#and then spent the first week home from the hospital playing phone tag trying to fix an ever-evolving interwoven clusterfuck of bs

[loversandantiheroes]

.

[house-of-galathynius]

Home for Christmas

Rowan Week, Day 4 (November 9th): When Aelin is away

I know we’re still a month out from Christmas, but I’m in the festive mood... so here’s a Rowan Week one-shot! Hope you all enjoy it!

@rowaelinscourt​

                                                           ~ ~ ~ 

Rowan should have been used to spending Christmas alone. He had been doing it since he was nineteen, after all. But he supposed there had been something inside him that had been hoping Aelin would’ve stayed for the holiday anyway— or invited him along to her own family celebration. But all that happened was she had given him a long, lingering kiss before pulling her over-filled suitcase out the front door and into the waiting taxi.

His apartment suddenly felt very empty. Whilst Aelin didn’t actually live there with him, she had managed to accumulate enough stuff to make it seem like she was moved in. And with her excitement about the upcoming Christmas season, she had gone wild with decorating. Every corner of the flat decked out in tinsel or string lights— she’d even gone and purchased a real tree that she had then spent an entire afternoon painstakingly decorating, not letting a single person touch it or help.

But now the sparkling lights, the garlands, the pops of red and gold… all of it was a reminder of his utter loneliness.

Rowan’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he smiled at Aelin’s name, and then huffed a laugh as he read her message.

I know what you’re thinking. DO NOT touch the decorations.

She knew him too well. He replied: Wouldn’t dream of it, Fireheart.

There had been a time when Rowan would have been excited too. He would’ve helped put up the decorations and he would’ve gone to carol services and drunk mulled wine, he would play Christmas music all day and spend Christmas Day drinking and laughing with family.

But he felt cruel celebrating now— when his own family could no longer.

Gods. He hated how mopey he got at this time of year. He had so much to be thankful for.

Aelin, for one.

She had been his absolute saving grace— coming into his life at just the right time. He maintained that she had saved him, and if she had appeared in his life any later than when she did he would have done something stupid.

Their relationship had been a bit of a whirlwind. He had met her two years ago. At first he had been uninterested in anything other than his own pain. In fact, he had found Aelin to be cocky and far too intense for his liking, finding her personality to be irritating— her happy-go-lucky spirit the complete opposite to his grumpy demeanour. But slowly over the next few weeks she had chipped away at his hard exterior and had eventually got him to crack a smile. Rowan looked back on those weeks fondly now. Since then they had been almost inseparable. The two of them never sleeping apart, meeting on their lunch breaks, vacationing together… everything. It still baffled Rowan at how she had broken down his walls so quickly and how fast he had found himself falling in love with this fiery woman.

Luckily, Aelin had felt it too.

And although it was the second Christmas they had spent as a couple, it was only the first that they had been apart. Last year, Aelin had had to take a long shift in the hospital and there was no way she would have been able to get out of it. So despite his aversion to the holiday, Rowan had cooked her favourite Christmas meal, even going as so far to try and bake her favourite cookies, serving them to her in bed after she had returned home. It had been a slow and lazy Christmas but he had never felt happier.

He didn’t begrudge Aelin going home this year. He wanted her to have fun and to celebrate with other people who were just as excited as she was. But he couldn’t deny the sense of disappointment that he hadn’t been able to tag along.

His phone buzzed again and his smile grew at the selfie Aelin had sent him. She was in an over-the-top Christmas jumper that lit up, a Santa hat on her head and a cup of hot chocolate covered in whipped cream in one hand. She was smiling brightly, whipped cream over her top lip, her eyes bright and happy.

Need me to clean you up a bit? He replied cheekily.

You’re definitely on Santa’s naughty list, Rowan.

He laughed and tried to ignore the pang in his chest.

The flat was so quiet, but he decided to turn on some music and grab a book, settling down in the large armchair. He kept reading the same sentence over and over until he officially gave up and put the book down, glancing out the window.

Terrasen winters were brutal and today was proving that. The snow was falling heavily outside, the wind whipping it around. A person was battling against it, holding onto their hat tightly as they tried to find some shelter in a store front. He, for a split second, debated shouting out the window if they needed help, but decided against it— instead heading into the kitchen.

The Christmas spirit had not missed the kitchen either. Aelin had put a tablecloth over the small round table in the corner. It was covered in gingerbread men and candy canes, the obnoxious red of it making Rowan squint. Aelin had also left boxes of sweet treats— four different types of cookies, brownies and a not-so-beautifully iced bundt cake. He had tried to argue with her that he was never going to eat that much food, but she had insisted.

Rowan rummaged in the fridge. Eventually pulling out a beer and some leftover lasagne from the day before. It wasn’t exactly a Christmas feast that he was sure Aelin was going to be having, but it would do.

His parents had always made mountains of food. He could remember having the whole family sat around digging into huge turkeys and a million different side dishes, followed by three or four different desserts. He fondly remembered retiring to the living room afterwards and not moving for hours as he went into a food coma. He hoped that one day he could have that again— probably with Aelin. He wasn’t sure he could ever see himself with anyone else at this point. She had wiggled her way into his life and into his heart completely, and even a day without her was torture.

He ate quietly and checked his phone occasionally, but everyone he knew was busy. So he just aimlessly switched through the channels on the TV instead.

Missing Aelin was always rough. And now more than ever he wanted her to be here. He sent off another text. I miss you.

Seconds later she replied. Love you.

Rowan didn’t have anyone but himself to blame really. His cousins had offered to host Christmas and had invited him. But he hadn’t been back to Wendlyn since his parents had died. He didn’t think he was ready to go back to the village they lived in and see the house— now occupied by new people— or see the church where they were now buried. It had been seven years since they’d died and most people would have moved on. But it was too hard.

Aelin had been instrumental in his healing process though. Not just because she was this happy, bubbly girl. But because she understood his pain and never told him that his hesitance at getting over their deaths needed to sped up. She would sit and listen to him talk about them late at night on a random Tuesday, even when she was barely able to keep her eyes open after working. Nor had she pushed he go back for his cousins wedding or that he needed to respect his parents by visiting their graves. She just… understood.

Gods, he loved her.

He loved her enough that he wandered into his bedroom and pulled open the bedside table drawer and held the small black box in his hand. It had been sat there for a year, taunting him every time he opened it up. He had been struggling to find the right moment— worried that Aelin might think it was too soon or that they were too young. But he knew that someday he would ask her to be his wife. And it was moments— days— like these that made him realised how much he truly wanted her to be his forever.

Rowan was distracted for a second at the sound of car doors slamming shut and the muffled voices of people downstairs. He tucked the ring back into its spot and put it away quickly. He went over the window to see the commotion, but saw nothing but the heavy snow and faint footprints that were soon covered in the white. He was going to go back to the chair and attempt to read again, but he paused as he heard the heavy footsteps up the stairs and then the familiar sound of a key in the door.

He poked his head into the hallway just as the front door opened and he was frozen.

“Surprise!” Aelin shouted, her hands full of bags, her cheeks rosy, snow in her hair. She shuffled in through the door, but he was still frozen in place as he saw her parents come in behind her, then Lysandra and Aedion, Fenrys, Lorcan and Elide…

He shook his head.

Aelin carefully placed the things in her hands on the floor and came up to him, winding her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. Rowan, still completely bewildered, put his own arms around her and held onto her tightly. Kissing her head and pulling back so he could see her face.

“What is this?” He asked.

Aelin grinned. “You really thought I was going to leave you by yourself on Christmas?”

“I don’t…” He laughed lightly, still in utter surprise at the people in front of him. All of them now unloading presents under the tree and food onto the table.

“I know you hate this holiday,” she glanced behind her then back to him, “I know it has a lot of bad memories associated to it. But it doesn’t have to be all bad… and we can make new memories. Together.”

He rested his head against hers. He wasn’t a sentimental person, he was never one to cry. But he could feel the tears forming, could feel the emotion bubbling up inside him. This woman never failed to surprise him and he couldn’t possibly love her more.

“You didn’t need to do this.” He managed to choke out.

Aelin rose on her toes and kissed him gently. “You’re my family too, Rowan.”

He kissed her again. This girl had lugged her entire family and their friends from their own homes in the middle of a blizzard to come here, to make sure that he had a good day too. She had decorated, baked and wrapped presents all the while working twelve hour shifts in a hospital— all for him.

“I love you.” He whispered.

Aelin brushed her nose against his and then kissed him once. “I love you, too.”

Rowan held her tightly for another minute. “I’ll never be able to thank you for this.”

“You don’t need to thank me. You know I’d do anything for you,” she was interrupted by Lorcan complaining about smelling like cinnamon and Elide shushing him promptly. But Aelin just smiled, her eyes shining, “even if it means getting Lorcan to put on an awful Christmas jumper and getting him to play silly games.”

Rowan laughed. “I’m impressed you managed it.”

“I may have offered to take his night shifts for the next month.”

“How can I ever repay you?” Rowan joked.

Aelin’s eyes lit up and she rose her brows. “I have some whipped cream and a very scandalous nightgown in my bag.”

Rowan’s entire body heated and he almost groaned that he couldn’t take her up on the offer then and there.

“Later, buzzard. We have a huge turkey and about a million desserts to get through before you can even think about ravishing me.”

And though he wanted to drag her away into the bedroom and shut the door, ignoring everything and everyone. He let Aelin drag him into the kitchen where he was supplied with copious amounts of whatever Christmas cocktail Lysandra had made up and then handed a plate ladened with food. And by the time they dragged themselves to bed he could barely function and was only able to tuck Aelin into him and hold her close as they both drifted off into sleep.

~ 

Tag List: 

@morganofthewildfire @tomtenadia @fredweasleyhasadhd @luckyrunawaycheesecake @live-the-fangirl-life  @fireheart-violet  @charlizeed @scarblx @xo-fangirl-xo  @wordsafterhours @jesstargaryenqueen @sailorsassley @sjmships @endlessdaydream @aflickeringsoul @tillyrubes10 @rowaelin-cressworth @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @rowaelinismyotp @rosegoldannie @maryberry @viajandosinalas @becarefuloflove @allthebooksunderthemoon @sheharahu @swankii-art-teacher @superspiritfestival @becarefuloflove @tanvee1231 @viajandosinalas @backtobl4ck @emily-gsh​ @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart​ @becarefuloflove​ @goddess-aelin @thegreyj​ @leiawritesstories​ @nerdperson524

[newronantic]

HAIKYUU!! FICS

so this is mostly gonna be for myself to keep track of my favorite fics i’ve read, but hey if anyone else wants to check some of these out then thats great

MHA one is up!!

ill keep updating this as i read more, feel free to send me suggestions!

KageHina

plain as day - emleewrites

In which Hinata has spent the better part of the last twenty years putting his heart and soul into volleyball, hoping to be recognised, to be noticed. And yet he spends all these years also thinking of himself as rather plain, beyond his lack of height and bright hair, and not really noticeable at all.

In Transit - Mysecretfanmoments

Hinata finds that he likes standing close to Kageyama on buses and trains. It doesn't mean anything--probably. Maybe.

I like the way your clothes smell - Mysecretfanmoments

Power outages, ghost stories, and the presence of a certain orange-haired boy lead to bad decision-making on Tobio's part. He'd planned to keep his crush a secret; the universe has other plans.

Chaotic Neutral - akaraka

Who's this Kageyama person on twitter and is he gay?

1: Anonymous: see title

2: Anonymous: curry king

3: Anonymous >> 1: It's the curry king, obviously. Have you been using his memes this whole time without knowing who he was?

4: Anonymous: 1) Hinata Shouyou's boyfriend 2) See above

jellyfish - mysterytwin

At the beginning of his last year at Karasuno High School, Hinata Shouyou starts a list and calls it THINGS TO DO BEFORE GRADUATION, all with high hopes that he’ll be able to complete it before his time runs out.

TsukkiYama

Try This On For Size - CloudMonsta

A lot changed for Yamaguchi Tadashi over the course of high school. He started trying on dresses, for one.

The Great Yamaguchi-Tsukishima Split (Capitalization Necessary) - WyYeuw

"But no, the current situation isn’t normal. This situation requires the full attention of the team.

No, what’s really concerning this time around, is that Yamaguchi is the one ignoring Tsukishima.”

Yamaguchi confesses. Tsukishima fucks up—like, really fucks up. The volleyball club notices and loses a week’s worth of practice.

IwaOi

Terrarium - sausaged

He's practically a professional at being proactive (lies, lies, and lies when it comes to Iwaizumi).

At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?

Can he really tag his Instagram photos with #YOLO if he doesn't actually put that phrase into practice?

A story about Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, plants, and rocks.

They Say it Rain Diamonds on Jupiter - exsao

"You're in love with him."

Hajime considers denying it. He considers deliberately choking on his drink to express surprise, to create a distraction by spitting onto the man in front of him's pristine white shirt and causing a commotion. Instead, he swallows his mouthful of soda and heaves a small sigh once his mouth is free.

"Yeah," he says instead.

He's never been good at lying, anyway.

bait and switch - Stylographic_Blue_Rhapsody

Oikawa's university volleyball team knows he's in a long-distance relationship with someone from high school. They imagine a sweet-faced girl that matches his sarcasm with patience. They are so incredibly wrong.

my heart is where it’s always been - foreverautumn

Iwaizumi places his phone down carefully.

Oikawa. Pining after someone. There’s no way.

(Iwaizumi knows he shouldn’t care who Oikawa might have feelings for, but within the span of three days, it’s somehow the only thing he can think about.)

KuroKen

Beautiful People Will Ruin Your Life - todxrxki

Kuroo Tetsurou runs a private Twitter account where he's constantly tweeting about how desperately in love he is with Kozume Kenma. Little does he know that Kenma sees all the tweets and keeps referencing the account in an attempt to get Kuroo to confess to him. / Or, five times Kuroo didn't notice Kenma hinting about his private Twitter account, and one time he finally did.

the things that get caught in the valves of his heart - ghostpot

Emotional competency is not exactly Kuroo's strong suit. Kenma finds it quite amusing.

Accidentally In Love - todxrxki

Kuroo frowns, but then slowly, the corners of his mouth lift up into a smirk. "Well, if it's so unbelievable, why don't we give it a try?"

Kenma glances up at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Let's do the 36 questions to fall in love," Kuroo says, still smirking stupidly. "If we don't fall in love, then you're right, it's bullshit. But if we do somehow..." Kuroo waggles his eyebrows. "Then I win." / Kuroo decides he and Kenma should do the 36 questions to fall in love as a joke, but they both start to realize they might actually be in love already.

the galaxy is endless (i thought we were, too) - cosmogony

TW: major character death

Kuroken AU where the last words your soulmate will say to you appear on your skin when you turn 16, and how Kenma and Kuroo learn what this means over the course of their lives

even if you’re ahead for a bit, i will catch up - ghostpot

Kuroo first confesses when they're sticky-fingered, wide-eyed kids, and subsequently every day after that. Kenma takes a while to come around.

you’re the brake lines failing (as my car swerves off the freeway) - ghostpot

Kenma thinks that Kuroo looks ugly with his head bent against the arm of the couch like that. Then Kenma thinks that he wants to marry him, and is promptly thrown into the 5 stages of grief.

teach me the way home - icespyders

“Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because —

because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.”

Kuroo and Kenma grow up in transit.

in this universe - crossbelladonna

Living with Kuroo is sometimes, just like this. It always feels surreal like he's living half a world and a lot of things rush by too quickly. Kenma feels like he'd watched him come and go in a blink, eyes wide and wordless as the shared space went snug in an instant and far larger in the next.

All this, and a glass of water.

Beginning’s End - todxrxki

Somehow over the course of Kenma's lifetime, he’s never really had an opportunity to miss Kuroo. He’s always been there. Even when they went to different schools, Kuroo would meet him afterwards so they could walk home together, shoulders brushing, Kuroo occasionally taking the opportunity to guide him when his nose was buried in the newest video game. The thought of Kuroo not being there anymore is uncomfortable, to say the least. / Kozume Kenma's third year and the changes the year brings in himself and his relationship with Kuroo Tetsurou.

All I Want for Christmas is You - todxrxki

“Kuro,” he says. “You’re a single guy.”

“Yeah, great, thanks for pointing that out.”

“And my parents already know you, plus they already know you like guys or whatever so… what if you pretended to be my date for Christmas dinner?” / In which Kenma recruits his housemate and best friend Kuroo to be his fake date for Christmas.

BokuAka

just to miss the sun - rosevtea

Everything begins to implode when MSBY Jackals outside hitter Bokuto Koutarou crashes Akaashi's livestream.

Operation BokuAka - kazzydolyn

After spending two whole years watching Bokuto and Akaashi pine for one another, the rest of the Fukuroudani Volleyball Club has had enough. When everyone meets up for a reunion dinner, the team decides to play matchmaker and finally get the two of them together. Unfortunately, their plan starts to fall apart when they discover that Akaashi is already dating someone. And apparently so is Bokuto. What a strange coincidence.

bitter - silvercistern

He accepted his classmate's chocolates gracefully, then declared his lack of interest with as much dignity as he could muster. She deserved the courtesy. At least she'd acknowledged that Valentine's Day was all about her, and not about him in the slightest.

Because if any of these girls had taken the time to actually get to know him, they’d quickly realize something even more important than his lack of interest in girls.

And that was that Akaashi hated sweets.

In Another Life - LittleLuxray

TW: major character death

Sleeping didn't come as easy as it used to. Bokuto knew this, and now Akaashi did, too.

The hospital AU that no body asked for, but that I took upon myself to write.

120% yes - pissedofsandwich

TOKYO FRANCHISE COMING SOON @OnigiriMiya

in reply to @bokkun_official 

Congratulations! In celebration of your historic engagement, please DM us so we can send you a free membership code with a 25% discount on every fourth purchase!

Kissing Ace - karasunovolleygays

It happens right after training camp.

Akaashi Keiji has a secret he has guarded since he was a child. He won’t go so far as to call it a fear, but more of an aspect of himself of which he is horribly mortified. No one on the team knows about it, and Akaashi does his best to keep it that way.

But years of dodging hugs and casual contact come to naught in the blink of an eye and the swipe of a hand.

daisy rings and frivolous things (i am deliriously in love with you) - gabstar

Akaashi Keiji is in love. Bokuto Koutarou is a star. Everyone on Fukurodani has a gambling problem.

SakuAtsu

The MSBY Black Jackals Read Thirst Tweets - isaksara (syailendra)

Sakusa’s eyes are very dark naturally, sucking in all surrounding rays of light and crushing them in his pupils. For an athlete, he is rather pale. His lips look very pink in comparison. Atsumu is suddenly catastrophically aware that in this instance, ‘accent’ is a euphemism. “Good enough for your Olympic-size ego, Miya?”

(In which Atsumu realizes that he is attracted to Sakusa Kiyoomi in the most inconvenient way possible.)

A Liar’s Truth - internetpistol

In which Sakusa Kiyoomi is raised to believe that gay people go to hell but then takes one look at Miya Atsumu and thinks, then why the hell did God make them so fucking hot?

[creativeashproductions]

When the Pain Ends // Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Breaking up with your boyfriend ends with your broken hand, a broken heart and a trip to Canada. Getting out of Oklahoma for comfort of your younger brother Owen brings you into contact with a sweet Canadian.

Warnings: Swearing, hospital, cheating boyfriend, angst and bit of fluff

Words: 3.1k

Requested: No.

A/N: Tidbit of info is that I am a university student. I had last week off and I’m six minutes into my History Zoom Lecture. Here’s a little fic.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

The scowl glued on your face as you waited in the ER for the results from the x-ray you had gotten back from minutes ago. A bag of ice on the swollen knuckles of your right hand still splattered in drops of blood. The same blood as the small drops on your shirt as well. If that didn’t put a scowl on your face, it was the next issue.

The reason for your visit to the ER was in bed next over complaining as a nurse checked his face. His eyes meeting yours in a blend of guilt, regret and fear almost. You couldn’t meet his eyes. You didn’t want to meet his eyes.

Let’s backtrack a little for a short history.

The summer after graduation, you had met a guy on the beach playing volleyball in need of another player. You joined, and then you fell for the guy just as he did for you. For the last three years, you were now twenty-one years old. Parker had been a really good guy. Until yesterday.

“Babe!” Parker sounded congested with the bandages held up his nose. He had been fighting the nurse to come to your side.

“Don’t call me that!” You hissed glaring at the tall boy with the auburn hair colour that had once been your favourite colour.

“C’mon it was a mistake-Ow!” Parker whined at the nurse applied more pressure as she cast a sympathetic glance at you. A small smile of thanks passed to the nurse who had maybe pressed a little no hard on Parker’s nose.

Your eyes rolled at the drama that was Parker when it came to injuries that had been his entire fault, to be frank. Your fist meeting his face? His fault for cheating. What did he expect? A congratulations? Screw that.

“Say anything else I swear I’ll hit the other ball.” You glared at the boy sending him to a fit, shaking fear of stupidity.

The beach was filled up with teens and adults with children on the nice weekend day out of the loud city. Originally you hadn’t been able to join Parker with your mutual friends, but something else had spurred you there. Instead of having the weekly movie night via FaceTime with your younger brother, you had other plans. A particular video sent by Parker’s best friend and his cousin too had brought you here. Livvy had grown close in the three-year relationship you had with her cousin.

Your fury filled gaze flickered around the beach and the grass in the large opening area of the waterfront. Finally, your eyes found Parker sitting with Livvy on the blanket on the grass with Steve. Livvy was the first to see with marching through the people spreading like a curtain from the angry girl.

“Hey, Parker!” You shouted at your boyfriend in a conversation with your other two friends. Parker’s smile grew just before it falters at your expression.

“Hey, Babe,” Parker spoke, climbing to his full five-foot-ten stature. Livvy’s smile pulled up in an amused smirk while Steve looked more confused.

“How was your weekend at your sick Granny’s house?” You came to a stop a foot away from him. Arms crossed just under your chest his thick eyebrows furrowed together.

“Uh…it was okay. She’s feeling better.” Parker nodded to himself tilting his head to the side, “It was-“

“I hope she better. Her treatment must have been incredible.” You replied, unfurling your arms to grab the phone from your back pocket.

Parker grew more confused, “What?”

“The doctor sure knew what he was doing. The prescription of ‘dicked down’ cured her illness and old age.” The whistle you made after your statement sounded, but you grew more satisfied with the circle of people behind you.

“Oh.” Steve choked, raising one fist to press against his mouth. By now Livvy had started recording on her phone.

Livvy and Parker may be cousins, but she loathed cheaters when it was the cause of her parents’ divorce. Parker’s lips parted as he paled. The click of the glass screen brought up a video of Parker and a brunette in a hot tub.

“Ba-“

“Fucking look at your actions.” You hissed stepping even closer, “Was it worth it? Jeopardizing a relationship with someone you share years of memories with? Years of love and trust? All for thirty seconds of fun? We both know you tend to…get too excited.”

“Oh shit,” Steve spoke, shifting his gaze between you and Parker like he was a bobblehead of Einstein. The very bobblehead that you had laughed giving Steve with his obsession over the legendary scientist.

“It just happened. I still love you. I just needed a- “Parker stumbled back bringing his hands to his face, “OW! You broke my nose!”

“Ouch.” You hissed shaking your aching hand coated in some blood that splattered your shirt from shaking the hand.

“What the hell! You bit…holy fuck!” Parker screamed as your foot came up between his spread legs, nailing his left nut. He collapsed onto the grass, struggling to hold his bleeding broke nose and his nuts.

“That’s what you get asshole.” You shouted, turning to Livvy, “Can you take me to the hospital?”

“Parker drove, I’ll drive you both there. Steve can keep you two from fighting.” Livvy spoke, ending the video to shove everything in the oversized beach bag.

Now it was hours later as per usual in most hospitals elongating the time you were forced to spend with your now ex-boyfriend. Livvy and Steve had gone home a while back. Parker continued trying to fix the unrepairable damage he had done.

“Y-“

“That’s it!” You exclaimed jumping down from the bed to storm over to Parker. You made a few steps before arms encircled your waist.

