#emi just know i thank you for making me listen to the ep over and over again while doing this and im most def not o-k | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovelybarnes · 3 years

Note

can you do a fic that’s like the ep’s “hit” and “run,” but it’s Y/N and Spencer’s child they have to save, and not JJ’s?

pairings: spencer reid x reader, platonic!bau x reader

warnings: mentions of getting shot, bank robbery, blood, kidnapping, worry, cm stuff.

about: requested! s7 e23-24 but spencer and y/n’s child is at risk (jemily is canon btw, will knows)

thank you so much for requesting! sorry it took me so long and it's going to have to be in two parts, since apparently it was too long lol, it'll be up as soon as i'm done editing it! (i also promise it gets better in the next part-) part two

the ticking clock on your wrist seemed to pulse with each move the arms made, each one notifying you that you were running a little later than before. when spencer rounded the corner to your mother’s house, you sighed in short relief, unbuckling your seat belt when he parked and getting out of the car to open the door to the back, smiling at your son in his booster seat. “hey, bug,” you whispered, undoing his seatbelt and pressing your lips to his head in a weak attempt to wake him up. spencer was taking things out of the trunk hurriedly, setting them down and walking to the door of the house, where your mother was already waiting.

you pulled your little boy into your arms, seeing as he wasn’t fully awake yet and would probably stumble over his feet if you set him down. you only hummed when his fingers twisted in your shirt, holding you close.

“hey, mom,” you greeted, giving her a kiss on the cheek. spencer’s hand rested on your lower back, the other adjusting emiliano’s hair.

“i’m sorry we’re so late, it was supposed to be a day off so yesterday we stayed up late, and emi wouldn’t wake up,” you said, your mom nodding as a response, "oh it's no problem, honey," she assured, stretching her arms out.

you kissed emiliano on the head again as a goodbye, smiling when he made a little noise and handed him to spencer, who pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead before giving him to your mom. you waved goodbye to your son, heart stinging a bit from the disappointment that you weren’t going to spend the day with him like planned. “bye, mom! we’ll be back later, i love you!”

your mom sent you a goodbye you barely heard as you and spencer sped walked back to your car, driving to work late.

the ten minutes you were running late didn’t seem like such a big deal when you realized practically everyone else was behind schedule as well, although you couldn’t blame anyone, it was supposed to be your free day. spencer had even planned to go to a comic con with penelope, but he had only been able to start to get dressed before everyone got called in.

you and spencer were still in the car, examining the scene before getting out. outside, spencer planted a quick kiss on your lips, and you smiled, giving his hand a squeeze, then joining your team.

you stood between spencer and jj, greeting the others with a small nod and a smile before hotch began to list facts about the case. out of the corner of your eye, you noticed jj and emily’s hands tangling together, and a small smile sneaked onto your lips. your eyes flicked up to will’s face, realizing he had seen it too.

you looked back to hotch, who was still talking.

“... killed one person in each robbery.”

rossi voiced the question you had before you could, “m.o.?”

“single gunshot wound. each of the victims has bled out,” hotch explained and you all began walking towards the large vehicle housing penelope, sometimes cutting in with thoughts.

“serial killers with a thirty day cooling off period and we’re only just hearing about this now?” emily asked.

“headquarters identified them as robbers first and killers second,” hotch said, and you raised an eyebrow, “no one kills seven people without serious psychopathic tendencies- especially in the span of seven months.”

“i agree; i disagreed with the original assessment, but i was overruled.”

you nodded, continuing to listen to what hotch was saying as you walked into the fbi rv.

“why haven’t we been able to id them off of surveillance footage?” derek asked.

“they hack the security feed and turn off the cameras. both during the initial canvass and during the robbery, until the masks come back on, and then we’re allowed to watch.”

you squeezed penelope’s shoulder as a greeting, and she only smiled, blowing you a kiss as she continued to type.

you looked up at the screen showcasing the surveillance, running your eyes through the hostages. “they’re using the hostages as human shields,” you observed out loud.

“this is the first time they’ve been interrupted. what went wrong?” jj asked; the rest of the team voiced their thoughts until hotch gave everyone orders on what to do and where to go.

