin were dating for the longest time.” He laughs again.
You squint at him, “Is that why you disappeared?”
A drunk smile finds his lips and his cheeks glow beneath the bathroom light. “Guilty.”
“You’re stupid for thinking it’d ever be anyone but you,” you whisper, glancing anywhere but him. You could say this to the mirror too. Stupid for thinking it could be anyone but him.
He’s ridiculous. Ridiculous enough to allow his smile to drop a little as he leans closer to your face. “I’m going to kiss you,” he whispers.
You watch as he leans a little bit closer. Bit by bit. You even close your eyes at one point. At the last minute, when his breath begins to mingle with yours, he pulls away. “No. Let me brush my teeth first.”
You watch in a stunned silence as he stumbles to the living room. “Do you have a spare toothbrush I could use?” he asks Chan.
Chan responds quietly with, “Yeah, under the sink.”
You beat Jeongin to it, offering him the packaged toothbrush.
“Thanks, love,” he says.
Questionable Jeongin who calls you pet names. You like it, though you’ll try your hardest not to admit it. That’d only feed into his questionable choices.
Minty Jeongin has sobered up a little bit. Instead of kissing you immediately after rinsing his mouth, he stares.
“What?” you prompt.
“Nothing.”
And then he leans in and kisses you. In all honesty, it’s exactly how you imagined kissing him. There’s no stereotypical sparks. It’s just Jeongin, whose lips happen to be on yours. That’s enough. Afterward, though, you acknowledge that Cloud 9 is beneath your feet.
x.
Chan drives you and Jeongin back to your apartment after a difficult talk and one final puke. (The puker looks at you when he feels it coming and asks, “Can you hold my hair back?”)
As you’re helping Jeongin out of the car, Chan leans back in the driver seat and glares a strong eye at Jeonign, “Run away again and I will beat your ass.”
Jeongin chuckles. “Right. Catch me first.” As he says this, he throws his arm over your shoulder for stability. Though, he’s sober enough to walk on his own now. The occasional stumble, sure, but he’s not in dire need of someone to guide him.
You take it as his way of saying he plans on staying.
However, when you make it into the apartment, you don’t bear right to the couch.
Keeping him close will prevent him sneaking out and running away again. That’s a thing of the past, and you’ll make sure of it.
He doesn’t even complain.
“Don’t puke on me, please,” you whisper as you climb into bed. He follows shortly after. Arms naturally find your waist as he pulls you closer to him.
He hums. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Dreamless sleep takes over you, but the entire time you’re aware of his arms and his proximity. In a way, it’s better than dreaming.
It’s even better when you wake up before him. His lips are a pretty shade of pink and for a moment you forget about his eventful night. You press a light kiss to his cheek.
His eyes don’t open, nor does he stir. He’s in that beautiful, drunken sleep. You try not to laugh at the thought of his hangover to come. God, he’s going to be so whiny.
You try to slip out of his arms, but the death grip only becomes tighter. He whines a little, mutters something like, “Don’t go.”
After a few more minutes of just staring at the sleeping boy, boredom takes over. Yeah, staring is nice and all, whatever, but it reaches a certain intolerable point. Ten minutes is that point.
You nudge him, “Jeongin, let go. I need to go to the bathroom.”
“No,” he mutters, burying his face deeper into the pillow.
“Jeongin.”
“What?”
“Let go.”
His eyes finally open. They hold a small sense of surprise, which prompts you to tease, “What? Do you need a breakdown of what happened? Were you seriously that out of it?”
“No. Well, a little,” he stumbles over the words.
“What do you remember?”
“Puking,” he winces as he laughs. There’s that signature headache.
“You don’t remember kissing me?”
Wide eyes stare back at you. His lip shakes as he tries to force words out. “What?”
You laugh quietly. “Yeah. You did that.”
“I’m sorry,” he sits up. His vacant arms feel cold.
“No it’s okay. You only kissed me because I told you I loved you,” you sit up to match him.
His head turns to look at you. Tufts of hair stick up in an oddly symmetrical way. “Really? Since when?”
You nod. “Yeah. Time frame is unknown, but I think the feeling might have always been there. So you wasted a month of your life hiding.”
He tips his head, “Hey now, I had a valid reason.”
Your eyes squint at him. “It could have been avoided if you answered my texts. Or Hyunjin’s. Or if you checked your voicemail. Or-”
“Okay, I get it,” he nods, leaning in to shut you up. He presses a quick kiss to your lips. “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t say how weird it feels to kiss his best friend—but he’s incredibly excited to get used to it.
