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reidyoulikeabook · 3 years

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A is for Ankle Socks

Summary: The first installment in my A-Z of Spencer Reid series. Spencer Reid is very particular about his socks.

Ship: fem ! BAU reader x Spencer Reid

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Discussions of case-typical violence, blood, brief description of a fight, minor injury to reader that requires some stitches.

A/N: hello! this is my first ever series and i’m very nervous about it! it’s going to be a chronological a-z series with Spencer, detailing the progression of your relationship!

Spencer Reid permanently wears odd socks. The only time you can recall him wearing matching ones, in the year you’ve known him, was on days he had to go to court. Then, it was required that he wear the technically mandated uniform of proper leather shoes, and monochrome socks. On those days, Hotch would turn up with a pair of black socks tucked into his briefcase, just in case. Spencer had needed them, twice.

However, today is not a court day. Today is day 8 of a case in back of beyond Oregon that, quite frustratingly, seems to be going absolutely nowhere.

It says quite a lot, really, that in a day spent combing over convicts with domestic violence charges, the sight you look up to see is more viscerally disturbing. Spencer’s perched on the end of a desk, as he so often seems to be, his ankles crossed over each other. Signature black converse on his feet. And he appears...not to be wearing socks?

He notices you looking at him, and flicks his eyes downward self-consciously, “Is something wrong?”

“Are you wearing socks?”

He lets out a quiet laugh, “Uh. No. I meant to go to the laundrette last night but then Hotch called us into that meeting. I wasn’t expecting to be out here this long.”

“Is it comfortable?” You ask, “Wearing those without socks?”

He kicks his feet around just slightly, “Not really. I guess I’d forgotten about it until you mentioned.”

“Sorry,” You say, with an apologetic smile.

“Not your fault,” He says, looking back at the paperwork in his lap, “Hey would you mind coming to take a look at this actually? I think I might have something.”

***

By day 2, you’d learnt that the only sandwich shop in town had a reputation for bad food hygiene that none of you felt like risking. Normally, everyone would roll their eyes at Spencer for his investigation into such things. However, in this case, everyone else seemed to be as thankful as you always were.

It’s your turn to do the lunch run today, so you head to the grocery store that isn’t too far out of town. Putting your car in park, you mentally run through the list that the team had given you: cheap pasta for everyone but Rossi, who was willing to risk running foul of their microwave meal selection, as many coffee supplies as you could manage, some sour gummy worms for Spencer, mineral water for Hotch, and tights for you. It was frankly quite impractical to wear the things. You ran through so many brambles, fell down so many times, that you almost felt you should get pantyhose hazard pay. In fall in Oregon though? You’d splash out the $6 for the sake of preventing frostbite. If only because Hotch would be furious.

You smile at the thought. Wandering through the aisles, you collect everything you need. Spencer only asked for a pack of sour gummy worms, but, with a smile on your face, you decide to get him the strawberry laces he likes too.

It’s only when you scan the cart, last minute, that you realise what you’ve forgotten.

Tights. Shit.

Wheeling the cart around, you weave through the aisles looking for them. The underwear aisle is aisle 20, and it looks like it’s been ransacked. Flicking through the disorganised display, you see them.

A five pack of socks, adorned with farm animals and backgrounds of a completely clashing colour. It’s almost too bright for you, but you know a certain sockless Spencer who will be sure to appreciate them. Out of curiousity, you navigate your way over to the men’s section and have a look through. Mostly, it’s all black and navy. Right at the back though, you spy a similarly garish looking pack, this time with vegetables on.

You put them in the basket, eyes flickering over a pair of matching aubergine patterned boxers, as you make your way over to the tights. You select your usual kind, turning your attention back to the boxers.

Is it weird to get him boxers?

He’d know it was a joke, right?

Is it weird to get him socks?

Well he didn’t have any

Yeah but you don’t need to get him two packs

Yes I do we might be here a while

10 more days?

He could fall. He could spill coffee on his shoes. He could get shot.

How would socks help with him getting shot?

Your internal monologue gives you a moments reprieve, and then.

Kinda weird you got him socks

Nobody else would have got him socks

Yeah well I’m just thoughtful.

The last thought crosses your mind without permission, and you almost bristle at the brazenness of your lie to yourself. However, you decide, examining the real reasons you’re so eager to provide comfort to your favourite co-worker would require mental stamina you didn’t have right now. Mental stamina that would be better put to use on the case at hand. Mental stamina that definitely wasn’t being used to employ the BAU’s favourite defense mechanism: denial.

***

“I got you a surprise.”

“A surprise?” Spencer spins around in his chair to face you.

“Yep,” You say, plopping the sweets down onto the desk in front of him and grinning.

“Strawberry laces!” He says, smile lighting up his face, “Thanks ____!”

“That’s not the surprise.”

He quirks his brow, confusion tugging at his features, “Then what’s the surprise?”

You untuck your arms from behind your back, handing him the pairs of socks.

He looks down at them. He’s silent for a moment, and your heart thuds.

Fuck.

Told you it was weird.

It’s definitely weird.

He definitely thinks you’re-

You don’t have time to finish that thought, however, because Spencer scoots his chair back. Standing up, he pulls you into a hug. He gently squeezes you, and when he speaks his voice is low, cracking a little.

“Thank you,” He says quietly, “That was really thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

You lean into him, allowing yourself to be enveloped, “No problem. I know you have some issues with sensory things sometimes and I just thought, you know,” you trail off, “Anyway, I didn’t know which ones you’d prefer and I know you like to mix and match anyway so I just got both.”

He doesn’t say anything. But he squeezes you again, tighter this time, before releasing you. Strangely, he won’t meet your eye as he does.

“I’m gonna go put them on, okay?”

“Okay,” You say, watching a little quizically as he hurriedly heads out of the room.

Derek happens to be heading back to the room, bumping into Spencer on his way out.

“You alright kid?” He asks.

“I'm fine," Spencer says, waving him off. He tries to avoid meeting Derek’s eyes, knowing as well as he does that if the profiler catches the look on his face he’ll be found out.

Derek allows him to shrug past him with a confused glance over his shoulder. He walks into the room, scooping the nearest file off the desk and asking in your general direction, “You know what’s up with him?”

“Nope,” You say, popping the p.

You don’t. And it’d bother you, except you genuinely don’t have time right now to dwell on it. Although, try as you might to focus on narrowing down this list of factories in the area, it niggles at you.

***

You don’t see Spencer again until you’re heading out to the unsubs location. You get called out by Hotch in the minute before he returns, and then it’s all guns blaring. Emily and Dave managed to work some magic with Penelope, and the place he’s holding the hostage has been narrowed down to a factory quite far out of town.