“jj, reid, and prentiss, look over past robberies, that’s going to be our victimology. pull another analyst if you need to. dave, handle negotiations, and morgan and l/n, strategize tactical options with mpd.”

you all nodded, and you squeezed spencer’s hand once more as a goodbye, walking out with derek.

you only had a few minutes to introduce yourself to mpd when a gunshot rang, making you flinch slightly and realize you would have even less time you thought.

“l/n?” a staticky voice you recognized as penelope interrupted your talk with the officer who was going to go in to help the injured bank robber, and you apologized as you pulled the intercom from your pocket.

“yeah, pen?”

“we got names. chris and oliver stratton. they’re brothers. oliver is the injured one”

“chris and oliver stratton," you repeated, "thank you, penny.”

“always, sweetie.”

you relayed the information to the officer with you and derek, who was currently loading up his weapon before reaching to put it in his pants. derek stopped him before he could, “no, no, no, no, i want you to put that in your bag.”

the officer paused, as if asking why, and you responded, “the woman’s probably going to want to search you,” you pushed the medical bag closer, watching as he put the weapon inside, “but chris is going to be too worried about his brother to delay long enough for her to check the bag, too.”

“alright.”

derek and you shared a look, “you’re going in to provide medical assistance, no unnecessary risks, hear me?” derek said, and the officer nodded.

“once you stabilize oliver, check on the hostage they just shot, he might still be alive,” you added. “understood,” officer green replied.

“do not draw your weapon unless you can subdue the unsubs without endangering the hostages,” derek told him, and green nodded again, zipping up the bag. “yes, sir.”

he began to walk over to the bank entrance, and you went over with rossi and hotch with derek; you stared at the screen with the surveillance, spotting the officer you’d just talked to walk in,

“shit,” you muttered, realizing the brother was probably going to die. “this isn’t good, hotch,” you said, and hotch didn’t reply.

“morgan, tell green to make a move before chris does.”

morgan touched his mic, pushing it closer to his lips, “green, you gotta go. green, go.”

you saw as he reached into his bag, pulling out his weapon in silence. chewing at your thumb, you froze when you saw chris reach for his own weapon, shooting green in the chest. you didn’t even have time to think over what just happened when chris shot him again in the head.

you could only blink and stare at green’s body lying lifeless on the floor, jaw clenched and hands shaking in frustration, trying to remain composed.

the next few minutes were a blur, swat was called and hotch and strauss argued about something you didn’t really pay attention to, “you okay, l/n?” derek asked and you nodded, “yeah. yeah, i’m fine, are you?”

derek only nodded, his attention taken away by rossi, who was waving him over.

“they called,” you realized, walking over to rossi.

“...i want an... armored truck and a plane with a cleared flight path to switzerland.”

a female voice cut in, “no, no, no. chad. we want to go to chad.”

“yeah,” chris said, “no agents with guns this time. we’ll fly ourselves.”

there was a click that indicated the conversation was over, and you swallowed hard, “i don’t think he’ll be happy she injected herself in like that.”

“these guys were too good to get caught. so, why did they?” rossi asked, and will, from next to you, answered, “911 received a call alerting them to a robbery in progress.”

penelope cut in from the screen in front of you, “actually, it was a text. dc added 911 messaging after the virginia tech students’ texts went unanswered during the massacre.”

“can you trace it, garcia?” hotch asked.

“yeah. that message was sent from a cell phone that is currently inside the bank that is registered to a… larry phillipis jr.”

will paused, “why does that name sound familiar?”

rossi was silent for a second, thinking, “that’s the name of one of the gunmen from the ‘97 north hollywood bank shootout in california.”

“so, is this an homage?” derek questioned, but no one was able to answer.

“guys, that message was sent thirty seconds before they blacked out the security feeds for entry.”

another voice offscreen that you recognized as strauss asked how that was possible, and derek answered, “it didn’t come from a hostage, it came from one of the robbers.”

you swallowed, “she wanted us here.”

jj and emily were back, and walking over to you and derek. “there’s no clear line of sight to the vault,” will noted, observing the map.

“no, but if we come in, that’s where they’ll go. we need to be ready for it,” derek stated, gazing up at the building.

“garcia caught us up. why instigate a hostage situation?” emily asked from next to you, and you shrugged, “what’s a narcissist without attention?” you answered, “she thrives on it.”

jj was looking around, “she must have something bigger in mind.”

you agreed silently, “well, we need to separate chris and the female to find out what that is.”