“It’s fine. I think. My grades kind of tanked,” you comment, glancing at your desk. The tower of water bottles still stands. Somewhere buried beneath them are your abandoned papers.
“Because of me?” his voice is soft, as are his eyes as he fights back the sting of tears. Of all his intentions, this wasn’t one of them.
This look pains you. “Kinda. I thought I had lost my comfort place.”
In order to disguise his tears, he pulls you into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be good to you. We can make latte art together at the shop and stargaze at stupid hours. Whatever you want.”
You laugh into his shoulder. “Is that a promise?”
He sniffles. “Yes. I love you. That’s the second promise.”
xi.
Hyunjin’s reaction is lackluster. A forced gasp as he waves his hands in surprise. “Wow. I totally didn’t give Chan your number or anything,” he says.
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. He called me trying to drop him,” he points at Jeongin, “on me.”
“And you didn’t want to get out of bed?” Jeongin asks, bringing his mug of freshly brewed coffee to his lips.
“No,” Hyunjin sticks a finger up in defense. “Kkami wouldn’t let me move.”
What he means is: Yes, I didn’t want to get up but allow me to use my dog as a ploy.
You and Jeongin share a glance to confirm this thought. You burst out laughing.
“Do not tell me you’ve developed a couple's telepathy already,” Hyunjin whines, throwing his head back as he begins to pace the kitchen.
Jeongin begs your stare again. He wiggles his eyebrows to pseudo-communicate.
“I’m going to retail therapy,” Hyunjin sighs, dragging his keys off the counter before starting for the door.
A loud fit of laughter fills the air as the door shakes in its frame.
“He’s so overdramatic,” Jeongin manages, wiping a stray tear away from his eye.
You allow this time to watch him intently. All of his details flood over you with definitive clarity. His skin has gotten its first film of tan now that spring is in full swing. A change of season which you had missed out on together. It’s okay, he’ll take you to see the cherry blossoms next year.
“Oh, I found your earring, by the way,” you say when he catches you staring.
“Really? Where was it?” On instinct, he brings his hand up to his right ear. The lobes are not blinged, but it’s still worth checking.
“Behind the couch.”
He gapes at you. “How’d it get back there?”
“How would I know?”
You allow a silence to lay upon you as his face twists to think. All at once, it lights up again, “Ah. It was probably when we had that wrestling match. I didn’t have the back on because my ear was itchy or something.”
Interesting Jeongin. Questionable Jeongin.
Yang Jeongin is many things. Home. Comfort. Love. Above all else, he’s a friend. Who you happen to kiss from time to time.
Likes liked ! Reblogs adored ! Comments LOVED ! + Stealing is a crime !
Warnings: none ! Pure beautiful fluff !
Note: I highly recommend keeping the song on repeat on Spotify while reading the oneshot =)
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A one-shot inspired by and about Jily's wedding night and after. A James POV in verse. A Lily POV in chorus.
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Am I asleep, am I awake, or somewhere in between?
The boy woke up from his slumber. Shaking his head, he tried to recollect the memories of the night before. A cheeky grin enveloped his features as the thoughts of the day before flooded his mind.
I can't believe that you are here and lying next to me
His eyes fell upon the redheaded angel-like face, her chest heaving slightly up and down with every breath. He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair which seemed more untidy than ever due to last night's.. *ahem* activities.
Or did I dream that we were perfectly entwined?
Was this it? Was his mind playing tricks on him? Had it all been a dream? He already found it hard to believe that the girl had actually agreed to go out with him in seventh year..
Like branches on a tree, or twigs caught on a vine?
And now she was under his sheets. His sheets.
Like all those days and weeks and months I tried to steal a kiss
The uncountable times James Fleamont Potter had confessed his undying love for her to which she would just roll her eyes at the boy's childishness. All those times he tried to steal a kiss during their little studying sessions and how she simply would playfully stick out her tongue at him.
And all those sleepless nights and daydreams where I pictured this,
His three mates had grown tired of hearing the lovesick boy's mutterings about how he'd one day marry her. And his parchment and quills were also very aware of the boy's hopelessness as random doodles with her name entwined always found their way on the corners of essays.
I'm just the underdog who finally got the girl
And there she was. The girl he had chased for as long as he can remember. Bright fiery red hair with a fiery personality to match: Lily Evans.
Potter now, actually.
And I am not ashamed to tell it to the world
The way he spinned her around wih glee when she nodded a tearful yes, the way a certain professor had gotten a wedding invitation with a "PS. I told you she loved me, Minnie." And the way he had sang louder than anyone else in the shower that day possibly making the entire Gryffindor house aware of his joy. The boy was head over heels in love, and well, she was falling too.
