lovelyaces

[lovelyaces]

the way I swooned after reading this fluff of a piece 🥺🫠

hi can i request girl dad!aaron 🥺🥺 i am such a sucker for him, anything would be amazing thank you so much <3

hope this is okay!! —you have big news for your small family. 1.5k pregnant!mom!reader

When you first married his father, you weren't expecting Jack Hotchner to like you very much. Losing his mom so young, you wouldn't have blamed him for resenting you, or even hating you. You were like a stranger in his home. 

Things are different now. Jack lays in your lap with his head on your shoulder, and maybe he's a little too old for such a coddling cuddle, but who really cares? You love him and you love holding him, and if he wants some extra comfort tonight you're happy to give it. Plus, you have something you've been meaning to tell him.

“He doesn't have real headlights, did you know?” Jack asks. “They're just stickers.” 

You raise your brows at the car on screen. “No kidding.” You brush your fingers through his hair. He's blonde like his mom, though that blonde has turned brown the older he gets. 

“Race cars don't have headlights.”

“They don't need them,” you say. Jack smiles at you shyly and leans into your neck, clearly pleased. 

You're very, very glad that you ended up being someone he loved. It's a privilege to get to look after him, and to be his step mom. In the same way you're lucky to be Aaron's partner and Jane's mom, too. 

“Think dad's made dinner?” you ask. 

“No, he's probably just talking to your sister.” 

Yes, well. You can't blame him, nor would you want him to stop. He talks to Jane like she understands, and Jane, not even two years old, nearly brand new to the world, soaks him in. You can hear him if you strain, the dulcet cadence of his voice under the steady hum of the dishwasher. 

“That's okay, sweetheart, don't get upset,” he's saying, “it's okay. Come here, I've got you.” 

Jane starts to cry. You and Jack give one another the look, apprehensive in hoping it won't turn into a full blown melt down. 

“Honey?” Aaron calls. “Sorry, where did you put her other pacifier?” 

You kiss Jack's hair. “Sorry, bub. Wanna come with me?” 

Jack wants to stay and watch Cars. You wrap him in a throw blanket and make your way into the Hotchner kitchen, where Aaron rifles through the drawers and cabinets with Jane held snugly to his chest. “I know,” he says, “I know. I'll get it.” 

You nudge him aside. You only know where the spare pacifier is because you put away the wooden spoons last night and pushed it back. You fish for it, a ladybug made of glittery red plastic, and Jane's crying slows as soon as you pull it free. She grizzles while you rinse it, but she settles when you hand it over. 

“This is not the best, is it? The pacifiers?” you murmur. 

“She dropped her other one and it rolled under the oven. And no. Not ideal.” He pats her back gently. “As long as she stops before she gets her big teeth, she'll be okay.” 

“Do you think it's a comfort issue?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. You worry about stuff like this constantly, but he knows kids are more hardy, and he isn't worried. “Sorry for making you get up.” 

He hates when she cries; he may see his kids as a hardy bunch, but he takes their upset as a personal failure half the time. His concern for her overrides his concern for you, but in a few weeks that might change. You can't imagine him calling you to find something again when your stomach is round as a honeydew. 

You've been meaning to tell him about that, too. 

You're not secret-keeping immorally, he does want another baby, but you've been having a little bit of fun. He's gone on cases so often lately that he hasn't been able to keep track of you, or your doctor's appointments.

You watch him with Jane, and you think about him with Jack, and you know he's going to be happy. He's told you as much before. 

“My poor girl,” he says, covering the back of Jane's head with his hand and pulling her under his chin. He looks as fine as ever, tall, dark and handsome to a fault. Jane's lips smack as she sucks and digs her teary cheek into his chest. 

You can feel his gaze on you. “Is now a good time?” he asks. 

You shrug. “For what?” 

“To tell me what you're not telling me.” 

“Oh, busted,” you croon, aiming for his shoulder. 

You do as Jane had and press your cheek to his front, your eye forced shut. 

“What do you think it is?” you ask. 

He makes a strange noise. You can practically hear the possibilities for your secret running through his head. His birthday is vaguely soon, so that's what he'll settle on first. But Aaron likes to disregard the obvious as most people do, only circling back to it when there's no other lead to follow. 

“How big of a secret is it?” he asks, rubbing Jane's back diligently. She makes a happy sound, and for a moment he forgets his plight to kiss the top of her head. 

You speak quietly, carefully, because it is big, huge news. “The pamphlets say it’s about the size of a strawberry.” 

He puts his cheek to Jane's head softly, looking at you in confusion. A second, another, and his eyebrows start to relax, rise, a smile on his lips like it's too good to be true. “You are?” he asks in surprise.

Jack appears in the doorway with the throw blanket trailing behind him. “Y/N, when are you coming back to watch TV?” 

“Jack, lovely, come here. I have something to tell you,” you say. 

Aaron grabs your wrist. When you meet his eyes, he squeezes gently. “You're sure?” he asks. 

“The doctor seemed pretty certain, handsome.” You lower your voice as Jack comes to stand in front of you. “Are you happy?” 

“Happy about what?” 

You put your hand on your stomach cautiously, worried about Aaron and how quiet he's being, and if it's as okay to tell Jack as you'd thought, but that action is what gets him. “I love you,” he says quizzically, as though his being happy is totally dependent on the fact. “Of course I'm happy. This is the best secret you could've kept.” 

“About what?” Jack asks, patting your arm. 

You bend down just a bit to see his face properly. “It's a secret you can't tell anyone for a while, okay? The only people who can know for now are me, you, and dad.” 

“Can I tell Jane?” he asks. 

“Yeah, buddy, you can tell your sister,” Aaron says. 

You peer at him from the corner of your eye, both concerned and pleased to see the wetness ringing his waterline, and the tenderness with which he holds Jane close, his thumb rubbing little circles into her back. 

“I'm going to have another baby,” you say. 

Jack's jaw drops. “Right now?” 

“No, not right now! You still remember last time?” you ask with a laugh, taking his shoulders into your hands. 

“You were crying and shouting for dad to hold your hand.” He pokes your stomach. “So it's like Jane?” 

“Maybe one day, sweetheart. For now, it's just a tiny baby.” 

Jack wants to see your stomach. He's expecting a much bigger bump than you have to offer, but you explain that eventually it'll get bigger again, and he seems quite pleased. Aaron makes sure to give him a hug and ask him if he's okay, to which Jack says, “Yes, but can we have a brother this time?” 

You rub the soft top of your stomach. “I'll see what I can do, Jack.” 

Aaron commandeers your attention, kissing you more times than you can count. You don't think you've ever seen him this happy now the reality has truly set in, asking Jane in his murmur, “Do you want to be a big sister?” 

She gurgles around the pacifier, leaving drool in a line down his chest. 

“I know, honey. I'm excited too. Let's clean you up, mm? And make mommy a cup of hot cocoa…” He narrows his eyes at you. “Would you sit down?” 

“I'm only ten weeks, I'm fine.”

“She's keeping secrets from me, and now she won't do what I'm asking,” he says to Jane. “Can you believe it? Anyone would think mommy doesn't like me as much as she claims.” 

You kiss his cheek. “M'having your baby, Aaron, again.” 

“That is a compelling argument.” He wipes Jane's cheek. “What do you think? Should we forgive her?” Jane laughs. He smiles at you, lovesick. You're not sure who for. “I guess we're letting you get away with this one, sweetheart. But no more secrets.”

“None,” you promise. 

[lovelyaces]

it is so soft I want to cry 🥺😭

more girl dad! hotch plsssss 😫😫😩😩😩

hotch navigates his small family ♡ mom!reader, 1k

Hotch speaks with a softness you could spin into silk. "That's okay, sweetheart. You fill this one out for me next." 

You peer through the small gap in the door. Hotch is sitting behind his desk with a case file open in front of him, though you assume any photographs are sequestered away, because in his lap sits a small girl, a toddler with dark, neat hair and a matching frown. 

"This one next," she says, picking up her crayon. 

"That one next. Good job, I'll be finished in no time with you helping me." 

"And we can have… uhm…" 

"Rusks?" 

"Yes, please." 

Hotch leans down to kiss his daughter's small head gently. "You're so polite. How about we leave all this grown up work and get you a rusk now?"

She turns on his leg to slouch into his stomach. Hotch picks her up, the sleeves of his shirt tightening at his biceps as he wraps them behind her back and under her butt, pushing the office chair aside with a careful leg. 

He sees you in the doorway and smiles. 

"Hi, Mr. Hotchner," you say. 

"Hi, mommy," he says, directing Jane's little body your way so she can see you where you're standing outside of his home office. "What are you doing?" 

"Just coming to check on you both. And I need help with something." 

You've stopped expecting him to pass you whatever kid it is he's carrying anymore. When Aaron is home, he's home, and he's dearly attached to his young daughter. He'd be attached to Jack if he weren't constantly out in the backyard looking for toads. He kisses your cheek, careful not to squish Jane between you. "What do you need help with?" 

"I can't get the lid off of the pickles and I promised Jack I'd get him the biggest one." 

"Why are our children so hungry?" he asks, putting his hand behind your shoulder as you walk down the stairs together. "Could it be because they both refuse to eat their breakfast, even when mommy says you'll regret it?" 

"Breakfast?" Jane asks, blinking owlishly. 

You smile at her. "No, sweetheart. Let's have rusks and milk, should we? With honey. Dad's gonna make it just the way you like it." 

Jack is back in the house tracking mud footprints over every inch of the kitchen. Only then does Aaron pass you Jane. She's light and easy to hold, she doesn't wriggle or gripe. Despite her resting frown, she's a happy girl who's content to be passed from person to person. "Daddy?" she asks. 

"Two seconds." Jack stands guiltily by the fridge, looking down at his shoes and then up at the ceiling, like looking away will get rid of the mess. "Jack, we've talked about this. You can play in the yard when it's wet if you take your shoes off before you come in."

"Well, I thought my shoes would be more dry," Jack says. 

"You can't leave water everywhere. What if Y/N slipped while she was carrying your sister? Then they'd both be hurt." 

"I guess," Jack says. 

"We're gonna have to mop it up. You can help me, buddy. You remember where we put the mop bucket?" 

You prop Jane on the island by the sink basin. She immediately puts her hand under the faucet, fascinated by the automatic water. "Wow, lots of fuss," you say. 

Aaron helps Jack take off his messy shoes and puts the mop bucket into the basin with a heap of praise for Jane's assistance, such a good helper. He lifts Jack up to squirt cleaner into the water. He's still laughing when he sets him down. 

"Rusks, dad?" Jane asks. 

Aaron almost barrels you over trying to hold her, lifting her back into his arms to kiss her soft cheek. "I am, I promise." He gives you a pleading look. "Honey–" 

"Yeah, okay. I never do the mopping, anyways. Me and Jack will learn together." 

You can hear him drowning Jane in love and sweetness as you and Jack get to work. "It's like this, babe, we push the mop head into the drain so we can soak up all the muddy water, then rinse and repeat." You drop your voice to a whisper, hands slack on the handle. "Don't worry, I'll do all the hard work." 

"Can we still have pickles?" Jack asks. 

"Of course we can. Dad's not mad, he just doesn't like the mess. Quicker we clean up, the sooner we can have a snack. You're not super hungry, are you?" 

"I'm starving." 

You put the mop back in the bucket, looking Jack up and down. He looks like he could use some proper warming after his time outside in the late September cold, pale cheeks rosy and his nose kissed with chill. 

"Aaron? Me and Jack have to pause the mopping, we're hungry." 

"Pretend I believe you and sit down. I'll make you something." 

"We really are hungry, dad." 

Jack takes your hand and pulls you toward the kitchen table. It's an organised chaos, your work things, Aaron's coat, Jack's science project. Underneath it lays a carpet of baby toys and Jane's washables; she plays under the table often to be close to her dad when he's working and you're cooking, or he's cooking and you're reading. 

You put him in a seat next to the highchair where Jane spoons warm rusk-mush into her mouth hurriedly. Aaron has secured a baby pink bib around her neck with a safety pin and filled her little sippy cup with watered down orange juice. She looks as happy as you've ever seen her as she misses her own mouth. 

You fill Aaron's seat as he vacates it to watch her. You and Aaron are good at filling each other's gaps, parenthood akin to the world's most loving game of musical chairs, and you're just as good at being together, you'd say —he squeezes your shoulders as he leans down. "For the record, you know how to mop. I just don't see why you should." 

"That's the right idea," you say happily, laughing as he kisses your cheek. 

[lovelyaces]

Love to Lie - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (Part 1)

Summary: Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

Contents/Warnings: fem!reader, Mitchell!reader, angst, angst with a fluffy/happy ending, amnesia trope, hospitals and their subsequent medical details, memory loss, goose and carole are still alive because i say so

WC: 11.3K / navigation / inbox

A/N: thank you to everyone who has encouraged me in my development of this series! it's three parts long, and each part will be posted one week after the one before it. that means you get chapter 2 next week, and chapter 3 two weeks from now. and after chapter 3 is released, i will post the full fic in one single post, so that it's easier to read. this series means a lot to me, it's the longest fic I've ever finished for this account, and I would really love to hear what you think of it. Thank you to the love of my life miss jade (@luveline), for being the first person to read this (!!), and for all of your wonderful feedback that cheered me on as I crossed the finish line for this series. I don't think I would have finished it if it wouldn't have been for your support, so thank you sweetpea <3

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

It’s 11:14 AM when you get the call. Your phone buzzes ballistically beneath your pillow, where you’d stuffed it haphazardly last night somewhere close to 4 AM. For the record, you’d only slept because your eyes hurt from being open for so long. You’re certain that, after what you’d done, you deserved to ache for eternity, but you’d succumbed to sleep when it pulled hard enough at you.

Raising the phone to your ear is a chore, especially because the number on the screen is unrecognizable, but you stretch your tired, bed-ridden limbs and hold the cool glass screen to your face. It’s jarring, and you long for the stuffy warmth of the pillow again.

“Hello?”

“Miss Y/N Mitchell?” It’s a man’s voice, deep and strong through the receiver. It’s no-nonsense, and you almost worry that you’ve misfiled your taxes, that someone from the IRS is tracking you down.

“That’s me,” You rub sleep out of your left eye, harder than necessary so that your vision is blurry when you open your eye again. You’re not very gentle with yourself these days.

“You’re listed as an emergency contact for Mr. Bradley Bradshaw. He’s currently a patient at the Naval Medical Center in San Diego. He was brought in at 9:37 AM this morning when his jet malfunctioned mid-exercise, and he crashed into a canyon below.”

Your heart stops. 

Your cheeks get hot, your hands start to tingle, and your stomach feels like it’s going to start turning cartwheels, sloshing your insides around until you vomit what little you’ve eaten.

Bradley’s dead, you think, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead.

“We were able to airlift him out, and he’s stabilized now-” Bradley’s not dead,  “-but he’s still unconscious. His parents are here, as well as your father, if you’d like to join them.”

It takes a long time for you to speak. It’s almost a full minute, and the man on the other end has to call your name to get you to respond.

“Miss Mitchell?”

“I’ll be there,” You blurt, heaving a shaky breath as you seal a hand over your mouth. You part your fingers only to make sure he hears you clearly as you confirm, “He’s alive?”

“Yes, he’s alive and stable.” The man informs you, “He’ll recover, Miss Mitchell.”

Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead.

“I’ll be there,” You repeat, and for the first time in almost 36 hours, you kick the crappy motel blankets off of your legs and stand, “Thank you, sir.”

--

Wearing a bra again after two weeks of lazing around in bed is awful. But you’ll do it for Bradley, if only to make up for the last thing you’d said to him.