“it’s not going to be hard, they’re already on edge,” emily supposed.

rossi walked from the rv to the phone, taking your attention with him. you stared at him before noticing emily stepping over to him and leaving you to stay behind with derek, jj, and will. you all talked between each other, talking strategy and theories.

the next thing you knew, chris was asking for will, and jj was staring at will like he was crazy to even consider it. you were sat next to will, only listening to their conversation.

will was shaking his head, looking between jj and hotch before he turned to you. “i know you’d do it if you were me,” he told you, and you saw jj roll her eyes. “will, i get what you’re feeling, but you’re too close to this case to make this call.”

“you’re damn right i’m close,” will mumbled, “four people are dead because i shot his brother. and no one else needs to die because of what i did.”

you shook your head, “this isn’t about you.”

“risking your life won’t bring them back,” jj pointed out.

from in front of you, hotch sighed, “i’m sorry, will.”

you all stayed in silence for a while until emily walked in, a look on her face that made you sure the news she had wasn’t good. “he’s threatening to shoot more hostages until he has will.”

you sighed and will shook his head, standing up, “screw this, i’m going in.”

there was a panicked look across jj's features, mouth open to argue, but she didn't get to say anything. “no you’re not, we are,” hotch interjected.

in under three minutes, everyone was ready to go, vested up and anxiously waiting for the signal. you stood next to jj, biting your lip and staring at the map in your fingers, trying to strategize. you had barely looked up when you recognized will, walking towards the doors of the bank, seemingly unarmed with his hands raised. your eyes widened, lips mouthing an unheard no and you immediately turned to jj, who had barely seen him.

her mouth opened in a scream of protest, feet beginning to take off to try to stop him in any way she could, but derek had wrapped his arms around her chest, holding her back and off the ground, even as she fought against his arms. emily touched her arm in a useless attempt to calm her. you were frozen, only able to stand and stare and wait for the best that was probably not going to happen.

it was only three seconds that jj’s feet were on the ground, body trembling and eyes already rimmed red.

ten seconds passed by and three gunshots rang, loud and piercing and you pulled a hand to your lips, eyes following jj’s as she tried to run again, but you and derek pulled her back, letting her go when she planted her feet on the ground unsteadily, hand on her mouth.

you were all surrounding jj, apprehensive and waiting for her to blow up or scream.

“did you see where he was shot?” she asked finally, waiting for anyone to reply.

no one did, and after a moment of loud silence, she sniffed, her red brimmed eyes staring at penelope, “is he alive or dead, garcia?”

penelope stuttered, “i- i don’t know.”

“he was wearing a vest,” emily reassured, “he might be okay.”

jj scoffed, staring at her girlfriend, “might be,” she repeated bitterly.

one of the two missing from the group walked inside in a hurry, bad news no one needed from rossi’s mouth, “they’re not answering.”

jj stood up, shaking her head, “alright, we need to get inside.”

derek grabbed her arm gently, “it’s too risky, jj, we don’t have eyes inside anymore.”

jj’s eyes were wet as she looked up at hotch, pleading. “aaron...” she begged, and after a second, hotch nodded. “let’s go in.”

you all stood, walking outside.

not two minutes later, they called, just before you were about to go in.

“want to save the life of mister william lamontagne jr.? one medic that won’t pull the same shit the last one did, or else i’m killing them both.”

“we’re going in anyways,” derek pointed out, and emily nodded, “yeah, but the way we’re going in, it’s more likely the hostages and will won’t make it. if we send someone in, there’s a higher chance we can get them out.”

hotch was thinking, his forehead creasing as he stared at the paramedics. “we need an agent in there.”

“send me,” you said promptly, all eyes going on you. “i have medical training. i was an intern at the hospital before i decided i wanted to be a profiler. i can help him and i can take them down, hotch.”

“absolutely not- that would just be sending another agent in there for them to kill,” derek argued, but you ignored him, staring at hotch, “hotch.”