“Okay, Slugger.” The gritty voice of your father spoke tugging you as far away from your ex-boyfriend as possible, “As much I want to kill him, I think you broke his pretty-boy face enough.”

The anger drained from your body as you slumped against your dad anguish set in with a tsunami of hurt. Time melted as you broke in your father’s arm; missing the doctor giving information. Your hand was fitted with a cast, and next thing you were aware of it was in the car.

“You bruised hits nuts. Broke his nose.” Dad nonchalantly spoke, turning the steering wheel as he exited the hospital parking lot. He didn’t bother making small talk as he let you be quiet on the drive home.

You didn’t know what hurt more, the heartache or your broken hand stabilized in the brace. The clearing of a throat had your attention is drawn to the house you had grown up no doubt holding your upset mother.

“She’s not that mad.” Dad quietly spoke, handing your phone that had died during the time in the ER. You shot him a look at the inaccuracy of his statement because you both know she was angry.

“Her daughter just spent hours in a hospital with a dead phone. We both know she probably thought I was dead in a ditch.” You deadpanned as you both walked up to the door of the home in Norman, Oklahoma.

The door opened before you could reach for it, and a flurry of blonde hair attacked you in a hug. Your mother hugged then leaned away to scan your features. Catching the dried tear stains paired with the red-rimmed eyes.

“Sweetheart.” Dinah spoke, raising her hands to wipe the tears from your face only causing more to fall, “What’s wrong?”

“Parker cheated on me.” You mumbled melting into her arms in another round of tears, breaking your parents’ hearts.

Meanwhile in Vancouver, Canada

Owen loved his job and the people he had met, but he missed the weekly movie nights with his older sister. The Joyner siblings had gotten down pat a system of sync to have the same movie playing at the same time on FaceTime. Imagine his surprise when he got a text apologizing.

Virtual movie night postponed. It put him in a slump that greatly concerned his roommate at the decrease of excitement. Even the next day, he was sad like a kicked puppy.

“Bro? You good?” Charlie asked from his place in the kitchen, scanning his emails on his computer. Owen barely made his eyes, “Wasn’t movie night with your sister yesterday?”

Owen nodded, “Yeah she-“

As Owen had gone to explain his phone had dinged with a concerning message from his mother.

Mom: Have you heard from Y/N? She hasn’t come home.

Owen swiped out of the conversation to the most used one with you shared with him to send a mass of messages. All not even coming up as read by you. It was his stipulation that you had it one for his safe of mind.

“C’mon you little shit,” Owen grumbled, pressing your contact to call. It didn’t even ring, “Dead cell.”

Charlie’s full attention shifted to the younger guy sitting on their couch in the apartment they used during filming. As Owen started pacing, Charlie was over quick as a bunny to offer comfort to him. The boys had grown so close, with Jeremy too, that they knew how to help the other.

“Owen, you need to tell me what’s going on.” Charlie soothed the blonde with his eyes pleading with the teenager.

“My parents haven’t talked to my sister. She didn’t go home.” Owen admitted scratching at his chest when his chest tightened. The other immediately finding his pulse on his neck to ensure he still had a pulse.

“Oh shit.” Charlie retorted, tapping his foot on the hardwood floor trying to find the right words to help his friend.

For the next hour, the boys kept in contact with Owen’s family and checking your social media in shifts as they filmed. It was a slow day when Owen’s phone finally rang with his mother’s contact once more.

“Mom, did you find her?” Owen asked, picking at the skin on his lips pacing as he had all day. The level of anxiety had been perfect for the scene he had filmed as Alex.

“Yeah. Look, Owen, she needs to get out of Oklahoma. Do you have room for her?” Dinah asked her son periodically glancing in the living room at the lifeless young woman.

“Yeah. We have an extra room.” Owen supplied squeezing the phone in his grip, “How is she? What happened?”

“I’m letting her settle before I ask any questions, but her flight is in a bit. It was either you take her in, or we pay for a hotel room. Oh! I got this lego-“

“I have to get back to filming. I’ll call you tonight.” Owen told his mother as his thumb hit the record circle on his phone. Kenny waving him over to film a scene with Booboo that would be the last before heading home.

The over the counter pain pill went down with a swig of water in the airport waiting for Owen and his roommate. Owen had messaged you that he would pick you up on the way from the set in perfect timing.

“Y/N!” Owen cheered catching sight of your form hunched forward on the bench you had miraculously found empty. Your blank eyes seeing the blue of your younger brother.

Owen’s eyes widened in shock, “What the hell happened to your hand?”

Noncommittal, the girl walked by her brother with her luggage in the mission to get to the car. All you wanted was to burst into years under your blankets until the world turned again, when birds sang, and the word wasn’t painted in dull colours.

Just as it had during the ride from the hospital to the house, it was dead silent in the car with the barest sound of music. Owen and Charlie had been having a conversation with expressions with the tension in the backseat stifling.

“This is our place.” Charlie spoke, opening the apartment door with a flourish for the girl and her luggage. Your eyes scanned the modest apartment with minimal mess compared to the tornado devastation of Owen’s Oklahoma room.

“Okay.” You replied, watching as Owen rolled the luggage to the room you would use for the few weeks you would be here.

Once showered, dressed and settled, you retreated to the couch to watch a film with the two boys. Your mind fluttered between Beca’s blow out with her father and Jesse to the city of Norman. As if thinking of Parker manifested something your phone buzzed with notifications.

@/livvyjo: Go, girl! [video]

@/malia134: Parker goes down like the bitch he is!!!

@/notsteverogers: I got a front-row seat to the fight.

Those three comments on Livvy’s video had more support than hate plus the video itself was hilarious. It caught the entire confrontation from greeting the cheater to being pulled away to spend the ten minutes in the same car. The car you had hooked up in the backseat of in the years you dated him.

��“-The prescription of ‘dicked down’ cured her illness and old age.” The pure anger on your expression amused you.

“What are you watching?” Owen inquired from the couch he watched the movie from. It made up for the lack of a film last night.

“A girl punching her bag of shit ex-boyfriend. She almost ripped his face off in the hospital.” You softly replied with your thumb double-tapping Livvy’s post.

Charlie’s attention shifted from the pool mashup with the Barden Bellas to the pride evident in your tone. It was the first time he had heard you laugh during the few hours he had been in your presence.

“What movie?”

“Oh, you know Parker’s Dicked Down Adventures. Filmed free with an iPhone.” You spoke sliding down to sit flush to Charlie to show the video you refreshed.

Owen’s mouth opened, “He cheated on you? How stupid is he??”

“You have a mean right hook.” Charlie supplied replaying the video for the third time with a weird feeling in his gut. The confidence stirred a body warming heat in the Canadian actor unlike anything else he had felt before.

“Dad taught me.” You replied, slouching down in the plush couch with a tiny smiling, “The nurse heard what happened. She put excessive pressure for his actions. I overheard his diagnosis; nasty bruised testicle and a broken nose.”

Both boys winced at the description. Owen ditching Charlie’s side to sit beside you, leaving you in the middle of the boys.

“I almost attacked him before Dad dragged me out of the room.” You recounted snuggling into your younger brother’s side.

“Where are my keys?” Owen questioned his roommate, “We need them to drive to the airport. I need to kill the ass that hurt my sister.”

Your deft fingers grasped Owen’s wrist when he went to get up because, in all honesty, he probably would book a flight. He wouldn’t go through with the plan to physically hurt Parker, but Owen had a wicked tongue for insults.

You spent one month in Vancouver with your brother and his castmates from helping Maddie with her homework. Movie nights with Owen changed to include Charlie too. Shopping trips with Sav and Tori. Baking with Jadah. You became family with them.

All good things come to an end. You had settled back in Norman with brighter plans that didn’t involve relying on men. Movie nights still happened with the boys, but things got hectic. Virtual movie nights shifted to texting Charlie and calls.

“Hey dork.” Charlie spoke walking down the street in Vancouver to the restaurant he was meeting the cast at. His lips pulled back in a massive grin, hearing your voice.

“Hey Char!” You enthusiastically spoke, walking out of the building with more pep in your step at the voice of the man, “What’s up?”

“On my way for food with everyone. How are you feeling?” Charlie asked, rubbing his fingertips on the dark denim pants. The sound of your voice brightening up his day more than he thought possible.

“Ooh. I should let you go, huh?” You questioned shifting to hold the phone between your shoulder and chin. Fingers unlocked the new car you had bought with the money you had saved.

A nice change of money from selling the jewellery, clothes and other miscellaneous gifts Parker had given you. The necklace he gave you that once belonged to his grandmother had been given back to him. Other than that you had no interaction with the ass.

“I’d rather talk to you.” Charlie admitted biting his lip in concentration, “I have a question.”

“Okay. What’s your question?” You questioned as your phone connected to your car—Charlie’s voice coming through the car speakers.

“Filming is almost over. Do you have plans for New Years? I’d like you to see you again.”

His words set a flutter of butterflies moving in your stomach at his nervous confidence striking the new information. The change in your friendship had been felt on his side as well and while you usually would think one-month post cheating wasn’t long enough. Something about Charlie felt comfortable as if everything had been preparing to fall for him.

“I could fly-“

“I’d like to see where you grew up. Your favourite places and where you went to school. I want to know the little things that made you who you are.” Charlie spoke coming to a stop outside the restaurant, waiting for your answer.

Owen’s eyes pulled from his debate with Sacha and Jeremy to the nervous Canadian biting his lip outside the window. By the expression on his face, Owen couldn’t guess who he was talking about. It was the smile that had been appearing on Charlie’s face for the last two weeks you had been staying with them.

Charlie had fallen for Owen’s big sister, and he couldn’t think of anyone better. The bond between you and Charlie had been natural and magical to watch. It was kinda gross seeing his best friend and sister having heart eyes with each other. Yet, Owen had never liked Parker, but he loved the idea of having Charlie as a brother.

“Y-yeah. Of course, you can Char.” The flattering blush heated up your skin at the turn in the convo—a grin splitting on the two individuals with more than three thousand kilometres between them.

“Cool. I should join the cast. I’ll text you later.”

“Bye, Charlie.” You whispered to the boy looking out the window noticing something she had been oblivious to.

The world had regained the colour, the birds sang again, and the world turned once more. All because a boy helped her heal.

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[hxseok-honee]

atlas heart || part 25

a/n : so sorry it took so long getting this update out !! i had a disgusting amount of work to do and i really was not doing anything else for a few days -- i really hope you like it!! pls lmk what you think about things now that jimin (and we) know everything! its gonna get,,,, i wanna say messy but messys not even enough to cover how messy its gonna get

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________________________________

Jimin can’t remember the last time he’d closed his eyes for more than a few minutes. Time goes by so fast these days that he’s partially convinced he’s been falling asleep and not realizing it. The hours between class and dinner every day are spent in the library, his headphones shoved into his ears haphazardly while he tunnel visions onto what’s been in the back of his mind since the beginning of the year.

Those spare hours had turned into days and days into weeks -- weekends where he doesn’t even glance at his phone, unaware of the growing concern of his friends. It’s almost May now, the chill of early spring having melted away around him without him realizing. His schoolwork stopped being a priority ages ago, and he knows his grades are really taking the hit for it. He vaguely remembers Namjoon confronting him one night some time ago -- a week? Two weeks ago? -- but he can’t for the life of him recall the contents of that conversation. Something about hating to play the ‘prefect card’, but having no choice. He doesn’t even know if he’s still on the quidditch team. It doesn’t matter -- nothing matters when seeing everything with the perspective he’s got now.

Practically buried in scrolls and books, Jimin could care less about the time and the fact that he’s very obviously breaking curfew right now -- the library’s been empty for hours now, and the light outside the window has well past faded into pitch black darkness. He had to hide from Pince around 10pm, barely managing to catch the click of the librarian’s heels through the music blasting in his headphones to keep him concentrated -- it’s a miracle that she hadn't caught him, really. He’d never be able to focus properly back in his room, not when he’s this close to putting the pieces together.

It’s there, right there, everything scattered in his brain. He knows it’s sitting right in front of him, he can feel himself trying to hyperfocus on anything that can blatantly tell him what he needs to know. Flipping through the pages of a book with one hand and shuffling through scrolls with his other, he glances down at a scrap of paper with his own handwriting, chicken-scratch on a ripped up piece of parchment for him to refer back to every few minutes. There, in black ink, the words ‘vampire’ and ‘veela’ are written and then, later, crossed out. There’s one below it -- ‘maledictus’ -- that remains uncrossed and haunts his every thought.

For the better half of the week, he’d spent his nights scouring the bookshelves for any text he could find on blood malediction -- there isn’t much to show for his efforts. Too rare a condition to have any extensive research done, he could barely manage to put together a few measly scrolls and one book with less than a full chapter on the subject. Sighing heavily, Jimin leans back in his chair, rubbing at his temples while he reconsiders the information for what feels like the hundredth time.

It fits the fact that she has a blood condition… but it’s not right. There’s no mention of a potion or even of regularly experiencing sickness. Y/n is in the Hospital Wing like once a month. There wouldn’t be anything Pomfrey or Hoseok could do to help her if she was a maledictus…

He considers that maybe those things are part of blood malediction and that there just isn’t enough documentation for him to verify it. But there’s something nagging at him, telling him this isn’t right. He thinks back over everything he knows, trying to pull up the major details that could help him finally get some sleep. Ignoring the fact that he very well could doze off, even with his loud ass music, he lets his eyes close so he can think. It takes a few minutes, but eventually he’s sitting up in his seat, eyes wide as he recalls something said to him almost months ago, forgotten amidst everything else on his mind.

“What’s the deal with your roommate, Tae?”

“Who, Stephen?”

“No, not fuckin’ Stephen -- Jungkook!”

“Well, how the hell was I supposed to know?”

“Because Stephen doesn’t look at me like I’m the bane of his existence.”

“Yeah… I don’t know what you did to make Jeon Jungkook hate you, but it must have be serious--”

“Just tell me what you know about him, Tae.”

“I mean… nothing crazy, really -- an only child, comes from old money. Probably as old as the Malfoys or the Potters. His family’s the purest of purebloods. And always Gryffindors, just like the Malfoys are always Slytherins. It’s kind of nuts, having a family history like that.”

Jimin stumbles out of his chair, already making his way down the aisles of bookshelves, almost crazed with concentration.

Purest of purebloods -- there’s not a single pureblood family that isn’t documented in a registry… registry… regis-- aha!

Turning down an aisle designated for family registries dating back centuries, he scans the shelves at a lightening speed, finally coming to a halt in front of a tome titled Gryffindor Legacies. Hauling it from the shelf, he doesn’t even bother returning to his table, taking a seat right there on the floor.

Flipping straight to the back to search for the family name, he locates it easily and heads to appropriate page. Searching the family tree down generations, it takes him several pages of flipping through Jungkook’s ancestors’ lives to finally get to his parents. They’re the most recent entry -- new editions of the book are printed with each new generation, the original, handwritten copy belonging to the respective families. It’s an inefficient system for sure, but Jimin’s not exactly complaining when he’s the one benefiting directly.

Scanning the page, from the birth of his mother -- Jeon Eunha -- to her school days, from her marriage to his father all the way to Jungkook’s birth. Jimin expects the next part to follow the same structure of his mother’s story, recounting his childhood, but it diverges from that almost immediately with some extra lines that he almost feels don’t exist in the original copy at the Jeon family residence.

Not long after the birth of their first and only child, they were met with circumstances leading to the adoption and care of another, the recently orphaned infant girl, Y/n Y/l/n. In her days at Hogwarts, young Eunha had become friends with a female Ravenclaw student, who had a noticeably sickly pallor about her at all times. She was to become her closest lifelong friend. The same night in which Y/l/n was to give birth to her first child, she and her husband met an untimely fate in the form of a violent animal attack in the backyard of their own home. The Jeon family were the first to arrive at the premises, deciding immediately to take in the infant child and raise her alongside their own son. Not much else is known about the girl, only that she and the Jeon heir were to become inseparable.

Jimin stares down at the page, unblinking. There’s a lot of information to process, but the things that stand out most to him are the fact that Y/n’s mother was also apparently afflicted with the same illness as Y/n, and --

‘Violent animal attack’? I knew the car accident thing was bullshit, but… did her mom not even die in childbirth? Why would she not tell me… there’s nothing suspicious about an animal atta--

Almost like his brain has started to short-circuit after the long nights and lack of sleep, Jimin’s thoughts are gone instantly, replaced by the mental image of a book sitting not a even a few aisles away, on a table littered with all of the information he’d ever needed in the first place. He’s completely incapable of registering anything around him as he races back to his table, his mind flipping incomprehensibly between the information in front of him and all of the pieces of his memories, details that make too much sense in this moment to match anything but this one conclusion.

Most Muggles, however, will die from the extent of their injuries… all known instances of Muggle attacks have been portrayed in the media as ‘animal attacks’ so as to preserve the secrecy of the wizarding world…

Given the extent of the available research and data, collected almost entirely from male subjects afflicted with lycanthropy, not much is known about the hereditary components related to a female werewolf. Therefore, it is unknown if a pregnant female werewolf's transformations would affect the ability to carry the pregnancy to term…

Without any humans nearby to attack, or other animals to occupy it, the werewolf will attack itself out of frustration…

“My mom died in childbirth and my dad… just a… just a freak accident you know, no one’s fault or anything…”

Because werewolves only pose a danger to humans, companionship with animals whilst transformed has been known to make the experience more bearable as the werewolf has no-one to harm and will be less willing to harm themselves…

“You want to talk about forbidden, Jeon? Let’s talk about your illegal animagus status-”

The way one must imbibe it is very unique among potions, in that a goblet full of wolfsbane potion must be taken each day for a week preceding the full moon…

“…you know how long it takes me to make a full set of vials for you. I barely have enough to make it last 3 days…”

The monthly transformation of a werewolf is extremely painful if untreated and is usually preceded and succeeded by a few days of pallor and ill health…

“He was lowkey carrying her down the stairs… she looked kinda sick actually…”

Throwing scrolls behind him without care as he searches for the one with the final detail, he pulls his phone out when he finds it -- a book listing all of the recorded moon cycles for over a century. Jamming his thumb down on the icon that’ll take him to his search engine and typing with blind panic, he finds himself yanking out his headphones by the cord with one sharp tug when the answer flashes back at it him on the screen, and he realizes that almost all of the pieces are in place.

The quidditch match against Slytherin -- it was the night before a full moon.

“No, no… no, no, no, this can’t be right. This isn’t happening, this can’t be right, she can’t be--” Jimin remembers the text he’d sent to her almost 8 hours ago, sitting unanswered, and he moves without thinking. Slamming his hands down on either side of the moon cycle record, he flips frantically to the cycle for this current month, April of 1978. What he sees there has his heart dropping out of his chest.

“Next week? It’s next week? But that means she’d have to be feeling the effects of it this wee--” He’s cut off by the feeling of his phone buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches for it almost desperately. It’s Y/n, finally responding to his concerned texts with nothing more than a single line. His blood turns to ice when he reads it.

I’m fine, just feeling under the weather.

--

When Jimin bursts through the door of Dumbledore’s office just past 3am, the headmaster’s already seated at his desk, evidently waiting for him. He’s donning a light blue robe with a matching sleeping cap perched delicately on his head, suggesting to Jimin that he’d somehow woken up knowing he was soon to greet a guest. All of the panic invading Jimin’s body is masked just slightly by guilt, only now realizing how late it is and how intrusive he must seem in this moment.

“Mister Park, you certainly are out quite a bit past curfew, no?” Jimin stands in the doorway cradling all of the scrolls and books he’d been hoarding the last few weeks -- he can’t very well have left a huge pile of evidence back in the library. It would have taken no time at all for someone to look through it and see there were connections everywhere to lycanthropy, even if he himself had been blind to it for so long.

“... Park? Mister Park?” Jimin jumps, lifting his tired eyes to meet Dumbledore’s concerned ones. The man continues once he’s got Jimin’s attention. “Surely, you must need something from me, or you wouldn’t appear so…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to. Jimin’s aware of the state he’s in -- the dark rings under his eyes, his ruffled clothes and hair, the way he’s holding his books like he needs to protect them with his life. He looks unhinged. He feels unhinged.

Realizing he has absolutely no idea how to approach the subject of a potential werewolf at Hogwarts with the school’s very headmaster, Jimin decides to start by moving toward the chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk.

Maybe I just need to sit down and take a deep breath. That should help--

He doesn’t even make it two steps before one of the many books he’s holding crashes to the floor between them, falling open to the page he’d stuck a pencil in to save his spot. The moon cycle for April of 1978 stares back up at him, and when he flicks his gaze up to peer at Dumbledore, he sees the headmaster’s expression has hardened with caution.

“Professor--”

“Have a seat, Mister Park.” Jimin’s heart lodges in his throat at Dumbledore’s tone, never having heard such a sharp edge to the kind man’s voice. He moves to the chair, setting the obnoxious amount of research haphazardly in his lap. His eyes will only go so far as the top of Dumbledore’s desk, unable to bring himself to meet the man’s eyes.

“Sir, I… need to ask you something.” When he isn’t granted a response, he swallows hard, pushing forward. “If there were to be a student at Hogwarts with a… peculiarity of sorts… how would you go about dealing with that?”

“How would I deal with what, Mister Park?”

“That student.”

“I’m not quite sure I know what you mean.” Jimin lifts his eyes then, confused, but he’s met with a deliberately ignorant smile.

“Sir?” Dumbledore’s smile, albeit strained, only widens.

“I think you may be suffering from a lack of sleep, Mister Park. There are no students at Hogwarts with any peculiarities, as you call it.” Jimin stares suspiciously up at him, knowing Dumbledore can tell that Jimin doesn’t for a second believe that claim. Breaking eye contact, he glances down at his lap, trying to figure out how to keep this conversation going. Trying to figure out why he’s even here.

Jimin looks down at himself and the pile of incriminating evidence, cursing his idiocy when he realizes just how bad this situation must look. A student out of bed way past curfew, barging into the headmaster’s office holding weeks of research and making outrageous claims about a potentially dangerous student. And he’s a Ravenclaw no less.

Shit. He probably thought I was some nosy little fucker trying to expose her and get her expelled.

Knowing that he’s risking a lot by being straightforward, he takes a single deep breath and meets Dumbledore’s eyes, his own filled with determination.

“Sir, I know about Y/n Y/l/n, and I know you do, too. I need to know how to take care of her. I need to know how to help her. I need you to tell me what to do because, to be honest with you, I’m freaking out.” The way Dumbledore’s examining him as he speaks tells Jimin that he’s right, but more importantly, it tells Jimin that Dumbledore hadn’t been expecting him to want to help.

“That is a very serious accusation you’re making, Mister Park, especially in this political climate. Very serious.” Jimin doesn’t waver when he responds.

“I know, sir. That’s why you’re the only one I’ve made it to. Because I need your help. Because I know you can help.” Dumbledore narrows his eyes, peering at Jimin over the tops of his half-moon spectacles.

“Have you considered the fact that just you knowing this information at all has placed Miss Y/l/n in more danger than she’s already in?” As soon as the words leave Dumbledore’s mouth, Jimin’s heart is stopping in his chest. All the times that Hoseok and Jungkook had told him to mind his business come rushing back, and he feels himself becoming sick to his stomach. Of course it’s more dangerous for her now that he knows -- he’d been too selfish to even think it through, too nosy for his own good. He had done all this to try to understand her, to try to be a better friend who can help when she needs it, but it’s all bullshit. Everything he thought he had done for her sake had actually been for his. For him and his stupid curiosity.

Lifting his head as a thought comes to mind, Jimin doesn’t even think twice before speaking.

“Can you erase my memories?” The headmaster’s eyebrows fly to his hairline, his expression becoming amused as Jimin continues rambling. “Can’t you obliviate me or something? Wouldn’t that be the best way for me to help her? Wait… but do you have to erase everything I know about her -- will I still know her? Can you make sure I still know her? I really like her! I don’t like Hoseok or Jungkook very much -- they kind of scare me -- but I like her! I don’t want to forget her, but also if me knowing that she’s a werewolf is only going to cause her more trouble, then I really think you should make me forget--” Dumbledore lifts his hand calmly, effectively silencing a frantic Jimin.