“I can’t love you anymore!” Rings in your ears, and a vision of Bradley’s hands reaching desperately for you flashes through your mind, covering up the green light ahead of you.

Someone honks behind you, a BMW. You jolt to attention, stepping on the gas and jerking into the intersection.

Easy, you chide yourself, You’re going to the hospital to visit a patient, not to be one.

You’re able to pull into the hospital’s parking lot without nearly causing any more car crashes, and you briefly wonder if you should take the coward’s way out again as you trek over the asphalt towards the hospital. You’d run two weeks ago, why not now? Why not now, when what you’d been worried about that night has actually happened?

Urged by the regret flooding your veins since fleeing, you walk on, stepping through the automatic doors of the hospital and sidling up to the reception desk.

“I’m here to see Bradley Bradshaw,” You inform the nurse there, “Uh- Lieutenant. If that… helps.”

She sends you a kind smile, filled with sympathy that you’re thankful for as you stammer and stumble your way through speaking. You’re sure you’re not the most distraught person here, and you’re guiltily thankful for that. 

“Room 624,” The nurse tells you, and oh, what a sick coincidence, “Down the hall and to the left, take the elevator up and follow the arrows on the floor.”

6/24 is not only Bradley’s birthday, but your anniversary; the day you’d kissed him on the swings in his backyard with hot fudge sticking to your lips. He’d been glum about his dad missing his birthday on deployment, and, of course, your dad couldn’t be there either. Carole had done her best to brighten up her boy, but some things couldn’t be mended with gift wrap, and you all knew that.

You’d snuck out to join him that night with a sundae, offering him the serving spoon thickly coated in the chocolate. He’d accepted it with a huffy eye roll, upset that you’d managed to cheer him up even a little bit with just one spoon of ice cream.

--

“It sucks,” Bradley mutters around the chocolate in his mouth, the syrup sticking his words together, “I know he can’t do anything about it. But I still want him here.”

“I know,” You hum, taking a bite of ice cream for yourself, “I’m sorry, Brad. If it makes you feel any better, he’ll probably get you something, like, really good when he gets back. He’ll feel all guilty, that’s what my dad did and I got a puppy out of it.”

“We’ve already got a puppy,” Bradley gestures to the Bradshaw’s family dog, well on in years by the gray around his muzzle and his tendency to nap instead of move.

“Maybe you’ll get one that you can actually play with,” You offer Bradley another bite of the ice cream, and you only feel a little bad for making fun of Lewis. But the dog doesn’t understand your teasing, softly snoring on the porch.

“Maybe he’ll get me a car,” Bradley gushes, “A bitchin’ one, like a Bronco or something. Then we can put our surfboards in the back and go to the beach.”

“You don’t even have a license!” You elbow Bradley, laughing at his lofty dreams, “But a Bronco would be cool. You should send your dad a magazine clipping of one with your next letter and talk about how cool it is.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” Bradley muses, a smear of chocolate over his lower lip that he doesn’t lick away.

You scoff, stomping on his foot where it’s planted in the grass beside your own. He jolts away with a yelp, and in doing so, jerks the swing he’s sitting on, He catches his balance and you notice the syrup on his lip, reaching out to clean it with your thumb.

“You’ve got hot fudge on your face, doofus,” You sneer, happy to return his teasing, “You eat like a toddler.”

“I’m not the one who put three cups of it on the sundae!” Bradley insists, and his lower lip catches your thumb as he speaks. Teenagers in love, you’re hyperaware of touches like that, and your breath hitches in your throat at the contact. He notices it too, staring down wide-eyed at where your thumb hovers over his lips.

“Sorry,” He blurts, and in doing so, his warm breath fans over your hand. You jerk it away, eyes on the ground as you mumble away his concerns.

“It’s fine,” You mutter in a terrible attempt to remain nonchalant, “We’re not four, it’s not like I think you’ve got cooties or something.’

Bradley takes to the teasing, glad it’s not tense anymore, “That’s not what you say when I leave my underwear on the floor.”

“‘Cause that’s gross!” You launch into a rant, “That’s, like, personal! And they’re used too,” You shudder, handing him the sundae intent on scrubbing a hand over your face, “Nasty, bro.”

Despite your casual nickname for the boy beside you, you feel like anything but bros when his hand brushes yours. He takes the ice cream from you, and his hand half-closes around your own, sending a spark shooting up your spine.

Your breath catches in your throat again and this time Bradley hears it, looking at you through his lashes with those wide brown eyes.

Neither of you move away this time, frozen just like the treat in your joint grip.

You feel extra affection for the boy next to you today, the shared grief of losing your fathers every few months bringing you closer together. It’s what compels you to lean in, tilting your swing sideways to brush your lips over his own in a painfully awkward teenage-style kiss. Before you have the time to panic about whether you did the right thing, Bradley reciprocates, pursing his lips slightly to fit them around your top one. You follow his lead and it goes much better, a chaste kiss that’s sweeter than the chocolate staining your lips.

--

You’re glad you’d kissed him that day, you’re glad you had the balls to take the leap that resulted in a nearly twenty year long relationship. It would have been twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-five, fifty if you hadn’t chickened out two weeks ago, but you try not to think about that in the elevator lest you make yourself sick.

You find room 624 easily, the painted arrows on the floor leading you down the hallway that the room stands in. You wonder if you should knock first, you’re not too knowledgeable on hospital etiquette, but you decide that manners can be damned, your boyfriend- ex-boyfriend is in there.

You turn the handle and step inside, and Carole looks up from Bradley’s bedside immediately. You think she’s expecting a doctor, and her desperation for finding one breaks your heart. Her teary face splits into a sad smile, and she rushes to your side to envelop you in a hug. You let her have it because she’s grieving over her son, but you’re surprised she’s not immediately angry with you for breaking up with Bradley.

“Honey,” She gushes into your shoulder, “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re here! Brad’s gonna be okay, they said he’s just gonna need some help breathing until he gets stable. Then they can get him healthy and ready to go again!”

“That’s great,” You hold her close, relishing the last Bradshaw hug you’ll probably ever get, “Where’s Nick and dad?”

“Oh, they went to get food,” Carole releases you, swatting her hand in the air in an affectionately teasing manner, “You know those boys, always hungry for something.”

You laugh awkwardly, watching as she settles down by Bradley’s bedside again. She looks back up at you where you’re swaying on your feet, gesturing to the chair beside her, “Well come on, girl! Get in here!” She seems much more lively now that she has company, and you hate to think of her grieving her injured son alone.

“Oh- I, uh,” You stammer, darting for the seat beside her, “I wasn’t sure if-”

“Don’t worry,” She seems to misplace your concern, “He’s okay, sweetie-pie, you won’t hurt him just by breathin’ on him.”

“Right,” You smile, though its disingenuous with tension, “Um, so it was a mid-exercise crash?”

“Mhm,” Her face dims slightly, “Apparently there was some freak accident with one of the engines, 'set off the whole thing. And that’s two crashes in one week! First it was that Javy boy, I tell you, I think they should vet those engineers better. I mean, aren’t they supposed to catch that stuff beforehand?”

“Yeah,” You feel partially numb, but you’re not sure whether it’s emotional or physical. You’ve been trying to avoid looking at Bradley so far, using his bubbly, bouncing mom as a distraction, but now that the blonde has settled beside you your eyes drift. 

He could be perceived as sleeping, if the color wasn’t drained from his face. His skin is still tan but it’s duller now, golden brown fading to a sickly, colder shade of it, like there’s no life beneath it. His eyes are shut and there’s a breathing tube up his nose; you wonder how pissed he’ll be when he wakes up to find out they’ve had to trim his mustache around the thing.

“Must be a Bradshaw family tradition,” Carole breaks your concentration, laughing weakly, her voice lined with a hint of tears, “Crashing, scarin’ their girls half to death.”

You remember the day of Goose’s crash like it was yesterday. You’d only been three at the time, freshly so. But grief like that, the panic you’d observed, doesn’t go away. It can’t be forgotten, it can’t drift out of your brain like so many memories do with age. You and Bradley had sat together in the hospital with Carole and your dad, and Nick still had the crummy plane drawings you’d done for him while waiting for him to wake up.

Carole’s usage of the phrase ‘their girls’ unnerves you. She’s been exceptionally nice to you so far, especially considering that she’s fiercely protective of Bradley, and should have kicked you halfway to Mars for ditching him like you’d done. But she’s leaning towards you in her chair, and you come to the dreadful realization that she doesn’t know you’ve broken up with Bradley.

“Now, I know you wanted to keep things hush-hush,” She gushes, happy to look at your animated face instead of Bradley’s still one for a moment. She reaches over to brace her hands on your knees, leaning eagerly into your space, “But I have to know, babycakes, how did it go?”

“Hm?” You look dazedly at her, still partially staring at Bradley.

“The proposal!” She squeezes your hands, sniffling weakly with the remnants of tears past, “I know that boy was finally manning up enough to ask you, 'should'a put a ring on you years ago."

Any other time, you'd groan at Carole's opinion on your relationship. She's been urging the two of you to tie the knot for decades, but you'd felt no burning desire to go to the courthouse. You were comfortable in your life, why spend an obscene amount of money to get a piece of paper that tells you you're in love? You knew that for free, in the way that Bradley looked at you, in the way that he memorized all of your fast food orders, in the way that his hand so often found yours beneath the sheets in his sleep. Now her teasing is a sore spot, one that gapes the wound already bleeding in your chest.

"-But when I asked him how it went he said he’d ‘share the details later’. I’m sure you wanted to make some big announcement or something, but I need this right now, honey, tell me what happened.”

She’s staring at you like she always has, like you’re the sweet little girl she helped raise when your mama had chickened out. Cowardice must run in the family.

There’s such pretty hope shining in her eyes that you can’t bear to crush it, ready to spew lies about how glorious Bradley’s proposal had gone, how you’d fallen to your knees to kiss him, how you’d shouted ‘yes!’ from the rooftops. Fortunately, you don’t have to lie to her, because the door opens and your dad and Nick step through.

“Hey,” Your dad cheers, tossing you a plastic-wrapped sandwich, “There you are, honey. I was worried you weren’t gonna show up, ‘thought you’d be mad at him or something.”

“You know she was mad at me when we went down?” Goose gestures to Carole incredulously, and you can’t see behind his sunglasses but you know he’s addressing you, “I wasn’t even flying the damn thing and I got lectured!”

He lets up, goes easy on Carole, you’re sure because he’d had to comfort her earlier. You see a slightly dark, damp patch on the left side of his Hawaiian shirt as he leans in to hug you, probably her tears.

“Good to see ‘ya, kid,” Nick rubs your back, “You doin’ okay?”

“Yeah,” You nod, voice slightly shaky as you smooth your previously-folded hands down your thighs. The movement catches Carole’s attention, and you look away before you can see her reaction to your bare ring finger.

“He’ll be fine,” Goose leans over to slap Bradley’s calf, and Carole looks like she wants to scold him for it, as if he'll die right then and there, “He’s tough just like’is daddy.”

“His daddy should go get me some tea,” Carole huffs, placing her hand over Bradley’s as if it would make up for Nick’s slap, “And take Maverick with you, I don’t want you getting lost.”

“Oh, again-?” Goose grumbles, setting his lunch on one of the plastic chairs around Bradley’s bed, “You could’a told me that before we left, honey.”

“Didn’t want it until now,” Carole insists, “Now shoo, get some for Y/N, too.”

The second the door shuts behind the two men, a stiff silence falls over the room.

Carole’s sweet voice breaks it, but it’s the last thing you want to hear, “Where’s the ring?”

You stare at the sandwich in your lap, like it’ll open face and read like a book, giving you instructions on how to lie your way through this.

“I know he asked you,” She presses on, voice pitched up with tension, “I- I gave him the ring Nick used to propose to me. That was almost a month ago. We swapped it out for a wedding band, and- and I thought Bradley could use the engagement ring for you, too. I know he asked you.”

“Carole,” You can’t bear to look her in the eyes, not the woman who’d fed you macaroni and cheese when your dad was halfway around the world in a fighter jet and tucked you in extra tight during a rainstorm so that the lightning couldn't sneak through the gaps in the blankets to get you.

“No, tell me, where is the ring?” She raises her voice, the way she used to when Bradley would leave his scooter out in the rain to rust, “Just tell me-” Her voice peters out into a weak whimper, “-tell me you didn’t say no.”

“I’m a coward,” You finally mutter as her answer, hateful and wicked, “I got scared. I wish I’d said yes, really, I- I wish I could take it back, but-”

“What did you do?” Her face crumples at your admission and she nearly shrieks, squeezing her hand tighter over Bradley’s, “Y/N, what did you do?”

“I said no!” You sob, chest heaving as you wipe away a tear from your eye heavy-handed, “I was scared, Carole. After Coyote went down,” You blearily recall the last plane crash you’d heard about, a member of Bradley’s own squadron caught in a bird strike. He’d been fine, but waiting for the news took you right back to your youth, and you’d been hit with the striking realization that it could happen to Bradley, too. It could be you in that chair, it could be your love on the line. You’d been so sick with dread that you’d backed away altogether, running away to preserve your emotions.

“I just- I didn’t want it to happen to Bradley,” You confess, “I didn’t want it to happen to me. So when he asked, I was-” You sniffle, hard, “I was so scared. I didn’t want to marry him and then lose him. For some reason this-” You suppress a sob, throat aching and chest heaving, “-dating a pilot is different than marrying one. Dating is- it’s temporary, even if you plan on it lasting forever. It’s less serious, it’s not set in stone. But marriage-” You hiccup, “-marriage is the real deal. It's like- It's like I was dating Bradley, y'know, the teenage boy who took me to homecoming because I was sad no one asked me. But- but then all of a sudden I was marrying an aviator. And that’s- that was scary! That was real. I- we’d been together for twenty years!” You gush, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, “I should have known marriage wouldn’t be any different. It’s not like we ever thought we’d break up,” You sniffle weakly, “Marriage was always sort of silly to me, 'cause we just thought we'd be together forever regardless. But I never realized how real it would feel. So I- I freaked out. When he asked me, I made up some stupid excuse, and I chickened out! But-” Your chest heaves with a sob as you finally lift your eyes to Bradley, “He crashed anyway. He went down even though I said no, and it still hurts.” You cry, face scrunched in despair, “It hurts so bad, Carole, I didn’t think it would still hurt.”

“You fool,” She huffs exasperatedly, but she reaches out to clutch your hand like a lifeline. She’s holding Bradley’s with her other, and you wish for a moment that you could cut out the middleman and hold his hand on your own. You don't feel worthy to touch him anymore. “You don’t stop loving someone by leaving them, you stop loving them by moving on. Of course it still hurts, you didn't move on; you still love him. And- and leaving him didn’t stop him from getting hurt, it just meant he probably went down wishing he got to tell you he loved you this morning, so you'd know.”

The thought breaks you, Bradley ejecting with you on his mind. Evidently he hadn’t fully accepted your breakup, not if he hadn’t even told his mom about it. You wonder if he was planning on trying to get you back, if after work today he would have come over with flowers and a thousand pleas on his lips that you didn’t deserve.

“He loves you,” She continues, tears wetting her own cheeks, “And even if you did say somethin’ stupid, I don’t think there’s anything you could tell that boy that’d make him stop loving you. Apologize when he wakes up, baby, he’ll understand. He'll be hurt, no doubt. But he’s been scared before, too, believe me.”

“I will,” You gush, nodding as she squeezes your hand and Bradley’s in sync, “I will, I promise! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Just make it right,” She pleads, “Can’t have you two splittin’ up now, not after all this time.”