You’re perched in the back, discussing entry tactics with Hotch when your eyes travel down to Spencer’s shoes.

One chicken, and one broccoli sock sit on his left and right feet respectively. It’s hard to see them though, with how far they are down his feet.

Hotch answers his phone then, immediately barking down commands at the local PD who are apparently failing to summon adequate manpower, in Hotch’s opinion at least.

You take the moment to cautiously lean over to Spencer, whispering, “Were they not the right size?”

He smiles at you, “They fit just fine as ankle socks.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think to check the sizes, womens ones are pretty much all one size. I completely forget that men have massively different sized feet.”

He laughs, “Are you suggesting I have huge feet?”

You feel yourself flush a little, “I don’t think that’d necessarily be an inaccurate suggestion.”

Amused, he smiles. Hotch turns around to you both, momentarily taking his eyes off the road, “I need you to call Penelope, and tell her to get us all the CCTV she can get in the area. If we’re going to have to go in without enough men to cover the perimeter we’ll need all the tactical advantages we can get.”

“Of course, sir.”

***

Lunging forward, you tackle the unsub to the ground, effectively freeing Spencer from the grasp he’d previously been held in.

“It’s over Peter,” Hotch’s voice comes, even and steady.

“No it’s not.”

Before you can even register what’s happening, you’re being tossed backwards, landing against some barbed wire. Immediately, you’re on your feet again, running after him. Not noticing how the wire has ripped a hole in your tights, and cut into your leg a little.

Grabbing his arms behind him, you use all your strength to subdue him to the floor, handcuffing him. Wiping the sweat off your brow, you breathe out a deep sigh of relief.

Derek has it from there, patting you on the shoulder and giving you a “Good job kiddo.” He leads Peter out.

You rub your chest, feeling the adrenaline start to flood out of your body with all the excitement now over. A stinging senstation in your calf gets your attention, and looking down you see the nasty wound oozing blood. It isn’t much, nothing that two stitches won’t fix.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asks, having gotten up from his position on the floor, “You didn’t have to...Derek would have gotten him.”

“Why should he be the only one that gets to tackle people?” You ask, letting out a breathless tinkle of a laugh.

“Statistically, he is the one who does the most tackling out of all of us. Then Hotch, then Emily, then Rossi, then me, then you.”

“I am not the one that tackles the least,” You say indignantly.

He tips his head to the side, “Are you gonna argue with the guy who has an eidetic memory or are we going to get you stitched up?”

“Both, please.”

He laughs at that, linking his arm around your waist. You limp against him a little, out to the paramedics. Mostly it’s for Spencer’s benefit. That’s what you tell yourself, you’re letting him help you so he doesn’t feel emasculated.

When has Spencer Reid ever fallen pray to toxic masculinity?

He might have

When?

Well he could

You just like how he smells

It’s true. The faint waft of his cologne is incredibly comforting. He doesn’t loosen his grip on you for even a second, helping to hoist you so you can sit on the ambulance bed while the medics attend to your leg. You’re feeling a little woozy, so Spencer sits next to you, allowing you to lean on him for support.

“Can you tell me something?” You ask, gritting your teeth, “Distract me?”

It doesn’t really hurt, getting stitched up, you’ve just never found it the most comfortable of processes. All your favourite cases have ended with you not having to get sewn up. You know that much.

“I’ve actually only tackled one more person than you in my entire BAU career,” He says, deciding to return to your former discussion, “I didn’t really go out in the field all that much until a couple years in, it was only because of Hotch that I really went out in the field to take down an unsub for the first time. That was March 12th, 2005. You’ve only been here 9 months and have done almost as much physical stuff as me. One more and we’re even.”

“Well, if you could try not to be the person getting tackled by the unsub next time. Then I might not have to make a tackle.”

His mouth turns up at the corner, “You tackled him for me?”

You feel yourself growing embarassed, “Not for you. For the socks.”

“Oh the socks?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s a little unfair to go putting yourself in harms way while wearing a gift someone got for you. 5 dollar socks Spencer, practically designer at that price, I’d hate to see them ruined day one.”

He laughs, his tone playful, “Well you’ll need to bare that in mind.”

“Huh?”

He tilts his head towards Emily, strutting her way across to the ambulance with Spencer’s go-bag in her arms. She hands it to him, smiling at you.

“Should I let Morgan know the team will no longer be in need of his services?”

You snort, “I’d hate to steal his brand.”

She shakes her head, “Drinks when we get back? Hotch said the jet’s ready for whenever you’re done, and Rossi says he’s buying.”

“You got it,” You nod.

She pats you on the shoulder, exaggeratedly eyeing your leg again and rolling her eyes as she walks away, “Idiot.”

You smile, turning back towards Spencer, “Are you coming for drinks? I can drive you home.”

He visibly considers it for a moment, “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

“You’re all done here,” The paramedic interrupts, wiping down your leg with an anti-bacterial wipe, “Was a really smooth tear for barbed wire, shouldn’t leave that much of a scar.”

They press a bandage over it and you thank them, getting to your feet with the help of Spencer.

“Wait, why’d you get Emily to bring your go-bag if we’re going home?”

He looks almost bashful. Out of his bag, he pulls a three pack of tights. Just the kind you always wear. Down to your preferred brand, and everything.

“When did you-?”

“I noticed you rip them a lot while we’re on cases. I didn’t know if it was weird but then...the socks?” He gestures at his feet, floundering, “I’m sorry if that’s...I just didn’t-”

“No,” You cut off his ramble, “No, Spencer, that’s really sweet. Thank you, thank you so much. Can I hug you?”

He nods, happily. You wrap him into your arms, pressing your face against his chest. Inhaling the scent of him. Reveling in how safe you feel, how protected, thinking how you’d take three hundred stitches if it meant you got Spencer out of harms way. He was so thoughtful, so kind, so attentive to detail.

Oh fuck.

You can barely look at him. It hits you like a train, the realisation. Co-workers save each other from unsubs. Friends buy each other gifts that have meaning and value. But only somebody who is in love feels like this when they get handed tights. Oh.

It’s a warm feeling. Overwhelming. So much so that you miss Spencer saying he’ll be right back, scooting off to Rossi who’s shouting him over with a question the local PD need answering for their report.

You stumble a little, thankful that you have the blood loss and adrenaline rush to blame if anybody were to notice.

You wait for the wave of denial to hit, to come and lock your feelings back in the treasure chest you’ve managed to shove them down into now. It doesn’t come. Instead, you look at Spencer with a sense of awe that feels newfound, but has actually been here all along. Watching him speak to Rossi, you really notice him: just how much he gestures with his hands, how quickly he relays information, how the huge smile on his face, when he turns around to notice you staring, truly meets his eyes.