“Have you always had such a one-track mind, Mister Park?” Jimin smiles weakly, offering a half-joking response.

“It’s my only redeeming Ravenclaw quality…” Dumbledore chuckles before scratching at his forehead with a heavy sigh.

“Unfortunately -- and I do truly mean that -- I cannot erase a student’s memories. So, you and I will need to continue this difficult conversation.” Jimin considers the man’s words, knowing that it really would be better for everyone if he had his mind wiped clean and hating that he’d unknowingly put Y/n even more in harm’s way. He looks up when Dumbledore sighs again.

“Mister Park, you do understand that you are strictly forbidden from informing anyone else of this situation, yes?” When Jimin nods immediately, opening his mouth to assure the man that he wouldn’t say a word, Dumbledore only shakes his head. “No, Mister Park, I’m not sure you really understand. This situation is infinitely more complicated than you could ever imagine, so it is absolutely imperative that you keep this information to yourself.” Jimin blinks, unsure what’s meant by ‘infinitely more complicated’, but he nods again.

“I’ve put her in enough danger just by being here, Sir -- I’m not breathing a word of this to anyone.” Dumbledore examines him a moment longer, essentially staring into Jimin’s soul to gauge his trustworthiness. Eventually he nods, leaning back in his chair.

“What advice would you like me to give you, Mister Park?” Jimin stays silent, thinking hard about any way that he can make Y/n’s life easier, especially after all the trouble he’s caused up to now. His mind flashes back to the conversation he’d overheard in the library. He opens his mouth slowly, choosing his words with care.

“Sir… how does a student that isn’t even taking Potions know how to brew the wolfsbane potion? Isn’t it nearly impossible?” Jimin sees Dumbledore’s eyes flicker with recognition, and the headmaster responds cautiously.

“…If that student isn’t taking any kind of Potions course at all, they’d need to already be an expert from having dedicated all their studies to the art of potionmaking. They would also need an immense amount of private mentoring, even if they are taking Potions. We do not teach the wolfsbane potion in the curriculum. As I’m sure you can imagine, it wouldn’t fare well in these times…” Jimin squints, putting the pieces together quickly in his mind.

“And where would a student like that find this kind of… private mentoring?” The headmaster hums at Jimin’s question, peering down at him with knowing eyes.

“Well, Mister Park, if you wish to receive mentoring on much… safer forms of potionmaking, I’m sure Professor Slughorn would be happy to help you. However, if you are asking me about Mister Jung Hoseok of Slytherin House, and if you are wondering just how he became capable of caring for Miss Y/l/n at the young age of 13, well… you’re looking at his mentor.”

--

When Jimin leaves Dumbledore’s office almost an hour later, he feels like his head is going to explode. The nights of sleeplessness seem to also have come rushing back to him at once, and he’s not sure if he’s going to collapse first from the exhaustion or from the weight of everything he knows now. For a moment, he considers that maybe he really should ask someone to erase his memories -- Jungkook or Hoseok, perhaps.

Yeah, I’m sure they’d absolutely love to do me that favor.

Dragging his feet as he trudges down the corridor in the direction of Ravenclaw tower, Jimin stops short at a window when movement down by the Black Lake catches his eye. Almost as if thinking about them has caused them to materialize before him, Jimin watches the silhouette of Jung Hoseok stroll casually down by the shoreline, followed not long after by Jeon Jungkook racing toward him, a body perched precariously on his back. It’s not hard to see that Y/n’s clinging weakly to him as he runs, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he keeps his hands hooked under her knees. Jimin can see that she’s got a gown on from the Hospital Wing, and it’s obvious that Jungkook and Hoseok have snuck her out from under Madam Pomfrey’s stern supervision.

They head for the Forbidden Forest, Y/n reaching back for Hoseok when Jungkook passes him. She beckons him forward, and Jimin watches as the three of them disappear together into the trees. He sighs deeply when he can no longer see them, muttering to himself under his breath as he makes his way to his room, overcome with extreme guilt at the entire situation.

“You’ve really gone and done it now, you fucking idiot.”

[det-loki]

poison & wine pt. eight

You give me love, give me love Until it breaks my back

warnings: angst, blood mention

pairing: detective loki x fem reader

word count: 2,162

A/N: close to the end! sorry for the delay

 1  2  3  4  5  6  7 ⌽

The car ride over to Bob Taylor’s house was uncomfortably silent. David’s hands gripped the steering wheel till his knuckles were white, jaw clenched as he stared ahead. 

“When are we going to talk about everything? We can’t keep running on autopilot.” You broke the silence as Loki’s jaw ticked, his hands tightening around the wheel. 

“Let’s just focus on this case, okay?” You hated when he did this. He silenced himself, avoiding everything until it simmered over, emotions exploding out of control. You remained silent, deciding it was better to not add more fuel to the fire. 

You arrived at the house which was covered with various cars and forensic teams. You got out of the car quickly, tugging your coat tighter as the wind chilled through you, following David as he talked to Rich, who was a part of the forensics team and running point on the scene. 

The brown dying grass crunched under your boot clad feet as you walked up to a marked off area in the yard, two analysts working to uncover two kid sized department store mannequins that had been buried with their heads caved in from the frozen ground. 

Rich looked at Loki as he spoke, “I just talked to our lab guys, and they told me that all the blood that we sampled from the plastic containers- pig’s blood.” 

You moved from the yard to inside in the kitchen, mazes still littered across the walls. Multiple people were inside the home, taking pictures of evidence and booking it. Listening to Rich continue to speak, “It’s like he’s play-acting. I mean, case in point. Except for the few items I.D.’d by the Dovers and the Birches, all the kids’ clothes that we found still had the tags on them. And that maze book that we found, he made it. Photocopies, pictures from this book that we found in the attic. Ex-F.B.I. agent wrote that.” You wondered who would go through the trouble of doing all that, but you had to remind yourself of the case you were dealing with. Nothing was ‘textbook.’

You looked down at the red and black book in the evidence bag as Loki read the title out loud, fingers grazing over the cover through the plastic of the bag, eyebrows furrowed, ‘Finding The Invisible Man.’ 

“Yeah, it’s about a theoretical suspect that he believed was responsible for a bunch of child abductions. It’s totally discredited, I guess, but I read some of it.” Rich explained to both you and Loki as you rocked on the balls of your feet. 

Loki cut Rich off, “Taylor- Taylor was abducted when he was a kid. He ran away after three weeks. And the capture drugged him on some sort of LSD/ketamine cocktail.” When you and Loki learned of the use of the ketamine cocktail, your eyes darted to each other, a silent understanding between the two of you. Broken, forever; everything connected in this shit town you called home. Loki continued speaking, “He never remembered. They never caught the guy.”

“Okay, so...he read the book and decided he was taken by the invisible man. Now he’s doing his best imitation, right?” 

Rich stared at Loki, waiting for a response, “Yeah, he was doing his best imitation. He killed himself last night.” Loki turned away, walking away from you and Rich, stopping in the doorway to study the mazes on the wall as Rich turned to him, “How did he do that? I thought he was in custody.”

“It’s a long story.” Your response was short, voice cracking with exhaustion, details weren’t needed. Your hands were still stained with red, you constantly felt the need to scrub them raw under hot water until they bled. The urge hit you again last night at home in the shower, sending you into a crying mess on the shower floor, scaring David when he heard your sobs through the door. He was worried about you. And himself, you two were getting bad again, the feeling was familiar, similar to how you felt after the funeral. Indescribable pain. 

Loki turned to you, asking for the map Taylor drew as he stepped closer in your direction. You take it out of your coat pocket with a gloved hand, handing it to David who snatches it out of your hand. He pointed to it aggressively as he spoke to Rich, “Hey, Taylor drew this. It’s a map to the bodies. It’s a map to the bodies and we found the same design on a pendant that we pulled off that corpse the other day. There’s a connection, okay?” Loki spoke with growing intensity as Rich looked at him dumbfounded, obviously lost with Loki’s explanation. 

“The connection is that it’s the last maze in the book.” Loki scoffed at Rich, upset with him for not understanding the point he was trying to make. Rich continued, “I did it. It’s unsolvable. There’s no way out. Your corpse is another wannabe who read the book.” Loki had spent hours trying to find a way out of the maze, each failure feeling more and more doomed. 

Loki stormed away from him, “What are you saying to me, Rich? What are you saying to me? What are you saying? That-that this guy is a fake? You’re saying the girls are still out there somewhere?” Here was the one big difference between you and Loki. You had hope the girls were still alive, maybe you were ignorant, but you weren’t ready to accept the fact that two little girls were dead. Loki was coming to terms with the fact that they might be dead, his hope was dying out. Loki’s voice rose, your fingers digging into your palm as he spoke, “How did Bob Taylor get those clothes? How did-how did the parents positively I.D those clothes?!” At this point, Loki was yelling at Rich, looking at him expectantly. 

“That I can’t reconcile.” He walked past you and then Loki as Loki snaps at him, “You can’t reconcile that?”

“Just keep knockin’ on doors, lookin’ in windows.” At that, Rich disappeared through the doorway. 

Loki stood across from you, hand trailing through his hair, head snapping in your direction as you spoke, “Loki, maybe he’s right. The girls might be out there somewhere, we-” You stopped talking as Loki pulled out his notepad, flipping through pages quickly, obviously looking for something in particular. He flips to a page and stops, “The window.” That’s all you needed to hear before running to the car.

The car stopped abruptly in front of the Dovers, sending you lurching forward against the dashboard, Loki’s door already open, feet on the ground and running.  You followed him quickly, approaching the back of the house, staring up at the second story window that Grace Dover had said that had been opened the other night. Loki looked around before jumping the chain-link fence, crouching down under the window, looking for footprints or anything disturbed. He takes a pen out of his front coat pocket, balancing it in his fingers as he reaches into the bushes, pulling out a pink sock teetering on the pen. The same sock Keller positively I.D.’d as Anna’s. 

You were out of breath as you ran to the car for an evidence bag, your body too tired for the physical exertion. As you reach inside the glove compartment, your phone buzzes in your pocket. Answering it, your stomach dropped as Detective Chemelinski’s voice spoke in your ear. Joy Birch had been found. 

The hospital was cold as you entered, a chill running through your body, but not from the chill of the air. You hated hospitals. The elevator dings as you and Loki arrived the pediatric ward, doors sliding open and you wanted to puke, your throat raw and scratchy. It looked the exact same as it did when your little girl died here, same beige paint on the walls, the same as the rest of the hospital, only difference being the sickly bright yellow sun painted on the walls. The smell of antiseptic burned your nose, the fluorescent lights already starting a headache to pound in your skull. You pushed your emotions down as Loki exited the elevator, you trailing after him through the halls. 

“I said nobody’s allowed in that room but her family.” Loki barked orders to officers as you rounded the corner. Keller Dover came into view, David yelling out for him as he took off down the hall away from you. “Where you goin’?  

You stopped in front of Grace, “Where is he going?” She only shook her head, she had no idea. You took off running, multiple officers trailing you as bystanders stared at the scene unfolding in front of them. 

You and Loki took off down the hall after him, telling officers to not let him go. Bolting outside you see Keller’s truck slam over the parking lot median and on the highway, speeding down it. Loki and you turn back, sprinting for the car to follow him, your breaths coming out in clouds in front of you in the cold air. 

The tires screeched as Loki sped through the wet pavement of the parking lot; Loki pulled onto the highway, muttering to himself, “I got you now, fucker. I know where you’re goin’.”

The car pulled aggressively into the driveway of the old apartment building, Keller’s truck nowhere to be found. Loki slammed his hand down onto the steering wheel, “Fuck!” You jumped slightly at his outburst, adrenaline pumping through your views despite the feeling of pain in your entire body. He exited the car quickly, you following, your boots splashing through the muddy puddles as you advanced toward the boarded up building slowly.  

Above you, you could hear muffled screams, you and Loki reach for your guns as you near the door. Loki kicks the door open with a bang, entering the building with his gun drawn. Your heart was in your throat as you crept through the first floor, heading up the stairs towards the sound of muffles screams and banging. Your pulse was racing and your vision was blurry, exhaustion nipping at your heels every step you took, threatening to take you down. 

The screaming got louder as you got to the top of the stairs, wailing piercing the air. Your boots creak along the floorboards, you approach the room the screaming is coming from and the air escapes your lungs.

You see a boarded up area, the boards vibrated as whoever was behind it banged against it. You stood back, letting Loki enter as you reached for your radio and called for backup. Loki pries at the wood, it doesn’t budge at all, mocking you. The wailing continues, Loki calls out to the person, telling them to hold on. You clip your radio back onto your jeans and turn to look for anything to pry off the wood, not wanting to waste time by running back down to the car. 

You see a crowbar lying against a wall, and you thank god as you grab it, the metal heavy in your hand. Loki grabs the crowbar from you and begins to work his way through the wood. The minutes seem to drag by, each second longer than the last.

“Hey, just hold on for us in there okay?” You talk through the wall as Loki finally gets the panel off revealing a sight that shook you to your core. 

Alex Jones. Badly burned, bruised, bloody and beaten. He looked terrified, eyes wild with panic, whimpering in pain as he coward away from your gawking stares. 

You stood next to Loki as Alex was taken away by EMS, O’Malley stood in front of you, “Someone needs to notify the aunt and we need to get an idea of where Keller is.”

You spoke up next to Loki, “I’ll tell the aunt.” Loki looked at you with a confused expression as O’Mallley nodded and walked away. 

“I want to be the one to tell her, I’ll be fine, Loke.” You could tell by his expression that he was unsure about you going alone.

“Babe, if this is some karma thing for her-” It wasn’t. At least you didn’t think it was. Your little girl couldn’t be saved. You accepted that fact even if it tore your heart apart, forcing you to move on. 

You interrupted Loki, not allowing him to finish his sentence, “Don’t. It’s not. Find Keller, I’ll tell Holly. I'll text you, alright?”

Loki nodded curtly as he handed you the car keys, he’d get a car from the station, an uneasy look spread across his face. He didn’t have a good feeling about letting you go alone, but he knew better than to hold you back from doing your job. 

Little did he know that he would regret letting you go in alone more than words could describe.

tag list:  @lexie-wayland @whew-oh-em-gee @winterlavenderskysworld​ @buck-this-nasty @heeyirenee @pinkpunkdynamite @eleventhdoctorsangel @multiyfandomgirl40 @thanossexual​ @speedybonkuniversityzine​ @booklove103​ @curly-q3 @msfarr88​ @glittrguts​ @space-helen 

[plaidbooks]

Hi, I have a request! From the prompt list, “I lost our baby.” Rafael Barba x Reader

A Family

A/N: Oof, that’s a sad request! I couldn’t do the full sad; it’s...too real to me, but I hope you still enjoy. Obviously, this is gonna be angst, but with a happy ending. This jumps around a bit in the beginning before settling in--just some background on how you and Rafael met and stuff. Thanks for the request, @infiniteoddball !

Tags: allusions to smut (gotta make a baby somehow), mentions of child abuse, mentions of rape/murder, some derogatory language, pregnancy scares

Words: 2257

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @dianilaws

Rafael Barba couldn’t believe that he could ever be so happy in his life. When he dated in high school, he often fantasized about the normal, picturesque life laid out before him—good job, own a house, married, have a couple kids. Then in college, he started doubting himself more and more about the children part, and after Yelina, he started doubting the married part as well. One drunken night with Olivia, she had asked him, “ever thought about having children?” It wasn’t a secret that she wanted to be a mother; that’s how this conversation started. He had shaken his head, brushed it off, but she had pushed him. “Really? Just not your thing?”

He could’ve lied and said yes, let it die right then. But he couldn’t lie to Liv; she’d see right through him anyways. Besides, he still felt pangs of jealousy when he’d go for a stroll in the park, watch dads playing catch with their kids, or teaching them to ride a bike.

“Cause I don’t want to be my father,” he had said before finishing his drink and leaving Forlini’s, jaw still clenched. Olivia, thankfully, had dropped it after that.

It was months later that Rafael had met you. You were a journalist; you had met while Rafael was working a highly controversial case. And while he normally hated the press, refusing to talk to them, he had agreed to an interview with you…mostly because you had assured him you were on his side. He was incredibly thankful he had accepted, because you had both started dating a week later, and you never looked back.

A few months after that interview, Rafael asked you to move in with him, and a year after that, he had proposed. Everything was perfect, except for one thing; you wanted children. Rafael was still hesitant, afraid to continue the cycle of abuse that’s been passed down through generations on his paternal side. But after a very, very long talk, you had him convinced that he was nothing like his father, and that you would make sure he wouldn’t become like him. Besides, after becoming so close with Rafael, you had also grown close to Olivia, and you assured him that the Sergeant would kick his ass if he ever did anything to hurt you or your kids. So, after your wedding, you both spent the honeymoon trying to get pregnant. It was almost shocking how you didn’t end up pregnant with how little you left the bedroom. But now, after an amazing birthday celebration, you held the positive test in your hands, smiling at your husband.

“I’m going to be a father?” Rafael muttered, his voice hopeful, happy. You could see the slightest bit of concern in his green eyes, and you leaned up, kissing him gently.

“You’re going to be an amazing father,” you whispered against his lips. He grinned against you, pulling you into a tight embrace, one hand going to rest on your stomach.

Rafael felt bad with how much he worked; he wanted to be home, doting on you, especially as the months went by and you started showing more and more. You were embarrassed at first as your belly swelled up, but Rafael’s eyes just sparkled as he thought about the life growing within you; the life you created together. He would take half-days, sometimes full days off, and he was never too tired after a day at work, always caring and attentive to you when he came home. But he still didn’t feel like it was enough.

 ********************

It was midday, and court had just concluded, with Justin Fitzgerald being sentenced to life in prison for the vicious rapes and murders of five women. He was still screaming profanities at Rafael, promising to kill the counselor, as he scooped all his paperwork into his briefcase. He ignored the man that was dragged away, headed to processing, and then on to Rikers.

“Good work, Barba,” Olivia said, patting his shoulder.

He gave her a curt nod, a small smile on his lips. “Jury made the right call. But I’ll confess that I’ll sleep better knowing someone like Fitzgerald is behind bars. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I would like to try and get out of here early tonight; my wife is due to give birth any moment, and I want to be with her as much as possible.”

Olivia gave him a bright smile; she was the happiest for you and Rafael, besides the two of you yourselves. She had already helped you pick out a bunch of clothes—you were projected to have a little girl—and necessities. Rafael matched her smile, his heart fluttering at the thought of holding his baby for the first time, before he moved to leave the courtroom, heading towards his office in One Hogan Place.

 *****************

He was just packing up when his phone rang, Olivia’s number flashing at him. Brow furrowed, Rafael answered, “Liv? Everything—”

“Fitzgerald escaped during the transfer to Rikers. I’m sending Fin and Amaro to your office; lock your door and wait there until they show up,” Olivia said in a rush.

Rafael’s heart plummeted. He hurried to his door, telling Carmen to leave, then closing and locking his door. “Liv, [Y/N]…I need—”

“I’ll send Rollins and Carisi. They’ll escort her to the precinct; we’ll get her, Raf.”

He nodded into his phone, swallowing past the lump in his throat. He hung up, finding your number, and calling you.

 *****************

“Okay, Rafi, don’t worry, baby. I’m sure Rollins and Carisi will be here soon. I’ll call you when I make it to the precinct, okay? Just take some deep breaths, love,” you were saying into the phone. Your own heart was beating faster, but you had to remain calm, for Rafael’s sake as much for your baby. There was a sharp knock at the door. “That must be them; I’ll call in a bit.” You hung up before you heard Rafael scream into the phone, wondering how the detectives had gotten there so fast.

You heaved yourself off the couch, waddling to the door, your hand on your lower back. There was no peephole in the door, but you left the chain on—something Olivia taught you—as you opened the door to make sure it was Rollins and Carisi. But the face staring back at you was foreign, deranged, a wicked grin on his face, a glint in his eye. You barely had time to move out of the way before he kicked the door open, the chain snapping easily.

“Where’s that shit-stain, Barba?” he growled at you.

“I-who? You must have the wrong building,” you replied, backing away from the man. It was then that you noticed he had a gun in his hand. Deep breaths you told yourself, trying to stay calm. But your body started trembling, and you felt tears in your eyes.

The man towered over you. “Nah; see that’s the problem with being a public figure nowadays. No privacy anymore.” The man looked you up and down, sneering. “You the whore he knocked up, then?”

You shook your head. “I-I don’t know who you’re talking about…please, just leave,” you begged, your watery voice barely audible.

The man just smiled that wicked smile as he moved closer to you. You tried to back away, but he was much quicker, wrapping an arm around your throat from behind. “Come on, baby. We’re going for a ride,” he muttered in your ear, making you shudder. You could do nothing but try and keep up with his pace as he led you out the front door, down the hallway and to the elevator, his gun to your head the whole way. Your legs were shaking by the time you made it to the front door of the building, the man forcing you down the steps.

“Freeze, Fitzgerald!” a female voice called. He turned towards the voice, and you were face to face with Detective Rollins, her gun aimed at his face. She glanced at you, making sure you were unharmed before her attention went back to the man; Fitzgerald, apparently.

“You try anything, and Barba’s whore is dead,” he sneered at her.

That’s when you felt it; a small pop inside you, and then a rush of liquid on your thighs. “I…I think my water just broke,” you muttered, your eyes filling with tears. This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen, and you were starting to panic. Rollins looked more distressed, and Fitzgerald knew he was going to win this standoff.

Everyone you had talked to had warned you that after your water broke, the contractions would start off small, like mild period cramps, before ramping up. Which is why you knew something had to be wrong. You screamed in pain as a contraction hit, your knees buckling. You slumped in Fitzgerald’s grip as your body went limp with pain, and he had to struggle to hold you. Which is when Carisi, who had been slowly sneaking up behind you both, grabbed Fitzgerald’s gun, wrestling it from his hands. He dropped you as he fought the male detective, and Rollins was on you, taking your hand in hers as the pain subsided.

“I got him,” Carisi panted, cuffing Fitzgerald.

Rollins glanced at him, nodding. “Okay. Call a bus, we need to get—”

She was cut off by another scream from you, pain rocketing through your body. Tears were streaming down your face, and you were sure you were going to break her hand with how hard you were clutching her, Rafael’s name escaping your lips.

When you stopped screaming, Rollins said, “fuck the bus, I’m taking her to the hospital. Call for a lift to Rikers.” And with the strength of Superwoman—or a cop with high adrenaline—Rollins dragged you to your feet, whispering encouragement into your ears the whole walk to her squad car.

“Something’s wrong…I lost our baby…I’m sorry Raf…” you whimpered, openly weeping.

Rollins rubbed your back soothingly. “It’s gonna be fine; once you’re in the hospital, you’re gonna get help, and you’ll see. It’s gonna be okay,” she just kept repeating this over and over again. You had barely sat down in the passenger seat when you screamed again.

 ***********************

“Go faster!” Rafael ordered through gritted teeth from the backseat of Fin’s squad car.

“We already have the streets cleared and sirens on; this is the fastest we can go,” Amaro explained from the passenger seat.

When Carisi had called Rafael, telling him his wife was in labor, not even the two detectives ordered to protect him could keep him in his office. Carisi tried to explain what had happened, but Rafael had stopped listening after hearing the words “Fitzgerald broke in” and “in labor”. His heart was in his throat, and his grip on the back of the passenger seat would tear a lesser fabric.

“Bullshit; go faster,” Rafael barked back. They were a block away, the hospital looming in the distance, and it took everything in Rafael to sit still as they approached. Fin had barely stopped the car in front of the sliding doors before Rafael rocketed out of backseat, sprinting to the front desk. He asked for your room, but in his rush, he was speaking too quickly, and the nurses telling him to calm down was only making him more nervous.

“Barba, over here!” Carisi called, waving to the counsellor. Rafael took off after the detective, narrowly avoiding nurses and doctors. The taller man led him to the elevator, hitting floor 4, and then the longest elevator ride in Rafael’s life took place. “Fitzgerald is safely in Rikers now,” Carisi said, as if that mattered at all. Rafael gave him a pointed glare, and Carisi took the hint.