“I wish I hadn’t done it,” You weep, holding your hands to your eyes as if you can plug up the tears, “I- I just panicked! And I’ve been a wreck ever since, I- I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t-”

“Tea’s here!” The door opens, and Nick is suddenly a lot quieter as he sees you bent in half and crying, “Oh, honey.”

“C’mere,” Your dad edges around Goose, squatting by the side of your chair while Carole rubs your back. He’s always been fantastic at comforting you, which you marvel at because he was so active in his career. He wasn’t always around when you were little, but that didn’t stop him from knowing how you liked your back rubbed, your hair done, and your cookies warmed.

“He’s gonna wake up,” Your dad soothes you, wiping a tear away from your face, with the hand that isn’t rubbing your back, “Don’t worry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay,” Carole promises, and you know she’s talking about something else entirely, “It’s alright honey, it’ll all work out.”

Nick feels a bit useless now, standing there with two cups of tea in his hands while everyone else comforts you, but he’s quick to notice a frown work its way onto Bradley’s sleeping face.

“Brad- hey! Look,” He gestures with one cup of tea, only spilling a tiny drop, “I think he’s wakin’ up.”

All of a sudden you want to go home. You’re not sure you can do this, you don’t belong here with his grieving family. You belong in your bed, kicking yourself for your cowardice and wishing you’d done better by him.

But there’s no time to flee now, not again. This time you have to brave it, you have to watch as his big brown eyes slowly blink open, a haze of sleep and medication clouding them over.

“Agh,” He groans, hand twitching by his side, “What-?”

“Hey, Bradley.” Nick leans over the bed, tea now set aside on a tiny table, “How y’feelin’ bud? You had quite the plane crash.”

Bradley takes a moment to observe his surroundings, blinking blearily at your dad, then you, then his mom. His eyes drift back over to you and they feel like they’re lasers, boring searing holes through your chest where your heart used to be two weeks ago.

The slow and steady beeping that had been long since tuned out slowly started to increase while Bradley regained consciousness. Your dad looked warily at the machine, watching Bradley’s heart rate rise.

“I’ll get a doctor.” He ducks out, and Carole stands.

“We should go,” She grabs Nick’s hand, looking pointedly at you, “We’ll give you a minute alone with him, honey.”

Nick starts to protest about being led away, something about how ‘-he came outta my balls! I can’t see him when he wakes up in the hospital?’ but Carole’s already corralling him to the nurse’s station in search of your father. If you weren’t so fond of the woman you’d be cursing her for sticking you alone with Bradley, but you know you can’t let yourself succumb to fear again; this time you have to be a big girl.

“Baby,” Bradley rasps, turning your attention back on him. You watch him weakly, eyes apprehensive as he reaches for your hand, “C’mere.” 

You hesitate, and he lets out a weak chuckle, “Come on, now. You’re not gonna kill me by holding my hand.”

“Bradley,” You sniffle, reaching out for his limp fingers on the bed, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” He smiles lazily, eyes drooping, “I’m okay. Comes in the job description, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” You repeat, grief-stricken as you clutch at his hand desperately, “I shouldn’t have left, I- I wish I had stayed.”

“Baby,” His brows furrow and he laughs sympathetically, “They wouldn’t have let you stay, you know that. I work on a naval base, not at a chipotle. You can’t sit with me all day. Plus, there was no way you would’ve known I was gonna go down. I’m glad you weren’t there, sweetheart. I wouldn’t have wanted you to see that.”

All at once, your chest burns hot, blazing with panic. Is he not going to talk to you about it? Is he going to pretend nothing happened? Is he going to refuse to acknowledge what you’d said? You stammer, “What-?”

“Mr. Bradshaw!” The doctor comes in, cheery now that his patient is awake. You turn your head, still dazed and fear-stricken at Bradley’s demeanor. “Let’s see how you’re doing here. Any chest pain?”

“A little,” Bradley shifts in his bed, wincing infinitesimally.

“Probably just some discomfort due to the broken ribs. Headache?”

“Yeah,” Bradley admits with a groan, “That I’ve got.”

The doctor scribbles something down on his chart, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Bradley strains to think, “I… don’t know. I don’t even-" He grimaces, "I don't even remember the crash, ‘just know it happened ‘cause he told me.”

Bradley raises a shaky finger to point at Nick, who’s happy to see his son gain some mobility back, even if he is worried for the boy. The three adults had filed back into the room after the doctor, and you pointedly avoid Carole’s imploring stare.

“Think hard,” The doctor commands, and you squeeze his hand like it’s a play-dough machine, like memories will ooze themselves into his brain in star shapes and heart cut-outs.

“I remember…” Bradley rasps, turning his hand beneath yours to grasp it, “Jake’s birthday party. That was-” He glances over at you, “-last night?”

“That was three weeks ago,” This time your heart rate is the one to rise, echoing dully in your ears like the soundtrack of a horror film, “Is that-” You sniffle, “Is that the last thing you can remember, B?”

His eyebrows raise and he tries taking in the information, “Yeah- uh, shit. Three weeks ago. What does that mean, doctor?”

“It sounds like you’ve developed post-traumatic amnesia.” The doctor scribbles once more on his paperwork, “The good news is, we think you have only a mild concussion. And amnesia induced by mild concussions typically lasts only up to a week or two at most. But there’s a very real chance you could remember everything in just a few minutes.”

Amnesia.

He doesn’t remember.

“What I want you to do now is to rest, and we’ll have a nurse send up something to eat. Please,” The doctor eyes Nick knowingly, “Do not feed him the funyuns you’re holding behind your back.”

“Foiled again,” Goose laughs, tossing the packet of chips onto a chair beside his own lunch, “You got it, doc.”

“Alright, glad you’re awake,” The doctor bids you goodbye, “And- a nurse will be in to run a few simple tests later. For now, just sleep and eat.”

“Will do,” Bradley tries tightening his hand around yours but you worm away from him, and it’s heartbreakingly easy to do with his limited mobility. You stand abruptly, legs shaky and heart pounding in your chest as you stumble away from his bed.

Amnesia. Amnesia. Amnesia.

He doesn't remember.

“Honey?” Bradley calls warily, face scrunching into a tired frown.

His eyes follow you as you back right into your chair, the plastic scraping against the floor with an ungodly screech. Now the attention is all on you, and you give into that dreaded fight or flight response you seem to always fall victim to.

“I need to use the bathroom,” You ramble, rushing for the door, “I’ll be back!”

“Y/N-” Bradley tries calling, but his voice is weak enough where you can pretend you haven’t heard it as you try to refrain from running down the hall. You don’t make it ten steps before Bradley’s door closes with a sharp click, and the voice of one Carole Bradshaw cuts through the silence of the hallway.

“Y/N Mitchell!”

She’s using the same tone she used to use when you’d get in trouble for pulling a girl’s hair at school, or throwing mud at a boy who was mean to Bradley. You react just like you had then, spine stiffening and limbs locking. 

“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” She warns, stomping towards you in her half-raised heels, “Turn around, young lady.”

You follow her orders even if the nickname is outdated. She’s got her pretty eyes narrowed, and as much as it pains you to be on the receiving end of one of her seldom-used withering stares, it’s better than being in there and watching Bradley’s eyes shift when he suddenly remembers you’d been the biggest douche on planet Earth.

“Did you apologize?” She inquires, and you nod obediently.

“But- but Carole, he doesn’t remember-!” 

“He will,” She promises, “And when he does, you’d better apologize again. He needs you right now, y’know? He thinks it’s three weeks ago, before you ran off and left'im. As far as he knows, you’re still his adoring girlfriend who he’s probably yearning to see right about now. So go in there,” She reaches for your hand, “Kiss that boy on the mouth,” She demands, “And stop running away!”

“What? I can’t-” You gush, trying to pull away. But she’s stronger than Bradley is at the moment, and her hand tightens around yours, “I can’t lie to him! Not about this, I- how long am I supposed to pretend?”

“As long as you can,” She insists, already pulling you back towards his room, a woman on a mission, “You march right on in there, and tell him how worried you were, and let his memories come back to him on his own time. He’s traumatized right now, he just doesn’t know it yet, and he needs you there. If you break the news to him now, it’ll only stress him out more. Go play nice, and when he comes around in a few minutes, you can have a real talk.”

“I don’t want to lie to him,” You lament, and she stops pulling you down the hall to narrow her eyes at you.

“Babydoll?” She asks sweetly, and fooled by her kindness, you hum in question, “I don’t give a shit.”

She’s never foul-mouthed, so it catches your attention. She holds your incredulous gaze, “You want him back?”

“Yes.”

“You wish you’d never left?”

“Yes.”

“Well as far as he knows, you haven’t.” She huffs, the fabric of her skirt flowing near her calves, “So get in there and be there for your boyfriend of twenty years, and when he suddenly remembers you aren’t his girlfriend anymore, Grovel. Sound like a plan?” She raises an eyebrow, and you tamp down the nerves rising in your chest. You nod cautiously, resolutely, and she loosens her grip on your hand. She still holds it to lead you back to the room, but she stops outside the door to speak one last time.

“I know you love him,” Her voice is softer now, genuinely sweet and caring, “And I also know you like to run when things get scary. And that’s understandable, but it’s not okay, not right now. You can’t stop loving someone just ‘cause you don’t wanna lose ‘em. It’ll hurt worse if you walk away.”

“I know,” You breathe shakily, squeezing her hand, “Thanks, Carole.”

“Anytime, sweetpea,” She smiles, tears still gathered in her eyes, “Now get in there and kiss my son.”

“There they are,” Your dad stands as you reenter the room, “You ladies have a nice bathroom break?”

“‘Had the time of our lives,” Carole nods, letting you take the seat closest to Bradley’s head. Your feet feel burdened with lead weights as you step towards his bedside, and he watches you with worried eyes. You’re sure he knows you weren’t really going to the bathroom, not with the way you’d fled, but you’re glad he’s choosing to pretend for your sake. He seems worried, though, and you curse yourself for making this about you.

“Y/N,” He reaches out for you as soon as you’re in reach, his voice still hoarse. His hand squeezes yours instantly, and you feel for the panic he's probably experiencing. He deserves a shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold, and it should be someone better than you.

“Bradley,” You murmur back, trying to stop your lips from trembling, “I- can I kiss you?”

Carole’s voice rings in your ears, and you don’t have to turn around to know she’s smiling at the two of you. Bradley pauses, then his worried eyes soften and he nods weakly against the pillow.

“Oh,” Nick teases as you brace your hand on Bradley’s bed, leaning down to press a feather-light kiss to his lips, “Lovebirds!”

The kiss is nothing but awkward. It’s hesitant on your end, because you can’t believe you get to do it again. You’d really believed the goodbye kiss you’d shared with Bradley before he picked up dinner for the two of you would be your last one, so fitting your lips over his in the hospital seems like something otherworldly. You’re careful, too, because you don’t want to hurt him, not that you think you could ever smooch him to death. He doesn’t reciprocate much, he can’t, but the familiar prickle of his mustache against your lip is a welcome feeling that makes your heart feel light again, if only for a few seconds.

When you pull away, it’s gone. Because you have to look him in the eyes, the same ones you’d forced tears out of two weeks ago, and pretend like none of it happened at all.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” You gush, voice cracking, and it feels right starting off with the truth. You can get to the lies later, the ugly little abominations you’re cooking up so that he preserves as much mental energy as possible while on bedrest. You know Carole’s right, you know he needs to heal as much as he can before you make it worse with the news, but lying feels so wrong. He’ll find out sooner or later, and what if he really was done with you? What if he hadn’t told his mom so that no family drama erupted, what if it wasn’t because he was going to try to get you back? What if he hated you, and what if he hates you even more when he knows you’re lying through your teeth to him?

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He promises, his fingers curling slowly and carefully around your own, "Are you? You ran off, I was worried."

"I'm fine," You insist, waving away his concern with a shake of your head.

He doesn't seem satisfied with your answer; he can read you like a book. But he accepts your answer, and you admire him for not wanting to pry in front of everyone. He changes the subject, glancing briefly around the hospital room, “Baby my- my phone, can I have my phone?”

“It’s here,” Your dad hands it to him, and Carole watches your eyes widen infinitesimally. What if Bradley sees his text conversations? What if he sees that you haven’t talked in half a month? What if he finds messages from someone on a dating app he’d used, a rebound-in-the-making?

What if he’s changed his background? What if he wants an answer as to why it’s probably some picturesque sunset, a jet plane cutting through the clouds above. Or maybe it’s of Lewis, he’d recently had photos restored of the dog.

What if he notices your contact name is changed to something like ‘Do not answer’? What if he realizes he’s blocked you? What if all of your pictures together are deleted off of his phone, and he wonders why?

There’s a thousand things that could go wrong.

“Coyote called,” Bradley rasps, upon first sight of his screen. Then, “Hangman. Twice. Phoenix, Bob, Fanboy, Payback, I- I should send out a message.”

“I will!” You lunge for your own phone, digging in your back pocket with suspicious urgency, “Uh, I’ll let everyone know, you just- just rest.”

“Okay,” Bradley hesitates for only a second, letting his grip go loose around his phone so that it falls back to the bed.

He seems content to let you do it, if only a little deterred by your insistence. But you’ll play the part of the fussy girlfriend, not wanting her injured love to work harder than he has to.

Nick and Pete take the time that you’re creating a group thread to question Bradley more on his memories, and every answer he gives sets your heart on edge. Your fingers feel numb as you type out ‘Rooster’s stable now, he has a mild concussion and a few broken ribs, but the doctors say he’ll recover fully. His memories are a little hazy from the past few weeks but apparently those will be back soon. I’ll send you any updates we get.’

Before anyone even has a chance to reply, you set the thread on silent. You can’t bear even getting a notification that the message can’t be sent, because you’re sure Bradley’s team aren’t too fond of you right now, and you wouldn’t be surprised if they’d blocked you in solidarity for their friend. But Bradley hadn’t even told his mom, would he have told his team? Would he even need to? Or would they notice the circles beneath his eyes worsening, the stubble adorning his cheeks from a lack of motivation to do anything productive? Or, maybe even worse, would they have seen him with another girl hanging off of his arm at a bar? Would they have caught him out to lunch with a woman and figured it out themselves?

“Hey,” Bradley rasps, effectively breaking your zoned-out worry spiral. Your eyes don’t lose their intensity but they focus on his pale face, and he offers you a weak smile, “Anyone respond?”

“Always the attention seeker,” Nick laughs, creating a distraction so perfect that you don’t bother checking the text to answer Bradley. “Should we tell ‘em to bring flowers too, Brad?”

“Shut up,” Bradley’s voice is far too quiet to be menacing, but it’s the type of teasing he always engages in with his old man, “When you were in the hospital you said I had to draw you one picture a day or you’d think I didn’t love you.”

“And I only got fifteen out of eighteen,” If Goose is capable of a withering stare, it’s what’s directed at Bradley now, “I can’t believe I bought a Bronco for a kid who doesn’t love me.”

“Alright, you two,” Carole swats at her husband’s arm, “Cut it out, don’t overwhelm him.”

“His heart’s beatin’ real fast,” Nick snickers, “But that’s probably ‘cause Miss Mitchell is doting all over him.”

The attention’s back on you, and it means Bradley’s waiting to hear your response. You dry swallow after sending Nick a good-natured eye-roll, trying to act like your heart isn’t beating ten times faster than Bradley’s.

Miraculously, nothing awful awaits you in the group chat. There’s no error messages, no scolding, no pledges of hatred for you, and it makes you think that you really might be able to get away with this for a while. Carole won’t tell, and that doctor said Bradley might not retain his memories for weeks. It’s like everyone has hit undo on what might be your biggest mistake in life, and you don’t know how to take the opportunity.