“l/n…”

“we don’t know how he’s doing, but chris just said we could send a medic in, i’m going to guess that isn’t a great sign. i can do it, i’m an agent, i’m capable, they haven’t seen me or heard my voice, i can fight well without a weapon, you know that.”

jj was staring at you, her fingers tangled with emily’s.

hotch was silent for a second, contemplating what you’d just said, “get your vest on,” he said finally, and you nodded, squeezing jj’s hand before putting said object on.

before going in, you grabbed morgan’s arm, pulling him aside. “i don’t know where spence is, and i’m really not sure what’s going on in there so, if anything happens-”

“y/n-”

“please.” you begged, and derek only nodded.

“if anything happens, my will is in my second drawer, tell him i love him and please don’t let him think it over too much.”

a voice that belonged to hotch interrupted you, “l/n!”

“i’m gonna be okay, tell him that. tell everyone that, okay?” you asked, and derek nodded,

you took a deep breath before walking over to hotch and grabbing your medical bag, double checking you had everything.

hotch had stood in the tent, behind you, only watching you from afar while you pulled on your vest straps, tightening it around your chest. you put on another shirt over it, leaving it invisible to anyone who wasn't looking close enough. you had smiled at hotch before beginning to leave, one of his hands wrapping around your arm and pulling you still.

“hey,” he said softly, “be careful.” you nodded, “yeah. of course.”

his hand loosened, and you sighed, walking away and towards the dreaded bank, arms up and medical bag hanging off your fingers.

the moment your fingers touched the door handle, you could just feel something was wrong, but you couldn’t risk anything- especially will and the hostage’s lives just because of a feeling.

so you pulled the door open, and stepped into the bank, eyes searching for will, who confirmed your bad feeling because he was sitting up, someone putting pressure on his wounds.

“what-”

“get inside! right now unless you want both him and you to die!”

you should’ve known it was a trap, you should’ve just listened to hotch and derek and stayed put, but you didn’t and now it was probable you were going to die.

will was fine, for the most part, he had a bullet wound to his shoulder, but he was up, talking to one of the hostages. you set your medical bag down, observing chris.

the woman had gone somewhere else, and you took the time she wasn’t there to try to communicate with her partner.

“chris,” you started, walking over to him. his gun was quickly raised at you, and you slowed to a stop, raising your hands. “i’m unarmed, as you requested, i’m just a medic.”

his hold on the gun wavered but it didn’t lower, “what?” he demanded, and you swallowed.

“you can’t trust her- the woman. she’s taking orders from someone else.”

chris shook his head, “she’s taking orders from me.”

you shrugged, “chris, take a look around you. when this place is stormed- and it will be stormed, they are going to take all the bad guys, but right, now, i only see one.”

chris looked away from you, and you heard will walk up behind you, “she’s setting you up to take the fall for this, boy.”

chris peered at him, “that’s not true.” he stated, “and how would you know?” he snapped, eyes staring back at yours, “aren’t you just a medic?”

you nodded, “they told me. the feds- they told me they found evidence of that. you can’t trust her.”

the answer seemed to please chris, and he shook his head again, “that’s not true,” he repeated, and you shrugged, trying to act natural, “then where is she?” you asked. chris pointed to his right, “she’s back there.”

you heard will hum from beside you, “huh.”

chris got up all of the sudden, pointing the gun at you and will. “alright, you both, come here. i’ll show you.”

you and will exchanged a look, and he gazed behind you at something you couldn’t see.

“go on,” chris urged, and you began to walk with will, almost falling when chris pushed your shoulder harshly.

you and will were ushered into one of the rooms of the bank, where a few black duffel bags were discarded on the floor. you dismissed them, too busy with the sensation of a barrel of a gun pressed against your back. the woman stepped out of a door, eyebrow raised as she studied at you.

“what the hell are you doing down here?” chris asked, pushing you and will aside to point his gun at the woman.

“calm down,” the woman responded calmly, “you’ll find out soon enough.”

chris didn't like her answer, shaking the gun, “tell me.” he demanded, and a sour look passed by the woman’s face.

what happened next was a blur. the woman muttered something to chris and he picked up the duffel bags, ushering you and will outside. you dropped the bracelet emiliano had made for you outside of the door- in the hope that someone of your team would find it- before you were pushed into the backseat of a car.

on the road, you looked around, trying to figure out where you were and making sure will was okay, while the woman- who you heard chris call izzy- played the recording of the bank on a loop in front of you. you pried your eyes away from the screen, instead trying to form a plan in your head.