The doors dinged, and Rafael launched out before he realized he didn’t know which way to go. Looking back at Carisi, the detective waved him along, leading him to a quiet room, Rollins sitting in a chair outside. Now that he was here, Rafael came to a top outside the door, terrified, hesitating to go inside, afraid of what he’d find. But Rollins stood, giving him a soft smile, a nod. Taking a deep breath, Rafael entered.

You were laying in the hospital bed, propped up with pillows, a small bundle in your arms. You glanced up at Rafael as he came over to you, tears in your eyes and the brightest smile on your face.

“Rafi, there’s someone you should meet,” you murmured, slowly holding the bundle out to him.

Rafael’s heart skipped a beat as he saw his daughter’s face, the small patch of black hair on her head. He carefully scooped her into his arms, bouncing his knees as if it were natural. “Thank God, she looks just like you,” he said softly, voice full of awe.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I think she looks more like you. When her eyes were open for a moment, they had your green.”

Rafael smiled at you, before his eyes went back to the bundle of joy in his arms; his daughter. “She’s perfect.”

“Yes, she is,” you agreed. “I was so scared today…I thought I might have lost—”

“Don’t,” Rafael said, cutting you off. “All that matters is that she’s happy and healthy, and that you’re safe.” He leaned down, kissing your forehead softly. “We’re a family; that’s all I care about.” Rafael Barba couldn’t believe that he could ever be so happy in his life.

[qvid-pro-qvo]

Whoops sorry with Hotch please!

“it’s okay, i couldn’t sleep anyway.”/”and even if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay – i’m always going to be here for you.”

aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader. @crazyshannonigans asked me to tag her, so this is also for you, my love. 

word count: 1568

rating: teen, for unrequited feelings that lay dormant as long as you force them to (tw: for mentioned hospitalization, mentions of canon-typical violence).

-

You sit across from him. It’s a spot you settle into often, one that almost seems to have your name on it. He’s not watching you, his eyes on his papers, but you find yourself watching him, lower lip caught in your teeth.

You touch your foot to his leg. A gentle nudge, and he looks up at you from the case files. The flight there, photos are strewn about, passed around from agent to agent to analyst to agent. Rides back each is in its proper place. You watch his finger trace along the edge of one of them, paperclipped to another job well done, and smile as he quirks his lips at you.  

“Take a break,” you say. It’s for naught, you know, but you always try. “We did good out there. Give your brain a rest.”

“When we land,” he assures you.

You nudge him again. Your shoes are off, at the base of your chair, so it’s a socked toe that pressing against his calf. “Hotch. A break. We deserve it.”

You deserve it, you think, watching as his finger traces the edge of papers again.

The rest of the plane is in various states of consciousness, focus. Reid and Blake are dozing, leaning against each other on the other side of the aisle. Rossi is across from them, and you can see he’s jotting down some notes – another book, perhaps on the horizon. JJ is on the phone with Garcia, and Morgan keeps letting out little chuckles as they talk.

It’s easy. Simple. When the cases end well, you have to savor these moments. You suppose, that’s what you’re urging Hotch to do. Enjoy the good, the wins, while he can. You want him to be able to lean back in his seat and realize what he does, what he always does, is so good and worthy of a little respite.  

He doesn’t say anything more. Just looks at you, measured. Lifts his chin a little, and takes his own moment to glance around the plane.

You don’t miss the way his eyes soften at the sound of gentle laughter. Of Rossi’s scribbling. Of Reid’s steady breathing, Blake minutely adjusting her head so it can rest on top of his.

“Maybe later,” he murmurs. And all you can do is nod. Relent.

Okay. Maybe later.

-

The complimentary coffee is acrid, burns your throat, but you keep sipping. What else can you do at 2:30 in the morning? The hotel lobby is barren, your only companion the night shift clerk behind the desk and the TV that’s playing on silent. Every so often your eyes meet, and he always nods, giving you a small smile that you return. And every so often, you sip your coffee, the vile taste washing away the night’s dreams that woke you up in the first place.

It’s decaf. You think it is, anyway.

You have a plan. Of course you do. You’ll linger for another hour or so, let the adrenaline settle before going back upstairs. You’ll attempt to sleep, but the blinds will stay open so that when the dawn comes you rise with it. You’ll kill time with a shower, another cup of shitty coffee, and come downstairs with bags under your eyes that no one will ask about. Because it’s the end of a week on this case, and they’re all feeling it, too.

Enter Aaron Hotchner.

Perhaps he has the same plan as you. The lobby as a place for refuge. You almost feel bad for getting there first, and when your eyes meet his you simply lift up your cup of coffee as a greeting.

At first you think he straightens. Pulls his shoulders back so he can look the perfect unit chief. But it’s you. And he knows that. So, when he sits across from you, the too big chairs with not enough cushion catching him, he lets the act fall. Just a little. Just enough.

You have a plan. You know you do. But seeing him across from you, a little defeated, a lot exhausted, as you reaching out with your toes. Nudging him.

One eye open, peeking at you. You manage a little smile before offering the cup of coffee over, the contents still ripping hot even in the Styrofoam.

“Want some?”

“Decaf?”

You nod, and he sits up, reaching for it. You spend a few minutes, just passing the cup back and forth, the both of managing to wince every time you taste it. It truly is bad coffee, but the company makes it better, the silence comfortable as you watch a basketball game from a decade ago play out.

Every so often you glance over at him. When the coffee’s gone and the game nears its finish. And he glances back, leaning back

“I had a plan,” you admit, as the two of you wander back toward the elevators. He looks up at you, raising a brow, and you’re quick to reassure him. “It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway, so it wouldn’t have worked out. Just. Somehow I feel more rested now than I would if I had tried to sleep in the first place.”

That’s the moment you both have to pause, think about why three hours of sitting and sipping cooling coffee feels so… noteworthy. “So do I,” Hotch tells you. And he shoots you a little smile, ducking his head. “Goodnight.”  

“Night, Hotch.”

The moments in that hotel lobby leave your heart full. Leave you looking over your shoulder, watching him make his way to the end of the hall. But, the sun is almost up. The rest of the team will be waking, and these moments should be just for you.t

You think about calling out to him. Of – god, of saying something, anything. He meets your eyes. As he pulls out the key card to his room, pushes in.

It’s okay. Maybe later.

-

Aaron Hotchner collapses, and your heart hasn’t stopped pounding.

It seems to happen in slow motion. He hits the ground, can’t stop himself at all, and you’re rushing to his side with Morgan and Rossi and praying that he’s alive. You watch as they take him away, you watch as Rossi pushes you guys forward, and the whole time you can’t stop gripping the armrest of your chair on that damn flight to nowhere.

The case goes on. The case has to go on. You’re on a plane, however many miles away, and Hotch is bleeding internally in a hospital on the other side of the country.

The bastard.

You haven’t been able to unclench your jaw, and it doesn’t help that this case makes your soul ache. You watch a girl get caught in her father’s deterioration, watch JJ talk him down before he gets dragged away. It doesn’t end how it could, but you watch a young girl get pulled apart and wonder if she’ll ever get put back together.

And then you get the call.

“He’s awake,” Garcia tells you. Tells the team. There are collective sighs of relief, collective moments of peace.

And then it hits. You feel the urge. The need. To be there. To be beside him.

It claws at you, grabs at you, and you know you won’t mind the silence if he’s asleep. It clings to you, lingers in your mind, and all you can think about is reaching out to him. Urging him once more.

Take a break. Take a moment. A breather, god, please, Hotch.

But you can’t. You know you can’t. It’s the punishment, you guess. For not telling him at the hotel. It’s the feeling of sitting beside him while the rest of the team watches on, of looking at him look at all of you and meeting your eyes. Of quirking his lips and reaching for the water you offer him. You can’t press your toes to his leg, but you can rest your hand on his arm, squeeze it and smile and tell him to get better soon. That’s all it is, all it can be, and yet your eyes scan him and your heart urges you.

Say something.

But you can’t.

The team is there. Jess and Jack are there, Beth is coming and she’ll be there soon, and you just. You swallow down what you want to say because it’s easier. Simpler.

And at home, in your bed, when the team clears out so his family can be the ones beside him, you close your eyes. You imagine something better, something brighter, something braver.

Do you call him? Do you tell him? Do you put him on speaker with your nail caught between your teeth? Do you pour out your soul and tell him what he means to you?

“I see you and I think of quiet moments on the jet. I see you and I laugh at time spent in hotel lobbies. I think about the way you look at me, and I can’t help but wonder what it means. You collapse on the ground and my earth is off its axis. And even if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay – I’m always going to be here for you because those moments keep me going. Let me be there for you, Aaron.”

Your eyes open. You take a breath.

No. You don’t. Not now. Not yet.

Maybe later. 

(Maybe never.)

[elocinnicole]

Butterflies – Part Three

Pairing: Collin Hoskins x Black!Reader

Rating: M for Language and Death

Tagging: @ohsoverykeri

Part One Part Two Part Three

You spent most of the day in your room not wanting to be around Collin. This isn’t the first time you and Collin got into a fight. The last time you could recall, was when he first went to jail and he was complaining about his mom not coming to see him.

A Year Ago

You played with your fingers waiting to see Collin, he’s been locked up for almost a month and the people who came to see him regularly were Miles and yourself. Of course, Val didn’t come but the past couple of times you came to see Collin you would ask his Mom to come along. At first, she would agree but then when it came to the day of she would cancel.

“You got one hour.” You heard the gruff voice of the CO. Collin was escorted to your table, you offered him a small smile which he returned, having been his friend for almost twenty years you knew something was troubling him.

“How you been, Y/N?” Collin pulled you in for a hug, you smiled into the embrace, Even though you saw him last week, it was hard visiting your friend in prison.

“I’ve been good, Collin.”

“That’s enough!” A booming voice barked, Collin rolled eyes and the two of you pulled away. Collin saw the bags of chips on the table and his eyes lit up

“You got some for little old me?” He teased

“Shut up, I only did it because your Mom asked me to.”

“You talked to my Mom?” He asked, you looked at him with sad eyes. The last time you came to visit him, Ms. Nancy had told Collin that she would come to visit with you

“Yeah, uh I know she said she was gonna come with me today, but she wasn’t feeling good this morning…” Collin slowly nodded his head

“Collin—”

“Y/N, I don’t know how she can’t come and see me. I’m her son, Y/N! I’ve been in here for a month and she still hasn’t come to see me. Don’t she miss me?” Collin asked his voice growing loud

“Of course she does, she said she misses you all the time.

“Oh yeah?”

“She said it’s too hard for her.”

“It’s too hard for her?!”

“Hey! Keep it down Hoskins!”

“How do you think I feel? I’m the one that’s locked up!” Collin asked in a loud whisper

“Yeah, over some dumb shit.”

“Oh really? So you been talkin’ to Val?”

“Collin, don’t go there!” You were hoping that this would be a good visit but as time went on you were getting increasingly irritated with your friend.

“How do you think I feel when my Mom won’t come to see me?”

“How do you think she feels? Who do you think called her when you got your ass arrested? Did you know she put a second mortgage on the house to try and bail you out? When I told her that you got arrested the first thing she asked me was did they shoot you? Collin every time I see her or call her on the phone, she cries, the entire time, for you. So, before you get mad think about why she may not want to see her son in handcuffs.”

“Alright, visiting time’s over.” Collin’s CO said and before you knew it they were escorting Collin away from you…again.

You were finishing up a wig for a client when your phone ringed and you saw a text message from Trevon,

You went back to your wig when another text came through, this time from Janelle

The sound of your door creaking open made you look up, you saw Collin slowly entering your room holding a plate of nachos. You tried hard not to smile, nachos were your favorite food to eat. You and Colin would eat them all the time when you were in high school. “Figured you were hungry,” Collin said sitting on the edge of your bed.

“I am, thanks.” You said grabbing the plate of nachos and placing them on your nightstand and joining Collin on your bed. As much as you wanted to discuss your argument from earlier there was an even bigger elephant in the room.

“We need to talk, Collin,” You started

“I’m sorry for not asking about Val, that shit’s foul and it’s your place—”

“I don’t wanna talk about that.” Collin frowned in confusion

“We got gotta talk about the other night, because you can’t be getting mad at me when I go out on a date but I have to ‘understand’ your booty calls with Val.”

“They not booty calls,”

“Oh so what are they?”

“I’m trying to work things out with Val trying to see if we have something,” you rolled your eyes and sighed heavily

“Why do you act like you owe her something?”

“Because I do!”

“Collin, when was the last time you heard from Val other than her wanting some dick?” Collin turned his face away

“Exactly!”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You bringing all types of niggas in here!”

“First of all, no the fuck I don’t, two, it’s my house. If I wanna bring a nigga all up and through my house I can do that. Besides, it’s not niggas, I’m actually talking to someone and he’s been here once, try again.”

“I’m doing the same thing!”

“No, you’re not, you getting your dick wet just because some bitch says ‘jump’.”

“Don’t be like that Y/N, we didn’t really end things. I just want to see if there’s anything still there.”

“How many times, does Val have to tell you she don’t wanna be with you? Did she come visit you, put money on your books, did she even call your ass?”

“You don’t gotta give me a history lesson, I know all that shit,”

“Did you know she was gonna let your ass rot in that jail cell? She didn’t even want to attempt bail you out.”

“Y/N—”

“Collin, she’s not good for you. I just don’t want to see you hurt again.”

“What makes you think she not good for me?” You were done talking in circles with Collin, at this point, all you wanted to do was be alone.

“You know what Collin, Imma drop it because you gonna do whatever the fuck—-”

“Nah, air out, tell me why you think Val’s not good for me,”

“I’m not about to do this with you, Collin.”

“Y/N, as my friend, shit, one of my best friends, you gotta air out,”

“Janelle sent me a text—” Your phone ringing interrupted you, you almost ignored it but you saw that it was your Mom calling.

“We’re not done with this conversation,” You said before answering your phone.

“Hey, Mom—wait, wait, slow down. What’s going on?” Collin saw your face drop and instantly grew worried

“Okay, okay I’m on my way.” You ended the call, still trying to process the conversation you just had.

“What’s going on?”

“Um, I gotta get to the hospital, my dad just had a heart attack.”

You stared out the window while Collin drove the two of you to your parents house. By the time you got the hospital your mom told you that your dad was gone. Various memories of you and your Dad flashed through your mind. From learning how to ride a bike to when you graduated from cosmetology school and how your Dad treated it like it was a college graduation. That was your Dad though, he went above and beyond for every event for you and you brother no matter how small it was. Being the oldest, you were always a Daddy’s girl. Life without your Dad never really ran across your mind, of course you knew that he wouldn’t be here forever but you didn’t think that time would be now.

You laid on the twin size bed in your old teenage room, staring at the ceiling your eyes focused on the Nelly poster. If you looked at anything else in your room you would’ve broke. You’ve been doing a great job, so far, at managing your emotions, you didn’t have time to fall apart. You have to be there for your Mom, your brother, and your nephews. The bed sunk letting you know that Collin had got in the bed with you. You insisted that he sleep in your brother’s room. Even though it was still the same size bed in his room as well, you know that he would have more space rather than sharing with you. Collin could sense you were barely hanging on, he turned his body toward you, waiting for you to look at him.

“Y/N,” You ignored him, “Y/N, look at me.”

“Collin, I’m fine. We have to get some rest, we gotta get my brother and his kids from the airport early tomorrow.”

“Y/N, can you look at me? Please,”

“Collin, I’m fine. Goodnight.” You turned off the lamp and rolled to your side, hoping Collin would drop it.

The next day Collin, tried to get you to slow down but if you sensed he was trying to talk to you about your Dad you would change the subject or busy yourself with something else. Your mom made a Instagram post so you were getting calls and text messages all day, it was becoming over whelming. Luckily for you, Collin had to work that evening so you didn’t have to deal with him following your every move making sure you were okay. Your brother, Cameron, and you were now attempting to draft your Dad’s obituary.

“I don’t know why we can’t put that in there.” Cameron mumbled under his breath.

“Because, it’s not important! He only spent one semester there,”

“And? That’s where he met Mom!”

“Cam, we only have one page for this obituary, it’s not an autobiography. We can say when they met and got married, period!”

“So you just gonna cut out an important part of Dad’s life?”

“Cam, I’m not—you know what, I can’t do this. Ever since I picked you up from the airport, you’ve been fighting me with every decision. I’m going back to my place,” You huffed quickly getting your bags together.

“So you just gonna leave?”

“Yes, the hell I am.” You left your childhood home, slamming the door shut, once you were halfway down the block you realized that, you didn’t have your car. You let Collin drive it to work. The walk to your place wasn’t long but it was late, your pride hindered you from walking back to your Mom’s and facing your brother again,

“Damnit,” You pulled out your phone and called the first person you could think of. “Hey, can you give me a ride?”

“Thanks, Miles, for picking me up. I know you and Ash are busy with Shauna—”

“You fam, it’s no problem and I’m sorry about your Dad, he was like the only guy I looked up to.”

“Thanks, Miles. You remember that time he caught you skipping school?” Miles chuckled at the memory

“Yeah, I ain’t know he was following me and shit. He hopped out the car like he the muh fuckin police. Then he had my ass running back home while he drove behind me.” You laughed while Miles reminisced until he got a text from Ashely.

“Miles, go home before Ashley beats your ass.”

“Well, shit I’m waitin’ on your ass to get out my car.” You jokingly shoved your friend before getting out

“Bye, Miles!”

“Ay, when you gonna come braid my hair like Ash’s?”

“Bye, Miles!” You shook your head as Miles sped off. Once you got inside you realized that you hadn’t eaten all day. You honestly didn’t feel like cooking so decided to order something from UberEats. Nothing looked appetizing to you so you decided against it. Sitting on your sofa, glass of wine in hand, you finally had time to yourself, no one asking how you were feeling, no one calling to offer condolences, family members and friends you haven’t heard from in years were reaching out, it was too much. Finally having a moment to yourself, you felt the tears coming

“Y/N?” Collin called out, you quickly wiped your tears, not wanting him to see you cry.

“In the living room.” You called out, Collin walked with takeout boxes in hand.

“Figured you’d be hungry,” you gave him a small smile in return.

“Thanks, Collin, but I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat something—“

“I told you I’m fine, I’ve been telling everyone I’m fine all day! Damn!” You snapped

“Aight, I was just checking on you!”

“I don’t neeed anyone to check on me, I only want one person to check on me and he’s not here!” For the first time today, you finally cried. Collin sat eside you and pulled you close to him

“No amount of food, texts, or phone calls can bring him back.” You cried into Collin’s chest as he held you. You pulled away and Collin cradled your face in his hands, you leaned into the embrace. He gently grabbed your chin and before you knew it, you were kissing Collin. You were the first to pull away and Collin frowned

“What about you and Val—”

“Fuck Val,” Collin said pulling you in for another kiss.

Please let me know, if you would like to be tagged in this series.

[spencers-renaissance]

Rain is a Chance to be Touched Ch.2

hell is empty, and all the devils are here

Chapter One

This is the second chapter in my new ongoing hotchreid fic! Please click here for the fic summary, full tags, trigger warnings, more information etc.

Last Chapter: Spencer's disordered and depressed thoughts were introduced, he was shot, Foyet stabbed Hotch, and Spencer ended up alone in his apartment :(

In This Chapter: we get to see Hotch's view of the events of early season five.

TW: aftermath of violence, recovery, spousal death, grief/mourning

Word Count: 3.4k

RCT Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

AARON

All but mariners plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel, then all afire with me: [he] cried, 'Hell is empty and all the devils are here.' — William Shakespeare, The Tempest

The team is working on the case.

Aaron tries desperately to remember this when the fear starts to rise in his chest again, squashing his lungs and pressing violently against his already groaning heart. The team is working on the case, they always solve the case, and he trusts them with his life because, at the end of the day, that’s what’s at stake here, isn’t it? Haley and Jack are all he has in this world; he absolutely cannot lose them.

The team is working on the case.

Frustration builds as he lays in a hospital bed, completely incapacitated during the most important case of his life, and it’s only made worse by the knowledge that Spencer is hurt, too. He was absolutely furious when he eventually found out after asking his whereabouts on his third day of hospitalisation, having realised he hadn’t seen him once at the hospital.

Rossi had deliberately omitted Spencer being shot from his account of the case. Why, he had no idea. Did he not think it important that one of their own was seriously injured? Aaron hopes not. Did he think he was unable to handle the information at that point? Certainly more probable, but still infuriating.

It was all exacerbated by the guilty expression on JJ’s face when he asked who’d been visiting him. She’d told him that there hadn’t been time, that they were working on the case 24/7, that Penelope had heard from him and he was fine, but it wasn't enough to satiate his rising anger. Aaron doesn’t quite understand the blistering fury he still feels when he thinks about Spencer injured and alone, abandoned by his team, but he expects it’s because he still feels protective over the youngest member of the team.

That’s almost definitely it.

He takes a month off from work, but he has no idea what to do with himself, especially once he's discharged from hospital and returns to a lonely apartment in which he was brutally attacked by the FBI’s Most Wanted Serial Killer. He’s miserable without seeing Jack regularly and fearful of the length of time he’ll have to wait until he can see him and Haley again as he tries desperately not to think of the possibility that he may never see them again.

A lot of time is spent touring his DVD and box set collections and passing the time by cooking and exercising as much as his healing body will allow him. Every functional moment, every spare shred of brain power he has to spend, though, is directed at the Foyet case.

Finding Nemo is playing on the TV when there’s a knock at the door a week into his stay at home — admittedly, his collection is not all that large and he’d exhausted the more age-appropriate films far too quickly — so he turns it off and peels his exhausted bones off the couch. Most of the team have dropped by at various points, bringing food and gifts and comfort in the worst time of his life, so he’s expecting Emily or Rossi or JJ, but instead, it’s Spencer standing on his doorstep.

He doesn’t have the time to school his expression so his surprise is written all over his face, and Spencer must see it because he immediately cringes and deflates, as though suddenly doubting whether showing up out of the blue was a good idea after all.

“Hi.” Aaron smiles welcomingly to try and counter the negative thoughts that are almost certainly worming their way into Spencer’s mind. “Come in.” He steps aside and allows him to hobble awkwardly into the living room, his crutches dragging slightly along the carpet, the telltale sign of someone not quite accustomed to them yet.

“I hope it’s alright I came,” Spencer says shyly, almost apologetic. “I should have texted but I dropped my phone under the sofa and I can’t get down on the floor to retrieve it.” He blushes at his admission but gratefully accepts Aaron’s invitation to sit down.

Aaron smiles as warmly as he can manage, joining him on the couch. “You're fine, don't worry; it’s not like I’m up to much. I’m just happy to have some company.” He almost confesses that he was watching a children’s film before Spencer showed up, but decides that’s perhaps revealing just a little too much. “How have you been doing? I did message you, but I suppose your phone gathering dust under a couch explains the lack of a response.”

“You did?” Spencer’s eyes meet his and he looks utterly bewildered for some reason, seemingly surprised that Aaron would do such a thing. “Sorry, I— yes, that would be why, uh.” He looks down, clearly trying to gather himself as he plays with his fingers. “I’m fine, though. Obviously, the leg is a little sore, but. I’ll be back to work on Monday.”

“Good,” he replies, though he knows a gunshot wound will still be more than a little sore only two weeks after the initial injury. “How long do you have that?” He gestures vaguely to the brace around Spencer’s left leg.

“Not really sure,” Spencer says, looking sort of bemused by the contraption. “It’s pretty inconvenient, so I hope it isn’t too long.”

Aaron can’t help but smile at the small grin on Spencer’s face as he looks down at the brace. It looks… genuine. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to contemplate why that’s so endearingly surprising. “Are you looking forward to going back?” he asks, settling back into the couch cushions as he feels his muscles protest against his strained position.

Spencer seems to struggle for a response, unsure how to answer him. If he wasn’t so damn exhausted he might try and figure this slightly odd behaviour out, but the inherently complicated puzzle that is Spencer Reid feels like one too many right now. “I’m looking forward to not being quite so bored,” he eventually replies with a short, self-deprecating laugh. Aaron almost flinches at the sound, so foreign for Spencer’s gentle soul.