“Bob says he hopes you recover soon,” You push the panicked fog out of your head, reading in a low voice, “Hangman says he’s gonna give you flying lessons when you get back so that you,” You snort softly, “Get the hang of it, and to that, he is receiving a barrage of middle finger emojis.”

Rooster lets out a laugh, one that’s genuine and thick from his chest. It’s unlike his voice has been so far, it’s not fractured or achy, and the sound warms your heart. Some of the sickly despair that’s been coating your heart like globs of poison dries up, and you almost feel normal again when you slide your hand into his. He holds your back, and it’s like nothing’s ever happened.

You have your Bradley back; the only question is for how long.

Lunch is a sorry state of affairs for Bradley. His tray consists of chicken and gravy that runs into his mashed potatoes, and the jello they give him has a layer of cherry red liquid pooling overtop. You and Carole take turns spoon-feeding the man, giving each other a chance to mow through your sandwiches between bites.

Your dad watches out for the doctors while you sneak Bradley some of your sandwich. It’s cafeteria turkey, and honestly you’d rather go for the chicken on his plate, but he hums gratefully at the spread of mayonnaise and mustard on the bread.

“Thanks, babydoll.” He croons, a smear of mashed potatoes in his mustache that you wipe away with watery eyes at the nickname. He puckers his lips to kiss at your thumb and it’s like you’re at home on his birthday, feeding him in bed and stealing kisses between bites.

Bradley’s eyes start to droop halfway through his watery jello, and your dad stands, brushing sandwich crumbs off of his jeans.

“Alright, buddy,” He squeezes Bradley’s foot reassuringly, “I’ll head out. Probably best to let you sleep. Get some rest, and make her give us updates,” He narrows his eyes at you, accusatory, “I know you’ll be too wrapped up in him to remember we exist, but take some time away from his lips to tell me if he’s still breathing out of ‘em, m’kay?”

“Don’t be makin’ out too much, “Nick goads, standing when Carole grabs his hand and does herself, “His heart rate’ll skyrocket and the nurse is gonna think he’s havin’ a heart attack!”

‘Yes, yes, they love each other very much,” Carole hums, leaning down to kiss Bradley’s forehead. He leans into it but his hand stays in yours, and you gladly accept the same gesture from the woman on your cheek, “Let’s leave him be, okay? Brad, I’m coming back tomorrow morning,” She promises, “Your dad and Pete have some work to do in the backyard, but they’ll join us after lunch.”

The men don’t seem to have known about this yard work until now, and they share equally exasperated groans. 

“And I’ll be here,” You throw in, meeting Carole’s appreciative gaze, “I’ll stay until they throw me out.”

“You could always handcuff yourself to the bed,” Your dad hums, and you pointedly ignore Goose’s comment about the pair of handcuffs you ‘probably keep in your nightstand.’ It gets him a sharp smack upside the head from your dad, and you’re sure Nick will choose a better audience next time.

“We love you,” Carole promises, squeezing Bradley’s arm as he bids her goodbye, “We’ll see you tomorrow, baby!”

“Love you,” Bradley hums, voice less gruff than before now that he’s used it again, “See you tomorrow.”

The entire time he’s been awake, he hasn’t let go of your hand. He turns to you with those sleepy eyes of his, big and brown and begging for a kiss. You lean in before you can stop yourself, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

His heart rate picks up.

You laugh against his mouth at the increased beeping, and he’s barely sheepish as he nudges his nose against your own. You feel like you’re loving on borrowed time, like any second now he’ll be slammed with the memory of you breaking his heart, stomping all over it like it hadn’t been yours for the past 20 years - maybe all of your life.

“I love you,” He murmurs, squeezing your hand, “Y/N, I- I love you so much. I don’t remember anything,” He’s slurring his words slightly with fatigue, and you kiss the corner of his mouth as he speaks, “But I know you could have lost me forever, and I’m sure it wasn’t easy to handle.”

He has no idea how true his words are. Of course, you’d nearly lost his life to the crash. But two weeks earlier, you’d lost his touch, his voice, his gaze, his love, and you’re grateful the tears that line your eyes look natural.

“Mhm,” You nod, sniffling, “It was- it was hard, Brad.” You admit, thinking back to the night you’d left. You’d checked into a shitty motel for the night, and you’d cried yourself sick in the shower. Even after your stomach was emptied you couldn’t bring yourself to eat for two days afterwards, and you’d only given into the mini fridge after nearly passing out. Your days were long and spent regretting your decision, wondering if you’d ever be happy without him by your side, and worrying that he might be able to.

“I just keep wanting to do it over,” You gush, feeling his hand tighten around your own as you sob, “I- I wanted to take it back, to-” You swallow a sob, remembering your lines, “-to stop you from going to work. If I’d just made you stay…” Your face crumples with a gush of tears you aren’t able to hold back, and you give up on speaking for now.

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Bradley hums, kissing the space between your nose and your cheek. It’s all he can reach from the way you’re sobbing into his pillow, and you’re thankful for the comfort you might not be able to get soon.

“You couldn’t have changed anything,” He promises, and you nestle your head into his own to absorb his soothing voice, “My plane was still the one with the defect, baby. I would have gone down tomorrow if not today. ‘S only a matter of time.”

A wave of sickness washes over you at his choice of words, and you nod, trying to regain a grip. You lift yourself up from the pillow, neck aching as you crane it to kiss his chin. He smiles at you, his eyes so genuine and sweet that it makes you want to lose your lunch; it’s an expression you don’t deserve anymore, even if you long for it. It’s only a matter of time before he remembers everything, and you don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t want you anymore.

“You’re tired,” You hum, and he nods against the pillow, “Sleep, baby. You need rest.” You sniffle, wiping away a tear from your eye more forcefully than you need to. You try to lean back in your chair but Bradley stiffens, and feel him tighten his grip on your hand.

“Please don’t leave me,” He begs, and more of that nausea comes rolling in. They’re the exact words he’d whimpered just next to your ear two weeks ago, keeping the door closed with one hand while the other wound around your waist. Then, you’d wormed your way out of his grip, ripping the door open despite his efforts to stop you and running off to your car. Now though, you meet his eyes, scared and desperate and lost, and you nod, scooting forwards to lay your head on his chest.

“I’ll stay,” You promise, and he raises a hand to brace it against your cheek. You turn your head to kiss his palm, and he strokes a thumb over your face, “I’ll stay, Bradley, I promise.”

The nap that you take on Bradley’s chest is the best sleep you’ve had since you left. Being in his embrace once more practically erases your undereye circles, and it takes you a few seconds after you wake up to remember that anything is out of the ordinary in the first place. Then it all comes flooding back, and you cycle through each stage of grief respectively while still slumped onto the bed. Then you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, and you realize that Bradley’s nurse has shaken you awake.

“Hi,” The man smiles down at you, “Sorry to interrupt. I’m sure you didn’t want to wake up.”

“Oh,” You laugh hesitantly, slipping out from beneath Bradley’s hand and wiping away a slight glob of drool that had accumulated around the corner of your mouth, “No, no, it’s okay. What time is it?”

“Dinnertime,” Another nurse chimes from by the door, carrying another tray of meat and potatoes for Bradley, “Around six-thirty, Miss Mitchell.”

“You’re welcome to eat here with him,” The first nurse informs you, “But you’ll have to get something from the cafeteria, or order in. And visiting hours end at eight,” He levels you with a sympathetic smile, “But if you’ve got one bite left I won’t kick you out.”

“Thank you,” You chuckle wearily, your voice barely thickened with tears, “I appreciate that. Bradley,” You hum, squeezing his hand and stroking your free one through his hair, “Wake up, baby. They brought you some dinner.”

He comes to groggy, and you don’t blame him. He blinks a few times, then recognition washes over his face as he remembers why he’s there, and hopefully nothing else.

The nurses get busy with moving his bed, pressing buttons on the little remote strapped to the side until he’s inclined enough to eat his meal. The tray hooks into the sides of the bed so that he doesn’t have to hold anything, but you take his fork for him anyways, leaving his hands completely free.

“Thank you,” You nod gratefully at the nurses when they retreat for the door, a smear of mashed potatoes already gathered on the utensil in your hand. Bradley’s happy to let you feed him, humming at the taste of the beef they’ve given him. 

“Better than the chicken,” He hums, his voice gaining back a bit of its grating quality from earlier. He’s usually rough-voiced after a nap, so you don’t worry too much about it. Typically you indulge in his raspy morning voice, but now it seems insensitive. 

“Good,” You croon, scooping mashed potatoes and gravy onto a bite of the beef, “And it doesn’t bother your stomach?”

“What’s there to upset it, salt?” He grumbles around a mouthful, “Barely tastes like anything.”

“Sorry, Brad,” You hum, stroking a stray strand of caramel colored hair back into place, “I’m not supposed to feed you anything else, though.”

“I know,” He relents, lips puckering to kiss your wrist instead of wrapping around the spoon in your hand, “Not your fault, baby. But,” He rears back to takes the bite, chewing thoughtfully while you wait for his next sentence, “Can you bring me cookies tomorrow?”

You laugh, trying to keep it quiet in the slowly darkening hospital room. There’s no one around, and the door is closed, but his voice isn’t loud and you don’t want to overpower him. 

“I just said I wasn’t allowed to feed you anything else,” You roll your eyes affectionately, a teasing gesture you thought you’d never be able to do with the man anymore, “What makes you think I’d bring you cookies?”

“Um, ‘cause you love me?” Bradley drawls, voice finally rising to a healthy volume. Maybe it’s the food in his stomach, or maybe it’s a switch that was suddenly flipped in his chest, but he sounds like himself again.

His words sober your fantasy intoxication, and you smile sadly at him where he lays in his bed. You set the fork down to lay your hand over his cheek, your palm soaking in the warmth of his skin that’s newly returned.

“I do love you,” You promise, leaning in to kiss him. You have to lean over his plate to do so, and you’ll worry later about any potential gravy stains on your shirt. You go slow and gentle, worried that he’ll push you away for reasons he doesn’t remember yet. But he doesn’t. In fact, when you pull away to give him some air, he catches your wrist in a surprising display of agility for his weakened muscles, and you freeze in place.

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs, mustache shifting slightly with his apology, “I can’t stop thinking about you getting that call. I never-” His voice cracks, “I never wanted you to go through that.”

“Me neither,” You feel tears pricking at your eyes again, the same that are shining in Bradley’s, “But you don’t have to be sorry. None of this was your fault, and what matters is that you’re okay now. I have you back, Bradley, I- I didn’t lose you.”

“You’ll never lose me,” He vows, and your lips sting with the force of your bite to repress a sob. 

He lifts his head from his pillow, the first time he’s done it since waking up. He kisses your temple as you try not to cry, lips dotting staccato kisses against your skin as you tremble slightly.

“I promise, baby,” He hums softly into your skin as his hand comes up to hug you, “You won’t lose me.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” You cry, your fist gripping his hospital gown desperately. You want to believe him but it’s not even really Bradley talking, it’s three-weeks-ago Bradley that doesn’t remember you walking out of his life for self-preservation. It’s Bradley that doesn’t know the worst of you yet, but who could remember at any moment and cast you away.

“You won’t, I promise.” He coos, stroking up and down your back. You feel silly, accepting comfort from a hospital patient who went down in a fighter jet less than 24 hours ago, but you feel even sillier that it's the same man you’d torn to shreds days prior. But he’s comforting you, he’s rubbing your back, he’s kissing your face, and he’s promising you that you’ll never lose him, so you let him, because you love hearing him lie, even if he doesn't know he's doing it. 

“You promise?” You look up at him with watery eyes that blur out his face, but you see him nod. It’s unfair to ask, not when he doesn’t have the knowledge to truly promise. He cranes his neck forwards to bump noses with you, letting you cry against his skin.

“I do, honey.” He nods, holding you close like you’d never left at all,  “I promise.”

Going from crying into each other’s embraces back to eating bland mashed potatoes is hard, but you ease Bradley into it with a bite of granola bar you’d found in your purse. He’s grateful for something with flavor, and you’re glad to finally be rid of the half-eaten snack. 

“Oatmeal raisin cookies, please,” Bradley begs as he chews the snack, going as far as to bat his pretty lashes at you, brown eyes shiny with hope. 

You scoff, wiping a tear away from your face with a fond, albeit trembling smile, “Okay, Brad. Oatmeal raisin.”

“You’re the best,’ He hums, grinning with a mouthful of oats and chocolate. You check your phone to find that you’ve only got twenty minutes left until visiting hours are over, and your eyes dim as you glance back up at him.

“I have to go soon,” You lament, “Visiting hours are over in twenty.”

His face fades from its pretty smile, some of the newfound color draining from his skin once more. You’re sure he’ll have a nightmare tonight, something about jet crashes and dying alone, and you hate leaving him here so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry, baby,” You sniffle, squeezing his hand, “They open back up at 8 tomorrow, so as soon as I make those cookies I’ll be back, I promise.”

“I know,” He nods, raising your intertwined hands to kiss at your wrist, “It’s okay. Not your fault.”

“I’d stay overnight if I could.”

“I’d sneak you into my bed,” Bradley grins sadly, “S’alright, baby, just get a good night’s sleep. You deserve it after today.”

“You too,” You squeeze his hand, smiling sweetly at him, “And if you have a nightmare, text me, and I’ll crawl through the window, ‘promise.”

He laughs again, and now that he’s got most of his strength back it’s a normal sound. It’s not weak, it’s not subdued, it’s perfect. It’s Bradley.

“I’d like to see you try,” He teases, and you wipe a smear of chocolate off of his lower lip, remembering the first time you’d ever done that with a fond smile.

“I’m on the sixth floor.” He reminds you, and you shrug, sucking the chocolate off of your finger.

“Meh,” You crumble up the granola bar wrapper in your fist, “I could scale that easy.”

“Oh, really? Yeah, I bet you could,” Bradley chuckles, “You’re Spider-Man, suddenly? Sticking to walls? I must have forgotten your transformation.”

“Yeah, you did,” You grin with a laugh, “Actually, while I rushed over here to see you, a truck full of radioactive spiders crashed, and I got bitten by one. You’ve missed a lot, Brad.”

“Right,” Bradley’s brows raise, eyes alight with amusement, “Those radioactive spider trucks are a real nuisance, I hear.”

Giggling sweetly with him feels normal. The kind of normal you crave, the kind that isn’t settled for, but yearned for. And you’re clinging to it, pushing the truth out of your mind and playing the part perfectly.

A knock on the door interrupts your gigglefest and you turn in time to see the nurse from before entering, a bittersweet smile on his face. 

“I’m supposed to kick you out,” He jokes, holding Bradley’s chart, “And you’re free to sleep whenever, Mr. Bradshaw, we don’t need to conduct any more tests tonight. You’re just here to be monitored."

“Alright,” Bradley nods and you stand, still clasping his hand in yours. The doctor busies himself with straightening up the chairs around the bed, and you take the privacy he so kindly grants you.

“Sleep good,” You recite your pre-bedtime deployment sendoff to Bradley, the phrase having gathered dust in the back of your head since his last overseas assignment, “Sweet dreams, and call me when you can.”

“I will,” Bradley leans up to kiss you, going for your lips, then your cheek, then your chin, “You too, baby. Get some rest. I’m okay, I promise.”

“Yeah,” You beam down at him, smoothing his hair away from his forehead, “You’re okay, Brad.”

"See you tomorrow!" He calls as you leave, and you turn to nod.

"See you tomorrow, baby." You promise once more, hand on the door handle, "Goodnight."