---
Truly, madly, deeply, I am
And he was on his knee. A gasp escaped from her mouth. This was the moment. Their moment. All her subtle stolen glances at him and the way he made her heart flutter everytime a teasing 'Evans' drawed from his lips.. all of that had lead to this. Tears lined her eyes as she nodded a yes.
Foolishly, completely falling
As a friendship blossomed between the destined pair, they took on their head boy and head girl duties. Potter had stopped with his continual display of affections to the girl and yet now the girl had started falling. Hard. Maybe she always liked him along the way. And it definitely didn't help how much taller and handsome he had grown over the summer.
And somehow you kicked all my walls in
And one day she couldn't help herself. On a patrol as usual as ever, she pinned the boy against the wall and kissed him. All those walls set up came crashing down as their lips crashed.
So baby, say you'll always keep me
After breaking apart, a red hue similar to her hair took over her corsage as the boy simply grinned in amusement and euphoria, and teased, "Alright there, Evans?"
Did she really hate the messy haired boy with the glasses? Nah she didn't.
Truly, madly, crazy, deeply in love with you
With all the roses and candles the boy had set up at their first night together as husband and wife, she couldn't have asked for anything else. And here she was remembering the events of last night where she had pulled his body into hers and made love as he kissed each and every one of her freckles softly.
In love with you
She was truly in love. In crazy, stupid, cliché, cheesy but beautiful love.
---
Should I put coffee and granola on a tray in bed?
She lay beside him and for the first time, he was confused. What was he supposed to do?? Prepare her breakfast? That would please her, right? His father always cooked for his mother. And he definitely could make a mean omelette.
And wake you up with all the words that I still haven't said?
But would that be the newly wed "husband" thing to do? Maybe he should wake her up murmuring sweet things in her ear? But on the other hand, the last time he woke her up, he'd gotten himself punched square in the jaw. And Evans —Potter! He kept forgetting yet always corrected himself with a shy smile— was rather strong.
And tender touches, just to show you how I feel
His tense shoulders relaxed as he simply admired the sight before him. Caressing her face, he tucked some of her red locks behind her ear as he placed a soft kiss upon her cheek. He could simply count all the freckles on her face over and over again. He'd never get tired of looking at her.
Or should I act so cool like it was no big deal?
Maybe he should just get up and shower. Did girls like it when boys made fuss about this or not? Well, then again, it was their wedding night. All doubts from his head were washed away as she gave a small smile and leaned into the touch of his hand which lay caressing her cheek. Maybe he'd just stay here for a few more moments, he decided.
Wish I could freeze this moment in a frame and stay like this
And to think everyone in the wizarding work knew we were on the brink of war. No! He refused to think of that right now. 'Live in the moment,' his best friend had always told him. And that's what he did. He snuggled closer towards the girl, putting an arm over her gently, and pulled her flush against his bare chest.
I'll put this day back on replay and keep reliving it
He buried his face in the crook of her neck and her sweet flowery scent consumed his senses. Their bodies entangled together beautifully and he couldn't think of a better day to start a day. He could now. He would now wake up every day to the love of his life. Maybe until when they were 100. Yeah, yeah he definitely would, the boy declared in his thoughts.
'Cause here's the tragic truth if you don't feel the same
People might consider it rather childish: the way he would confess his love for her ever since their third year. But he truly meant every love confession to her growing up. Maybe it was the sweet tinkling sound of her laughter, or her adorable pout whenever Flitwick assigned extra homework or Merlin, it was probably that one time she flirted with him after a Quidditch Match which caused him to become infatuated with her forever.
My heart would fall apart if someone said your name
And he truly loved her so much, words were never enough to describe it. He really hoped she felt the same.
---
And truly, madly, deeply, I am
"I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid." She meant that actually. James Potter was definitely an arrogant toerag. But that's the thing. He was.
Somewhere along the way, the prideful egotistic boy had become a caring and proper man. Her green eyes couldn't help but linger on him more as his usual bullying time was replaced by maturity. That time turned into taking care of his werewolf friend, or even time for comforting his best friend who cried into his arms in the corner of the common room some nights.
And soon enough, a friendship blossomed between the unlikely pair of the redhead and the brunet.
Foolishly, completely falling
And sooner it turned into more..