“what the hell is that? you recorded it?” chris asked, but izzy didn’t look up, too preoccupied with the images on her tablet.

“i’m talking to you, izzy!” chris said, “you planned this whole thing,” he thought out loud, looking back at the road, “you didn’t tell us any of it, you set us up.”

izzy wasn’t paying any attention to him, but chris continued to talk, “you killed my brother.”

at this, izzy responded, but she still didn’t look at him, the gun in her other hand still pointed at you, “no, that would be him.” she stated, bored.

chris eyed at you and will from the rearview mirror. “how do i know they aren’t your partners?”

izzy watched you, “why would i work with them?” she questioned, and chris was getting increasingly frustrated, “why would you do any of this?”

izzy took her eyes off yours to turn to chris, who glanced at her. “fbi said you got somebody else.”

izzy smiled, “you sound jealous.”

chris raised a gun to her, “who is it?”

izzy rolled her eyes in response, “put that away. this isn’t about revenge, it’s about survival.”

a confused look passed over chris’ face, and izzy continued, “if you haven’t figured it out yet, i’m your only way out of this mess.”

chris moved the gun from her to will, “alright, let me kill them so we can get on with it.”

izzy shook her head, eyes drifting back to the tablet, “we need them.”

“why?”

izzy’s was now distracted by the video, replying distractedly. “leverage. we need to fix him up.”

“and how do you propose you do that?”

izzy shrugged, pointing at you, “she can do it.”

you shook your head, “i can’t, i don’t have my medical bag. and even if i did, i don’t have what i need to do anything.”

izzy was attentive at this, and she gave instructions to chris, driving to an unknown destination.

shit, you thought, staring at the outside of your window when the car pulled up to a fire department. you flinched when chris opened the door to your side and pulled you out, a gun held against your back. izzy did the same to will, standing behind the ambulance door and demanding the medic to fix will.

you were shoved to the wall, a gun against the side of your chest and a promise you would die if you moved whispered in your ear while will was getting fixed up. you only heard a gunshot when you were back in the car with will and chris, and you shared a look with will, fingers curling around the cushion of the car in frustration.

izzy was taking a call, the voice from the other line muffled, and you couldn’t make out who it was or what they were saying.

she gave a location when she hung up, but chris locked his jaw and rounded the corner harshly, parking the car.

“i’m not going anywhere until you tell me the plan,” chris declared, and within a second, izzy had moved the gun from you to chris, shooting him twice.

you flinched at the loud noise, looking from chris to izzy. “what are you doing?” will asked, and izzy shrugged, “he talks too much.”

“go ahead officer, get him out,” she ordered. “and do what, just leave him there?” will asked.

“yes please.”

she turned to you before will got out. “if you move an inch, i will kill him.”

you only nodded, staring at her as she motioned will to leave the car.

when chris was out, writhing on the floor, she glared at you. “you’re driving. get out.”

i can leave, but i can’t leave will here and she’ll shoot me for sure if i run. will can’t fight her right now. without a safe option, you agreed, eyeing will as he entered the backseat again, and you climbed where chris resided, only able to stare as izzy hastily cleaned the blood off the seat.

when you were inside, hands on the wheel, she pointed a gun at will, “go ahead. drive.”

so you did.

you stopped where she told you, watching in the rearview mirror as the hostage will had been talking to climbed in, patting will on the back. “hey will. you see that?”

“i want to do it again,” izzy smiled, watching the man- matthew as izzy referred to him. “we will,” he assured.

izzy turned back to you, “drive. you know the way.”

you glared at her, unmoving. she frowned, shoving the gun into your ribs, “drive,” she hissed. when you still didn’t react, she squeezed will’s gunshot wound, pushing the barrel on the side of his head. “or he dies.”

“drive,” matthew stated simply, and at the sight of izzy’s finger dancing around the trigger, you did.

you could only tighten the grip you had on the steering wheel when you parked in front of your mother’s house, already spotting her playing with emiliano on the lawn.

izzy was staring at you, admiring the frustration on your features, “come on, medic,” she urged, pointing the weapon at you again before putting it in her bag.

you opened the door of the car and walked out, forcing a smile on your face when izzy leaned up to your ear, “you better play nice, or i’ll kill them all.”

you picked up your son when he saw you and squealed, his little arms wrapping around you. you kissed his forehead, “hey bug, i gotta talk to grandma, how about you go back to playing?”