“Sleep well, Mr. Bradshaw,” The nurse bids Bradley goodbye with a smile and a nod as you trail out behind him, and at the click of the door behind the two of you, it’s like you’re the recovering amnesia patient. Now that Bradley’s not there anymore, not smiling at you, not telling you he loves you, it’s like you can’t be sure of anything, like you’re still that imposter you’d been when you’d first stepped in. You come to the sickening realization, only after the fact, that you'd loved lying to Bradley, and it makes you feel worse. Your reverie is shattered, and the nurse beside you notices your shaky breathing as you trail down the hallway.

“Miss, are you okay?” His brows furrow in concern, and you nod.

“Yeah, just-” You smooth your hands down your pants, your palms sweaty, “It’s a lot. Being in there, seeing him like- like that. I guess I wasn’t prepared.”

“No one is,” The nurse smiles sympathetically at you, leading you to an elevator, “But he’s right, Miss Mitchell. He’ll be alright. And hopefully, his memories will restore themselves overnight. There’s a good chance he’ll wake up remembering it all.”

You’re sure that was meant to soothe you, but it’s only sent more nausea rolling through your body. You nod, forcing a smile as the doors shut between you, “Thank you, Nurse.”

Once the doors shut, you want to burst into tears. You don’t want the reception desk to see that, though, so you rush through the motions of leaving, practically running to your car. Once you’re safely inside the floodgates open, and you’re surprised you don’t trigger the horn from how hard you’re sobbing against the steering wheel.

You try to channel Bradley’s voice, ‘I promise baby, you won't lose me.’ but it makes things worse, it piles guilt on top of your sickness and makes you want to run away again. Because he’d promised you that he’d never leave you, not that he’d ever let you come back if you’d left him. And that’s what you’re worried about now.

Running away hadn’t stopped anything bad from happening, it just made you feel worse when bad things did happen. Thankful for your second chance, you swear to yourself in the stuffy silence of your car that you’ll do anything to fix this, and that you’re not going to fuck this up again because you’re scared. Love is scary, giving yourself completely to another person is scary, but Bradley’s always been good at soothing your fears, and there’s no one you’d rather give yourself to.

You steel yourself as you prepare to drive back to your motel, but second-guess it when you remember that Bradley has his phone with him. You have each other shared on Find My Friends, and he doesn’t normally check it unless he’s worried about your safety, but you’re paranoid that he’ll find your pin at a crappy motel and know something is wrong. So you punch in Bradley’s address instead, the one you used to share with him, still labeled as ‘home’, and set off.

The drive looks familiar in no time, and it reminds you of how much you’d missed it. The big oak tree on your neighbor’s lawn, the flag perpetually at half-mast because the man across the street fell while adjusting it and never fixed it, the tricycle on the sidewalk beside your front door that the toddler next door always seemed to leave on your walkway. You check the mail and feel something stabbing at your chest when your name is on one of the letters, and your house key is cold with disuse as you slide it into the slot.

You hesitate when the doorknob turns beneath your fingers. Walking into Bradley’s space will tell you exactly how he feels about what happened between you. There’s either going to be empty bottles strewn everywhere with pictures laying around covered in tear stains, or there’s going to be a hot pink bra in his bed, and a new woman’s makeup kit in his bathroom. Hell, maybe she’ll even still be there, maybe you’re about to walk in on your replacement.

But the promise you’d made to yourself in the car wasn’t for show, and you turn the knob after taking a deep breath, stepping into the darkened home.

You call out an uncertain ‘hello?’ into the place, waiting with bated breath for a woman’s voice to respond. But it never does, and you flick the light on beside the door.

You’d been right with one of your guesses.

It’s messy. Not exactly the outwardly disastrous type of messy you’d imagined earlier, but knowing all of the little things about Bradley means that you know he’s let himself go over the past two weeks. His running shoes are gathering dust by the door, which seems to suggest that he’s been lazing in bed just like you have. The living room is pristine, the pillows all arranged the way you set it up that Bradley doesn’t care to replicate, and you wonder if he’s sat on the couch at all the entire time since you’ve been gone. There’s no grocery list on the fridge and upon further inspection, the appliance is close to empty, one lonely beer left alongside ketchup, mustard, and a rotting head of lettuce. Unless he was eating the worst burgers known to man, you don’t think he’s been eating anything from the kitchen. Your heart aches for Bradley; you hope he’s been ordering food in.

Walking through the space is like revisiting a crime scene as the killer. Everything here is because of you, the pictures stripped from the walls are gone because of you, the lonely toothbrush in the dual holder is because of you, the neatly made side of the bed with its messy counterpart is because of you. 

You realize that it’s your side that’s slept on, Bradley’s still tucked neatly in place, unused. You spot a red covering over your pillow, reaching for it and finding it to be an old t-shirt of yours that Bradley had raided your dresser drawers for. It’s one he’d bought you at a tourist trap on your vacation a few years ago, and it was your favorite to lounge in. You notice a dark spot on the fabric and only then realize that you’re crying, that it’s a tear that had fallen from your eye. Then it’s like everything hits you all at once, and you sink onto the mattress clutching the pillow. It smells like Bradley, and you know he’s been clinging to it every night, a thought that solidifies your sneaking suspicion that you might be the worst person on the planet.

You curl up and cry there, you don’t know for how long. All you can do is sob, soak your pillow with tears that you thought you were out of, clutch the bedsheets like they’ll reveal Bradley, hidden underneath and eager for a cuddle. This bed feels as empty as the motel’s had, maybe even emptier, because you’ve never slept in it away from Bradley. When he’s on deployment you always have a sweatshirt of his and a picture of him tucked under the pillow, but you know it won’t be there now. Now you’re alone, really alone. 

Your eyes droop and you know you need sleep, especially if you’re going to wake up early to make Bradley cookies in time for visiting hours to start. But you can’t bring yourself to sleep without the picture of him under his pillow, so you stumble out of bed to fetch it from your box of memories.

Your fingers close around the slightly wrinkled photo, a shot of you in a gown and Bradley in a suit. It’s one you’d taken yourself at your graduation, high school turned college sweethearts. He had wanted admission into the Naval Academy, but in order to spend more time with you, you’d enrolled together at a university. It’s your favorite photo to have with you, and you reach out to Bradley’s pillow to slide it underneath. Upon lifting the pillow, you find a stack of pictures already there. Each one of you, most with Bradley pictured in them too. They only make you cry harder, and you recognize some as the inserts of the picture frames that had been taken down from the hallway.

It looks like Bradley hoarded photos of you, and some are stiff and stained with tears. The sight is something out of a movie, a dramatic indication of the inner turmoil of its main character. You see a shot of your silhouettes together, faces darkened by the sun streaming in behind you. You’re kissing on the beach, and without paying much mind to the structural integrity of the photo, you clutch it to your chest.

You’re a wreck. You just want your Bradley back, but your Bradley isn’t yours anymore. You want three-weeks-ago Bradley back, the one who you didn’t run away from. But he’ll probably have his memories back by tomorrow, and there’s no telling if he’d even want you to visit again. Looking at the sorry state of his apartment, you know he misses you, but whether he wants you back is another question altogether. All you can do is wait and worry, and worry you do. As you sob and heave in the bed, your brain shuts down, and eventually you drift into a dreamless, unpleasant sleep, nose still buried in your shirt that smells like Bradley.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[lovelyaces]

“sometimes the urge to punch you is unbelievably strong” prompt with rooster! where reader and him are best friends since childhood, following the same career path and such but he didn’t understand the different difficulties of being a woman in the navy etc. basically you’re in love with an idiot but he apologizes and mayhaps confession? 👀

omg yes !!! such a roo move, i love this 🫶

“It’s not the same, though.”

“Of course it is.”

“Rooster.” You cut him a reproachful glare. “No it absolutely isn’t.”

Bradley frowns up at you from his spot on the tarmac, beads of sweat rolling along the slant of his brow. He’s perspiring heavily, on press-up seventy of a hundred.

“Why not?” He grunts bemusedly, lowering his torso down before pushing up again. Above you, the afternoon sun is relentless, bathing his muscles a sweltering, crimson hue. Large muscles. You blink.

“Because,” you respond distractedly, tearing your eyes away before they get you into trouble. Too late. You’re already thinking about Bradley’s stupid, large muscles encircling your waist. “You’re… you don’t have as much to prove as I do, alright? I started off at a disadvantage, and I’m fighting like hell to bridge the gap that it created.”

Bradley blinks away fresh droplets of sweat and squints up at you, reasonably perplexed. “What are you talking about?” He pants, continuing his press-up assail. Twenty-five more to go, though they’re entirely unnecessary, given the circumstances.

If he’d just listened to you earlier, he wouldn’t be in this mess.

Of course, when you’re a man on the force, you can afford to make silly mistakes. You can afford to think with your heart and not your brain; if your decisions are based on vengeance, no one tends to bat an eyelid.

Not like when you’re a woman. It isn’t being ‘too emotional’ when it’s primal and testosterone driven.

“C’mon, Bradshaw,” you sigh, scrubbing your cheek tiredly. “You and me, we just aren’t the same.”

“Right,” Bradley heaves, doing a few more press-ups before continuing, “because you’re smarter, and meaner, and a whole lot more accomplished.”

He makes quick work of his last ten before collapsing onto the tarmac, leaving the asphalt a darker shade of grey when he rolls over. Once on his back, he props himself up onto his elbows, breathing hard through lungs that feel as though they’re bleeding. “Not to mention,” he pants playfully, trying for a jibe. “You’re the one Admiral Simpson likes to call darlin’.”

“Exactly,” you say exasperatedly, throwing your arms in the air. “Why d’you think does that, genius?”

Having paid for the consequence of his own misdemeanour, he’s now able to more freely take inventory of your features. The sun creates a golden halo around your silhouette, making your bare limbs glow, something reverent about it. Bradley’s Adam’s apple shifts apprehensively as he swallows. It tends to do that every time he’s struck by your pretty features.

“Uh.” The sternness of your tone tells him it’s a trick question. He takes a tentative pause, more asking than answering. “Because… you remind him of his daughter?”

You frown hard, folding your arms across your chest instead. “Bradshaw.”

“Damn, uh,” Bradley balks, straightening up fully and scratching the back of his neck, “because he… because you’re his favourite aviator.”

“You know,” you say humourlessly, narrowing your eyes at him. “Sometimes the urge to punch you is unbelievably strong.”

You send him one last glare before turning on your heel, already a few feet away when you hear him scramble to his feet.

His muscles may be aching with exhaustion, but the hankering in his ribcage is proving far more unbearable. The distance grows, and his heart begins to pull. He hates watching you walk away. He hates it almost as much as he does the thought of you not turning back to him.

“Hey — no, shit, wait,” He calls out urgently, breaking into a run. He’s breathing heavy by the time he’s caught you up again, and it’s warm on your skin, his body-heat like an embrace. “I’m sorry. Seriously. What am I missing?”

You halt your paces reluctantly, turning your head to face him. “No way,” you frown, looking over his features exasperatedly. “You really don’t know, huh?”

“Total idiot, remember?” He says, grinning sheepishly. He nudges your shoulder with his, and there’s a transfer of warm sweat from rough skin to something softer. “You’ve always been the smart one.”

“And the girl,” you add, sending him a meaningful glance.

Bradley’s jaw slackens as realisation dawns, and he grimaces, ducking his head in embarrassment. “Right. Of course.”

You raise your eyebrows at him, his chagrin removing any fire. Replacing it with something fonder. “You really are fucking clueless, you know that?”

“I do.” He lifts his head sagely, his brown eyes glinting with mirth. “Darlin’, I do.”

You roll your eyes, shoving him back playfully. “God,” you say, making a face. “Somehow, you agreeing makes this worse."

“C’mon,” Bradley argues then, raising his arms in surrender. “Battle of the genders aside, you can’t actually blame the Admiral for calling you something so sweet.”

You frown hard, a little defensive. “And why not?”

“I mean…” he trails off, gesticulating at your figure. There’s so much bare skin on display he’s about to have an aneurysm. Being in love with your pretty, unassuming best friend is like drawing every short straw imaginable. “You are one, aren’t you? A total darlin’. Hell, I tend to forget how badly you’d smoke me in the sky when you’re doing drills in this tiny little thing.”

He reaches forward and tugs the hem of your singlet for good measure, a rough jolt of skin-on-skin static.

“Rooster.” It’s hard to be angry at him when his sweet-talk’s turning your insides to goo. You fold your arms across your chest weakly, conjuring up the indignation you’d feel if it was Jake saying this to you.

It works a charm. “You can’t seriously be objectifying me too, right now,” you scoff, your traitorous cheeks beginning to burn. “I mean, this… this is exactly what I’m talking about! No one’s walking around telling you that they forget how good of an aviator you are because of your face, are they? And —”

“No,” Bradley interrupts, grinning indulgently. “But that’s because I haven’t got as sweet a face as you do.”

“Sure you don’t.” You scoff again, sending him a too-weak glare. “You know exactly the effect you have on women, Bradley Bradshaw.”

Bradley raises his eyebrows, a question. “But do you?”

“Do I what?” You ask, frowning bemusedly.

“Know exactly the effect you have on men,” he answers, taking a step closer. His vetiver and musk cologne intermingles with sweat, pressing over you in waves. “On me.”

Your breath hitches. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs softly, fonder now. “About before — about invalidating how hard it is for you on the force. That’s… I mean, you know that I think you’re a goddamn gift to aviation, right? I just seem to forget the obvious things when you’re around me.”

“Clearly,” you manage to whisper back, bright eyes widening.

“Because,” he adds, reaching up and cradling you’re jaw gently, “all my brain’s good for in those instances is telling me to do something stupid. Kiss you, or something.”

“Well,” you lean in a little closer, brushing your lips against his softly, “what’s stopping you Roo?”

When Bradley takes over, it’s a harder, teeth-scraping pressure, a little sloven, a lot impatient. More pressure than your poor heart can handle. He tastes like hot cross buns and spearmint, lips all sweet and bruised as they press over yours. A lot of ardour. Like he really has been thinking about this for longer than you have.

It makes your heart feel like it’s beating right out of your chest. When he finally does draw back, you’re flushed and out of breath.

“Christ,” he murmurs, thumbing over your kiss-bitten, bottom lip. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I was ten.”

You smile, all fond and giddy, and his heart pulls. “That long, huh?”

“Longer, probably,” he answers honestly, grinning in tandem. “But who knows what love is when they’re seven?”

[lovelyaces]

Endless love

hi lovely people, i haven't posted anything in a while but i will definitely pop here from time to time. here you go with another fluff piece that basically translates my own fears on paper...

i hope you enjoy it. love, ace 🌷

summary : Pete knows and it seems like your world is falling apart.

“I know.” You and Peter were currently outside your friend’s home, trying to regain some balance after your firsts drinks of the night. You’re not sure how but your conversation turned into love interests and taking your chance.

“Oh no. You know ?” You didn’t need any more words from him to understand that your feelings had been unveiled.

“I know.” Peter reiterated with what seemed to be the most neutral expression on earth.

“Oh…” You were mortified. This was it. The world began to close on you and right now you wished you could turn back in time and make this ever growing anxiety ball in your throat stop.

Never had any of your crushes known your affection for them, you always made sure of it. Because what an embarrassment that would be.

Peter tried to approach you, and slowly hold your elbows in a desperately soft attempt to appease you. Tentatively he whispered “I shouldn’t know ?” All you could do was shake your head no. “Alright then. Consider it forgotten.”

“It doesn’t work that way Pete.” Your voice was shaky and you were on the verge of tears. How can you come back from this ? How long had he known ? How long was it going to take for the story to spread ? You were spiralling and Pete was standing there, confused but mostly heartbroken at the sight of you so helpless. “Why is it a bad thing that I know bug ?”