***

You can’t tell if it makes you a good profiler, or somewhat of a stalker, that you notice Spencer wears the ankle socks you got him to work everyday for the next 9 days.

Spencer worries he’s being a little too obvious, but he can’t help that whenever he sees the socks he beams at them. They remind him of you. Unbeknownst to everybody but Dave (who somehow notices everything), he spends a good minute or so a day sneaking a peek at the novelty socks under his converse. And then trailing his eyes over to you. Thinking how much he loves the person who got them for him.

----

B is for Blindfolds

Tagslist (this is just people who replied to the post about this series and said they’d like to be tagged! let me know if you’d like to be added/removed to this series masterlist): @reidingmelodies @rem-ariiana

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #imagine spencer reid #spencer reid imagines #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #imagine criminal minds #criminal minds x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic

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uncpanda · 3 years

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Small Town Moose: Part 10

AN: After watching the show, I noticed that Hotch is fairly open outside of work, he’s not as serious and he smiles more. Also, JJ doesn’t leave, she will be promoted when it’s time.

This is taking place about two years after Haley’s death, Jack is six. Reader is around 25-28.If you want to be notified when this story is updated you can subscribe to it on AO3.

AN: Want to see the outfits mentioned in this chapter, click on the link in my bio to go to pintrest and see the board!

Part 9

You’re in Aaron’s home office, he’s been working most of the day, and Prentiss had been texting you about the new addition to the team. “So this girl, her father was a serial killer? And she was working a case similar to her own childhood trauma?” Aaron doesn’t meet your eyes, “Whose brilliant idea was it to bring her on that case?”

Aaron smiles, “Dave’s. I’m just not sure about what to do. Dave and Prentiss both want to give her another chance. I’m not sure she’s a good fit.”

You smile back, “Aaron . . .”

“Going to profile me?”

“Your team is close. Very close. You don’t like letting others in. Emily told me that it took her months to get in on your good side.”

His lips twitch, and he reaches out for you. His hands settle on your hips and pull you close to him. “I let you in, very easily, and very quickly.”

You settle down, and sit on his lap, “I am the exception.”

“Yes, you are. Anyways, I have a rare day off, and I want to spend it with you, Jack, and the peanut.” His hand settles on your abdomen. You’re not showing yet, but Aaron seems to like placing his hand on your belly. It seems reassuring to him in some way.

“Why don’t we go to that very hip, and cool hangout, what’s it called again . . the park. We can let Moose and Jack run around.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Neither of you move for a minute, before Aaron grins and scoops you into his arms. You squeal and a second later Jack and Moose come to see what’s going on. Jack immediately goes and attaches himself to Aaron’s leg while Moose barks.

You swing down to your feet, and Aaron scoops Jack up. While the boy is hanging upside down and giggling, he asks, “Want to go to the park?”

“Yes!”

He sets him down, “Go get your shoes on.”

While Jack runs to get ready, you slip Moose’s harness on. You slip the leash around your wrist, and take one of Jack’s hands while Aaron takes the other. As you walk you occasionally swing Jack between the two of you. Once you reach the park, you slip Moose’s longer lead on and chase Jack and Moose around. It’s a weird game of tag but it leaves Jack laughing, and you out of breath. You groan a little bit and lie down in the grass. Moose is quick to throw his body down on top of yours.

You reach behind you and scratch behind his ears. You’re rewarded with a flurry of doggy kisses. Aaron comes and kneels down next to you, “You okay.”

“Just tired.”

He smiles, “I’m going to take Jack to the swings.”

You give him a thumbs up.

You watch the two of them play for a little bit, while Moose tries to crawl into your lap despite being too big. You wrap your arms around your big baby and watch as Jack and Aaron play at the swings and then slide. While Jack seems to make a friend, Aaron is immediately trapped by what you assume is a single mom.

You watch amused, as he tries to extricate himself. He shoots you pleading looks, and you grin. You push yourself up, and move towards your boyfriend. You get close enough to hear, “So no wedding ring, you’re single then?”

“Not exactly.” You slip your arms around his waist and clasp them in front of his stomach. You can feel the exhale of relief, as he clasps his hands on top of yours. You smile, and untangle one of your hands so you can shake hers, “Y/N Lance. The girlfriend.” She just stares at your hand.

You see Aaron frown at that and file it away for later.

Her smile becomes strained, “Oh. Well then, if you’ll excuse me.”

He turns around and wraps his arms around you, “Thank you. You just saved me.”

You huff, “You chase serial killers for a living, and you’re scared of single soccer moms?”

“They terrify me.” You laugh, and he smiles, “You think that’s funny?”

“Hilarious.”

He pulls you into his arms and kisses you. You stay close to him, and a minute later Jack comes running up to you. He jumps into your arms, you settle him on your hip, and he makes a request that has Aaron wincing, “I want to play soccer.”

Aaron gives you a warning look, and you kiss Jack’s cheek, “I think that’s a great idea.”

The boy cheers, and then shimmies down. You watch as Moose chases him up the playground equipment and down the slide.

“You realize that soccer games are played early, right? On Saturday mornings.”

You nod, “I know, but I think it would be good for him.”

This time Aaron moves behind you, and wraps his arms around you. His hands rest splayed on your belly, and he kisses your temple, “I’m gonna be a soccer dad.” You laugh. It’s nearly nightfall when your little group makes their way back home. Jack is so tired that Aaron has to carry him home. Dinner is a quick meal of a sandwich and milk, before Jack climbs into bed and is out like a light. As with most nights, Moose climbs right into bed with the boy.

You watch Jack sleep for a minute, before following Aaron into the bedroom. He falls on to the bed, and you climb onto it next to him. You slip a hand under his shirt and trace patterns onto his skin. His eyes close and hums in contentment. You nudge him to turn over, and straddle his hips. You work on massaging his back, you find more than a few knots, but soon he’s relaxed. You place little kisses down his spine.

“Have I told you I love you lately?”

“Not in the past hour.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

-----

He can feel Dave’s eyes on him. They’re on their way home from a case, and all he wants to do is go home and curl up with you and Jack in front of a movie. Aaron avoids looking up until he can’t avoid it anymore.

Dave is grinning, “Something’s been bugging you all week.”

Aaron looks around and makes sure no one else is paying attention, “Y/N is pregnant.”

Dave’s face breaks out into a grin, “Aaron, that’s amazing. I’m happy for you. You’re happy, right?”

“I’m thrilled.”

“So, what’s wrong.”