“okay, momma,” emiliano nodded, and you put him down, watching as he ran over to one of the play houses you brought for him.

“hey honey, what are you doing here? i thought you and spencer were supposed to come later?” your mom questioned, her eyes scanning over izzy.

“have you been watching the news?” you queried, and she shook her head, “i heard what happened on the radio, is spencer still working?”

you nodded, “yeah, i wanted you to go with molly because of everything that was going on.”

“are you sure? i can stay,” your mom assured, and you shook your head. “no, no, it’s dangerous right now, and i trust molly.”

your mom looked back at izzy, asking a question with her eyes. “this is izzy, one of the detectives, she’s going to watch over emi.”

“okay, are you sure?” she asked again, and you nodded, relieved you had set up a safe word with her and that she had remembered. she only glanced back at you and emi before she got into her car, “call me for anything.”

you didn’t respond, calling your son, “c’mon, emi, let’s go inside.”

emiliano skipped ahead, running into the house, past you and izzy, who had been surprisingly quiet.

you turned back to her quickly, “if you touch him, i will kill you,” you promised, and izzy didn’t flinch. “if you touch me, he kills will, then a certain spencer reid, then you. you wanna leave your kid an orphan? be my guest.”

you clenched your jaw, glaring at izzy until emiliano ran up to you, tugging on your arm.

“momma, can we watch a movie?”

you took a deep breath and crouched down to him, offering your son a smile as you shook your head, “i can’t, not right now, bug, i have to work, so you’re going to stay with izzy and play with her for now, okay?”

emiliano nodded, and you kissed his head, assuring yourself you would not lose him, and he wouldn’t lose you. “i love you, bug, daddy and i will see you soon.”

emiliano smiled at you and planted a kiss on your cheek, giving you one more squeeze before you straightened up, staring at izzy for a second.

you walked out, hands trembling as you climbed back into the car, wanting more than anything to run back inside and take your son to his father, where you knew he'd be safe. but it wasn't an option right now. because right now, you had to leave your baby with a serial killer and you had to go sit in the car with another one.

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years

Text

you may not be blood, but you’ll always be family {Jim “Miami” Beach} (Platonic)

Summary: You’re a singer with EMI, just trying to get your solo career off the ground, but it’s been a bad night, and sometimes you just need a hug from your lawyer, friend, and pseudo-father-figure.

A/N: 1175 words. Wow my desire for Miami to tell me he’s proud of me really jumped out, huh. Anyways literally no-one asked for this but it came to me and like with all the other stories that aren’t prompted, I had to write this and get it out of my head so I can immediately forget I ever wrote it. (i tend to do that, honestly) anyways, miami loves you like he’s ya dad and is proud of you, the self indulgent fic. (also, i know it’s usually used a romantic song, Somewhere Out There - specifically the cover done by Donald Glover and Danny Pudi in season 1 of Community - just makes me soft and content and it’s what i was listening to the entire time i wrote this)

When Miami answers the phone at half past one in the morning, and all he hears on the other end of the line is your gentle sobbing, his irritation is quickly replaced with concern.

“Y/N?” He knows it’s you the moment you ask his name, voice trembling. He asks where you are, and you tell him that you’re at the recording studio, that you’d really appreciate being picked up.

You hadn’t been making music for long; you’d started out as a backup singer for a solo artist, and it was only when a few of your friends and family, Miami included, told you to look at a career of your own, that you followed their advice. It wasn’t as if you were a big name in the industry, quite the opposite in fact, the only reason you were even halfway connected to any big names was the fact that Miami, then known as just Jim Beach, took a shine to you when you were first signing your contract.

That was a few years ago, however, and by now, Jim had fit into his role of your pseudo-father-figure without hesitation. It was hard, your own family didn’t know how to deal with your career, and your friends your age had their own problems to deal with and didn’t need your teary, early morning calls when you had someone you knew would pick you up without question.