“Because.” Your throat was closing up and you definitely didn’t trust yourself to continue. Because you’ll go. The sound of the party in the back and the crickets sounds were all you could focus on in order to ground yourself.

Wiping your tears away, you stepped back for Pete’s hold, as if cutting yourself off before he got the chance to do so. “Because it’s not going to work out like I hope, you won’t want me back and you’ll think about how silly it was for me to even think about it.” God how pathetic you thought.

There it was. Peter’s heart squeezed so tightly in his chest, he thought it might stop beating altogether. Your voice, your hands, the way your were so sure he was going to mock you. Anyone would have been hurt to be seen as such, but he knew. He knew that it wasn’t personal, but your fear of rejection taking over.

“Let’s sit for now yeah ?” He searched your eyes with his and led you to the bench further down the garden.

Once sat down, he gave you his hoodie to put on your shoulders. He then waited a bit, opening and closing his mouth like he was searching for the right words to come out. You were resting your head on the bench, looking up to help the tears go back down and at the same time, avoid facing Pete’s beautiful concerned frown.

“I would never laugh at you.” You turned your head to look at him. He, who’s always cheeky and loud, right now looked so attentive and worried you might fleet away at any point. “And I think any fool that made you believe that should be webbed to a wall just to reflect a bit on life.” That made you chuckle a wet laugh. “Just for a few hours of course.”

More time passed but it never got awkward, both of you just trying to gather your thoughts.

“I know you think no one’s going to stay and wait for you. And - I can’t believe I am about to say this because you’re oh so wise usually - but you’re wrong here bug. Sure,” he shrugged, “some people aren’t going to reciprocate those feelings - and thank god for that because otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to tell you this.”

He simply took your had and squeezed it twice before continuing.

“I wouldn’t laugh at you because, while simply being near you is a delight, knowing that I might have a chance at being loved by you, it’s everything. It’s like watching the sunset from Aunt May’s while she has music on, over and over again.”

You knew all too well afternoons at Aunt May’s place and the memories this sentence triggered lifted the weight off your chest partially. It was your turn to rub small circles on Pete’s hand, a silent encouragement for him to continue.

“You’re a lot more than you give yourself credit for bug. You just need to let people let you know.”

Exhausted and elated at the same time, you leaned onto Peter’s shoulder and quietly murmured,

“You love me ?”

“I do.” He took your intertwined hands and kissed your knuckles. “And here I thought I did a terrible job at hiding it.” The usual adoring smile had made its way back on his face.

“You’re a lot better than you think you are.” You added sheepishly, quoting his earlier statement. You turned your head that was still resting on his shoulder and placed a kiss there. “And I’d say you have more than a chance at being loved by me Pete.”

And he was right, it did feel like an endless sunset at his favourite place.

#andrew garfield imagine #tasm!peter fluff #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker imagine #andrew Garfield imagines #tasm!peter one shot

[lovelyaces]

this is so sweet. it’s a fumbling, tentative and terribly gentle love confession, i could just melt right here 🫠

dialogue prompt with love of my life (besides you) remus ‘why didn’t you ever kiss me?’ <3<3<3

I actually really like how this turned out and it infuriates me cos I could never write something like this for a long fic no matter how hard I tried 😂 thank you so so much for requesting!!! ♡ fem!reader

Remus Lupin kisses everybody. You aren't kidding around. Everywhere you go you swear Remus is there kissing somebody. Parties, bathrooms, empty classrooms. You've seen him have more kisses in the last year than you've had in your entire life, and it drives you mad with jealousy.

He's kissing everybody except for you.

It's no secret that you like him. Your friends know, so his friends know, and so he definitely knows. He's likely known since way before you finished school. And you don't want to say he's promiscuous but he's certainly no prude — his not wanting to kiss you is purely because you're you.

It's hard not to be offended. It hurts your feelings, but if he doesn't wanna kiss you there's nothing you can do about it, and there's no crime in his lack of interest.

It fucking stings, though.

It's purely chance that you end up alone with him. You're in the kitchen in Sirius flat domineering a game of poker. Sirius got up for a smoke, James went to find Lily, Marl and Mary needed to pee. Frank had to call his dad and Alice decided her pregnancy cravings couldn't be ignored anymore. You're almost begging Remus to make an excuse and leave rather than sit beside you as he is, quiet and completely at ease, his hand clearly in your line of view.

"You're cheating," he accuses quietly.

"You're sloppy."

He laughs. It's a sweet sound, high-pitched and erratic like you've startled him. "That's what they say." He spread his cards wider, slouching back in his seat to look at you lazily. "Wha' d'you think? Winning hand?"

"No. Definitely not."

He folds them. "Figures. I've never been any good at shit like this."

"Poker's half luck."

"Don't let James hear you say that."

You pretend to zip your lips closed.

Remus sits up slightly and stares at you. It's hard to ignore it, his gaze a heated lick over the side of your face.

"What?" you ask.

"Looking at you."

Your stomach does a flip. "Anything interesting?" you ask, shuffling the deck in your hands to stop yourself from melting under his eyes.

"You're pretty."

"Oh," you say, "now you notice."

"What's that mean?"

"Just that I've-" You huff and set down the deck. "Forget it."

He pauses for a second before shrugging. "You've always been pretty."

You scratch the green velvet of the poker table and it's a horrible sound, your shoulders tensing up. Why would he say that? What's his motivation? If he was going to try and make a move on you, you figured he would've done it years ago. Now you're almost friends, you're so close to being over him.

"Remus," you mumble. "Don't."

"Sorry," he says, sounding genuine. "I'm not trying to embarrass you. You look good tonight, is all. Thought someone should tell you."

"Thank you."

He nods. "You're welcome."

"Did somebody spike you?"

"No? Why, am I acting like that?"

"Yes, you absolutely are. You're being weird."

And maybe you're being cruel, but his talking to you like this feels like somebody's pulling on an exposed nerve. He must know how badly you want him to like you. How badly you wanted other things.

"You make me nervous."

You glare at him. "I won't be a mouse you play with because you're bored, Remus."

He holds his hands up in surrender, blinking as he sits properly. "That's not what I'm doing. Just telling you the truth. You make me nervous, you always do."

You wilt. Yes, you suppose your current hostility could put anybody off.

You push all the cuticles back on your nails and try not to look at him. Eventually everybody comes back and you finish your game of poker, a distracted dealer. You're pretty sure they've all noticed you're off now, and you catch Sirius and Remus staring at each other quizzically.

You bow out and Frank takes over, wanting to escape the suffocating atmosphere and heat of the kitchen. You let yourself out onto the patio and walk a little ways into the garden, clean but bare of decorations. It's so dark there are stars like white pinheads thrown in the sky above you. You tip your head back and breathe in the crisp air.

The door opens. You know exactly who it is.

You don't want to deal with him. You don't like this game.

"I'm sorry," Remus says, footsteps soft as he approaches, "If I've upset you."

You don't answer. You ball your hands into fists and keep on staring up at the sky, though you realise soon enough that you likely look insane and set your eyes on the pitch horizon instead, a sea of city lights and trees.

"Why-" You scrunch your hands together, the sound like leather. "Why didn't you ever kiss me?"

"Did you want me to?"

"Yeah, I did. You know I did."

He concedes quickly. "Alright, yeah, I did. But..."

"But what? I'm pretty, but not pretty enough?"

"It was never about looks."

Well, that's humbling. Again, you can see his point. You're not exactly operating as a normal person right now. You're honestly in disbelief that this is even happening, and your adrenaline has you saying things you wouldn't normally say.

"Right."

He stands to your left, and after a moment he moves in front of you, occluding the view.

"It's different with you."

You stare at him. He has very brown eyes with darker flecks like a deeply steeped tea. The scar through his eyebrow pulls as he grimaces.

"It's easy with everybody else. None of it means anything. But you actually liked me," he explains. There's a subtle undertone to his words, a soft plea. "I knew it would've had to mean something."

"Not necessarily," you deny, quiet. You both know you're lying. If Remus had ever kissed you or fucked you for fun it would've been alright at first, but it would've eaten you alive in the end.

"And I liked you. I liked talking to you. You're one of the only people I've ever met that looks at me, and not," — he hits his own thigh lightly — "everything else."

There's a stretch of silence, options to be weighed.

You hesitate. "'Liked'?"

Remus doesn't sound incensed, or even particularly passionate. He sounds like he's been defeated, and he's taking it all graciously. "I liked you. I like you. I know I'm telling you now at the wrong time. That you don't- Well. I just thought I'd tell you."

"Why's it the wrong time?"

His eyes crease. You can see it on the tip of his tongue. Because you don't like me anymore.

You shake your head.

He's sweet like this. You're not sure you've ever seen him nervous before. He looks behind him like there's something there, though obviously it's all paving stones and dead potted plants.

You take a tentative step toward him.

His hand is hot as a hearth as he takes your waist and pulls. His lips are hotter still, a fire of heat against yours. You inhale in surprise at his sudden kiss and it only serves to bring him closer, your hands loose and limp at your sides.

He covers your cheek with half a hand, a huge hand, and you feel surrounded by him. You reach for his arms, have no clue what to do once you've found them, fingers toying with the short sleeves of his t-shirt. As he kisses you your confidence grows. You grasp at the ridges and curves of his biceps and manage to get your hand behind his neck, keeping him in place when he starts to pull away.

"Dove," he says, though you kiss him before he can continue.

"Sorry," you say, easing back.

"No, don't be," he murmurs, cradling your face, "just wanted to see you."

You lean up for another kiss and find it hot and heavy as the first, years of wanting pressed too firm into his mouth. His lips part under the pressure. His tongue brushes against yours and you're shocked enough to spring apart from him.

"Sorry," he says.

You both laugh at your apologies. It's super new to be this close to him. It feels right.

He teases the corner of your eye with an extremely careful fingertip, lashes twitching at his touch.

"I meant what I said. You've always been," — he touches his forehead to yours quickly — "so pretty."

"I think you're pretty too."

You swear you can hear his smile.

"I had a hunch," he says.

[lovelyaces]

A Glimpse of Them

Pairings: Rooster x Wife!Reader, Goose x Carole, Maverick x Penny

Author’s Note: Inspired by this absolutely precious Anon request, as well as my great love for the iconic Goose and Carole Bradshaw.

Warnings: Super fluffy fluff, as well as a little bit of angst that comes from missing the people you love.

From the very beginning, Maverick knew that you and Bradley were meant to be.

How?

Because every time he looked at the two of you, he saw them.

Keep reading

#this breaks my heart #i cried on the beach reading this

[lovelyaces]

—On Love, Marina Tsvetaeva

[text ID: I just want a humble, murderously simple thing: that a person be glad when I walk into the room.]

[lovelyaces]

Play pretend

tasm!peter x reader

hello lovely people, i haven't written in ages and i forgot how nice it actually is. anyhoo, i hope you enjoy this very short cheesy piece.

love, ace 🌷

“I can’t believe you’ve pretended to like the opera ! Pete, we’ve been there at least twice in the past six months…”, you argued, while walking back to your apartment.

The night was terribly warm and Pete’s hand holding yours was like a million degrees, but it felt so natural and nice you couldn’t let go.

You sheepishly looked up to see his beautiful freckled face, “You should have said something, I would have understood.”. You were talking quietly, afraid you might come across too strong.

Peter caught your gaze and stopped in his tracks, hazel eyes full of worry and furrowing brows giving away the whirlwind of thoughts conflicting him.

“Are you upset ?” he finally asked, voice quiet to match yours. He didn’t mean to lie. Sure the opera wasn’t his favourite thing in the world, but when you told him about some random piece that was playing that week, he had to invite you. Merely to see that overjoyed look on your face again. Hell, he would have sat through a hundred of them if it meant getting to spend even more time with you.

“Am I upset ?” you repeated. Your hand came up to rest on his cheek, gently stroking it. “ Of course not Pete. Quite the opposite actually.” you said smiling, “You went on and pretended you liked the opera, just to spend time with me… That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done to me.”

Peter was looking at you with so much tenderness you thought you could melt right on the spot.

“I’m sure people have done nicer things for you bug.” he said before leaning in to kiss your forehead.

“Well...it’s definitely up there.” you answered, so so happy that he was yours.

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you, leaving the sounds of New York take over.

“I don’t think I say this nearly enough but… thank you Pete.” You went to hug him, in hopes to convey all the love you had for him.

“What for ?” he asked, his voice muffled in your hair.

“For choosing me.”

There’s no choice to be made when it’s an evidence, he thought. He wanted to say that to you, that and also the fact that you also chose him, and it has been the best feeling on earth. He wanted to say a lot of things, but for now, he settled for a simple “I love you bug.”, whispered in your ear, just for you to hear. After all, he had a lifetime to share the rest of his thoughts with you.

“Is it a good time to admit that I do enjoy the opera now ?” he said, still keeping his voice down. You didn’t need to see his face to know that his infamous smirk was there. Slowly, you untangled yourself from his embrace and resumed walking, still holding his hand.

“How do you expect me to believe anything you say about the opera any more ?” you joked, looking at him mischievously.

“Now I don’t think that’s fair… especially coming from someone who allegedly enjoyed sitting through many basketball games.” he argued, without any real heat.

You immediately cringed, scrunching your nose and shutting your eyes, before recovering.

“I do enjoy them… for the most part.” you tried to convince him, “ I mean it’s long and incredibly noisy but hey, I learnt the rules so it must count right ?” you were talking with you hands now, trying to save yourself from embarrassment.

Peter laughed, like a real loud laugh that caught you by surprised. You cheeks were heating up and in an ultimate effort to avoid any further awkwardness, you buried your head in his neck.

“You’re adorable you know that ?” Peter said while putting his arm around your shoulders.

“I wanted to be able to share that with you.” you confessed, still hiding from the world.

“I get that bug.” he stated while taking your face between his hands, “And now you know why I did the same.” You went to kiss his palm and he took it as a silent agreement.

You were smiling so hard, and still barely matching Pete’s blinding joy. Yeah, you two were going to be fine. Pretending to like stuff just for the other and actually building a shared hobby, that had to be a good sign of love.

“Let’s go home.” you offered, extending your hand for him to take, “I have something we both enjoy in mind.”

He began to wiggle his brows suggestively “Really ?”

“Not that you idiot” you laughed, smacking his shoulder playfully, “Well maybe that - later on- but that’s beside the point, I was thinking more about Italian for diner ?”

Peter smiled, relishing in your laugh, and placed a quick kiss to your forehead, “Sounds like a plan love.”

#tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter x reader #andrew garfield imagine #tasm peter parker

[lovelyaces]

You remembered

tasm!peter x reader

hi lovely people ! here's another cheesy little piece. (because who doesn't want words to feel like a big hug ?) anyhoo, i hope you'll like it wherever you are <3

love, ace 🌷

You were exhausted. Coming home after a long day of work and classes, you let yourself fall on your bed, where Peter was currently reading. Your eyes were closed and Peter instantly threaded his fingers through your hair.

“Rough day love ?” he asked softly as he closed his book.

“You have no idea.”

You opened your eyes, only to find him looking at you, brown eyes soft and full of concern.

“Oh no it’s okay Pete, really. Don’t worry about me.” , you extended your hand to smooth his worry away. He took your hand in his and kissed your palm. “What happened ?”

“It’s nothing...” you sigh, trying to find the words, “It’s just-, you know those days when you feel little and meaningless next to life ?” he nodded, “Well it’s just that. I know it’s silly but I feel down because I’m afraid I won’t make any difference in the end." You looked away for a brief instant. “Anyway, it will pass, it’s just a bad day.”