He’s fiddling with his crutches and the profiler in Aaron is screaming at him to decode what’s going on, but he forces himself to push it to the side. Spencer is a capable man. He’ll be fine. Aaron, on the other hand, needs to try and save his energy for his family.

“I can understand that,” Aaron says diplomatically, careful to not reply too emphatically one way or another. “The boredom’s crippling sometimes. Thankfully, the team coming round has been saving me from having to watch too many movies.”

Spencer seems to sort of shutter down as the words leave his mouth for reasons he doesn’t know or comprehend, but he does know that the resulting silence is awkward and he feels like he’s stuck his foot in his mouth by saying something totally innocuous. Has he had a falling out with someone or something? Is it something to do with not having many visitors in the hospital? He wouldn't blame him at all if that's still a sore spot.

“I’m going to have a coffee, I think,” he says, getting up carefully from the sofa and heading towards the kitchen despite the pain in his torso begging him to sit down. “Do you need anything?”

Spencer’s head snaps up, suddenly back and engaged. “Uh, no, I’m alright,” he says, and he sounds almost… choked up? “I should probably get going, anyway.”

“Oh, uh, okay,” Aaron says, a little surprised. His mind is too foggy with pain and grief to process the microexpressions and endlessly odd behaviours Spencer is exhibiting. He knows how much Spencer appreciates his company usually, so his leaving so soon is just wrong.

He doesn’t want him to go, he loves spending time with the younger man, and even if he is acting a little strangely, he’d much rather Spencer be with him than away from him, especially when the world seems so much more personally dangerous than it was before. At least if Spencer is close to him then he knows he’s safe, and that’s all he deserves, really. To be safe.

“Say hello to the team from me,” he says, fumbling with the door handle and awkwardly making his way out. He briefly turns back, “bye, Hotch,” before he’s closing the door behind him. Aaron can hear the plastic click of the crutches on the linoleum of the corridor as he hurries away from the apartment.

Before he can think much of it, though, he’s drawn to the couch, exhaustion overtaking his body. He’s asleep in seconds.

Eventually, he goes back to work and for a small amount of time, things seem like they’re going to be okay. Emily picks him up and takes him in, Penelope gives him homemade cookies — not that he didn’t already have an ample supply of the fruits of her kitchen waiting to be eaten in his fridge — and sure, he’s a little stressed and abrasive throughout the first case, but no-one holds it against him. It’s a little tricky when he doesn’t manage to stop Darin Call from shooting his father, but he’s calmed down by the time Emily walks him back to his apartment.

“He’s not alone,” she says as they stand in his small living room, talking about Call but looking rather pointedly in his direction. They both know what she means.

Penelope and Sam, the marshall looking after his family, help him see Jack again on his 4th birthday — granted, over one of her many computer screens — and he has to swallow down a sob at the sight of him swinging in the park, looking happy as ever. He tries to be furious at Haley for uprooting Jack again, causing them to move to a halfway house because of a few phone calls to her mother, but there’s nothing left in him. Anger at the inevitable takes energy he simply doesn’t have. It’s why he simply accepted it when the money for the counter-surveillance against Foyet ran out. Fighting seems pointless.

He does manage to get angry, though, when he finds out Spencer lied to him by telling him he was cleared to travel when he wasn’t. He’d put himself at risk for deep vein thrombosis or other complications, so he calls him out as soon as the initial debrief ends. He looks sort of relieved to be staying behind with Penelope, which is a little strange since he’s always so eager to be in the thick of the action, but he brushes it off and they get on with yet another case.

Of course, it’s significantly harder to deal with when the Bureau questions him as Unit Chief of his beloved team. He takes a step back for the sake of the team, and he’s glad he does, but things don’t feel quite so good, quite so positive. He’s suddenly following Morgan’s directions instead of giving them, no longer a leader, and it’s… humiliating.

Still, he trusts Morgan. He trusts the team in general, and they still solve cases, and they still gel together like a well-oiled machine. Things are okay. There’s still hope.

But then.

Then Karl Arnold sends him a message.

Then he agonises, fights, wrestles, swims against the current to try and save his family in time.

Then Haley dies.

🌧

Aaron thanks every god he doesn’t believe in that Jack is too little to really understand what’s happened. He knows Mommy isn’t around anymore, he knows something bad happened, that Daddy is sad, but beyond that, he has no real comprehension of the situation.

In the first days after Haley’s death, he spends a lot of time cuddled up in bed, holding Jack as close to him as he can, hugging close all he has left of his ex-wife, desperately gripping onto the one person he loves more than anything else in this world.

Once he’s cleared by the Bureau, he can at least breathe a little easier in knowing his job is safe; he can provide for his baby boy. What follows, however, is less pleasant than job security.

Watching his team cry at her funeral and seeing Haley’s family in pieces almost does him in. He’s not usually the kind of man to show emotion, but he can’t help swallowing a choked sob as he tells everyone gathered just how incredible Haley was, how lucky he and Jack and everyone who knew her were, and just how much he loved her.

“If Haley were with us today, she would ask us not to mourn her death but to celebrate her life. She would tell us… she would tell us to love our families unconditionally, and to hold them close because, in the end, they’re all that matter.”

As he reads his speech, he can’t help but think of his team. For years, they've been his second family — arguably, as much as it pains him to admit it, the family he prioritised the most — and now, they're all he and Jack have. All of them have reminded him of that over the past few days, between helping with funeral arrangements and making food for them both, constant check-ups and distractions and messages of love and support. Having his back in the moment that mattered most.

“Okay, you can go ahead,” he murmurs to Jack as he lifts him up onto his hip, the last two standing at her coffin. He watches as his son places his white rose on his mother’s coffin before following suit, stomach constricting with grief as he does so. “Blow Mommy a kiss.”

And he walks, his son clutched desperately in his arms, towards the wake.

(The team leaves the funeral, called to a case that — despite everything that’s happened — he can’t help but long to be a part of even if he knows he’d be no use right now, lost in the haze of grief and the massive life change that is suddenly being a single parent, the sole carer for his son.

He uses the time off to pack Jack’s things and move them into his own flat, trying as hard as he can to keep life as normal as possible for a little boy who just lost his mom. Actually having time to be with Jack feels like the only possible good thing to come out of this situation, and he tries to be present in the moment as much as humanly possible, grateful for every second he spends chattering away with him about the dramas and dilemmas of being four-years-old, or playing dinosaurs with him, or stroking his hair while he falls asleep.

Strauss visits, says hello to Jack, and then offers him early retirement. With a heavy heart, he promises he’ll think about it.

Jessica offers to stay with Jack while he’s away. He calls Strauss, and he declines.)

Almost as soon as the team gets back from their case in Tennessee, Spencer shows up again. This time he’s only leaning heavily on a cane instead of awkwardly wrestling against two crutches, and his brace is gone.

“Hi,” he breathes, smiling hesitantly at Hotch. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sorry to show up unannounced again. This time I don’t have a dusty phone to use as an excuse, I just wanted to come as soon as possible and see how you and Jack were doing.”

“It’s fine, Spencer, don’t worry,” he says reassuringly, opening the door wide enough to allow him into the sitting room. Truthfully, he’s glad he’s turned up. Spencer’s a soothing presence; innocent, almost, in his openness and honesty, how trusting he is of everyone around him despite how hurt he’s been in the past. And while the others always scoff and groan at his academic and overly factual rambles, he’s rather fond of them.

“I don’t know if you heard,” he says as he takes a seat on Aaron’s sofa again, “but we solved the case.” His leg is clearly bothering him still: he’s subconsciously rubbing it through the fabric of his trousers and his facial expressions are showing subtle indicators of pain.

“I never doubted it,” Aaron says, face soft and open, happy to have Spencer here. He joins him on the couch. “How is it, working cases with the injury?” He wonders whether asking about work will have the same response as before, but he seems slightly calmer this time around. He hadn’t noticed anything amiss when he’d gone back, though he had, of course, been a little preoccupied; there's plenty he could have missed.

Spencer considers for a moment, looking marginally more subdued than the last time he’d sat on his sofa. “It’s… not easy, but I’m sort of used to it now. I don’t mind sitting out the fieldwork too much; besides, I get to talk to Penelope more.” He looks like he’s not saying something, averting his eyes as he talks but Aaron doesn’t push. He doesn’t want Spencer to bolt, but he makes a mental note to keep an eye on him when he eventually gets back to work again. “I heard through the grapevine that Strauss offered you retirement.”

He looks up at Aaron with wide, hesitant eyes and for a moment, his heart clenches tightly, a rush of some emotion he can’t quite place flooding his chest and squeezing the breath out of him. It’s only for a second: the moment’s over before he can actually process it, but it leaves him floundering for a response.

“I— ah, yes. She did,” he affirms, nodding his head, “but I declined.”

“You did?” Spencer asks, suddenly looking far brighter and another flash of that feeling flares in his chest.

As such, he can’t help the fond, private smile that spreads across his face. “I did.”

Spencer looks like he’s about to say something else but he’s interrupted by Jack dashing into the room, flying his toy plane around the room. As soon as he spots Spencer on the sofa, he dashes over, eager to show off his toy.

“Wow, that’s amazing, buddy,” Spencer says, looking as interested in a wooden replica of an aeroplane as an extremely well-educated adult possibly could. That’s probably because, Aaron thinks with a smile, he actually is.

Before Aaron knows it, he’s watching him be dragged towards his son’s new bedroom to inspect all his other toys. Jack has always loved Spencer and Spencer has always loved Jack, sharing a bond over an interest in all things scientific and mechanical, albeit at vastly different levels.

He hadn’t noticed how dull Spencer’s been looking until he brightens so considerably as soon as Jack is engaging with him, and his brows furrow. Trusting Jack to keep Spencer well entertained for the next few minutes, he fills a glass with water and leans against the counter of the kitchen, sipping it quietly as he thinks it over.

Now that he considers it properly, Spencer has seemed rather downcast and far quieter than usual recently. Not that he’d had the energy to address it, or even really clock it, the last time Spencer had turned up at his apartment, but his weird, abrupt departure was clearly triggered by discussion of the team. He starts to get some food out for lunch as he resolves to keep a much closer eye on things when he gets back to work.

He only thinks it over for a few more minutes before Spencer emerges into the kitchen, one hand clutching his cane and another gently holding Jack’s. He’s still bombarding him with questions about planes and trains and cars, but Spencer fields them expertly, managing to actually get an answer in before another question takes its place, a skill Aaron has yet to master. His chest clenches for the third time in the small period Spencer’s been in his flat as he watches the two together.

“Would you like to stay for lunch?” he offers, taking in Spencer’s small frame and dark eye bags; he can’t help the protective desire to feed him and make sure he’s happy and healthy.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Spencer says, looking pleased with the offer, mouth twisting into a little smile. Aaron probably shouldn’t feel quite so delighted at his acceptance, but he brushes it aside and turns to face his son, who is watching them curiously.

“Hey Jack,” he says, crouching down to face him, “how about we get you some lunch, yeah? You can continue asking Spencer some questions while we eat. How does that sound?”

Watching Jack’s face light up as he nods happily and looking up to see Spencer’s small smile still firmly pasted on his face makes him feel, for the first time since Haley died, like there’s a future for him. A good one.

Chapter Three

If this chapter brought anything up for you, hotlines are in the endnotes of the AO3 version of this fic. Bigger countries are listed and a link is included if you live somewhere else in the world. I love you all, see you next Saturday! <3

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @marvel-ous-m @oliverbrnch @sbeno22 @aaron-hotchner187 (taglist form)

[terrm9]

Home (Ethan X MC)

Words count: 2 700 Warnings: cursing Author’s note: This is my version of events that take place after Ethan and MC (Chiara) leave Louise Ramsey at the rehab centre. It was supposed to be fluffy piece about Ethan taking MC to his place when she says she wants to go home but somehow it got a little bit angsty.

Also, the biggest thanks to everyone that supported me to write this! You guys made my heart swell and I am going to tag you because I am so, so, so thankful you encouraged me. It means a lot to me, really.

———– HOME ———-

“I should thank you more often,” Ethan let out as he leaned back into his seat, turning the engine on.

“I think I could learn to live with that,” Chiara grinned back at him, fastening her seatbelt. “I truly am proud of you Ethan. And I also can’t wait to go home.”

Ethan nodded, his gaze fixed on the road ahead of them. Chiara observed his features, testing her skills by trying to guess what exactly is going on in his head. His knuckles were turning pale by the force he held on steering wheel with, his jaw clenched and his expression forcibly neutral. It didn’t take a genius to see that there was a war of emotions inside of him, just as it didn’t take one to see that he had no intensions to share what was on his mind at the moment.

Knowing better than to push him, Chiara teared her eyes off him and despite trying her hardest to not to, she glanced at the watch at the car’s dashboard.

5:57 PM.

One minute until Sora comes to see what happened.

Chiara can’t help it. She tried, she got rid of every single watch in her apartment, she purposefully doesn’t look at her phone and yet, every single day since the accident, she keeps checking the time, repeating what happened that day.

Locked in the room with Bobby and Danny and Travis and later only with Rafael and then all by herself, all she could do was to stare at the round white watch hanged above the door and memorize the exact time of every single moment that somehow affected that day. No matter how many weeks have passed, no matter how much she tried to persuade herself, as well as everyone else that she was okay now, she kept checking the damn time every day.

“I meant what I said back then, Chiara,” Ethan spoke abruptly, breaking the thoughts occupying her mind. “That I wouldn’t have done that without you. If it wasn’t for you, I would never give Louise a second chance. I would never even try to forgive her.”

“I am not sure that’s exactly a good thing, Ethan. You have felt some way towards her for twenty-five years. You have only known me for almost two years now. I don’t think I should be the one to tell you if you should or shouldn’t forgive, it needs to be your decision. Something this huge cannot be decided on my suggestion of what I would do in the situation.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he shook his head, not tearing his gaze off the road. “It was not your suggestion that made me forgive her. It’s you. Your ability to always be kind. For twenty-five years I was angry. I was so angry with my mother and the thing is, I was proud to be angry at her. I was so proud to feel the anger, to not to look for her like my father did, I felt like caring about where she was or missing her, like that would make me weak. She did us wrong and all she deserved was my anger and hatred, right? And this was not only the case of my mother. Every time in my life someone hurt me I decided all I would ever feel for them again would be anger. Because if I have forgiven them, it would make me weak and they would be able to hurt me again. And then I met you and in you, I met a person that has always been nice to everyone. Even the people who have hurt her, even those who have been rude to her, strangers, a person that, despite my efforts to push her away, despite me being an absolute asshole, has always shown me how much she cared and that she would be there for me,” he gulped and took a deep breath before going on.

“When the leakage happened, I went to see Travis with Dr. Trinh. He never told me anything that could help us and I hated him with every single cell in my body. As I was leaving the room he was in, he asked me to help him with his pain, to increase the morphine dosage. I could see that he was suffering but I was so angry with him that I left him to suffer. It was on our way back to the hospital when it hit me. That if it were you at my place, you would never leave him to suffer, no matter how much hatred you felt. You are everything I have never been, Chiara and only now I know that your kindness, your ability to forgive, that none of it makes you weaker. That you are the strongest person I know. When I asked you what would you do, with Louise I mean, I knew very well that you would give her a second chance. I just needed to hear you say that. To remind me that if I gave her the chance, I wouldn’t be weak.”

Chiara smiled at him lightly and took his free hand into hers, not wanting to burden the lightness that surrounded them with worthless words.

˜

Thirty minutes later, Ethan parked his car in the garage of his building and leaned his head into the seat back, closing his eyes.

“I was thinking about making Thai red curry for dinner, how does that sound to you?” he asked with his eyes still closed.

Chiara was looking at him, her expression both surprised and amused.

When it took her too long to answer, Ethan opened his eyes and turned to her.

“What is it? Do you hate curry?”

“What? No, not at all. I am just, well, surprised you took me here. To your place, I mean.”

Ethan furrowed his brows in utter confusion as he shrugged: “Well you said you wanted to go home so I took you-“

He stopped mid-sentence as he realized what has just happened. Opening and closing his mouth for a few times he was gaining himself some time to form a coherent sentence.

“I am sorry, Chiara. Jesus, I don’t know what I was thinking, I mean, I clearly wasn’t thinking. Of course you meant your place. Chiara I am so sorry, let me just take you there and-“

He was stopped again, this time by Chiara’s lips pressed against his.

You are a fucking idiot, Ramsey, he thought as she kissed him, feeling her grinning. All she wanted was to go home. Her home. The one where she lives. With her roommates. Imbecile.

“Stop apologizing,” she smiled as she broke the kiss. “The curry sounds great.”

˜

They were sitting at the opposite sides of the table, both simply playing with the food on their still half-full plates.

“You’ve hardly even eaten anything,” Chiara pointed out when she noticed Ethan putting his fork down.

“Do you want to compare?” he asked back, gesturing toward her plate.

He didn’t say it to make her feel bad or to push her to finish her meal. Ethan knew Chiara wasn’t doing this on purpose, nor had it anything to do with his cooking abilities. Through the weeks, he’s noticed how drastically has her appetite decreased and how she hasn’t really gotten it back.

With everything going on these past few months, neither of them could actually eat or sleep.

Chiara simply shrugged and noticing the watch at his wrist, she asked: “What time is it, please?”

He watched down and answered: “Half past eight.”

“Precisely half past eight?”

“Precisely thirty-two minutes past eight. Why are you asking?”

8:32 PM.

At 8:37 they came to the room to take Rafael away because he slipped into coma.

At 8:39 Ethan told me that Danny was dead.

“Huh? I am just curious,” she lied and needing to change the topic, she asked another question. “Do you feel somehow lighter now that you got your closure?”

It was Ethan’s turn to shrug – and maybe even to lie.

“I actually do feel lighter. It was something I didn’t know I needed. But I am also scared – I promised Louise to visit her and now I feel like it was a stupid promise. I will hardly be able to see her again anytime soon.”

“I can come with you every time if it would help. Louise already thinks we are good friends.”

“She does?”

“She told me while she was in the hospital. Apparently, that’s what your dad told her.”

Ethan groaned, obviously bothered by the fact that his parents talk about him and Chiara at all.  However, after a while, he simply muttered: “I guess I should give my dad an update, then.”

Chiara laughed loudly at the remark, the first real laugh Ethan’s heard from her all day. Knowing that both of them were finished with their meals, he took the plates back to the kitchen and decided to wash the dishes too while he was there. It gave him some more time to compose himself, to allow himself to simply feel lighter and happier, without the haunting feelings of doubt and fear of being hurt again.

He also felt guilty. Chiara has been through so much and even though she tried to act like she was okay, he knew her. And he could see rather clearly that she was not okay. On those precious nights they’ve spent together, he could hear her screaming from her sleep.

Please, you don’t have to do this.

Not Danny.

Not Bobby.

Just kill me.

Not Raf.

Travis stop!

Just kill me.

No. no, NO!

It could go on like this through the whole night. And here he was, burdening her with his family issues.

“You do realize that you own a dishwasher, right?” she disturbed his thoughts with wide grin on her face, leaning against a doorframe.

“I am sorry, Chiara,” he blurted out before he could even think about it. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into this. I know you have enough on your plate and it was selfish from me to ask you to do this with me.”

She closed the distance between them and gently stopped the water, handing him the dishcloth to dry his hands. After she made sure he was all set, she hugged his waist tightly, resting her head on his chest.

Ethan circled his arms around her petite form and closed his eyes, letting her rose-yasmine perfume rule over his senses, taking him to the place where it could be just the two of them.

Where they could be happy.

Where they wouldn’t be broken.

“I am so happy you dragged me into this. I want to be part of your life and that means all the aspects of it. Let me be there for you, okay?”

“Will you stay for the night?” he whispered into her hair and felt his shoulders relax when he felt her nod.

After taking a quick shower, Ethan entered his bedroom in his grey pajama bottoms and didn’t even try to suppress a smile that found a way onto his mouth when he spotted Chiara sitting on the bed in nothing but his shirt, reading a poetry book she found on his bedside table.

“Come here,” she waved her hand as she closed the book and leaned into the bedframe.

Ethan sat at the edge of the bed, waiting for further instructions and was rather surprised when she pulled him toward her, his head landing in her lap. Immediately, Chiara started to play with Ethan’s hair, massaging his scalp softly.

“I can see that there is something else bothering you, Ethan.”

“There is.”

“Do you want to tell me?”

“I am scared, Chiara,” he whispered.

Chiara simply kept stroking his hair, waiting for him to elaborate his statement.

“What if I am just like her? It makes so much sense now that I see why she left us. I finally know what I have been suspecting - and fearing - all those years. That I am the picture of my dear mother.”

“How do you mean that?”

“I have always hated her for leaving us, for running away, when really, I am doing the same thing every time life gets hard. When Naveen was dying and I thought he wouldn’t be saved, I left Edenbrook. When Dolores died, I stormed out of the waiting room when you reached out to me. After your trial when it became clear that we would be working together again, I left to Brazil. And all those times I kept telling myself that it was better for the others, that I was doing it for the hospital, for Naveen, for you, when really, all I was doing was running away like a fucking coward I was. All those years I blamed my mother for hurting us and now I am doing the same to the people I care about. What if I can never change? What if I am destined to be the same failure she was? What if I hurt you again?”

There was a long silence.

Ethan hugged Chiara’s waist and closed his eyes, scared that she realized that he was right and would leave him now.

Chiara’s eyes were filled with tears as she pressed her lips on Ethan’s head, her heart broken for the man with the biggest heart, only to have it filled with so much hatred and doubt toward himself.

“If there’s something you are destined for, Ethan, it’s all the great, beautiful things in this world. And you deserve someone to show you how worthy of love you are. I will be here with you tonight, okay? Try to sleep. I am not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.”

He simply nodded, the words stuck in his throat. As if there were any words that could ever describe the way he felt with Chiara.

After she was sure that Ethan was deeply in his sleep, Chiara gently untangled herself from his grip and headed back to the living room, where she left her phone. She knew that Sienna was on her night shift tonight and so she needed to text her.

It became their ritual through these past weeks, checking on each other on the nights they didn’t spend together.

Chiara knew that, just like herself, Sienna was far from okay. She knew they were both trying their hardest to act normal and she also knew that they were both failing miserably. But Chiara had Ethan looking out for her.

Sienna had no one.

There were nights when they would sleep together in Chiara’s room, crying, talking about Danny and how much Sienna missed him, hugging each other until the sleep found them. And when they couldn’t be together, they would text each other to make sure that the other one was as alright as she possibly could be.

After returning back to the bed, Chiara found Ethan sleeping on his side, his back turned to her. Trying to adjust her little body behind him so that she could be the big spoon for tonight – which was ironic really, as she could never be anything big compared to Ethan – she wrapped her hand around his torso and after making sure that his breaths were slow and steady and therefore he was asleep, she said the words she wanted to tell him for a long time but never did, afraid of scaring him.

“I love you.”

After that, she closed her eyes and not even a minute later, she drifted off.

Ethan felt her small, warm arm as she wrapped it around his body, but decided to pretend to be asleep, not wanting to ruin the moment and also her attempt to somehow surround him completely.

His whole body stiffed at her words and it took him all the willpower he had to not to turn around and look at her. Only when he heard her soft snores indicating that she was asleep, he enlaced his fingers with hers on his chest as he whispered:

“And I you.”

Once again, THANK YOU GUYS: @queencarb @perriewinklenerdie @starrystarrytrouble @the-pale-goddess @catchinglikekerosene @udishaman @messrprongs

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Omertà👄4

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (sexual intercourse); tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky and dark! Loki and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: You guys are awesome. Just thought you should know! Thanks for reading and following along. :D I am always so thankful for everything y’all do.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Aside from the colour, you were not a fan of the dress. The black number was little much for you; the long sleeves couldn’t make up for the length of the skirt or the strappy back. You were still unaccustomed to your new wardrobe and you doubted you ever would be. When you arrived that morning at The Attic, you’d felt like an idiot. 

After noon, you excused yourself if only to escape Loki for an hour. He hadn’t failed to remind you of the day’s meeting. Over a week and a half since the last. Just as long spent in dread. It was bad enough facing Loki each day but another to know you’d be book-ended between him and Bucky.