“Y/N and I took Jack and Moose to the park earlier this week. Y/N was resting in the grass after we finished playing tag. I took Jack to the playground area, and a woman came up and started. . . flirting with me. Y/N came over, and saved me.”

“And? You’re not having second thoughts are you?”

Aaron can’t help but glare at Dave, “No.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

“She introduced herself as my girlfriend.”

“And you didn’t like that.”

“I’m over thirty-five, and a part of me just hated it. We’re having a baby, she’s going to be the mother of my child. She loves Jack, Jack loves her. . .and I love her.”

“So what are you going to do? Move her in? Do a big gesture?”

“She’s basically already living with us. I’m fairly certain Murphy has been moving her clothes over when she’s not looking.”

“You would be correct.”

He looks up to find Agent Murphy staring at him, and she shrugs, “If you want something done right you have to do it yourself. Plus, I can turn her room into a workout room.”

Dave’s voice is heavy with sarcasm, “She doesn’t have control issues at all.”

Aaron lowered his voice, and admitted what had been on his mind for days now, “I want to propose.”

Dave’s eyes go big, “Seriously?”

He nods, “We’ve been together less than a year, but . . .It’s hard to explain.”

“No it’s not. You’re in love with her.”

He leans forward, so that his elbows rest on his knees, “But is it fair to her? She’s done a great job dealing with the job, but my head keeps going back to Haley.”

Dave shrugs, “I hate to say this, but Haley signed up to be married to a prosecutor. Y/N knew what she was getting into. Has she complained at all?”

“About the job? No. Morning sickness? Yes.”

“My honest opinion?”

“Yes.”

“She does well with this life. She’s an introvert. She doesn’t mind being alone, or with the people she loves or cares about. She’s a caretaker, she wants to make sure those she loves are okay. She can handle this.”

He nods, “Thanks.”

There’s a moment of silence before Dave leans in and asks, “Can I go ring shopping with you?”

Aaron raises an eyebrow at that, “What?”

Dave shrugs, “I’ve done this three times, I want to make sure you don’t screw it up.”

“I’ve done this before too.”

Dave laughs, “But you were a college kid then. Don’t worry about it, I’m here to help.”

Aaron doesn’t say anything, he just smiles.

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #david rossi #jack hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds reader insert #criminal minds fanfic

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songsformonkeys · 3 years

Note

So um... What's gonna happen to reader and Dave on Valentines day? It would be so cute they finally slept in the same bed or if they kissed for the first time. Or maybe they cuddle at least? 🥺️🥺️🥺️ (i totally headcanon that Dave would remember at least some things after sleeping in the same bed but that's up to you)

VALENTINE’S DAY (dave york x reader)

Part of the Sturdy Home verse. Unbeta’d

You had gotten halfway through the day before you realized just what day it was today. Valentine's Day. It had never been the most celebrated holiday in the York household. But like so many things after the accident, you couldn't help but see it in a slightly different light this year. You'd never felt the need to celebrate Valentine's Day before, because it had just seemed silly with a dedicated day for showing your love for each other when the evidence of that love had always been there. Now, you would have given anything for a day with your husband, to get to love him and spend time with him again. But that was impossible.

If Dave had realized what day it was, he'd made no show of it, for which you were very grateful. You didn't think you would be able to handle being a spectator to Dave's internal struggle to figure out whether he was expected to get a Valentine's Day gift for the wife he didn't remember loving.

He'd made you breakfast, but that was nothing new. He always did on the mornings when he woke up before you. ”Makes me feel useful,” he'd said when you'd told him that it really wasn't his job to feed you all breakfast or to pack the girls' lunches for school. And there had been such desperation in his eyes to let him do something, that you hadn't had the heart to tell him no.

It was Sunday, but you had still decided to get a couple of hours of work done. Your energy was a fickle mistress these days and you had to catch her whenever she appeared, regardless of whether or not that was on a Saturday or Sunday. It still didn't make up for all the weekdays you'd spent crying and getting absolutely no work done.

The girls were playing nicely upstairs and you could hear the muffled sound of the TV in the other room. Dave was probably watching something.

”Hey.”

Or not. You jumped at the sound of his voice behind you and almost knocked over your mug of coffee.

”Jesus, Dave!”

”Sorry...sorry. I just wanted to see if you needed a refill,” he said with a small smile and nodded towards your mug.

”You're not my butler, Dave,” you said and immediately felt like shit as the smile slipped from his face.

”I know. I just... I'll leave you to it, then.”

He’d disappeared the way he'd come before you could figure out how to apologize.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later, you and Dave were standing in the hallway and if he had been upset with you earlier he seemed to have gotten over it because now he was smiling again - that soft smile that made your entire insides twist up in painful knots.

”Are you sure you don't mind doing this?” you asked him, not for the first time.

”I don't mind doing this,” he repeated, just like he had the other times you'd asked.

”Because I can cancel if...”

”I have watched them before, you know,” Dave interrupted you. He was right. Dave had looked after the girls plenty of times when you had gone running errands or visited your parents. He was great with them and you knew that you had zero reasons to worry about his babysitting abilities. Yet, there was this tightness across your chest and an unreasonable urge to lock the doors and windows around the safety bubble that was your home. If you were completely honest with yourself, this whole thing might be more about you doubting yourself rather than you doubting Dave.

This thing you were going to would require you to be a normal person for a few hours, and you were terrified that you had completely forgotten how to be just that. Normal. You could fake it, for the amount of time it took to go grocery shopping, but this was for much longer and would require you to actually interact with people.

”Yes, but not for bedtime,” you continued, fully aware you were grasping for straws. Dave was aware too and he reached out to place a hand on your shoulder. You froze and he pulled it back, but let the assuring smile linger.

”You've left us enough money to order pizza for the whole block, and I know where their pajamas and toothbrushes are. They've already picked what movie we're gonna watch, and Full Metal Jacket is a great movie!”

”Dave...” you sighed, feeling a slight tug at the corners of your mouth, despite yourself.

”We'll be fine,” Dave said, and even in his sweatpants and worn t-shirt, there was a certain air of authority about him. That was something you recognized from before. ”And I have your number if I need to contact you. Now go.”

He pulled your coat down and helped you into it. He didn't actually push you out the door but you suspected that was only because you stepped outside on your own.

As you walked towards the taxi waiting on the road, you felt like there was a rubber band attached to your back, straining and wanting to pull you back into the house and back to Dave and the girls.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you returned home a few hours later, the house was dark, save for the lights in your bedroom. You must have forgotten to turn them off before you left earlier.

It was later than you had planned to be home, but once the worry had finally settled after leaving, you had actually been able to breathe easier. Pretending to be normal hadn't felt as suffocating as you thought it would.