He doesn’t wait in the car when he arrives, doesn’t just honk the horn and wait to see you come out of the building, he gets the security guard to let him in, and he makes his way to the studio you’d been recording in, and hugs you as soon as he sees you. His expression is serious and concerned, no hesitation as he moves to sit you on the sofa, rubbing comforting circles across your back.

“It’s alright.” He assures quietly, his voice firm, as if daring the universe to fuck up this moment for you and face the consequences. You’re past crying, have been past crying for about ten minutes, five minutes after you got off the phone with him. Hugging him back, however, face pressed into the sweater he’d pulled on over his pyjama shirt, you can’t help but tear up a little.

“Is this from overworking, or did something happen?” When he asks, his voice is gentle but clinical, not wanting to dance around your emotions. It takes you a moment to clear your throat, sniffling before you speak, words a little muffled where you had your forehead against his shoulder.

“A bit of both,” you admit, and he hugged you a little tighter, not pushing you for further explanation, giving you the time you need to order your thoughts, “one of the executives came by to watch me record,” you murmur, voice catching a little at the still very fresh memory, “and he had some... less than kind feedback for me.” Finally you pull out of Miami’s hug, throwing yourself back onto the sofa in exasperation, wiping your eyes, a little infuriated that the memory provoked such a reaction from you. “And you know - you know - I try not to let shit like this get to me, but it was so late, and there’s just been some horrible stuff in magazines recently. I feel so stupid right now.” You huffed, pouting despite yourself.

“Who?” Miami asks, getting up from the sofa and making his way to the sound desk, searching around for a pen and paper.

“Who what?” You asked, faintly confused, and he gives you a thoughtful look. When he comes back to sit beside you, he’s poised and ready to write.

“Who said those things about you?” He asked, and when you respond with a first name, hesitating before you explain that you don’t know his last name, just know him by sight, Miami asks you to describe him.

“Executives aren’t allowed in the recording studio; it’s in your contract,” he explains, jotting down the notes you give him on the man. His words give you reason to pause, taken aback.

“That’s- when I was working with-” you try to protest, but he looks up at you, notepad balanced on his knee.

“It’s in your contract; it’s in all my clients’ contracts. It contaminates the integrity of the artist’s work.” He explains, before looking back down, “it’s blatant unprofessionalism, you wouldn’t invite a critic to a recording session, it’s an unfinished product and he had no right to give his unsolicited opinion like that.” There’s a sudden rush of affection that you feel as you watch him jot down a few more notes.

“But what if he’s right, what about the magazines-” You try, but he’s tearing off the page definitively, folding it up to hold tight in his hand.

“Music’s always been subjective, and critics have always been harsh; I happen to think you’re a lovely singer.” And with that he stands, offering you his free hand. “Let’s get you home, it sounds like it’s been a long day for you.” He muses, and there’s tears in your eyes again, but for a very different reason.

“You’ll be alright?” He asks, stopped outside of your house, looking up at the door with a little bit of doubt.

“Dude, I’m an adult.” You tell him, and he fixes you with a fond smile.

“I know,” his voice is surprisingly soft, “I just worry about you,” and when you go to protest, his lips twist into an amused grin as he speaks over you, “even though-”

“Even though I’ve told you that you don’t need to!” You reiterate a statement you’d said once or twice in the past, but he never seems to listen, and part of you is glad he doesn’t.

“Good night, Y/N, and take care, alright?” He asks as you’re unclipping your seatbelt, and you nod obligingly.

“Of course, you too,” but as you open the door to step out, you take the moment to look back at him, where he’s watching you with a faintly expectant smile, “I really do appreciate you, Miami.”

“Thank you, Y/N, you know I’m always here for situations like this.”

He’s not really your dad, but you know as he drives you home, as he helps you release your new EP, as you wave goodbye to the executive who it turns out had been harassing a lot of artists whose contracts he didn’t personally have a hold on, you know Miami’s proud of you.

When he leaves EMI with Queen, he doesn’t leave you behind. You go through scandals and heartbreaks and more PR crisises than any one person should, but he’s always in your corner, picking you up from parties, pubs, even out of the gutter a few times, and he does it without complaint. It’s hard to trust in this industry, to know who wants you for your name and fame, but the years and the fair weather friends come and go, but the sun always sets behind you on Miami Beach, and with the man himself, he's always there to back you up.

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