You went to a restaurant not far from the shop. You passed it now and then but never thought of stepping inside the ultra sleek bar. You did that day; a reluctant retreat. You sat by the window and ordered an organic juice and a salad. 

You rarely ate anything more than microwaves dinners and non-perishables. You often found yourself forgetting to stop and eat when you were at work and you gave little thought to what awaited you after.

You poked at the baby spinach and glanced out the window. The strawberry juice was a little too sweet and made your jaw twitch. You looked back to your bowl as you tried to hide your recognition. The man across the street; you’d seen him before.

It would be easy enough to shrug off his brief glance as coincidence as he walked casually along the pavement, but you hadn’t missed him as you emerged from The Attic. Or a few days back on your way home. His golden hair shone above his chiseled jaw and his bright eyes made him a beacon on the streets. He was following you and he wasn’t even trying to be subtle.

You left the last few leaves in the bottom of the bowl to drown in dressing. You took your last sip from the glass and folded the bills in the little leather folder. You stood and nodded at your waitress on your way out. The blond man was gone. For now.

You returned to the shop and slipped into the office. Loki wasn’t there and you were thankful. You sat and pulled out your phone. You pulled down the skirt which had a tendency to slip to your thigh. 

As you wiggled in your chair, the door opened and Loki appeared. He didn’t miss the little shimmy and smiled as he neared your desk. His eyes sparkled at you as his fingers rubbed along the edge of the wood.

“We should go soon.” He said. “But we should talk first.”

“Right,” You kept your phone propped up but spared him a brief peek.

“First, listen,” He reached over and tapped your phone. “Important. I tell you to do something, you do it. No back talk. It would be as bad for you as for me should you choose to undermine me in the presence of those men.”

You nodded and lowered your phone. You looked at him and squished your lips together.

“Play along. I know you’re not stupid so I know you can play your part well.” He grinned. “This man is simple; even you can rile him.”

You shook your head and swayed your leg as you crossed your arms.

“Is that all?” You asked.

“I shouldn’t have to remind you of what this world means; of the consequences of such repugnance.” He frowned. “Remember your father, perhaps that will keep you in line.”

“Perhaps,” You sneered.

“Well,” He drew away. “I’d rather this over with. I am not a fan of these places. Sad, really.”

You stood and tucked your phone in your purse. You slung it on your shoulder and sighed.

“Well, at least we can agree on expedience,” You said.

👄

The She-Wolf looked grim in the daylight. The neon sign flashed although the flicker was hard to notice so early. You followed Loki to the doors but he swiftly sidestepped a patron stumbling out. You watched the man, already drunk, as he wobbled away. 

You swallowed your discomfort and entered as Loki opened the door for you, the bouncers eyed both of you. He was greeted by a woman in a crop top and booty shorts. He looked at her as if she were a leper.

“Laufeyson for Barnes,” He announced. “Is there a man who I should--”

“Over here,” She interrupted him and his brows drew together. “Just by Tiffani.”

Loki hesitated but followed, his arm curled around you as he swept you along with him. There were only two stages in use and the bar was almost empty. Still the music buzzed and the dark room was swathed with coloured arcs of light. You sat along the half-moon stage as the woman offered you drinks. 

Loki sniffed as he peered around and refused. You thanked her but forewent the offer as well. Loki sat back and draped his arm behind you. He looked over at you and you didn’t miss his gaze as his hand flitted down to your dress. His hand snaked over and he caressed your leg just beneath the hem.

“Well…” He kept his voice low. “I am pleasantly surprised.”

“Stop,” You grabbed his hand.

“Stop? Ah, you know, I never expected to share tastes with Barnes but I might see a little of what he does.” He purred. “This might be more fun than I expected.”

“Loki,” You hissed as he flipped his hand and twisted yours back. “Enough.”

“We should’ve taken our time back at the office.” He slithered.

“I mean it.” You wrestled with him. “It’s not funny.”

“I am not joking, darling,” He rolled his R coyly. “And seeing as…” His eyes went to the woman spinning up on the pole. “He has such low standards… you’ve made this pleasantly easy.”

He shook you away and pushed his hand between your knees. He gripped your leg as he took a breath. He cleared his throat and rescinded his touch as he stood. Bucky appeared from a doorway along the back of the club and you rose too. He was flanked by two other men and they followed him to the stage as he smirked at you. He barely acknowledged Loki as he offered you his hand.

“Sweetheart,” He looked you up and down. “Mmm, you look wonderful.”

You thanked him softly and stiffened as you shook his hand.

“Loki,” He released you and extended his hand to the other man. “Early. As always.”

“We take our time seriously in Manhattan,” Loki gripped Bucky’s hand firmly. “It is, as they say, money.”

“Mmhmm,” Bucky withdrew and sat. His men stayed behind him, like statues. 

Bucky leaned his elbow on the table that lined the stage and gazed up at the now topless Tiffani as she hung upside down from the pole. He smirked and his eyes slowly fell to you.

“So, you thirsty?” He asked.

“It’s early,” Loki answered for you.

“Not that early,” Bucky insisted as he raised his hand. “What do you like? You seem like a scotch man.” 

His eyes never left you as the woman who greeted you returned. 

“Or whiskey,” Loki replied, annoyed that he was all but being ignored.

“And the lady?” He wondered. “Champagne?”

“That’s a bit much,” You sat straight. 

“Rose? Chardonnay?” He continued. “I have a rather extensive cellar. I could let you have a look if you wish.”

“We didn’t come here to peruse your wine collection,” Loki intoned.

“No,” Bucky slapped his hand on the table. “You came here to give me my money and to accept my hospitality. It would be rude to bite the hand, wouldn’t it?”

Loki’s jaw jutted out in anger and he nodded, a snarl slowly left his nostrils.

“Gin,” You said sternly. “Gin is fine.”

“Gin,” Bucky repeated as his expression softened and he turned to the waitress. “Scotch for my friend,” He waved to Loki, “And two gins. Top shelf.”

“Yes, sir,” She recited and her smile betrayed her attraction for the man. Bucky, despite his person, could not be called hideous.

“You know,” Bucky turned to Loki, his eyes strayed to you for a moment, “I was thinking of this new arrangement and while I appreciate that your men are working so hard, I would prefer a few of mine help out.”

“Help out?” Loki squinted.

“Allies, you said.” Bucky leaned back and pulled his thin lapels straight. “So we should work together. If I sent a few of my hands down to our warehouses, they wouldn’t be hassled, would they? Especially not if they were helping with our business.”

Loki swallowed. It was one thing to split up the take, but another to allow others onto territory he still felt was rightfully his. The compromise was temporary in his mind; a means to an end. A patient plot.

“Surely not,” Loki forced out. “I would make sure of it.”

“Very good,” Bucky smiled as he watched the waitress set down the drinks. “I will send them down tomorrow then.”

“I’ll make sure mine are aware,” Loki inhaled deeply and took his scotch. His other hand wandered over your thigh and he rested it there as he sipped. 

You grabbed your drink and swigged down a bitter mouthful before you could chide him. Bucky didn’t miss the movement and his eyes followed Loki’s arm to his hand. Loki’s long fingers squeezed and you winced. Bucky took a drink as he looked you over.

“I’ll take my money now,” He gritted out. “Drinks are on me though.”

Loki set down his glass and dragged his hand from your leg. He shifted your skirt as he did, enough to expose your upper thigh. You fixed it and Bucky hummed. You looked up as he shifted in his chair. He was focused on your lap and you pushed your legs together tightly.

Loki reached into his jacket and pulled out the bundle. He planted it on the table before Bucky who quickly took it and began to count. When he finished, he smacked the stack on his palm and then handed it over to one of his men.

“You like her?” Bucky pointed to Tiffani and Loki frowned. “The night shift is better. The girls are… skilled.”

“I’ve never been one for dancers. Or escorts.” Loki sneered.

“My girls are clean and I’d not call them escorts, they’re good company. Especially for men like us.”

“Men like us?” Loki huffed. “I don’t pay for my company.”

“So you must be lonely,” Bucky countered.

A tense silence followed as they stared each other down. Loki chuckled and finished his drink.

“Not that lonely,” He stretched his arm behind you. 

Bucky scratched his chin and nodded.

“It’s not always money you pay with,” Bucky mused. “Is it?”

“I have been told I am charming,” Loki’s fingers tickled your shoulder. “I’ve never wanted for much.”

“Is it charm or hot air?” Bucky challenged. “You talk a lot.”

“I won’t deny that,” Loki smirked. “But you know, a sharp tongue is truly a gift. Isn’t it, darling?”

Both men looked at you. You tapped your fingernail on your glass and chewed on your irritation.

“Truly,” You answered rigidly. “It must be.”

You lifted your glass and drank. Bucky watched you intently. Loki stared at him until he looked away and their gaze met. There was a moment of understanding; an unspoken challenge. You felt as if you were suffocating in your dress. You wanted another drink desperately.

👄

You left shortly after the pissing contest. You were glad to be away and didn’t stick around much longer at the antique shop. Loki was agitated and barely noticed when you left. Despite his well-honed veneer, he hadn’t been able to withhold his chagrin once free of the strip club.

The next day, you sensed little difference. He was silent, grumbly. He sat behind his desk and made the occasional call. He was impatient and bossy. He had Bucky’s men in his warehouses and he was talking his own down from igniting another war. Each call ended with a scribbled list of numbers for you to add to your ledger.

Your work was disturbed in the late afternoon. You heard Lopez in the showroom, his voice panicked as he neared the other side of the door. There was no knock as the squat man’s voice was left unmatched. The door opened as Loki reached under his jacket. He gripped his gun and watched the man who entered.

“No need for that,” The blonde man said coolly. He held a box and smiled as he looked around the room. “Just got a delivery.”

Loki scowled and reluctantly lowered his hand. “Delivery? Did Barnes forget something?”

The blonde’s jaw squared as he turned to you. He placed the box atop your open ledger. 

“Boss sends his regards,” He smirked. You said nothing as he nodded and glanced at Loki one last time. “To both of you.”

As quickly as he’d come, he was gone. You watched him go and frowned as Loki bid Lopez shut the door. You were silent as you shook your head at the box.

“Who was--”

“Rogers.” Loki snorted. “Barnes’ little lap dog.”

You were quiet. You wouldn’t let on that Barnes’ man had been tailing you. You didn’t think that would help with either of them. Or you.

“Well, open it.” He demanded.

You glanced at him and he lifted a brow. His eyes pierced you as you slid the box closer and let out a long breath. You rubbed your thumbs over the cardboard and carefully shook the lid free. The box fell to the desk and you set aside the top. You brushed aside the tissue paper and gaped at the swath of sparkling diamonds.

Loki sighed and tapped his fingers as he leaned forward.

“Do go on,” He said dryly.

You cringed and reached into the box. You hooked your fingers under the diamonds and lifted the glittering pair of panties. Your eyes met Loki’s over the top and his face paled with anger. Fuck.

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Breakable Heaven (pt. I) - p.l. dubois

As promised, here’s the first part of Breakable Heaven! I’m really excited for this one, there’s so many things I can’t wait for you all to read. This chapter is more setup and background, but I promise it’s all worth it! I’d love it if you reblogged (helps me know people like my work!) or pop into my inbox and let me know what you think! I read all the tags :)

part I part ii part iii part iv

June 4 (thurs)

Laurel clipped her pager back onto her scrubs, leaning over the counter of the nurses’ station. “You ready to go grab lunch?” She had just finished changing the bandages and administering pain medication for a little boy who was recovering from a heart surgery, and was looking forward to getting off her feet for a few minutes. The PICU floor was quiet, only about half of the rooms being filled, and there were no pressing matters that required her attention. If something drastic changed in the next half an hour, she always had her pager. 

Madeline looked up from her chair, where she was finishing up filling in a patient’s chart. “Sounds good,” she said, letting their charge nurse know that they were headed down. Madeline Peltier had been one of the first people to introduce themselves to Laurel when she started; having only been on the unit for two weeks herself, she was still getting a handle on the reins and was more than willing to show Laurel around. 

Madeline was also one of the few on the floor who was just as comfortable in English as she was in French. French had been Laurel’s foreign language through college, but she was made rudely aware upon her move to Montréal that the pronunciation and slang of Canadian French was very different from the Standard French of Madame Anderson’s rural Minnesota classroom. Her grasp of the language was good enough to take the Québec nursing licensure exam — which wasn’t even offered in English — but the spoken dialect was proving much more difficult to pick up. They walked down to the cafeteria, on the second floor, grabbing some sandwiches before swiping their ID badges for the employee discount. 

“I still think they should give us free food,” Madeline said moodily, unscrewing her water bottle and taking a sip. 

Laurel laughed. “When hell freezes over, maybe. Doctor’s lounge usually has some pretty nice stuff set out, or at least that’s what they say. Pity our cards don’t let us in, I’m not above identity theft.” Madeline snorted into her sandwich. 

“What are you doing this weekend?” Madeline asked a few minutes later, starting to peel an orange. 

“Uh, not much?” Laurel said. “Getting my papers together to resign my lease in a few weeks, grocery shopping, but nothing big. It’s been a long few shifts this week and I’m mostly just looking forward to taking it easy. Why?”

“If you’re up to it,” Madeline shrugged, “Patrice and I are going out for dinner Saturday night and we’d love for you to join us.” Patrice was Madeline’s long-time boyfriend, they started dating in university and had been together ever since. 

Laurel rolled her eyes. “Madeline, thank you for the offer, but I don’t want to keep being your third wheel.” 

Madeline let out a conspiratorial grin. Oh no, Laurel thought. This can’t be good. “As it would so happen,” she said, “you wouldn’t be third wheeling. One of Patrice’s friends is back in the city for a few months, and I think you two might hit it off,” she sing-songed. Madeline had been trying to set her up from practically the moment they met; whether it was someone from her gym, one of the critical care fellows, or apparently, her boyfriend’s childhood friend. They were always nice guys, but nothing had ever stuck for more than a date or two. 

---

Twelve hour shifts meant that, at least on work days, there was no way Laurel was going to have the emotional or physical capacity to make herself a real dinner. She’d order in occasionally, but it more common to just pull together something quick like a frozen pizza or grab whatever leftovers she could find in the fridge. Yesterday’s chicken and rice it was, then. Sticking it in the microwave, Laurel opened the door to her balcony, letting Piper out to use the bathroom. Piper was an eight-month-old chocolate lab, the love of her life who she had adopted just after the new year. Laurel had always grown up with dogs; back in Minnesota she had Jackson and Lucy, and she had been missing them more than a little bit since moving to Canada. Piper was incredible. Intelligent, loyal, and so friendly that even her neighbor’s notoriously picky five-year-old son had taken a shine to her. She wolfed down her food, grabbed Piper’s leash and her water bottle, and headed out the door. 

June 5 (fri)

The intricacies of language were hard. And, somehow, learning the intricacies of a language you already knew was even harder. Laurel was trying her damndest to pick up Québecois French as fast as humanly possible, but while she could conjugate l’imparfait in her sleep, the accent and vocabulary were what was really throwing her off. But she intended on making a life in Montréal, and staying as long as she could, so there really wasn’t any option but to hit the books. Immersion worked for some people, and thank God she knew the medical terminology to communicate with her patients and their families, but it wasn’t quite the same when she was struggling through telling the mechanic her car needed an oil change. In a perfect world she’d have someone to help her one-on-one, but she didn’t want to ask Madeline for that big of a favor. And while she made decent money at the hospital — she could afford her own apartment and had a little left over every month to put into savings — it was nowhere near enough to pay for a tutor. So Duolingo, and podcasts, and Youtube lessons it was. 

Letting out a groan, Laurel leaned her head into her hands, shutting her laptop. She wasn’t going to make any progress being this frustrated. She bent down to scratch Piper, whose favorite spot for naps was a blanket right beside Laurel’s desk, between the ears, pulling her leash and collar off of their book by her bedroom door. Piper’s ears perked up, and soon enough she was running around the apartment wagging her tail as fast as it could go, a slightly exasperated but nevertheless laughing Laurel following. She finally managed to clip on her leash; at fifty pounds, Piper still had a little bit of growing left to do, but she had already proven she was more than capable of bending the will of a full-grown and otherwise capable 23-year-old woman. 

She had discovered Parc Saint-François-d’Assise a few weeks after adopting Piper, and had thanked her lucky stars for finding a dog park so close to her apartment. Having a schedule like hers meant that she couldn’t always get her to a weekly training or obedience class — plus, the French that she did know certainly didn’t include ‘heel’ — so the time spent socializing was well-appreciated. It was only a fifteen minute walk, and Piper was good enough on a leash that she only stopped once to bark at a squirrel in one of the many birch trees that lined the street. The park was an acre or two, small enough that she could see all the way across and keep an eye on Piper as she let her off-leash, but big enough that there was more than enough room for all the animals. It wasn’t particularly crowded that Friday; Laurel was confused for a moment before she remembered that most people were busy at 11 AM on a weekday. There were a few families, with kids out for the summer from school, and a man playing in the far corner with his two small dogs, but not much else. 

Laurel leaned down, unclipping the leash from Piper’s collar, and gave the chocolate lab a scratch on the head. “Have fun, girl!” Piper never needed much encouragement, and took off running almost before Laurel had even wrapped up her leash. Rolling her eyes and laughing, she picked up her phone. A text from Allison, one of her only friends in the city aside from Madeline, inviting her out for her birthday next week. Madeline, giving her the address for the restaurant the next night. The Duolingo owl, threatening her with bodily harm if she didn’t log her language progress for the day. She was so engrossed in checking her email that she didn’t hear the shout for her to look out, or the two bulldogs barreling towards her at full speed, until they had knocked her off her feet and she landed straight on her ass. 

“Desolé. Vas-tu bien?” The man asked, holding out a hand and helping her up. Laurel nodded, brushing the dirt off her jeans. 

“Ouais, ouais. Pas de problème, pas de mal. Ils sont chiens, non?” 

He chuckled, patting the smaller of the two bulldogs, which had decided to take a break from accosting passers-by to get petted. “C’est vrai.” They talked for another minute or two before saying goodbye, but she could have sworn it was an hour. 

Walking Piper home half an hour later, Laurel was struck with two realizations. The mystery man — bulldog dad, as she had started calling him in her internal monologue — had very possibly the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen in her life, and she’d be cursing herself for the next week for not getting his number. 

June 6 (sat)

Saturday meant Laurel had a day off, but more importantly, Saturday meant she didn’t have to set her alarm for 5:30 and could actually wake up at a semi-normal hour. Her internal clock didn’t wake her up until half past seven; even then, it was Piper’s soft barks that finally got her up, throwing on a pait of shorts, and leading her out to the courtyard down the hallway to use the bathroom before coming back to her apartment and throwing open the fridge doors. No 7 AM shift meant that she mercifully had enough time to make a proper breakfast. On shift days, there never seemed to be enough time to actually sit down and eat, and Laurel usually ended up just having a quick bowl of cereal or some overnight oats and making a protein shake to drink on the drive over. Eggs, bread, yogurt, a peach she had picked up from the farmer’s market. 

After the bread was done toasting and her tea was finished steeping, she gingerly carried the food out to the balcony, placing it on the table as Piper trotted out behind her. Laurel crunched her toast with one hand as she flipped the pages of a book with the other, a Shirley Chisholm biography that Victoria, her best friend from high school, had recommended her. It was almost an hour later when she finally found a good place to stop. As much as she may have liked to just camp out on her balcony all day and blow through the rest of the book, her pantry was crying out for a grocery run and she was running desperately low on ice cream. 

---

The dinner reservation was at 7, and by 6:30 Laurel was almost ready to leave. Her blue skirt fanned out on the couch as she sat killing time on her phone, tapping the floor nervously with the same pair of block heels that she’d worn to her university graduation. The restaurant wasn’t far from her apartment building, so a few minutes later, she decided to go, leaving Piper with a pat on the head and plenty of food in her bowl. Laurel laughed to herself on the way over, her eyes flickering over the skyline as she walked alongside the St. Lawrence River. 

It’s like what she had told Madeline over and over again, every time she tried to set her up on a blind date with a friend of a friend. She wasn’t actively looking for a relationship but wouldn’t be opposed to it. Whatever happens, happens. Biting her lip, Laurel decided that even if she didn’t hit it off with whatever guy Madeline was trying to set her up, even if things go horribly wrong and he’s the exact opposite of what she’s looking for in a partner, she’ll get a free meal and, hopefully, a new friend.

Laurel hadn’t been told much about her blind date, or anything, really. She didn’t even know his name. From what she had been able to figure out, he was from the area but didn’t work in Canada most of the year — so maybe he was in business? All Madeline told her was that he was tall, attractive, and had a dog. Or was it two? She honestly couldn’t remember. She trusted her and Patrice’s judgement, so if he had gotten their stamp of approval, it was good enough for her. She grabbed her phone out of her bag as she neared the restaurant, letting Madeline know she was almost there and asking where to meet her. She told the hostess she was meeting some friends, and Madeline walked around the corner less than a minute later. “Hi, love!” she said, reaching out and wrapping Laurel in a warm hug. “We’re over this way.” Laurel followed her around the corner and past the bar to a four-seater against the wall. She slid into the seat closest to the wall, leaving a space empty. 

“He should be back in a minute, just ran to the bathroom,” Patrice said, nodding towards the vacant seat and referring to her mystery man. A minute passed, Laurel scanning the wine list, before Madeline threw her hand up in greeting. 

“Salut, PL!” When Laurel looked up, she almost dropped her menu.

 “Oh my God!” The stranger — PL’s — eyes widened in recognition. “You’re the bulldog dad!” 

He chuckled, rounding the table to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. Left, then right. It had taken Laurel a while to get used to; even going to university in Toronto, cheek kissing was practically obsolete, but that changed very quickly upon her move to Montréal. “I am. Pierre-Luc Dubois, good to meet you properly this time.” 

Madeline looked between the two, clearly confused. “You know each other?” 

Laurel shook her head. “Not really, no. His dogs ran into me at the park yesterday when I was there with Piper, we talked for a minute or two.” 

Pierre nodded in affirmation. “So, Piper. The chocolate lab’s yours then?” 

“My pride and joy.” 

June 13 (sun)

 Over the next week and a half, it became more and more common for Laurel to meet up with the group on the weekend, or one of her off days, or really whenever she had spare time. She had learned that Pierre-Luc was a hockey player, Patrice explaining that they had played atom league together growing up and the friendship had somehow stuck. Come to think of it, he had looked a little familiar. The University of Minnesota Duluth was less than an hour drive from her hometown, and besides being the college that the majority of the 50% of college-bound graduates of her high school went to, it also had one of the best hockey programs in the country. So she knew the sport, followed enough to be informed, and had even become a de facto Maple Leafs fan from her time in Toronto. 

Sometimes Madeline and Laurel would bring another friend from the hospital along, sometimes it was just the four of them. Once, a Sunday afternoon coffee meetup turned into just Laurel and Pierre-Luc; Patrice had come down with a bad cold and Madeline was staying behind to look after him. If she was being honest, it was far less awkward than she had anticipated. Pierre had insisted on buying her iced capp, and they had settled in a corner booth, sharing a box of Timbits. 

“Patrice mentioned you’re from the U.S., somewhere in the Midwest?” Pierre asked, sipping his coffee. 

She nodded. “Cloquet, Minnesota,” Laurel sighed, “where there is exactly one hotel, one high school, and life revolves around the mines.” 

Pierre sucked in. “That sounds...interesting,” he said diplomatically. 

Laurel laughed. “It’s okay, you don’t have to mince words. The people are nice, if you think like they do, and the scenery is gorgeous, but…” She gathered her thoughts. “It’s not the place you can really dream big, you know?” He nodded. “Neither of my parents went to college, my mom’s a receptionist at the elementary school and my dad works in the mines. I knew by the time I was in high school that I wanted something more. There was just nothing for me there, and I didn’t ever want to feel as trapped and beaten down as some people I know.” 

Pierre leaned back in his chair. “Do you go back often?” 

“Once a year, maybe twice?” Laurel said, shaking her head. “I’ve only got a few good friends back there, and trust me, they’re much more excited to come to big-city Canada than I would be to go back to a town of 12,000 people.” 