It was completely quiet inside the house when you stepped through the door. It seemed Dave had gone to bed as well. You hung up your coat and took your shoes off before silently tiptoeing upstairs.

You were on your way to the girls' bedroom, to give them each a kiss goodnight when a soft cough came from inside your bedroom. You frowned slightly and made your way over to the doorway where the dim, warm, light spilled out into the hallway.

What you saw when you looked inside, had your breath catching in your throat.

The girls were both asleep in your bed, hugging a plush toy each, and curled up on either side of an equally fast asleep Dave. He was fully dressed, sitting half-propped up against the headboard, with his chin resting against his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles. There was an open book resting on his stomach.

Seeing them like this was a first but at the same time it was not a first and as the memories assaulted you like daggers thrown at your heart, you had to grip the door to steady yourself.

You hadn't seen him properly asleep since he came back, but now... when he looked like this, he could have been your husband. And you wanted it so badly that it felt like the pain was eating you up from the inside.

You should wake him up and get him to help carry the girls back to their beds, or at least leave them alone and go sleep in Molly's bed for the night. But you were weak and so so tired, and right at this moment, you didn't care if it wasn't real. You wanted your family.

So when you moved, it was towards the bed and not away from it.

There was an open spot next to Alice, where you fit perfectly. She stirred only slightly and turned to hug you when you lied down next to her. The movement set off a small chain reaction and, as Alice curled up against you, Dave's head snapped up with a sharp intake of breath. He looked around but stilled as his eyes landed on you. You watched each other in complete silence, both frozen still, like a human that had just come across a deer in the woods and was afraid to scare it away. Except you weren't sure who was the deer and who was the human in this scenario.

In the end, you were the first one to move, perhaps aided by the two glasses of wine you'd had tonight. Slowly, you reached out to take his hand, where it was resting heavily on the open pages of the book he'd been reading to the girls earlier. Your touch was tentative but Dave didn't pull away, instead spread his fingers so you could slide yours between them. You ran your thumb along his, and he mimicked the movement. His hand felt just as warm and strong as you remembered.

”Will you stay with us?” you asked and you knew, as the words left your mouth, that you weren't just asking about tonight or about the bed.

Dave watched you and his eyes were unreadable in the dim yellow light. This was not the first time you'd asked him to stay and as the seconds ticked by, you braced yourself for the same kind of rejection you had gotten the last time you asked.

When Dave let go of your hand, it took all your willpower to hold back the sob that clawed its way up your throat. But despite no longer holding onto you, Dave didn't move away. Instead, he reached above his head to turn off the light. In the sudden darkness, you heard rather than saw, him shift and move down from the headboard to lie down properly.

There was a moment or two of complete stillness before you felt his fingers brush over your knuckles, as he took your hand again.

He didn't say anything, but as his hand tightened around yours and placed it over his heart, you felt that was answer enough. At least for tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @yespolkadotkitty @agirllovespancakes @pedropascallion @pedropascalito @ohpedromypedro @knittingqueen13 @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @mourningbirds1 @alwaysbethewest @heatherbel @larakazzer @fromthedeskoftheraven @seawhisperer @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @mrschiltoncat @pajamasecrets @phoenixhalliwell @ilikechocolatemilkh @dornish-queen @holographic-carmen @thirstworldproblemss @windfallss @thegreenkid @maxlordsgf @sarahjkl82-blog @magikfanatic @astroboots @mouthymandalorian @pedro-pascal-love

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proudfreakmetarusonniku · 3 years

Text

@sajdd

Ok since one singular person asked for this the Big Explanation for Everything In My C!Tommy Design.

General:

c!Tommy, in general, I always try and find a balance between my really soft style and c!Tommy's rougher personality. I draw him with soft features but very sharp eyes, both to make his facial features distinct from cc!Tommy and a contrast to c!Tubbo who I draw with less rounded features but much softer eyes. I try and keep his usual expressions slightly smug and self-assured, to get across c!Tommy's bravado.

I generally draw him with tanned skin, as I imagine he’d spend a lot of time outdoors. This does vary on the arc I’m drawing him in, though, for example he’s much less tan in Pogtopia because he has less access to natural light whereas he’s more tan in exile due to not having much shelter from the sun. This is also done to make the pale scar on his nose bridge more noticeable- it’s one of the two scars I draw Tommy as having from the beginning, as I feel it shows c!Tommy's scrappy, determined personality very well. The other scar is a long jagged vivisection scar which is there to show my labinnit headcanon lol.

While I draw c!Tommy with varying hairstyles and lengths, I always draw him with curly textured hair that’s a very pale blond. I also draw his hair as leaning to one side and partially covering his eye, similar to how I draw c!Wilbur's hair, to show their closeness. I also draw c!Tommy with similar wings to c!Wilbur and c!Philza- specifically, I draw them with the same starry night sky pattern I do with c!Philza, but a lot smaller and atrophied.

I really like putting lots of fun design elements in characters eyes because drawing eyes is fun and c!Tommy is no exception! I draw his eyes a very bright electric blue, and I use a small brush and very light varied colours to make them look like they’re filled with little stars. I also give him red pupils to match his main colour association in either the shape of a full or broken heart depending on the arc. I went with a heart design to show his hidden kindness and loyalty.

There’s also a lot of design elements that are admittedly there primarily because I enjoy drawing them, and less for any specific reason. The fangs do have the most reason, to help show c!Tommy's rougher personality, but I also just like drawing fangs lol. (I also draw him with braces in every arc, since I imagine he couldn’t get them removed in exile and he didn’t have the time to care afterwards). I also draw him with bioluminescent, starlike freckles and a strange blood colour which is also used to help texture the skin (well, slightly, it’s not super noticeable but it’s pink instead of red) which are both just things I like to draw.

Also, this is a small detail, but I always draw c!Tommy with a Church Prime necklace (unless I forget it which I do sometimes lol). It’s a good way of showing his faith through a quick look.

Fun fact, what’s probably most noticeable about my c!Tommy design is that as soon as Tommy made the joke about his character being made in a lab I picked it up and ran with it, specifically the idea of him potentially being a clone of c!Philza. I draw them with identical facial features and hair colour/texture, though a lot of the more supernatural features of c!Philza are toned down on him. That’s specifically because due to my hc that c!Philza is an angel and angels as ageless it’d be impossible to clone them exactly so c!Tommy has some random human/hybrid dna thrown in haphazardly (which also makes him a mess of instincts from pretty much every animal ever lol)

Disc War:

I really like the headcanon that c!Tommy was nine during the L'Manburg war entirely because its really funny to imagine c!Wilbur looking at this literal nine year old and being “yes, my right hand man, responsible enough to help manage a nation in my stead,” so c!Tommy is roughly 9ish around this time in my design.