"Ariel, Ariel uh- let down your window?" One night, a rather confused whisper came from Lily's bedroom window. With a startle the girl rushed to slide up the windowpane and was met with the lopsided grin and the familiar hazel eyes with a playful twinkle looking back at her. "Potter!" She shook her head with a chuckle as she allowed him in. "Evans.. I missed you, okay?" he drawed out sheepishly as he gently pulled her closer by her waist. Heat rose to her cheeks as she looked up at him.
And somehow you kicked all my walls in
The boy leaned down towards her lips unable to resist the girl any longer but Lily turned away at the last moment (resulting a rather sad pout on the boy's lips) as she heard her name being called downstairs. "Lily! Next time your boyfriend wants to visit at 12 am, tell him to use the door, okay? My rose bushes are ruined!!"
So baby, say you'll always keep me
And now she was waking up beside him.
She meekly opened her right eye to see if her husband —yes, husband she reminded herself proudly—was still asleep. A lazy smile on his lips, she was greeted with a drawl in his low morning voice, "Good morning, Evans."
Truly, madly, crazy, deeply in love with you
His infuriating smirks had now grown into breathtaking smiles. And he gave her one right now earning a blush upon the girl's cheeks. In his arms and close was exactly where Lily wanted to be. She smiled back endearing and simply looked at him with awe, treasuring the moment, before closing the distance between them. As she pecked his soft lips, she murmured into them, 'Potter, actually."
She was his and him, hers.
All was well.
Anyone catch the ending words reference? The first time I heard this song some months ago (maybe even a year oop—) , I just knew it SCREAMED #Jily. And so here I am finally writing and publishing this !
Thanks for reading and love you all you beautiful people !
Summary: Tired of dating for nothing, Henry laid everything out for her on that very first date. But when he gets everything he hoped for, there’s one thing left that he really wants.
Word count: 1683
Warnings: trying to get pregnant (no heartbreak tho, it just takes a lil time), fluffy baby daddy Henry
A/N: this was for @henrythickcavill, requested via my patreon.
Henry has been on cloud nine ever since she told him she was pregnant.
Tired and mentally exhausted trying to find the right person, Henry had all but given up. It’s not that he was actively looking for a girlfriend, or wife in his case, but he did hope that when the right person came along, he’d just know. He’d feel it in his bones. He didn’t think it would happen like it does in the movies, where everything aligns, everything tastes better, music sounds better and he can breathe like he’s never breathed before. But he thought he’d feel something different.
She didn’t breeze into his life. She didn’t make him understand now why everything else hadn’t worked out. But what she did do was make him wonder how the hell he’d managed to feel so complete before when he felt bursting at the seams when he was around her. He’d laid it all on the table on their first date.
“I know this is a little full on, but I’m going to be honest with you. I can’t keep doing meaningless dates. If you’re not looking for something serious, something long term and possibly the end goal, then this date isn’t going to go far. You can leave, I’ll still pay for the bill, but I won’t hold it against you. I understand not everyone will be on the same page.”
Instead of pushing her chair back, grabbing her coat and bag and walking out of the restaurant, she pulled her chair a little closer, poured them both a drink and said, “so what colour theme are we having at the wedding and how many children are we having?”
She took an open interest in what he had to say, she challenged him on a few of his viewpoints just for a good conversation piece. They shared many of the same opinions and differed on a handful but nothing deal breaking or something that neither could get past. Henry understood that not everyone was the same and listening to her speak was amazing. He adored that they were on the same page when it came to values and their life.
As the weeks and months went on, he tried to trip her up. Tried to catch her out and see if she was just spoon feeding him everything he wanted to hear but no, it continued to flow almost perfectly. Henry took her on several vacations per year, she joined him on set, rode him when he needed his stress relieving and helped him with his lines. She was by no means a good actress, but she would try to put her feelings into it, try to give the script some sort of justice and helped Henry when he needed it.
They married three years later, with her joking that Henry would rush her down the aisle just so he could get straight to the baby making part of marriage. But it didn’t happen as quickly as either of them hoped. She came off her birth control and though they’d lose themselves within the sheets (or on the counter tops, table, against the hallway wall, the sofa, his gaming chair…just anywhere which could hold their weight,) as often as possible without wanting to take the fun out of sex and just have it for the sake of having a baby, pregnancy just wasn’t as easy to happen as they’d thought.
A year and half into their marriage, she’d began to draw up schedules, bought thermometers to check her temperature and downloaded several “trying to get pregnant” apps. She tracked her cycles, found the optimum times for having sex and had started to pitch it all to Henry when she realised she was two weeks late.