You didn’t want to sound whiny, so you chose to roll over, stand up and go get a glass of water.

“Want anything love ?” you asked Peter through the apartment. No answer. You tried again while walking back to your shared bedroom. “Pete ?”

“You believe a kind word or compliment goes a long way.” he stated, and then went silent for a while. He looked hurt, like his worry from earlier only intensified.

“Pete what-”

“You love singing and mouthing the lyrics when you’re in public.” he got up and stepped closer to you. “You have a soft spot for old couples you see at the park.” He was now mere inches away from you. “You enjoy stormy weather, especially when you see people walking fast to avoid being drenched.”

You were like hung to his every word, confused and not grasping the point of all of it, but listening to him intently.

“You’re afraid that you’ll never experience a great love story like those portrayed in books and movies. And lastly, because I could still go on for hours, you always make sure people feel comfortable in the group.”

“Pete... why-, what’s going on ?” you were on the verge of tears, your heart was blooming. He definitely knew how much you needed to hear those words, his thoughts, and he just hated to see you so upset.

“I don’t want you to ever think you’re not making a difference bug. You have an impact on a lot of people’s life, your family, your friends, your colleagues, me. You’re my whole life.” he was cradling your cheeks and rubbing his thumbs over them.

“I love you Pete.” you whispered as you put your hands over his.

“I can’t believe you remembered all this...” you chuckled wetly with tears now rolling down your cheeks.

“Well, it’s easy when it concerns your favourite person in the world.” he whispered while holding you close to his chest.

“Maybe. But it’s still remarkable, you have to admit I talk an awful lot.” you said giggling

“Nonsense, if you talked any less my day would be terribly dull. Plus, I think a good 90% of my brain is dedicated to you. Would be a shame to not use it.” he said, before kissing the top of your head.

You shook your head while smiling at his comment, before looking at him ardently.

“You’re wrong about one thing tho love.”

“What’s that ?” Peter raised an eyebrow, curious.

“I am not afraid of not having my great love story anymore.” You put your hands in his hair and pulled him in for a kiss. “You are my greatest love story Pete.”

#tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter x reader #andrew garfield imagine #tasm peter parker

[lovelyaces]

The whole world knows

tasm!peter x reader

hi lovely people ! i had this plot in mind for the past month or so, and i definitely went crazy with the word count. anyhoo, i hope you enjoy this as well

love, ace 🌷

also please feel free to comment your thoughts about it <3

The party was in a couple of hours, and the usual I’m not sure I even want to go phase was beginning to set in. Your best friend Claire was throwing the first party of the new school year, and begged you to come.

“Come on… I promise it will be fun. Not a rave, a chill gathering I swear.” she pleaded while holding your hands. “Plus the whole gang will be there, Amy, Pheebs and Simon… even Peter agreed to come.”. She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. You really should pick less observant friends. Ever since she picked up on your underlying feelings for Peter, she hadn’t let it down.

“You really have no excuse to decline. I made sure to plan it early in the semester so you won’t have too much of a workload.”

“Alright alright, you got me, I can’t come up with any lame excuse. I’m in.” Claire squealed and hugged you tightly “Oh thank you thank you thank you !”

“I do have one condition.”

“Shoot”

“Promise me you won’t plan some devious plan to set me and Peter up.” Claire could be meddlesome, although it always was with your happiness in mind.

“Oh I can promise you that now, not sure if I will actually follow through that promise tho.” she said laughing.

You loved her to bits so you knew you couldn’t cancel on her at the last minute. And knowing Claire, she would drag you there herself if it came to it.

So here you were, analysing your wardrobe, trying to choose an outfit that would compliment you and be suited for the uncharacteristically hot September weather. You finally landed on a jeans skirt and a square neck cream blouse you absolutely adored.

You were applying your lipstick when your phone rang. For heaven’s sake Claire, I am not ditching you...you thought. You went to pick up, not even bothering to look who was calling you.

“Yes Claire I will be there at 7:30 sharp as promised. You know sometimes you can be worse than my mom-”

“Not a nice way to talk about your lovely mother.” Peter’s voice surprised you. “And I would know that since I met her many times already.”

“Oh hey Pete”

“Hey you”

“Sorry about the mishap...” you said chuckling.

“No worries dear. Now, I was calling to let you know I am on my way to your place-”

“I...Did I forget we agreed to meet at mine ?” you asked confused. Surely you would have remembered if there was any sort of plan to see Peter more.

“No no don’t worry. I just thought it would be nice to go to the party together.”

“It’s very nice of you Pete. Thanks.” you were smiling so hard right now. He always was so kind and considerate. In the many many years you had known him, he always had had a nice gesture towards you. Whether it was flowers on your birthday or holding your hand when the street was busy, he made sure you were happy and safe.

“I will be at yours in about five minutes okay ?”

“Yep sure, see you then.”

And sure enough, Peter knocked on your door about five minutes later. You childishly ran to open the door, hating the fact that he might had to wait for you. There he was, standing on your doormat and looking ravishingly handsome. He did dress up a bit for the occasion, but without abandoning his original skater boy style. He was grinning when he entered your home, and he placed a kiss on your forehead.

“Hello bug”

“Hi” you muttered. You were somewhat distracted, relishing in the feeling his lips left on your forehead. “Thanks again for picking me up, I appreciate it.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I selfishly enjoy walking with you.” There goes my heart, you thought. “Ready to go ?” he asked while handing you his arm to take. You stopped your heart from melting too much and got your senses back. “Sure. Lead the way Parker.”

The walk to Claire’s place was rather short, but it did allow enough time for Peter to ask you “So what made you cave ?”

“I’m sorry ?” you looked up at him with a confused frown look on your face.

“The party...” he chuckled, “I know you. You like outings with us, but not so much college raves. So what did Claire tell you that convinced you to come ?”

“Well, she planned it today because she knew I couldn’t use the I-have-to-study-card, and I thought it was sweet of her, so I said I’d be there.” you shrugged. You. You being here is what convinced me. “It’s always nice to have someone that cares about you.” you added while meeting his gaze.

“It is indeed.” he smiled back.

The rest of the walk was filled with you and Peter sharing your latest small life events and jokes along the way. You were about to knock on Claire’s door when it sprang open, revealing a very messy and stressed Claire.

“Oh god finally ! I desperately need your help, I can’t choose an outfit and the food is slowly burning-” she grabbed you by your forearm and dragged you in the apartment, before realising Peter was standing right here too, “Oh hi Peter, didn’t see you there.”

“Hi… want me to oversee the whole kitchen area ?” he offered instantly.

“Would you ? That would actually be perfect ! Thanks Peter !”

And with that she took your hand and lead you both to her bedroom. It was a mess, with her whole closet thrown out on the floor.

“Wow…okay, remind me again who’s coming tonight ? Or let me rephrase that : who do we want to come specifically ?” you asked while looking at the scene around you.

“What ? Why do you think I want to impress someone ? I’ll have you know, I could simply want to look nice for myself-”

“Oh trust me I know that.” you laughed at her rambling, “But I also know that this-” you were pointing at the chaos around her “-this is on another level. Even for you. So spill.”

“Okay okay, but no laughing alright ?”. You nodded. “It’s Simon...”

“What ?? Simon, as in our Simon ? When…? How…?”

“I don’t know alright. We talked a lot this summer and it was nice. He makes me laugh and I actually came back early from vacation to hang out with him. Then classes started and seeing him everyday… it just clicked. I like him, like really like him.” She was pacing through her room and then sat on the bed next to you. “You know what I mean ? I mean of course you do, you have Peter.”

“Shuuushh, would you ?” you whispered. “Yes I get what you mean but no need to tell the world about it !”

“The world already knows you fool. You guys look at each other like you are the only two people on earth. The world just wants to know who will take the plunge first.”

“Well it’s not going to be me… at least not now.” you mumbled

After choosing an outfit and catching up on the Simon situation with Claire, people started to arrive. You finally made your way back to the kitchen, nudging people out of your way. Peter was still there, beer in hand, in deep conversation with Simon.

“Hey guys, what’re you up to ?”

“Not much. It’s kinda hard to hear anything over the thousand of voices here.” Simon answered.

“Yeah Claire really outdid herself.” you chuckled, not a rave, my ass.

“Speaking of Claire, have you seen her ? It’s been an hour since I last saw her.”

“She’s on the couch with Pheebs… I think. At least that’s where I saw her 15 minutes ago.”

“Thanks guys” he said while leaving.

Peter leaned in to be more discreet, “I feel like I have missed a whole season here. Claire and Simon…?” Peter asked while looking at you inquisitively. You simply nodded, unable to come up with a full sentence when he was this close to you.

The party was going strong and you found yourself seated next to Claire and Amy, when a clearly tipsy Claire decided that it was time to never have I ever. Her statement created a huge commotion and people began to happily gather around her to play. You, on the other hand, were petrified by the idea.

Taking advantage of the chaos in the living room, you sat up and decided to find somewhere as remote as possible. You sneaked your way out of the apartment and decided to get a break from the crowd altogether by going up on the rooftop.

Peter was still at the party, passively drinking from time to time, to look somewhat interested in the game. He scanned the room looking for you, but couldn’t see you anywhere. Immediately, he stood up and began searching the whole apartment.

He was beginning to loose his cool, and tried to rationalise everything in his head. You had been gone for at least 20 minutes, and you weren’t in the apartment. You couldn’t have left the party like this, he asked Claire and she said she didn’t see you either. Come on Peter, you know her better than anyone else. And then he knew.

“There you are.” Peter’s voice startled you. You turned to look at him from where you were sitting. He looked so relieved, like he had lost the most precious thing he owned. “Never disappear like that again.” His tone was firm but soft as he walked to join you on the floor.

He really was a sight to behold, brown hair dishevelled and his shirt sleeves rolled up.

“You were looking for me ?” you asked, voice soft, surprise in your tone. You didn’t think you had been gone that long to be honest.

“I was ready to call the police and tell them to start a kidnapping investigation.” he joked.

“Now that seems excessive.”

“You’re right, I would have put on the suit and looked for you myself. I am better suited for the job anyway.” he quipped.

“I meant I was gone for barely half an hour.” you said laughing. “I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“Come on bug, it’s you. Of course I notice.” he said while taking your hand in his.

Flustered, you looked right in front of you, trying to not loose your mind over the fact that Peter noticed you were gone and that he was holding your hand. Peter was also trying to think things clearly, but you looked like an angel next to him and he had been really scared when he couldn’t find you.

“You look breathtaking” he whispered.

“Stop it” you looked away from him, a blush creeping on your face.

“We definitely gotta work on your ability to accept compliments love.” Peter said with a smile.

“I don’t think calling me love is helping.”

“That’s a shame because I don’t intend to stop. You are my love.” He said it so simply. Like it was the most obvious thing ever. Your heart was about to implode and without a second thought, you placed your hand on his cheek and leaned in.

“I love you Pete.” There. Finally. You said it. You didn’t care about the possible consequences of those four words, you cared about Peter, here and now. He was looking at you like you were his whole life. You could only hope yours conveyed the same ardent feeling you had for him.

Peter closed the space between you two, kissing you so tenderly like you were made of glass. He then pulled back enough to utter above a whisper.

“I love you too, love.”

#tasm peter parker #andrew garfield imagine #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter fluff

[lovelyaces]

i am a puddle on the floor 🥺🥺 this is so cute

How about Remus and r have two little boys but they’re complete mamas boys and he gets jealous bc he wants to spend time with r. But it’s fluffy and wholesome

thank you so much for your request this is SO CUTE <3

Obviously, he loves to look at you and the boys. Sitting on the sofa with one son in your lap and the other firmly embedded under one of your arms, a throw blanket over the three of you and a children's movie on the TV, his small family look like there's nowhere they'd rather be. 

He's melting, but he finds he's envious, too, and not in the way he expects. The kids have always loved your approval and your affections that tiny bit more. He never begrudges them that - he fell in love with you years before they did, and has fallen that little bit more with each day. It's unsurprising that they love you so. You're everything. 

Maybe that's why he's jealous. He wants to weasle into your side or lay out in your lap, bask in the pure light and warmth that is your embrace. There's not really enough room on the two seater sofa for him (he's found through trying, desperately, to sit with you). The boys complain something awful and he can't be bothered with disturbing the peace. 

And you look so happy. So so happy, the kind of expression he only ever seen with him. He's brilliantly happy, and he's jealous. He's not stupid enough to deny it. 

Maybe you can feel it, feel his gaze, because your eyes turn to find him where he's sitting in the big armchair, all soft and tired. 

"You okay, baby?" you ask worriedly. 

The youngest in your lap turns to glance at him and when he sees everything is fine ignores your quiet voices over the film. 

"I'm fine," he says, unconvincing. 

You frown at him and shift underneath your kids. He really does love you more everyday, chest aching at the concern and familiarity on your face. 

You move your arm from around the youngest and hold it out, stretching over the table between you both. You wiggle your fingers. He sits up properly and reaches for your hand, fingers slotting together like they always do, practically moulded for each other at this point. 

"I miss you, handsome," you tell him. Then, to the boys, "If only these lovely little boys would share me with their darling father." 

Again, the youngest ignores you both. The older of the two looks from the TV, sees your joined hands, and gets a little spike of his own jealousy. He climbs down from the sofa and crawls into Remus' lap, limbs suddenly longer than Remus remembers them being, going every which way.

"Alright, up we come." Remus keeps a hold of your hand even as he pulls your son up onto his chest with a groan. Your son wiggles. "How's that?" he asks his baby, brushing the hair back from his eyes. He looks like you so much like you, Remus can't help pressing his lips against that tiny, unemished forehead. 

He mumbles and wraps a small arms around Remus' neck, attention back on the television. 

You squeeze Remus' fingers to gather his attention, smiling like you know everything he's thinking. You usually do. Remus smiles back, finds the jealousy abates for the time being, hugging his little love close and holding your hand until his arms ache.  

[lovelyaces]

I'll hold your hand

tasm!peter x reader

hello lovely people ! first of all thank you for the wondeful feedback on my previous fic, it nearly made me cry. second of all, this fic is a whole different style, as it is inspired by my not so great week but writing about it makes me feel better somehow

anyway i hope you also enjoy this silly piece,

love, ace 🌷

PS : i apologise for any english mistake, as it is not my first language

When you closed the door of your apartment, your bag immediately fell on the ground. You slid against the door and rested your head on your knees. You were having a rough week, with two of the babies you had in the ICU being in critical condition. Being professional and cutting emotions out when working was easy, but once at home, every feeling bottled up just flooded out. However tonight, nothing seemed to come out, as if your brain was still processing what you witnessed earlier. You decided to stand up and go sit for some fresh air on the fire escape. After a while, you heard Peter at the door, coming home from work.

“Darling ?” he called, looking for you in the living room.

“Out here.”

“Hey you” he sat next to you. He was grinning. Then he took a closer look at your expression and frowned “What happened bug ? Rough day ?”.

You could only nod, feeling the knot in your throat getting bigger. He scooted closer to you and you instantly wrapped your arms around him. You both stayed like this for a while, the golden sun rays making it look like a renaissance painting.

“Wanna talk about it ?” he asked wearily. You untangled yourself from Peter and looked at him. He looked so concerned about you, so you tried to smooth the worry out by caressing his cheek. You opened your mouth to try to explain your day “I...I just...It’s...”.

Nothing could come out. And then, as if a dam broke, you started spilling everything “It was awful Pete...They are barely a week old and already have to go through so much.” You were sobbing right now and Peter placed your head on his shoulder without interrupting you.