During the early Disc War is probably the only time I actually draw c!Tommy as close to his actual Minecraft skin lmao. It helps show that, despite the fact I don’t hc him as human he is mostly just a normal kid. I don’t draw c!Tommy in the traditional red and white t-shirt entirely just because I want to make sure he’s not mistakable for Dave Strider though. I have him in a white button-up shirt, a red and white hoodie, cargo pants, and trainers.

During this arc, I draw c!Tommy's hair as fairly short and very similar to how I draw c!Wilbur, as this was back when he idolised his brother and I think drawing their hair so similar shows that well.

L'Manburg:

This covers the time from the beginning of the L'Manburg war up to c!Tommy's second exile to Pogtopia, so this design covers a period of years from when I hc c!Tommy was nine up until about thirteen.

During the war, c!Tommy wears his uniform without modification, except for of course wearing his Prime necklace, but afterwards he and the rest of the residents of L'Manburg (except c!Wilbur) slightly modified their uniforms to better fit their own tastes. Specifically, he wears his trainers instead of combat boots, loose trousers instead of shorts, and a slightly shorter and short-sleeved revolutionary jacket, for easier mobility.

During the war, his two canon deaths left him permanent injuries and scars. His death in the final control room, where he broke his leg during his desperate attempt to escape, left that leg permanently weakened (along with being badly scarred) and requiring a leg brace to help him stand and walk properly. The arrow through his skull during his duel with c!Dream left him with a large scar on his temple, covering his brows in crack-like scars which also leave him with frequent migraines.

During the L'Manburg arc, c!Tommy's hair in my design still looks like c!Wilburs as they were still close during this arc.

Pogtopia:

Since Pogtopia apparently lasted two years (which is probably from Cursed Timeline Lore but I love cursed lore it’s hilarious,) c!Tommy would be around 13 to 15 here.

In Pogtopia, I draw c!Tommy as wearing similar clothes to during the Disc War arc, however, I also add on a loose belt holding knives, to show c!Tommy's increased need for self defence along with his fondness for knives lol. I actually don’t do the bandanna design with c!Tommy and c!Tubbo a lot of people do mostly because I couldn’t figure out how to get it to work with c!Tommy's hoodie. They have an equivalent but it’s later on alas.

As c!Tommy and c!Wilbur get more distant, c!Tommy grows out his hair slightly, and wears it tied in the back in a short ponytail.

Exile:

Oh I have a lot of things to talk about here >:). As a quick note to my messed up timeline, c!Tommy would be 15 here.

During exile, c!Tommy wears the same clothes as he did in Pogtopia initially, though due to lack of care and supplies, they eventually of course fray and rip. He also wears c!Wilbur's old ragged longcoat, even though it barely keeps out the cold, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes weirdly comforting. Over time, he rips up his shirt for bandages to the point he’s not wearing anything under his hoodie. His leg brace breaks and he makes a new one out of branches and leaves. (He could ask c!Dream, but he doesn’t want to be fucking reliant on him, relying on pity handouts like a child, so he won’t.)

Eventually, since c!Dream doesn’t exactly want c!Tommy to get hypothermia and die anticlimactically, he gives c!Tommy one of his capes. This is one of my favourite character design decisions I’ve made lmao. I specifically draw it looking too-big, despite the fact that doesn’t make much sense because they’re the same height, so it looks almost like he’s getting enveloped in c!Dream's green shades, and it also hides c!Tommy's wings which helps reinforce the loss of freedom.

c!Tommy gains… a lot of scars over exile. I mean he was literally hit by an axe multiple times. Specifically they’re primarily around the shoulders or the torso. I also draw him with a Glasgow grin, specifically curved to resemble Dream's mask, along with smaller, self inflicted, scratch and bite marks covering his arms. In addition, due to him barely eating I draw c!Tommy from this point onwards looking very scrawny. This is also where c!Tommy's pupils change from hearts to broken hearts! They never turn back :)

During exile, Tommy's hair grows out a lot, down to just past his shoulders, in a matted mess. c!Dream used to braid it at the back, like how I draw c!Dream's own hair, but it very quickly grew too matted with saltwater, mud, and blood to style :) :) :)

Bedrock Bros:

c!Tommy turns sixteen here during my scuffed timeline.

c!Tommy patches up the rips and tears in his clothes. He can’t fully salvage his cargo trousers, so he turns them into shorts. He makes his own shoes out of leather to replace the ones he lost. There’s a gaping hole in his hoodie pocket that couldn’t be stitched up. He'll patch it up later. c!Techno gives him one of his capes to keep him warm, fur lined and arctic blue with silvery snowflakes embroidered on. c!Tommy has to be reminded, or he puts on the green cape, turned a dull viridian from the sun, that makes him feel both safe and so, so afraid.

Scars heal, but never fully fade. Still, his eyes brighten again, somewhat, even if the bags under his eyes less disappear and more just turn a strange gold. He finally has the time to clean out his hair, and c!Techno ties it into a short, loose braid at the back. With the cape, he almost looks like c!Techno like that. Obviously, the visual implication here is to show that even though it’s obviously not exile, c!Techno is still suppressing c!Tommy's identity, albeit unknowingly (and the gold is from his constant eating of golden apples).

Final Disc War:

By this point, c!Tommy's back to just wearing his old clothes, tattered and frail as they might be. He finds his old sneakers, and day by day he sees himself in the mirror a bit more than the gunpowder on a battered trenchcoat, blood on a smiley face mask, wither rot on the edges of an elaborate snowy cape. He patches the hole in his hoodie with a piece of the fabric from one of c!Tubbo's old shirts. He lends him one of his too-small hoodies so he can do the same.

He still braids his hair, but in his own way, in a tightly woven ratstail braid more for convenience than for aesthetics. Character design wise, it’s another way to show c!Tommy's openly rougher personality than say, c!Dream or c!Techno, and so’s the patchwork clothes and rough shorts and scars. Like I said, maintaining a mix of rough and soft is very important to me in how I draw c!Tommy, and I’m very satisfied with how I pull it off here and in the next entry.

Revival:

the story has handed me the opportunity to make my favourite boy undead. i will not pass up the opportunity to make my favourite boy undead.

After revival, c!Tommy stops aging, at least in appearance. His skin… less pale, more colourless and almost grey. One of his eyes glows a pure, empty white now, like ghosts do, and the white messy streak in his hair doesn’t glow but it’s white enough it might as well.