He’d sat there before her, waiting for her to reach the main part of her big presentation of why looking at their baby making schedule would be most effective when he’d watched the blood drain from her face and her scramble out of the room, roughly slamming the bathroom door closed and lock it before he’d been able to fully understand what had just happened. He’d heard things dropping onto the floor, things being torn open and as he’d stood nervously on the other side of the bathroom door, his hand on the wooden surface, listening carefully for anything which could give him an idea of what had happened, he’d finally heard the little sob that came from her.
“Are you ok?” He’d asked softly, not wanting to refer to her by any pet names, instead addressing her by her name. She hadn’t replied for a moment or two, just the sound of her soft cries filling the room in which he couldn’t access until she’d finally slid the lock open and he found her sitting on the floor, surrounded by torn open pregnancy test boxes and four tests sitting in front of her, letters boasting PREGNANT 4+ WEEKS on each of them.
Henry hadn’t wanted to go too crazy. He’d wanted this for too long and didn’t want to curse anything by purchasing anything too early. He’d gripped her hand, their fingers locked together, tears falling from his eyes as he’d pressed their hands to his lips as his eyes had remained fixated on the screen during her scan, watching as their two babies wriggled around for them. Watching as their tiny limbs stretched out and they flipped themselves around in their little bubble of comfort.
With each passing week, Henry ensured that he took care of any of the big jobs, needing her to take it as easily as possible. She hadn’t wanted to completely give up their workouts, and he’d make sure that he was there to observe each one, with a personalised plan specifically for pregnancy. They scoured the websites for the perfect nursery set up. With the babies genders remaining a secret, pots of neutral paint sits in the room. Dust sheets are down ready to catch any splatters of paint which hadn’t made it onto the walls. Tins of light colours are waiting to be applied and Henry has changed into his “DIY” clothes which are sweatpants and a loose, though still fitted for him, cotton tee shirt.
Most of the walls will be a pale grey to match the carpet, but there’ll be soft mint greens, duck egg blues, pale yellows scattered around the room in forms of cuddle bears, artwork and books that he wants to read to them. Two rocking chairs have been placed, and tested, and he already looks forward to sitting in them while reading to the two of them as they have their feed, much like he’s already done with her sitting beside him, their joined hands pressed to her large bump as he’d read some of his favourite childhood stories to them so that they would already recognise his voice. She’s due in one months’ time, and only now does he feel confident enough to begin to paint and assemble everything he’d bought.
She’d caught him in the middle of their living room two months ago, the boxes emptied out and him checking every screw, every nut, bolt and piece against the assembly instructions to ensure that everything was there, fully prepared with the phone and laptop beside him to make all the forms of contact needed to get the right parts sent out.
“I’m not leaving it until last minute to then find out something is missing, or wrong or damaged and it’s too late.”
He’s strolled around the house with the double pram, telling her he needed to break in the wheels. He’s practiced for what felt like hours closing the pram and re-opening it again. Getting it in and out of the large car which he bought for the babies in mind. He’s tested numerous ways of picking up the baby carriers and how to get them in and out of the car with ease. He’s completed a baby first aid course and made sure he’s bought enough things to baby proof the house.
“You have some explaining to do.” She says, waddling into the doorway of the nursery, holding up some of the baby outfits he’s purchased.
“Look at the little cape though.” He grins, putting down the paint roller and tray before he’s even applied the first stroke. He walks over to her, his hand instinctively going to her belly as the other touches the cape of the baby vest which reads “my daddy is superman.”
“And this?” She holds up a mini Chiefs kit.
“I don’t make the rules around here. It’s law that they should match their daddy.”
“But what if they choose to suppo-”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Henry cuts her off with a wag of his finger, “we don’t have none of that negativity around here. Absolutely not.” It takes everything she can muster not to crack another smile and to try and keep her expression as neutral as possible but the stern look upon Henry’s face makes it more difficult to do so.
“You can’t wait for this, can you?” She asks him as she sinks down into her rocking chair and slowly goes back and forth, sighing contently to get the weight from her swelling ankles and sore feet.
“Lumberjack beard, bags under my eyes so big I could do a months shopping in them and endless stories of ‘so yeah, my kid pooped today’ conversations. I can’t wait.”
“No dad bod?” She questions.
“I’m a daddy now, and I’ve got a body.”
You sure are daddy, she thinks. If she weren’t suffering from her aching hips, she’d be wanting to climb onto his lap and ride him. He looks far too good right now.
“Yeah you have, now let me see that body of yours get to work….on this room. Not on me.” She says, holding up her finger and lifting a leg up as though that could stop Henry from covering her body with his own, “you’ve done enough.”
“Well, you know what they say… it helps to speed things along…”