“The parents started crying the moment they stepped in the room with us in it. And I felt really bad because where we see a baby displaying a rare condition, they see us standing like freaks around their child.”, you sniffed and wiped your tears with your sleeve, “I just wanted to take the babies in my arms and tell them everything would be okay in the end.”

Peter was giving you time to let it all out and then, he stood up.

“Where are you going ?”, you asked, slightly confused.

“Follow me.”, he extended his hand to you and you took it.

You both got inside and Peter went to grab his phone. He chose some slow song he knew you adored and took both of your hands.

“I can’t even begin to imagine how hard it must be for you to witness that, but I can try. I also know that you are the strongest person I know, and you continue to prove it with every passing day. I am immensely proud of you.” He began to dance, tucking your head under his chin.

“More importantly, I want you to know that I’ll always hold your hand through rough times.”

You looked up at him with so much adoration in your eyes. He truly was the light in your darkest days. You tip toed and leaned in to kiss him.

“I love you Pete. So much.”

You and Peter were dancing in your kitchen, windows wide open and curtains flowing to the nice June breeze. His thumb was stroking your hand that was resting on his chest. The world seemed to have faded out, just to leave you two have this moment. You were swaying softly to the music when a tear rolled down your cheek.

“I fear you’re never going to know how much I love you.” you whispered.

“I know love.” he said, matching your tone, in fear of breaking the bubble you two were in. He squeezed your hand and pulled you closer.

“You do ?”

Peter wiped your tears and made you look into his eyes.

“There won’t be a single day when I won’t know how much you love me, you know why ?”, you shook your head no.

“Because I love you just the same.”

#andrew garfield imagine #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter fluff #tasm andrew garfield #tasm peter parker

[lovelyaces]

Stitches

tasm!peter x med student reader

hi ! so this is my first fic ever... i don't know if i will actually write anything else but i am liking how this scenario i had in my head for weeks worked out. also i definitely went overboard with the word count...

i hope whoever stumble upon this likes it ! 💙

You were racing through the crowded street near the hospital, in fear of being late. Had you ever been late ever ? No. Have you always sprinted your way so that you could respect your 10min-early rule ? Absolutely.

Being a 3rd year medical student was not the most relaxing thing. Your chiefs wouldn’t even notice your tardiness, with you and your fellow classmates being like ants to them, but your own strictness was the bigger issue.

Tonight was your first night shift and you were scared to bits. Everything seems so urgent and life threatening during the night. Plus staying up late wasn’t your thing either, so this evening was not placed under good odds.

However it was also exciting because in a way it’s a responsibility that very few experienced. You felt like a grown up, a shitless scared one, but still a grown up.

After changing into your hospital uniform, delicate blue pants and shirt with your lab coat, and chatting with some of the nurses in the ward, you sat down in front of the computer of the ER. You and a 4th year guy called Max were the students on duty tonight, your role being to assess and interrogate every incoming patient.

So far, you had six patients, stable and waiting for other senior doctors to see them. You might even be lucky with a calm shift, you thought.

As soon as you had said that, as if the gods up there heard your thoughts and wanted to test you, you heard sirens blaring through the distance.

You quickly stood up and grabbed the stethoscope from your desk. Panicking, your mind was racing with every acronyms, every constants, every checklists you could think of. Max seemed weirdly calm and collected, making you even more worried. What the hell were you doing here ? Couldn’t you just have chosen architecture ? How was he so calm ?

In no time you were swamped. A dozen of inpatients arrived, all talking about a bridge collapsing in Brooklyn. An old lady you were examining kept on saying that she was fine when her bleeding skull was telling a different story. She grabbed your forearm and stopped whatever you were doing

“My grandson is on the bridge. I…we were on our way to the movie theatre when the bridge collapsed. The paramedics…they took me away from him. I need you to find him, I need to know if he’s okay”, she pleaded.

“Ma’am i need you to lie down and stand still for me please-”

“You don’t understand, he’s 6, he’s afraid of the dark-”

“I understand and I will get his name and try to look him up on the computer okay ?” You offered while smiling kindly to the old lady. “Now I need you to please look to your right so that I can stitch you up alright ?”

After stitching her up, and checking with Max to see if he had everything under control, you went to the computer and typed Elliot Hartford in the database. Your heart dropped for an instant when the blank screen showed up. You couldn’t tell the old lady that right now. Hopefully he will be brought a bit later in the evening and you will then tell her the good news.

Hours passed and the rush became less frantic. You had a ton of paperwork to do and still four patients to discuss with your superiors. That should keep me up for the next 2-3 hours, you thought.

Feeling in control again, you opted for a small beak out in the fresh air of the night. Putting your jumper on, you stepped outside the ER and relished in the calmness of the place. How could life be so chaotic and noisy, and four hours later, so peaceful and tranquil ?

While looking up at the sky from your bench, you noticed a silhouette in the dark, no scratch that, two silhouettes. It looked like a man holding a child in his arms. Immediately, you sprung up on your feet and walked towards them.

“May I help you ? Are you hurt ?” you said to the bigger man whose figure you couldn’t quite describe in the dark.

“Very kind of you but I am perfectly fine, you see, I am on a mission : to reunite this gentleman with his grandma”, said the man with a soothing voice. He was looking at the child in his arms. Suddenly, you remembered the old lady from earlier :

“Hey little guy, could you tell me your name ? I think I saw your grandma earlier.”

“Elliot” the child answered, still staring at the man.

“Elliot Hartford ?” The child nodded. He didn’t seem to be badly hurt, just a couple of cuts and bruises that would be easy to take care of.

You then looked up to really take the man’s appearance in. Your eyes grew at least three times bigger. In front of you, standing on his two feet, was Spider-Man. The real one with his iconic, yet questionable, spandex suit.

He caught your struck out gaze and decided to properly introduce himself.

“Hi there… I am Spider-Man.” he said putting the child down and offering you his hand.

“Never would have figured.” you answered playfully, yet embarrassed to have been caught staring. You shook his gloved hand while still looking at him.

“Well you know, I really blend in, so that’s on me” he added with a small chuckle.

You quickly inspected him, the med school student in you taking over, and quickly noticed a large cut on his side.

“ You’re hurt.” you stated. “Would you please stay here while I bring Elliot to his grandma ? It will just take two seconds.”

You took Elliot by the hand and lead him inside. Once settled by his grandma’s side, you left him in the good care of Max and rushed outside again, only to be met with an empty parking spot and no Spider-Man to be seen. A rattling sound made you look to your left. Spider-Man had just fallen down after what seemed to be his web fluid stopped working.

“Were you trying to swing away ?” you asked, dumbfounded.

“Would you believe me if I were to say a raccoon just fell ?” he answered embarrassed.

“Not in the least.” you answered flatly. You weren’t upset, a grown man could deny medical care, but you were definitely irritated. It just seemed rude on his part to leave like this even tough you asked him to wait for you.

“Sorry…” he looked at you though his mask and you could hear the sincerity of his words. “I just don’t want you to waste your time on me, I barely have a scratch.”

“You have a cut deeper than the Mariana Trench, you clearly need my help.”

“First of all, aren’t doctors supposed to downsize things to make you believe you are fine ? Second of all, it is not my first rodeo and I can take care of myself perfectly fine. So thank you for your time but I need to leave now.”

And with that he shot his web to the wall, when your brain decided that your next best move was to grab his ankle as he began to swing away.

“Get your cute spandex ass right back here, I will take an oath to protect and treat my patients and you sir, are by every definition of the term a patient of mine.

“Did you just call my ass cute ?” he asked surprised, while making his way back to you.

“I might have but that’s beside the point. Look I get if you’re worried about me revealing your identity or the other patients loosing their mind over the fact that Spider-Man is in the same ER as them. So here’s my offer : you stay here and I will open that door that is used for deliveries, I will treat you in this room so that no one can see you and I still get to fix that ghastly cut of yours. Do we have a deal ?", you were handing you hand for him to shake.

“Are you secretly a business major ?” he asked, and by his tone you were picture him smirking. “Because that’s like a college level you have in negotiating.”

“Always prepare for dealing with butt-headed patients, that’s med school 101.”, you chirped in.

“Alright, how is insulting me going to help your case ?”

“How is refusing free and professional care going to help you heal ?”

“God you like to have the last word don’t you ?” He laughed while shaking his head. “I accept your offer because I sense that otherwise you may track me down everywhere I go.” He took your hand and shook it. The spandex was cold and rough against your own frozen fingers, but the gesture sent sparks through your body.

“Finally !”, you said excitedly. “And by the way, you are grossly overestimating my amount of free time. Stay there and do not even think about running away mister.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Max was busy with what was left of his patients, when you told him you had to leave for a few minutes. You expected him to ask why or question your behaviour but he did nothing of the sort. Great, you thought, guess I won’t need my whole speech after all.

You took a stitching kit and discreetly made your way to the deliveries room. You tried to open the door as quietly as you could. Only problem, it wouldn’t budge. You then tried to put your whole weight on the door and pushed. The door open suddenly, in a loud clacking noise.

“So much for being discreet huh ?”Spider-Man said, looking at you with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Might I remind you not everyone has super strength ? I’massuming you do have super strength right ?”

“Yep.”

“Perfect. Well, welcome to the best room the hospital has to offer.”, you said while walking back to retrieve the stitching kit. “If you could please lie down on this stretcher.”

The boy made his way to lie down when you remembered he was still in his suit.

“Huh actually… I am going to ask you to remove the top half of your suit, if it’s possible and okay with you ? You can leave on the mask and I will look away while you do so.”

You were flustered. You shook your head to try to make the feeling go away. Pull it together Y/N, you don’t know anything about this man, you began reasoning internally, and he is like any another patient…except he isn’t. He is a freaking superhero for heaven’s sake.

“You’re okay over there ?”, you heard the man of the hour say.

“Yeah, sure…I’m fine.”

“You spaced out for a bit. You realised you don’t know how to do a stitch ?” he tried to joke, to lighten up the situation. He succeeded in a way, making you laugh briefly before beginning the real medical work.

“So before I patch you up, I need to ask you questions alright ?”

“Sure, ask away.”

“Alright : name, surname and date of birth.”, you asked while preparing your instruments to stitch him up.

The room stayed silent and you looked up at him to see why he wasn’t answering you. With only his mask and suit pants on, he looked odd, unbelievably cute and definitely hot, but also odd.

“You do realise I can’t answer that right ?”

“Why couldn’t…”, and then it struck you. “Ooooooh, yes ! Sorry, sure… no yes i get it. You obviously can’t reveal your identity. Sorry… force of habit.” You rubbed your hands together out of pure embarrassment.

“No worries. I can answer the age part tho. I am 26.”

“Oh.”

“Disappointed ?”

“No not really, more like surprised. I couldn’t say how old you were, so I wasn’t expecting anything but still surprised.”

“Do I get to ask you questions too ? It seems totally unfair that I am the only one being interrogated. He was talking with his hands, making up for the lack of expressions from him wearing a mask.”

“What did you think I was going to do when I offered to treat you ? Me massaging your shoulders and bringing you Mai-Tais ?” you said laughing. Picturing the scene made you laugh even harder.

“Uhhhh, don’t temp me, that would be amazing. But more seriously, where are we standing on the get-to-know-you part ?”

“Well, you can. Not sure I will answer each time but you can always try.”

“Challenge accepted.”

“Now I really need to ask you the basic questions tho. I can’t start to stitch you up before that.”

After having every information needed, and spraying antiseptic on his wound, you began to numb his cut with your anaesthetic. You were focusing on his cut. It was deep but linear, making it not too difficult to sew.

“Alright, I am going to do the first stitch. You’re okay there ?”

“Yep, totally.”, he was looking at his cut and then made eyes contact with you. You stayed like this for a brief second before quickly looking away.

“Remind me again how did you get this ?” you asked while stitching him.

“It’s nothing really, I was helping with the collapsed bridge thing and I guess I must have scratched myself while going through some broken car window.”

“Yeah, it’s nothing then. A typical Friday night injury.”

“Are you always this sarcastic ?”

“I am. Some even say I might compete with Chandler’s level.”

“Oh wow. That’s a real compliment. Now that I think about it, I didn’t even getyour name earlier.”

“Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.”

“A pleasure to be stitched up by you Y/N. I might be wrong but you seem a bit young to be a full grown doctor. Which year are you in ?”

“3rd year. It’s nice to know I don’t look old and settled in my ways yet.”

“Hummm, the jury’s still out about settled in your ways.”

“Heyyy take that back, not nice !” you exclaimed in your best faux-hurt voice.

“I’m kidding don’t worry.” he was full on laughing at your child-like pout. “I would never insult someone whose hands are holding needles in my skin.”

“Smart move.”

The room fell silent. You could only hear the sound of both his breathing and yours.

“Earlier you said it wasn’t the first time you were hurt. How do you normally take care of your wounds ?” you asked tentatively.

“I usually manage alone. I learn to stitch them up. It’s not nearly as good as your technique but it’s something.”

“You never had them infected afterwards ?”

“Luckily no. It seems my immune system is off the charts too.”

“Clearly being Spider-Man has its perks. How long have you been in the suit ?”

“Since I was 16. It seems a lifetime ago.”

“Oh wow. Was the hardest part of the job then ?”

“Hummm… I would say the fact that I always have to hide part of my identity. I’m never truly honest with people since I either hide my non superhero side or spider-man.”

You stopped to look at him. Even though you couldn’t see his face, you could sense his sorrow, so you went ahead and placed your hand on his and squeezed it lightly.

“I am sorry.” you offered. It was lame but it was the best you could come up with.

“Don’t be, it’s a choice I made. It was hard at first but you know, I got over it for the most part.”

You finished stitching his wound while replaying the conversation in your head. Was he lonely ? Did he need someone that didn’t care about his other identity ? You interrupted your train of thoughts when he grunted out of pain.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you ? I’m nearly done.”

“It’s okay.” he answered with a strained voice.

“And… we’re done !” you said, cutting the last thread.

“Beautiful work, a million times better than mine anyway.” he chuckled.

“Thanks, you’ve been a great patient too, hence the nice stitches.”, you smiled.

“ I thought I was a butt-headed patient...”

“That you are, but you are a very still butt-headed one.” you said laughing.

As you collected the rest of your medical equipment, you looked at Spider-Man and said

“Alright, you’re free to go. Try not the stretch your wound too much. After 10 days you should be okay enough to remove your stitches by yourself. I assume you know how to do that.”

“Indeed.”

“It was nice meeting you. Thanks for bringing Elliot in by the way, it was nice-”

“Actually I have a last question to ask you...”

“I am all ears.”

“Would you mind...I mean you can say no for sure but I was wondering...Would you mind giving me your number ? Or your hospital pager number ? Is that a thing ? Just so that I can know if you’re on call or not, you know... if I ever need stitches again. I don’t want to go back to my wobbly ones.”

He was unbelievably cute, flustered and scratching the back of his neck. It was a funny scene to witness : spider-man being all shy and looking at his feet.

“Sure. Odd request but given how talented I am with stitches, can’t say I don’t understand.” You wrote your number on a random piece of paper found in your pocket. You handed it to him.

“There you go. If you ever need help I’m here. And not only stitches. Some say I do a marvellous therapist as well.”

“Multitasking I see... I can’t thank you enough Y/N.”

You were both outside again. The sun was beginning to come up. Looking up to see his masked face, you really wanted to hug him. He did make your night shift more bearable. But you opted for a handshake : “No problem Spider-Man. Now go before the day shift catches me hanging out with NY best defender. I have paperwork to do.”

He laughed one last time before adding “See you around Y/N.” And with that he was off, swinging away from the hospital.

“See you around Spidey.”

#andrew garfield imagine #tasm!peter x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter fluff