“Fair enough.” 

Conversation between them flowed easily, so easily that before she knew it, two hours had gone by and he had to leave for a skate. As she walked back to the metro, Laurel couldn’t help but shake the feeling that the two hours she had spent with Pierre had felt more like a date than any she’d been on since moving to Montréal a year ago. But it couldn’t have been a date, because it wasn’t supposed to be. Right?

 June 15 (tues)

 It was half past seven on Tuesday, and Laurel was just getting home from work. She loved her job, genuinely, but twelve hour shifts were no joke. Spinning her key ring around her finger, she stopped in the mailroom, unlocking her box and fishing out the stack of envelopes that had accumulated in the two days since she’d last checked. Walking over to the elevators, she held the bundle in one hand as the other punched in her button to the third floor. Laurel flipped through the envelopes as the doors opened. Water bill, bank statement, letter from Immigration, Refugees, and Citizenship Canada. Hang on. Laurel stopped at the last envelope, running her finger under the flap as she turned her key in the lock, opening the door with her hip and letting it slam shut behind her. 

She had applied a little over a month ago for her permanent residency card, which she had been assured by everyone she asked would be a relatively easy and painless process. “You’re a nurse, and a good one. I could use ten of you,” her charge nurse had stated. “You went to school here, you have a Canadian degree and a Canadian license. There’s no reason they would cause you any trouble,” Madeline had said. And she had done her due diligence, double-checked every piece of information, checked off every document on the list. Done everything she was supposed to do. So when she unfolded the paper, the words shocked her. 

Denied. Laurel brought her hand shakily up to her mouth as her eyes raced down the letter. No explanation was given, all she was told was that her application had been rejected and she had until September 17, when her work visa expired, to leave the country. The first thing Laurel did was frantically grab her laptop, seeing if there was some way she could apply for a visa extension, but the deadline had passed; she’d have to go back to the consulate in Minneapolis and try to re-apply from there, but her chances weren’t good if she’d already been rejected. The second thing she did was collapse on the floor, Piper nosing herself under her arm, and cry. 

June 16 (wed)

When the group met up for lunch the next day, Madeline noticed something was off about Laurel almost immediately. Normally someone who was hyper-focused on the task at hand, she was stirring her straw around in her glass, nibbling at a piece of bread and answering questions shortly if at all. “What’s up?” she asked carefully, catching Laurel’s eye as she tried to busy herself with straightening her napkin. There wasn’t really a way she could get out of answering that one. 

“I, uh, I got a letter yesterday,” she said. Pierre and Patrice stopped their conversation. All eyes were on her. “From immigration services. They told me,” her eyes pricked with tears, “they told me my PR application was denied, and I only have until the middle of September before I have to leave.” 

“Like, leave the country?” Pierre asked. She nodded. “But can’t you renew your visa or something?” 

“No, I looked into everything.” Laurel said in frustration, shaking her head. “There’s not enough time for it to be processed, I’d have to go back and reapply in the States, and even then the chances aren’t great.” 

Madeline leaned over, wrapping Laurel up in a hug. “Oh, Laur. I’m so sorry,” she said. “You don’t deserve this.” 

“It’s just hard,” Laurel started, “knowing that there’s nothing there for me back home. That’s the whole reason why I came to Canada in the first place, to get away. To get out. I’d have to retake all my licensure exams and find a new job and I don’t want to have to start all over when that’s not at all what I planned for. I thought I’d stay. I thought this was going to be my home” 

“I can call my friend who’s a lawyer, see if he’s got any ideas?” Patrice offered. 

Laurel smiled weakly “Thanks, Patrice, but I really don’t think they’d be able to do much. I was on the website for hours, and there’s like two ways I wouldn’t be kicked out of the country. And I don’t think I’m going to be able to give birth by September 17,” she said, letting out a watery laugh. 

“You’d have to marry someone or something to stay,” Madeline said. 

“Yeah, that’s the only other way it was going to happen,” Laurel agreed. “But seeing as how I’m obscenely single, I don’t see that happening…” She trailed off. 

“I’d marry you,” Pierre said suddenly, shrugging. 

Laurel’s head whipped to her side. “You’d what?” 

“I’d marry you. We’re both single, by all accounts you’re an amazing nurse and deserve to stay. We get married, stay ‘together’ for a few years until you get your citizenship, and then tragically inform the citizenship and immigration people that while we tried, it just didn’t work out, and get a divorce. Easy peasy.” 

Laurel almost burst out laughing, the idea was so ridiculous. She almost couldn’t wrap her head around what he was offering to do. He couldn’t be serious. Right? 

---

Laurel slung her arm over her head, body tangled up in bedsheets. According to her phone, it was well past one. She couldn’t sleep. She had tried rain sounds, counting sheep, drinking a cup of chamomile tea, but nothing was working; she just wasn’t able to still her mind. Honestly, she couldn’t stop thinking about lunch earlier. More specifically, what Pierre had said. 

As much of a bad person as it may have made her sound, the more she thought about Pierre’s offer, the more it made sense. He was incredibly attractive, so it wouldn’t be hard to fake a marriage to him for a few years. She really didn’t keep in contact with anyone from back home in Cloquet aside from her family and a few friends from high school, so it’s not like there would really be anyone to blow her cover. And she really, really wanted to stay in Canada. It wasn’t just the scenery, or the general human decency of everyone, or even the universal healthcare that pushed her to stay. She had fallen in love with the people, the city, and didn’t want to go down without a fight. 

Rolling over, she grabbed her phone from her nightstand, pulling up Pierre’s contact. Hey, she texted. Laurel immediately cursed herself as the three dots popped up on his side. Hey? She was going to ask this man to marry her and the best she could come up with was hey? He wrote back immediately. Hey. You’re up late, what’s up? Laurel took a deep breath. How serious were you about offering to marry me? His second response was even faster than the first. As a heart attack.

[writersrealmbts]

A Natural: Part 5

Description: Hybrid!Taehyung x Reader: You’re a single mom, and your son is your entire world. When you take him to get his first hybrid, his choice is pretty bewildering, until you realize that he was picking out a dad.

Posted: 05/24/2020

Tags: Taehyung, Hybrid Taehyung, Human Reader

Wordcount: 1,906

A/N: Oh look, another series that was never supposed to be a series. And I had to pick a new series gif because it wouldn’t show up. 

Taehyung woke you up gently, pressing kisses to your cheeks, nose and forehead.

You sighed and stretched. “Mmm, what time is it?”

“Seven,” He whispered, tilting your chin slightly so he could kiss your lips. “You said you wanted to get there early.”

You nodded. “It’s his first day of physical therapy. He was scared. Jin send any updates?”

“Haven’t checked. You okay?” He asked, feeling your forehead.

“Just tired. Always tired. I wish there was a miracle cure that I could give him. Or that I could take his pain and he could continue to be my rambunctious baby.” You buried your face in his shoulder, sighing in frustration.

The past three weeks had been exhausting. You couldn’t recall a single night where you felt like you went to bed with some scrap of mental, emotional, or physical strength. They had woken Theo up about a week and a half after he was admitted, and he had taken it well since he was still so groggy. But you hardly left his side for the first three days. The only reason you left on the fourth was because of work. You had to pay for the medical bills somehow. Now they were thinking he was healed enough to start some very minor physical therapy. He didn’t have feeling from about mid-shin down, but his brain had healed well. The doctors didn’t think there was any lasting damage now. He got the casts off of his legs and his collarbone was healed, so they were really happy with how he was recovering so far.

Taehyung spent most of his days at the hospital, and Jin and Jimin alternated nights to help you two out.

Yoongi bought you lunch most days, and visited Theo on the weekends. Bringing movies to binge and board games to play.

Theo always perked up when Yoongi got there on Saturday morning.

Namjoon brought Hoseok whenever the two didn’t have too much work, and he would bring in music stuff—instruments or tracks—to entertain Theo.

Theo loved Namjoon’s music visits, just as he loved music class the most.

Hoseok still had to catch up on some grading, and recovering his class from a week with a substitute teacher on top of his own bit of physical therapy for his leg injury. He still obviously felt guilty, but he also helped Theo learn things he was missing in class. He had told you that the kids would ask after Theo, and they even sent in get-well-soon cards.

Theo kept saying he couldn’t wait to go back to school.

Jimin drew cartoons on Theo’s casts before they were removed and Theo loved them so much that he insisted Jimin teach him how to draw, and now there were drawings everywhere.

Taehyung kissed your collarbone. “Hey, you okay?”

“Just…waking up.” You curled into him.

He chuckled sleepily. “No, you’re not.”

“Are you telling me that you’re awake?”

He gave a sleepy sounding hum. “Not really, but I know we need to get up.”

You nodded, yawning into his chest and then rolling away from him and getting up in one movement.

“Hey, Jimin texted me to call him,” Taehyung said, frowning at his phone.

You sighed. “It probably has something to do with his parents. You better call him.”

He made an almost growling sound at the mention of Jimin’s parents—who had been a continual pain in the ass through this whole process—but he calls Jimin.

You don’t pay attention much while he talks to Jimin, getting ready for the day, and only noticing that something was wrong when Taehyung growls again.

He’s pacing along his side of the bed, not saying anything but there’s a steady growl in his throat. “He starts his therapy today!”

You flinch when he scoffs, and worry fills you at the frown creasing his forehead.

“What am I supposed to tell Y/n, Jiminie?!”

“I’d suggest the truth if you want everyone to live,” You said, eyes narrowed.

He looked up and gulped. “Can I make him explain it?”

You were already in front of him, taking the phone. “What’s going on?”

“My parents…they caused a scene here and the doctors decided to reschedule his physical therapy…since my parents ordered a DNA test.” Jimin sounded apologetic.

“What do they expect to get from a DNA test?” You asked, feeling bile rise in your throat.

“I don’t know, but I’m on top of it, they won’t make a move I don’t know about. I’ll stay with him all day, okay?”

“Jimin, why did they order a DNA test?”

He was quiet, and you heard him huff out a breath. “Because they want to see if he’s actually who we claim and maybe add him to their will if he is,” He said, sounding frustrated.

“Which means they’d try to take him away from me?”

“Possibly. If you didn’t want to comply with their standards.”

“Which I won’t.” You glared at the wall. “Your family sucks.”

“I know. It’s probably better if you stay away, though, that’ll delay things because they need your permission to do the DNA testing.”

You froze. “But—”

“I’ll keep her away,” Tae said, loud enough to be heard, and taking the phone. “Call us if Theo needs her.”

You stared in disbelief as he said goodbye to Jimin and then hung up.

He looked back at you. “It’s for the best, anyway. You’re exhausted.”

“I can’t sleep, not now,” You argued.

“There’s more than just physical exhaustion,” He rebutted, then leaned in and kissed you. “He’s safe with friends. Yoongi will be there later today, with Namjoon and Jimin, just like they planned and they’ll play games with Theo.”

“I barely ever there—”

“You practically live there,” He cut you off with a whine. “Please, I know you’re tired. I know. It’s been a really hard month. But Theo’s being looked after really well. All of the nurses adore him because he’s so sweet and polite. It’s time to take care of yourself.”

You tilted your head, at a loss for words.

He stepped closer, and arms wrapping around your waist after he tossed the phone onto the bed. His lips met yours softly. “It’s time to forget you’re a mom for a few minutes. Just…be you. Be who you were before you were a mom.”

“I don’t know who that is,” You whispered.

“Then just be the person you are with me,” He whispered back, voice low and deep.

You sighed and surrendered to him, allowing him to pull you into a series of lingering kisses.

“Dress up a bit, lets go out.” He murmured, tail swooshing behind him. “Or, well…let’s go for a picnic.”

You stepped back slightly, uncertain.

“Please, Y/n. We both need to let go for a while.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek.

And you gave in, nodding. “Okay, but…I don’t know…I don’t want to deal with other people.”

“Then we’ll have a picnic in the backyard. You get ready, and I’ll go get things set up and then if you could make us sandwiches?”

You nodded.

“Then we’ll have a nice little date,” He said, grinning at you as his fingers brushed your cheek. Then his shoulders scrunched happily with his face and he practically skipped out of the room. “Remember, wear pretty clothes!”

“O-okay…” You called back, then frowned at your closet door. “I don’t know if I have anything?”

You went into your closet, looking for something pretty that was also middling between casual and Easter Sunday high teas that you used to go to at your grandmother’s senior home while she was alive.

Instead you found frustration and work clothes. Some clothes you might wear to parent-teacher conferences, or to one of the school events.

But the only date-like thing you found in your closet was from before Theo was conceived and you weren’t about to try that on. You knew how your body had changed since then and didn’t need the reminder from your closet. You’d sort of squeezed into it the last time you’d worn it anyway, and you had more hip now.

Sure, you probably had more clothes in that box, but you knew most of the clothes in ther

Taehyung came back when you had been in there for too long. “What’s wrong?”

“No clothes,” You muttered. “Nothing to wear.”

He tilted his head, then came over to look through your clothes. He pulled out a sweater and a skirt, handing them to you. “It’s a little cold outside, so maybe leggings?”

You looked over the outfit and then at him, surprised. “Um…yeah…okay.”

He nodded and walked out. “I’ll make sandwiches!”

You heard your bedroom door close, and started changing. You were surprised at how well he managed to find an outfit for you, but then again, he dressed so well himself, even on a minimal budget.

And it was a nice, casual date outfit.

You did your hair a little, and your makeup a little more. Actually put on earrings and a necklace.

Taehyung was plating sandwiches, making things look nice.

You looked outside in surprise. “It’s raining?”

He looked out as well. “Yeah. It just started. But we can still have a picnic. It’ll just have to be a living room picnic. I already cleared the space and….” He trailed off when he looked at you. His expression softened and he smiled. “Wow, y/n. You look so beautiful.”

You could have blushed, and you might have blushed from the way he was looking at you. “It’s been a while.”

“You always look beautiful,” He added, sincerity in all of his features and gestures. He took your hands in his, tail slowly swishing. “Thank you for agreeing to do this with me.”

You nodded, looking at the ground, unable to meet his gaze.

“Ooh, can I put a fire in the fireplace?”

You nodded again, stealing glanced at him as he excitedly went to turn on the gas fireplace.

Then he dimmed the lights some, and finished arranging blankets and pillows.

“Alright, I think that covers it, sorry we’re only having sandwiches.”

“I can live with sandwiches,” You replied softly, letting him lead you over to sit in the picnic area. You got comfortable while he hurried back to get the plate of sandwiches. You didn’t know your living room could feel so romantic.

He brought over the food and drinks on the bed-tray, setting it down. “It’s just grape juice, but I thought the glasses made it feel more romantic.”

You smiled. “Does. I didn’t even know the living room could look like this.”

He grinned. “We should make it look like this more often.”

You laughed a little.

He kept your laughing a little as the two of you ate, telling you stories and drawing stories of your family out.

You moved the tray and sat beside him, leaning on his shoulder.

He was still for a moment before relaxing into it. He kissed your forehead, then kept telling you about a movie he had seen.

You stared into the fire, listening to his voice. It was so soothing, so wonderfully perfect.

His lips met yours softly, then parted to lightly brush your cheeks. “I love you, y/n.”

You sighed happily, eyes staying shut. “I love you, Taehyung.”

Previous.  Next.

Taehyung Masterpost.  Masterlist.  

Taglist (must comment on taglist to be tagged from now on)

Tagging: @rosita7703, @ephemeral-mindset @forvever-ddaeng  @ncttzuuy @givebuckysomelove @alex--awesome--22  @missmoxxiesworld  @bryvada @knjhe  @i-dont-even-know-fck @young-yellkie @veryuniquenamegoeshere @lottohsehunnie​ @briramirezalipio​ 

Unable to tag: @bunnyboyenthusiast (think you changed to @kthstrawberryshortcake​ please let me know if I’m wrong or right because I have you listed for multiple stories)

[violetwolfraven]

Ghost Guitar Battle (3/3)

((Part 3 of Violet is a fucking idiot and couldn’t help herself from pursuing a random idea when she has actual requests sitting in her inbox. I’m so sorry y’all.))

Part 1 here.

Part 2 here.

I am well aware that this is corny as fuck but whatever. Also I know I tagged this as flarrie but it’s just in the background.

Warnings: depression symptoms, parent death mentions, character feeling out of control/mind control.

...

Nick didn’t know how long he was just kind of floating in darkness.

It was dark, but it was the kind of darkness where there weren’t shadows, it wasn’t night, there was just nothing there.

A few minutes could have passed or a few months. Nick wasn’t sure. All he really knew was that he was alone, just sitting there in the dark with his guitar.

Not like the stupid thing did him any good. If he tried to play, it just sounded muted. Whatever this void thing was, it didn’t have good acoutstics.

Everything in here was muted. Nick guessed it was convenient it sounded bad when he played, since he didn’t feel like playing anyway. He wasn’t bored, scared, sad, or whatever. Everything just felt... flat. It felt like he’d been sitting there forever.

“Nick?”

Wait, did someone just say his name?

Nick stood up, turning around and seeing—

“You’re Julie’s guitarist.”

“Yeah,” the guy nodded, “Hi. My name’s Luke.”

“Did Caleb get you, too?”

Luke shook his head, “No. Well, almost, once, but... no.”

“Then how are you... you’re a ghost.”

God, everything made sense now. How Julie’s hologram thing worked and why she didn’t perform at that dance. Why it seemed like she talked to herself so much lately. Why Caleb was so interested in her in the first place.

Hell, Julie had called him ‘Luke’ by mistake once. She’d been thinking about this guy.

“Yeah,” Luke agreed, “I’m a ghost. Long story short, no other ghosts can be seen by lifers when they play, so Caleb wants me under his control.”

“That’s why he came after me,” Nick realized, “I could get to Julie and Julie could get to you.”

Luke nodded, “Exactly. Only he slipped up pretending to be you. Carrie noticed and told Flynn and Julie. We came up with a plan to have me come in here and help you push him out.”

“Another ghost tried to help me. It didn’t work.”

“Wait, Willie? You saw Willie?”

“Yeah, but...” Nick sighed, “Caleb made him fade away. I don’t know what happened to him.”

“Oh. Okay. He’s my bandmate’s... he’s a friend, and we haven’t heard from him since he tried to help you. That’s why I asked.”

“Well, I don’t know. So... sorry.”

He was expecting Luke to leave, but he didn’t. He just fiddled with the strap of the electric guitar he was holding.

“So... what do you wanna play?”

“What?”

“I’m here to back you up, Nick. I can’t push Caleb out for you.”

Nick didn’t feel like laughing, but he did anyway, just at the hopelessness.

“I can’t push him out,” he said, “He’s too powerful.”

“You can,” Luke insisted, “This is your mind. You’re playing on your home turf.”

“But I’m not the one in control.”

“But you can get it back.”

“No, I can’t! I’m not good enough.”

“Not good—“ Luke cut off, sighing, “You think I thought I was good enough when I first started booking gigs with my band when I was alive?”

Nick didn’t even know what to say here.

“I was younger than you are now,” Luke said, “I was 15 when I started out. You think I thought I was as good as the bands with twice the experience and twice the recognition? No. But I acted like I did, because if you don’t at least pretend to believe in yourself, no one else will. You gotta sell yourself, Nick. Fake it till you make it.”

“I don’t think that’s how this works,” Nick muttered, “The stakes are higher than a gig.”

“This isn’t about the stakes. Don’t think about those. This is just about the music. Don’t think about the consequences, don’t worry about what’ll happen if it doesn’t work, just play. Feel the music. You’re a musician, so it’s a part of you.”

Nick still hesitated. He knew he couldn’t overpower Caleb, so what was the point?

“Come on,” Luke said, starting up a few quiet chords, “I believe in you. If nothing else, wouldn’t you rather say you tried?”

Nick picked up his guitar.

He started playing hesitantly, a sad song he’d picked up out of self-pity after Julie rejected him, before he made the mistake of getting off his butt and out of his house to give it one last shot.

He didn’t get very far in the song.

“Wha—stop, stop, stop. What was that?”

“I told you,” Nick said, vaguely irritated, “I’m not good enough.”

“No,” Luke shook his head, “No, your technique was fine. It was pretty good, actually, but you weren’t putting any of yourself into the music.”

Nick snorted, “Why do you care? We don’t know each other.”

And if you‘re close with Julie, you probably know about me as the guy who has a crush on her so why would you try to save me?

“You’re right, but this isn’t about me,” Luke insisted, “This is about you. You need to dig deeper, really connect to the music. Play something that’s you.”

Something that was him...

Nick was still hesitant to listen to the ghost his crush had a crush on, but...

He focused in deeper, and what started coming out when he started playing again was a tune something like an early 2000s pop/rock song. It was still sad, but definitely more him.

“There you go,” Luke said, but Nick wasn’t listening.

Playing guitar while feeling this deeply inside his own mind was trippy. It was almost like he could see and hear—

“I know, but what was I supposed to do, Chad?”

Nick was sitting at the kitchen table and picking at his spaghetti while eavesdropping on Ryan talking on the phone with his boyfriend in the next room.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Ryan. Nick did like Ryan. But he still really just wanted his mom. The walls were thin here, and he could hear everything that was being said about him.

“I already told you this, but sure, we can go through it again. His mom, Amanda, is in my musical theatre program. Always shows up late and half-asses choreography. We all thought she was a slacker, but then a couple months ago she unloaded the fact that she’s a single mom and can barely afford to pay for a babysitter for her kid. She’s only in school at all because she got a scholarship.”

There was a pause, and Nick wondered what this Chad guy was saying on the other side. He wondered what Chad was like in real life. He was smiling in the picture Ryan had on his counter.

“His dad’s not in the picture. Amanda never said why, but... yeah, you can still come visit, but you should be prepared for the fact that Nick’s gonna be here. In fact...”

Nick heard Ryan sigh and felt a strong sense of dread at the change in his tone of voice.

“Amanda’s been in the hospital a week and she’s not getting any better. The way everyone keeps talking, I don’t think she ever will.”

That made Nick want to cry. Everyone kept telling him he was strong for dealing with his mom being sick, but he didn’t want to be strong. He just wanted her back, and it sounded like Ryan didn’t think that was going to happen.

“No, no grandparents. Amanda doesn’t have any family. None that she talks to, at least.”

Nick was really trying not to cry now, because... because if he thought about what would happen if his mom didn’t get better, besides how he would miss her, what would happen to him?

“Of course I want to take him, Chad. Nick is my friend’s son. He’s 5 years old and he has nowhere else to go.”

What was he talking about? Taking Nick where?

“Yeah, I know I’m a little young for this, but if I don’t take him, they’re gonna put him in the foster system. Nick’s been through enough. The last thing he needs is to get dumped with some stranger.”

If it was a choice between Ryan and a stranger, Nick knew what he’d choose, but he didn’t want that choice. He just wanted his mom back.

“Chad, I already decided. I’ll use my parents’ lawyers if I have to, but I’m taking Nick in. But... I don’t blame you if you wanna bail. You signed on for me. Not some kid you’ve never met.”

Nick didn’t want Ryan to lose his boyfriend because of him. That would be bad. They looked so happy in that picture on the counter.

Then he heard Ryan laugh.

“Okay, point made. You can meet him when you visit this weekend. You’ll like him. Nick’s a really sweet kid. Love you. Bye.”

Nick couldn’t hide his tears when Ryan opened the door and came back into the main room of the apartment.

“Hey,” he said, kneeling down to be on Nick’s level, “Hey, kiddo, it’s okay. It looks like you’re gonna be living with me for a little longer.”

“You think I’m gonna live with you forever,” Nick accused, “You and Chad. You think my mom’s not gonna get better.”

Ryan froze, then sighed, “I guess you heard me, huh?”

“Your stupid walls are stupid thin,” Nick grumbled.

“My stupid walls are stupid thin, aren’t they? Maybe the wall fairy should come fix them.”

Ryan seemed kind of discouraged with how Nick didn’t find that funny.

“Look,” he said quietly, “Nick, I know I’m not your dad. I’m not even like a cool uncle. I’m just your mom’s friend who wasn’t even that good of a friend until a little while ago. Before that, I was kind of a stupid stinky friend and that’s why she didn’t let you meet me—because she knew I was stinky and she was taking care of you.”