The injuries of his death bear apparent on his form. His limbs can bend at impossible angles, his entire body covered head to toe in bruises. Two black eyes cover his face like a raccoon mask, and the ugly mottled marks of strangulation on his throat stand out like a sore thumb. You cannot look at him anymore and not see that he hasn’t died. He avoids mirrors again.

There’s stranger things, too, like how he doesn’t bleed anymore, any cuts just revealing an impossibly dark void beneath his marble-cold skin. Sometimes he goes weeks without eating, the hunger only hitting once he realises. He feels so tired, so cold, in a way not even the touch of fire can stem at all. He doesn’t have a heartbeat, or breathe.

Initially, he was too tired, too out of it to even consider cutting off or dying the white streak. When he wasn’t, he’d soon learn any attempts were futile, dye fading in mere days, cut off hair half regrown in a week. It should bother him more, but he just feels numb.

#dream smp #dsmp #c!tommy #tw abuse #tw mutilation #tw scars #tw bruises #tw death #tw child death #tw murder #tw child murder

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winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

still a chance.

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

a/n: the yearning in this one…i’ve outdone myself. okay so this one has been rolling around in my head for a long time. you’ll all be able to tell, but i love photos as a vehicle for storytelling. we use a lot of pictures in this story, and i hope you can “see” them - they brought me a lot of joy when i visualized them, and i hope i was able to do them justice. i also decided beth moves to okinawa instead of hong kong bc the museums in okinawa can’t be beat. thanks to kira (@good-heavens-chris-evans) for encouraging me to post this tonight - you are a treasure and a gift. words: 4,181 warnings: language, longing.

AO3 | Masterlist | Requests Closed

+++

You kissed Jack’s temple and threw your backpack over your shoulder, leaning into the backseat. You carded through the honey-blond hair on the side of his head, reveling in the softness of it. “I love you, bud.”

He sniffled, and it took all you had to keep it together. “I love you, too.” You could hear the effort in his voice. He was trying to be strong for you, for his dad.

You kissed his forehead, lingering for a moment. You pulled back, your hands fluttering over his little shoulders, fussing for no reason. “You be good okay? You gotta be good for dad, alright?” You leaned in close. “He needs all the help he can get, and you’re his best teammate. You gonna take good care of him?”

He nodded.

“Atta boy.” You straightened, slipping your arm into the other strap of your backpack. You faced Hotch, who pulled your collar from under the straps and fussed with them for a moment. He was stalling.

“Aaron, I -”

He shook his head with a small smile. “I know. Call when you can. Your godson will miss you if you don’t.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “I’ll call you when I land.”

“Seattle is great. You’ll love it.” He sounded like he was convincing himself as much as you.

You threw yourself into his arms, and he wrapped around you as best he could with your backpack. “I love you, Aaron. Take care of yourself.” You pulled back and rested your hands on his shoulders. “Try to get me back home, while you’re at it.”

“I’ll do my best. Fly safe.”

And with that, you grabbed your duffle and walked into the terminal. You looked back once, finding two pairs of identical brown eyes watching you from open windows. You blew them a kiss, and they both raised a hand to catch it.

My boys.

+++

Emily warned you about Beth before you landed back in Virginia, but you were still nervous. Returning from a long assignment was never easy, especially when you knew coming back meant the real loss of something that never was.

You and Aaron had danced around each other for years, but never did anything about it, claiming team dynamic and stability for Jack after Haley’s death. Even then, neither one of you could deny how miserable it was to be apart. Your assignment to Seattle ended up lasting close to two years. You tried to keep in touch, but it was often too painful to be so out of reach. Your calls got farther and farther apart, but you tried to check in when you could.

Even then, you sent Jack semi-frequent gifts and care packages full of his favorite things. That boy was your favorite person in the whole world, and you his, second only to his father. It had broken your heart to leave him.

It would be a relief to see him again.

You stepped into Dave’s familiar foyer, toeing off your shoes. Everyone was in the backyard, relaxing after another homemade dinner. The whole team knew you were coming – except Beth and the Hotchners. Emily, JJ, and Dave spent an exorbitant amount of time and energy carrying off your surprise arrival.

When you stepped out into the backyard, three pairs of eyes flickered up at you before returning to their conversations. Emily, Penelope, and Derek hid the smiles that ghosted across their faces to avoid suspicion. Hotch and Jack had their backs to you, by design. Jack was watching one of Spencer’s magic tricks, Hotch was off a little ways with Emily, and Beth was at the bar with Dave.

Now was your chance. Approaching quickly and quietly, you put your hands over Jack's eyes and leaned in close to his ear. “Guess who, Jack Hotchner!”

He froze, and his little hands covered yours out of instinct.

Wordlessly, he whirled around and threw himself into your arms. You landed hard on the ground, suddenly in tears. Jack was crying into your shoulder, his hands scrabbling for purchase on your jacket. You held him as tight as you could, the wave of emotion overwhelming you. You mumbled nothings into Jack’s baby blue button down - how much you loved him, how much you’d missed him, how happy you were to see him. You were sure none of it made sense.

“Are you staying?” Jack asked.

It broke your heart. “Yeah, love. I’m staying. I’m here.”

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, weeping together. It reminded you of those videos where parents or siblings come home from war and their kids just lose it. You never expected to be on the other side of that, but here you were.

A hand on your shoulder jarred you from your haze. You looked up to find Aaron’s familiar brown eyes. You kissed the side of Jack’s head and stood. He stayed glued to your leg, and you picked him up, letting him hang off your hip as you straightened.

Aaron gathered you into his arms, and you wrapped your free arm around his shoulders.

“Good surprise?” You asked.

He only held you tighter.

You pulled back and swiped at the tears on your cheeks. “Whew. Alright.” You looked down at Jack, whose eyes were cleared of shock and tears, smiling up at you. “What did I miss?”

Aaron shot you a smile and gestured behind him. “Beth, this is Y/N. Y/N, Beth.”

You shook her hand with a warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Beth. I’m glad these boys are in good hands.”

+++

Emily offered to drive you home. You were quiet, staring out the window much of the way. Your apartment was still mostly packed, but your bed was ready for you.

“Good to be home?” She asked.

You nodded.

“There’s still a chance, you know.”

Finally looking over at her, a sigh escaped you. “He loves her, Em.”

She snorted. “He loves you more.”

You shook your head.

+++

“Y/N seems so lovely,” Beth said, settling next to Aaron on the couch.

He hummed in assent, distracted in the extreme.

“Jack was so happy to see her. It really was thoughtful of Emily to put that together for you both.” She kept her voice light, but couldn’t help but search his face for something, anything. She’d heard he closed off sometimes, but she’d never seen it first hand.