“She always takes care of me,” Nick sniffled.

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed, “Because she loves you. Your mom loves you so much, and that’s never going to change. It’s just that... pretty soon, she won’t be able to take care of you anymore. While she can’t, I wanna to do it for her. Is that okay?”

Nick just wanted things to go back to normal, but... well, Ryan was better than some stranger, if those were the only options.

Little Nick had been devastated when his mom died. It still made him sad sometimes that she was gone, but he had a few nice memories of her to look back on.

And plus, she’d been so busy with work and school that he’d rarely seen her, honestly. Nick had spent most of his early childhood with various babysitters until Ryan got custody.

And besides, especially since Ryan and Chad graduated and moved in together, he had more happy memories of them.

The music shifted to be less melancholy as Nick smiled, thinking of growing up with his dads. The first couple months where Chad clearly had no idea how small children worked but tried so hard to make Nick like him anyway. The confusion of them trying to navigate the system and register him for school. Moving to Albuquerque briefly after the 3 year program Ryan was in ended.

“Nick!” Chad chided, taking the bowl of cookie dough away, “You’re not gonna have any room for dinner!”

“What’s the problem with that?” Ryan asked with a smirk, “You’re a really bad cook.”

“Yeah, Dad,” Nick shot back, “You’re a really bad cook.”

It made him a little nervous when they both froze up a bit.

Nick was well aware that he’d never called Chad or Ryan ‘dad’ before. He wasn’t sure if they were even okay with him calling them that.

He just... wanted to try it out.

Chad and Ryan had taken pictures of him on his first day of kindergarten. They’d taken care of him when he got strep throat the November of 1st grade. Ryan had taught him to sing and Chad hadn’t been phased when Nick showed zero flair for basketball and instead got into little league lacrosse.

They felt like his parents, so Nick wanted to try calling them that.

Then Chad smiled, ruffling his hair, “Well, you can’t cook at all, little man, so I’d curb the sass.”

“Yeah, cause he’s 8 years old,” Ryan objected, “Still, Nick could open a cookbook right now and be better than you. I feel bad for Gabriella and all the other Wildcats’ partners. Zeke can cook so well because none of the rest of you can.”

“What, you think he absorbed the culinary ability from the whole team?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a bad cook too, Dad,” Nick pointed out.

Ryan gasped in fake offense and Chad laughed.

“Can we get pizza?”

“Oh, Chad, he’s definitely your child.”

“You’re blaming me for our kid having good taste in food?”

The tune was evolving again, into a more current style, optimistic and fun. Memories of learning the hard way that he was a really bad dancer and both him and his dads laughing it off. Messing around in their closet and stealing/borrowing old clothes they didn’t use anymore. Missing them when they went to away games or took acting gigs out of town, but being happy for them and cheering them on whenever school didn’t interfere.

Moving to California after Chad graduated and got signed by the Lakers, conveniently around the same time Ryan and Nick’s Aunt Sharpay decided to try out Hollywood and see how different it was from Broadway.

Nick was grinning now, thinking back on all those happy memories.

“What’s up, kiddo? How was school today?”

Nick dodged Chad’s attempt to hug him, “Gross, Dad, you’re all sweaty.

“Well, I was at practice all day, so... the sweat monster’s gonna get you!”

10-year-old Nick yelped, abandoning his homework to run away as his dad chased him around the house, only for them to run headfirst into Ryan and all three of them to fall to the ground.

“First, Chad, go take a shower. Second, is that my black fedora, Nick?”

Nick shrugged, “You don’t wear it.”

“I do too.”

“Not recently.”

Ryan looked like he wanted to argue, but realized he couldn’t, and that made Nick laugh.

“Shush, little man. Ask next time you borrow it. Chad, again, go take a shower.”

“Sure,” Chad stood up, “Meanwhile, you packed your things, right Nick?”

Nick nodded proudly, “Yup.”

“Great. Reunion’s tomorrow, so we’re flying to Albuquerque tonight.”

Should be fun,” Ryan added, “I think it’ll be the first time the whole gang’s in one place since graduation. Cause Sharpay missed the first year, Zeke’s flight got cancelled the second...”

“Yeah, it’ll be good to see everyone.”

Nick tilted his head, “Why’s everybody coming this year?”

As far as he knew, there was nothing special about a 6-year reunion. Or 2014. And the former Wildcats were all pretty busy most of the time, being the successful people that they were. If someone couldn’t make it, it wasn’t like the others would hold it against them.

Nick’s dads exchanged a glance and he realized they were hiding something. He wasn’t sure exactly what, but...

“What’s so special about this year?” he asked, “Don’t say nothing. I can tell it’s not nothing.”

They had another silent conversation before either of them actually answered the question.

“We weren’t gonna tell you until we got there,” Ryan admitted, “Cause it’s kind of a surprise, but you’re gonna be spending some time with Aunt Sharpay this summer.”

“Or Troy and Gabriella,” Chad added, “We made her promise she’d drive you over there if you got tired of her.”

Nick couldn’t see himself admitting he was tired of Aunt Sharpay even if he did get tired of her, but that wasn’t why he was confused.

“Why? Where are you gonna be?”

“On our honeymoon,” Chad answered, “Everyone’s in town this year is cause we’re getting married.”

They were clearly worried about his reaction, but they didn’t have to be because despite being only 10, Nick wasn’t blind. He’d seen this coming a mile away and just been waiting on when specifically it was going to happen.

“I want a little sister or brother.”

They both laughed, and Nick tried not to cringe too much at the sweat when they did a family group hug.

The chords he was strumming now felt suspiciously like some kind of love ballad, like the kind of 90’s songs that had played at his dads’ wedding. It brought back dancing with his Aunt Sharpay and various others of his parents’ friends. Stepping on more than a few former Wildcats toes, of course on accident. Kind of bitterly plotting the kind of mischief he was going to teach the others’ kids when the time came that he finally wasn’t the only kid anymore.

Of course, that brought back memories of that angsty phase Nick went through in his tween years, when he first started realizing exactly how young his parents were to have a kid his age and questioning if they ever would’ve taken him in if there was another option.

That hadn’t been a fun train of thought. The mood of the music dipped in response, corresponding to the anxiety Nick had felt about how his dads had adopted him because they felt like they had to, not because they wanted to. That phase had ended when he decided it didn’t matter as long as they wanted him now, but it had influenced how he’d acted around Lizzie when they first met.

Lizzie had been almost 4 when they adopted her into the family, an orphan like Nick who’s parents had died in a car crash. Now, of course, she was a sassy 8-year-old firecracker who goaded him into playing with her instead of doing his homework, but she’d been a lot more skittish when she was younger. And tween Nick had always tried not to act cold to her, but it wasn’t like he knew anything about being a big brother at the time and he didn’t always succeed.

The music took on a tune almost like a sadder, more complicated version of a child’s nursery rhyme.

Lizzie was a tiny person, and despite the fact that Nick had been the one to ask for a little sibling in the first place, he had no idea how to act around her.

It seemed like that feeling was double-sided, with how Lizzie seemed a little bit scared of him, so at least it wasn’t like he was the only one playing an avoidance game, here. They were avoiding each other. It was mutual.

That wasn’t to say he wouldn’t die for her, because even if they hadn’t gotten much chance to get to know each other in the month since she’d been adopted into their family, she was still his little sister. Despite the disconnect, Nick cared for her more than he knew how to say.

But he really wished he knew how to say it, considering Lizzie was crying and they were in a public place and he was just very awkwardly trying to calm her down and look for their dads at the same time.

You’d think it would be easier to spot an NBA player and a famous actor taking a break from their careers to take their kids to Disneyland.

Nick knew that in the event he got lost, he was supposed to stay in one place so that they could find him, but staying in one place was a lot less daunting when he wasn’t trying to comfort a crying 4-year-old.

“Shh, Lizzie, they’re gonna come find us,” he said, rubbing her back and trying to talk calm, “You’ll see. They’re looking for us right now.”

He didn’t say how he struggled with the thought that if it came down to it and something dangerous happened and they had to choose between looking for Lizzie and looking for him, he didn’t know what their dads would choose.

Nick shoved those thoughts down and tried to say more comforting things, but Lizzie just wouldn’t stop crying. The noise of the crowd definitely was not helping, only stressing her out more. Nick had no idea how to calm her down, except... maybe to distract her?

“Hey, Lizzie, can you tell me your favorite princess?”

Lizzie sniffled, looking up at him with way too much of a look like a kicked puppy.

“Cinderella,” she said in her tiny little voice.

“I like Cinderella, too,” he agreed, “Yeah. You know what Cinderella likes to do? She likes to dance. We’re gonna dance, okay? You can stand on my feet.”

Lizzie stood up, stepping up to stand on Nick’s shoes, and he hummed a Disney princess song, just swaying around in a circle and holding his little sister’s hands.

To, honestly, his absolute shock, it actually seemed to be working. She wasn’t crying anymore, at least, and she actually seemed to be calming down.

Nick made a mental note that princess dance parties were a good thing to do with small children.

Naturally, the guitar shifted to sound like the kind of emo music Nick was listening to in middle school, around the time when he first met Carrie and Julie and Flynn and the guys on the lacrosse team. A few bars sounded suspiciously like the showtunes his dad had showed him at that age, too, in an attempt to get him into theatre.

It wasn’t that Nick didn’t enjoy theatre, but he still preferred music to acting. He and his lacrosse buddies did do team-building parties where they watched musicals and danced and sang to them, though.

Those parties usually ended up being at Nick’s house, given that it was big and all the guys had pretty much become honorary additional big brothers to Lizzie anyway.

Also, given that Los Feliz was most known for its music program and definitely not for its sports, the guys all thought Ryan was as cool as Chad. And even though most of them had supportive parents of their own, the good half of the team that wasn’t straight seemed to find it reassuring that two gay men could be happy and raise a family together.

And despite the time conflict it created, they were all super supportive when Nick took up guitar.

The song he was playing now sounded a lot like the beginner songs he’d learned when he first discovered his flair for the intrument.

“Dude, you’re gonna get all the girls now.”

Nick laughed, “Bro, we’re only freshmen!”

“But girls like guys who can play guitar!”

“Tyler, you’re gay!”

“I still know girls find guitar attractive!”

“He’s right,” Ethan agreed, laughing, “Girls like guitars.”

“Oddly enough, boys like ‘em too,” Anthony chimed in, “I mean I know you’re straight, Nick, but...”

The thing was, Nick wasn’t completely sure he was. He knew 14 was about the age a lot of people started to figure out their sexualities, and lately... he’d found himself getting butterflies as much when Tyler actually managed to score in their games or Kai showed off his percussion skills in marching band as when Carrie let him tag along to her practices with her band and attacked every dance move or Julie played piano and sang with that amazing voice of hers.

The realization didn’t really scare him or anything. Nick guessed he’d known for a while, but just hadn’t put a label on it even in his head until now.

“I think I’m pan,” he admitted, “Like, pansexual.”

“Amen, bro,” Kai said with zero hesitation, “Girls are cute, boys are cute, nonbinary kids are cute, it’s whatever.”

Nick laughed and accepted a high five.

“Yeah, thanks for telling us,” Ethan agreed, “Not that it really matters, but let us know if anybody gives you trouble.”

Tyler nodded solemnly, “They’ll rue the day they messed with the Los Feliz lacrosse team.”

“Of course, ignoring the fact that none of us are very intimidating.”

“Oh, shut up, Chase.”

They all groaned, and Kai grabbed the TV remote to turn something on and tune out the logical person in the room.

“We lose every game,” Chase pointed out defensively, “I mean, no hate, Nick. Being pan is totally pantastic, but—“

They all laughed too much for him to finish that sentence, at which point Nick’s dads entered the room.

“Keep it down, boys, Lizzie’s asleep,” Chad scolded quietly.

All the boys apologized quietly and Kai turned the volume on the beginning of Tangled down.

“What’s so funny, anyway?” Ryan asked.

Nick grinned up at him, “I’m pansexual, dad.”

“Oh. Okay, cool. Want me to buy you a pan flag?”

“Look!” Luke exclaimed suddenly, almost making Nick lose focus and stop playing.

The darkness was getting lighter, the shadows receding. They were standing back on the stage at the high school and Nick wasn’t feeling hopeless anymore. It was still darker than it would normally be, but barely.

“You’re doing it! Keep going!”

The memories became shorter and more random, but Nick dug deep into his emotions and played harder, bringing back—

“Lizzie, you’re getting too big to stand on my feet!”

“Maybe you should grow faster!”

and

“Carrie... uh... would you want to maybe go out sometime? Like to a movie?”

“Um... yeah. Sure, why not?”

and

“God, I really feel for Julie. I remember how bad it hurt when I lost my mom.”

“You’d think she’d realize there’s no better way to channel your feelings than through music.”

“Carrie—“

“I’m just saying, we both know how it feels to lose mothers, and did Julie come to either of us for advice? No. She’s pushed away everyone except Flynn. I feel for her too, but I’m done trying to help when she clearly isn’t willing to accept it.”

and

“Carrie wasn’t helping, Nick. Maybe she meant to, but she was pushing way too hard. She of all people should know how deeply Julie feels things.”

“Flynn, I didn’t mean to—“

“I know. Unlike your girlfriend, you actually care about people.”

and

“I want a puppy.”

“I agree with Lizzie that we should get a puppy.”

“Hmm, Ryan, what do you think? Should we get the kids a puppy?”

“I think we should wait until I’m home from tour and then we should absolutely get a puppy.”

and

“She’s not bad, Tyler, just stressed out. You and the guys keep acting like she’s demon spawn, but the fact is that Carrie’s human. She makes mistakes and tries to play them off so people will keep thinking she’s perfect. She’s got the world watching her every move and I know what it’s like. It’s not easy having a famous parent, especially since she’s a performer with a radically different style than the shadow she’s trying to break out of.”

“I’m not saying it’s easy. I’m saying she said yes to being your girlfriend because you’re both popular and therefore make sense together. She doesn’t like you. I’m pretty sure Carrie doesn’t even like guys and is just too scared to come out and go after someone she actually wants. Plus, she talks down to you, like, all the time. I’m gonna stay your friend no matter what, but you have to see that yeah, maybe Carrie’s got it tough, but she’s not good for you and it doesn’t seem like she even wants to be.”

and

“This isn’t working out. I think we should to break up.”

“You think we should, or you want to break up because you have a crush on Julie?”

“What about your crush on Flynn?”

“What?! I do not have a crush on—“

“I know you well enough to know, Carrie, so cut the crap. I’m not stupid. You and me never really felt that way about each other and we both know it. We were together because it was convenient and it was easier than making a move on someone one of us actually had feelings for.

“Fine. Just try not to run back to me if you chicken out from pursuing a real, heart-stopping, complicated crush again. It’d be embarrassing to make the same mistake twice.”

and

“Julie is totally into you, man.”

“Shut up, Kai.”

“I mean not that I’d know, but she’s cute, right?”

“Shut up, Tyler.”

and

“Julie rejected me. She has a crush on the guitarist in her band.”

“Oh, dang. That’s rough, kiddo.”

“It’s fine, dad. It’s really on me. She had a crush on me for a while, but I was too occupied with Carrie to pay attention. And besides, I know high school relationships rarely last forever, so...”

“Hey, look at who you’re talking to. If you really like Julie, she’s worth one more try. You know, buy her some flowers and give it one last shot. But if she says no...”

“Respect that and leave her alone, I know.”

With one last chord, a terrified tri-tone that represented Nick’s fear when Caleb first possessed him, the shadows fully disapated, leaving Nick in a well-lit, very familiar theatre.

He wasn’t afraid anymore. He had his friends and his sister and his dads behind him, with him no matter what.

And Nick still wasn’t a hundred percent sure how that had just worked, but he could feel Caleb’s hold over him disappearing. The stage was fading not because he was getting shoved down out of control, but because he was regaining control of where his body was in real life.

“I guess that’s my cue to leave,” Luke said with a grin, “Good luck.”

He poofed away, and Nick found himself in that club Caleb had manifested when he won the first fight for control. He guessed the ghost had snuck him here between lacrosse practice and curfew.

There were a bunch of 20-somethings in brightly colored costumes who seemed to be practicing a dance nearby, but none of them were paying him any mind. Fortunately, it didn’t seem like Caleb was there, though Nick couldn’t feel him in his head anymore.

Whatever. He could see the exit from here, and from there he could find Julie and her band and help them beat that crazy dead magician.

Well, maybe he should go home first, and see his little sister. Find his phone and call the guys for a musical watch party as soon as possible. Definitely hug his dads, since the Broadway musical one of them was touring in was in town.

Nick knew he couldn’t tell them how he’d won a guitar battle for his soul, but he could enjoy that victory by himself, too.

[honey-makki]

Sorry

Characters: Haiba Lev X Fem!Reader Summary: After talking to your father on the phone, Lev wants to help you unlearn unhealthy coping mechanisms. Warnings: family issues, allusions to abuse, bad childhoods, abusive language Song: seven- taylor swift Genre: hurt-> fluff Word Count: 1.7k+ A/N: This is about a rough childhood and growing from that. It’s deeply personal and could very well be triggering to people. I wanted to write something about the value of having a support system without undermining the work an individual has to do personally.

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The holidays are generally a joyous time of year, full of reflection on your growth, sweet traditions with friends, and time spent with family. You adore the yearly gift exchange that you and Lev host in your shared apartment. Wreath cookies fresh out of the oven, hot cocoa in everyone’s mugs and silly pajamas.

The gifts were never serious, ranging from bacon toothpaste to a copy of Flubber (which Lev would argue is a fantastic movie, but that's besides the point) to a unicorn mug. Laughter floating around the house as people switch gifts and mosey around snacking on food and catching up with others.

Nothing brings you more joy than seeing your friends, all gathered together and just existing. Nothing can crush your spirit other than a phone call from your father. “Y/N, we expect you will be home Thursday night for the family dinner and stay for breakfast with Grandma in the morning.”

You know it won't matter how you try to get out of it, years of attempts proved that you go, or it gets worse. The already tense relationship strung even tighter, harsh words thrown your direction, implications that were clearly false, guilt piling up until you can’t take it anymore and you head home for a visit.

You tried explaining to your father that you had an overnight shift at the hospital and wouldn’t be able to make it. Hearing laughter from your friends through the phone, he tears into you for “valuing their companionship more than the people who gave you everything.” You try to get a word in but he doesn’t stop.

Lev notices you’ve been gone for almost 20 minutes on a call and decides to check on you. He walks outside to see you, sitting on the snowy stoop. The scene breaks his heart and lights a fire in him. Seeing you crying into your knees, your father still spewing vicious words from the phone sitting at your side. Both of you can hear him clearly even though he isn’t on speaker, the venom of his voice is amplified through sheer anger.

In the coldest tone your silver haired boyfriend has ever used, “Y/N has to go now,” and hangs up on your confused father. He slides into a seated position next to you, placing an arm around your shoulder, cooing soothing nothings to you. His voice brings you back to earth a little, silently crying, rather than the gut wrenching sobs.

Voice raspy from overuse, “I-- I’m sor- sorry-- sorry you had to c-come check on m-m-me.”

“Angel, don’t worry. You have nothing to apologize for. I checked on you because I care about you, not because I felt obligated,” knowing you want to rebut, he continues “don’t talk, let your voice rest. Just let me tell you that I love you and I’m here for you for as long as you’ll have me.”

He pulls you onto his lap and holds you until you feel strong enough to go inside, watching the snowflakes fall together in the meantime. ------------ Lev knew that your childhood wasn’t the best. You never brought up him meeting your parents or visiting home for the weekend. You never joined in the conversations reminiscing about “the good ole days” stating rather that you were more than happy to live in this moment.

You always shot Lev a loving glance or gave him a peck on the cheek to show that you weren't being cheesy, but genuinely meant it.

You were never slow to tell him how much you loved him, lamenting the fact that he made you feel safe, like you truly had a home. He took your words to heart, but never really understood what you were implying until that night on the phone with your dad.

Everything seemed to fall into place, puzzle pieces of your life up until now finally fitting together in his mind. The way you looked relieved when he told you that he loved you, brushing off talking about you family despite loving seeing Alisa and his parents, how you mentioned being independent at an early age.

The way you repeatedly apologize over every tiny mishap from bumping into him in the hallway or spilling a glass of water. How when you have an argument, you put space and preferably a piece of furniture between you two. The way you flinched when you heard a man yelling, retreating into Lev’s arms reflexively.

He didn’t realize what he was seeing were coping mechanisms from abuse. Overapologizing for existing, always being ready to run if needed, anxiety, and the pavlovian physical reaction you have to loud noises.

How did he not see this before? -------- It became Lev’s one true intention to help you. He tracked and noticed what triggered your anxiety so he could remove or reduce them in your daily life, always trying to stay seated and relaxed whenever an argument occurred knowing that his imposing 6’3 figure makes the problem worse, never raising his voice, even in glee, not when he was playing video games.

You noticed he was acting a little different, but weren’t exactly sure where it came from. You had still avoided his questions after the party a few months back just brushing your dad’s behavior as a one time thing. Lev made it clear that you didn’t need to go visit them if you didn’t want to do so, and if you did, that he would be going with you.  Not wanting you to face that alone.

Lev started going to therapy, wanting to make the idea normal. He talked about coping mechanisms he was learning to deal with stress, offering up these little nuggets of advice in a way that you could take them and avoid his questions until you were ready to talk.

It was almost 6 months after the night Lev talked to your dad on the phone that you broke down in his arms again.

----------- Your birthday was next week. When you got out of the shower after a double shift at the hospital, the first thing you saw on your revived phone was a voicemail from your dad. Lev already knew something was wrong by the whimper embedded in the way you called out to him from your bathroom.

You were never one to show emotions unless you wanted to express them, having learned that skill at a young age, but this time it broke through. The image of Lev opening the door with force that teetered between firm and tender, face contorted into concern, his body glistening with a thin sheen of sweat over his bare chest was the epitome of comfort.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your work out ses-”

“No. Y/N you do not need to apologize to me for existing, for feeling or for needing me. Ever. I love you so, so much and would do anything to make you realize that. To make you understand that.”

That confession is how you realized Lev already knew your secret. You didn’t have the ability to process that his past actions were intentional, trying to make you comfortable and grow as an individual. You can’t process that because the thought of someone knowing about your past brought you to tears.

You never wanted to seem broken, like damaged goods, someone with too much baggage to handle. It’s the whole reason you never told Lev even though you were planning on spending your life with him. You didn’t want to ruin that; to have him not pick up the pieces of your heart. Leaving you even more broken than you were before.

He knew that his love wouldn’t fix your heart in totality or immediately resolve bad habits, but he wanted to give you the support to get there. And right now, you needed him to hold you.

The warmth of his body encompassing yours as he moves you into a sitting position reduces the cold wave of worry that ran through your body. The coo of his gentle voice whispering words of adoration and pure unadulterated love into your ear brings you out of your head, grounding you in this moment.

To the only moment that matters. Moments with him, safe, tender, and full of support.  When you gather yourself, you quietly walk him through your childhood. He patiently waits, not interrupting you but assuring you to take your time when you get choked up.

“Y/N, I want to make sure that you never feel like that again. I want to help you move forward.”

And he does just that. He watches you go to therapy and come back a little lighter, even on the bad days. Lev brings you a cup of tea when your anxiety gets too bad, always fast to remove you from situations that might be triggering. He is a constant companion and cheerleader for your transformation.

------

You stand in the nursery for your soon to be child with Lev. Basking in what the future holds for the two, no, three of you. Lev notices the wistful expression on your face as you seem lost in thought. “Hey, we will be fantastic parents. Our kid is going to know what love is and see it exemplified every day.” He cups your cheeks, staring into your eyes trying to see if you not only understand, but believe him.

“I know. Sorry, I’m just, It’s just a concern I have. I don’t want to be like-”

“Y/N. You would never emulate your childhood. I’ve seen you grow so much and become the most resilient and compassionate woman I know. You will be able to teach those things to our child. I have no doubts about that.” He punctuated his proclamation with a sweet kiss on the lips and a soft hug, accommodating for your belly which holds the future, not a repeat of the past.

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