He nodded, still silent. “It’s been a long time.”

Beth pushed down the pang of something achy in her chest and took a sip of her tea. “Ready for bed?”

Aaron nodded, and shot her a small smile. There was so much going on behind those brown eyes. He was quiet. Quiet and distracted.

Your absence was suddenly the loudest thing in the room.

And Beth knew it.

+++

Your room was so quiet. It had been quiet in Seattle, too. There, though, nobody you loved was close enough to touch. A fifteen minute drive would take you to your favorite house with your favorite view and your favorite boys. But they didn’t belong to you anymore.

Jack wasn’t yours.

Aaron wasn’t yours.

Beth had them now. Sweet, sweet Beth. She was so open and kind. The immediate liking you took to her was almost infuriating. You didn’t want to like her, and yet there was nothing to dislike about her.

You were gone. You came back. She was there.

Now what?

You rolled over and checked your phone, finding a text from JJ.

I’m so proud of you I’m so glad you’re home. If you need anything, I’m here.

Then, some minutes later.

If he doesn’t pull his head out of his ass you know who to call.

You smiled, and replied. Derek?

Fair point. Go to bed!!

+++

Your first case back felt like slipping into a comfy old pair of shoes. Building and delivering the profile was as easy as breathing, the feeling of your weapon in your hand as you cleared room after room, the tight fit of your vest across your chest – everything was something you missed. You yearned for the physical feeling of the BAU while you were chained to a desk in Seattle, and it was a relief to have it back.

You and Aaron were back in-step with each other right away. It was almost like you’d never left.

Almost.

When a few tears slipped down your cheeks as the jet cruised through the air, headed back to Quantico, Derek reached for your hand. The rush from the past week caught up with you all at once and wrapped around your throat.

“We missed you,” he said.

You smiled at him. “I missed you, too.”

He watched you for a moment, squinting a little. After a moment, he looked over at Hotch, who was frowning down at his phone. You brushed the tears off your face and squeezed Derek’s hand once - a reassurance.

He knew, just like you did. Just like Beth did.

+++

It was the next time you all were over at Dave’s that Beth finally asked.

“What’s the story there?”

JJ looked over at you as you reclined in one of the rocking chairs on Dave’s back porch, Jack in your lap. He was regaling you with another tale from school - one of the many you missed while you were away. Hotch sat nearby on the step, his elbows on his knees, listening to his son with upturned lips. Occasionally, you and Aaron shared a look over Jack’s head, knowing and steeped in time.

“Oh, Hotch and L/N?” JJ said, following Beth’s gaze.

Beth nodded, taking a thoughtful sip of her drink.

“They’re close,” JJ started, choosing her words carefully. “Y/N was close to the family - close to Haley and Aaron before Jack was born. She’s Jack’s godmother, along with Haley’s sister Jessica. When Haley died...” She shook her head. “He’d never been in worse shape, but she kept him upright. Nothing’s ever happened between them, not like that anyway, but nobody on this team has ever managed to come close to what those two have.”

Beth hummed thoughtfully. “How did Jack take the news of the Seattle assignment?”

JJ laughed a little, but it wasn’t really funny. “Not well. He was moody and irritable for months, like his dad. Both of them eventually got used to it - being on their own again.”

“It’s lovely to have such good friends, isn’t it?”

“Our team is a family. We take care of each other.”

+++

A rare day off found almost the entire team headed to the lake for the afternoon. You drove, with Derek riding shotgun beside you. Beth and Aaron sandwiched Jack and his car seat in the back. As always, you made sure Jack was visible in your rearview mirror as you drove.

JJ drove the other car, with Will, Henry, Dave, and Emily.

Derek ran the aux cord, of course - he had the best and most varied music taste of the whole bunch. You belted along to whatever he played, dancing in your seat and laughing the whole time.

God, it is good to be home.

“Are they always like this?” Beth asked quietly, over Jack’s head. She gestured to you and Derek, holding imaginary microphones to each other’s mouths and growing quickly out of pocket, much to Jack’s delight.

Aaron nodded, making play at a long-suffering kind of exhaustion, but he couldn’t hide the fondness in his gaze as he looked at you. You met his eyes in the rearview mirror and grinned before turning your attention back to the road.

“Y/N enables bad behavior,” he said, loud enough for you to hear, dropping back into his usual deadpan.

You swung your arm back and swatted at him.

+++

“What was she like?” Beth settled beside you, a glass of wine in her hand. It was movie night at the Hotchners, and you’d wandered down the hall to stretch your legs and grab some water.

You got caught up at the wall of framed photos, stuck on one particularly lovely one of Haley - grainy and candid. Aaron’s handwriting in the top corner informed you it was from January 1993, Bainbridge Island, WA.

You smiled. “Charming, funny.” You huffed a laugh. “Damn near the most impatient woman I’ve ever known. She jumped the gun on everything, for better or worse. She knew how to throw a hell of a dinner party and gave the best Christmas gifts. She was the best mom. Jack was her world.” You reached up, touching the frame lightly with the pads of your fingers. “I was mad at her, during the divorce. We never fought, but I was upset with her and she knew it.” You laughed down your nose. “It was the only time she was more patient than I deserved.”

Maybe you were revealing too much, but you continued.

“I sometimes wish I could take it back - my anger. I wish I wasn’t half as mad at her as I was when she died.” You shifted your gaze, settling on a photo of you and Haley in the hospital a few hours after Jack was born. Haley looked exhausted, but happy, her hand reaching up to Jack’s little face as you held him with a fond smile. To this day, you have no idea how Aaron managed to get that picture. You tapped the frame with your finger, your tone brightening. “That was a really good day.”

Just like before, Aaron’s handwriting in the corner gave away the date and occasion. October 7th, 2005. Haley and Y/N with Jack, 5 hours old.

“I can imagine,” Beth said with a light laugh. Her voice was pensive, thoughtful. “These boys are lucky to have you.”

The corner of your mouth tipped up, and you offered her your arm as you turned back toward the living room.

You liked her. You did. That’s what made it so damn hard.

+++

“Aaron, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Aaron turned around, pulled from his work with the dishes, to face Beth. “Yeah. What’s going on?”

Beth sat at her kitchen island, the pads of her fingers tapping restlessly on the marble counter. Her eyes were downcast, avoiding him. “I got a job offer in Okinawa.”

His eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

“I think I’m going to take it.” She looked up at him, her lower lip disappearing between her teeth. “What do you think?”

Aaron circled the island and sat beside her, reaching for her hand. She laced her fingers with his. He leaned forward, attentive. “I don’t want you to regret anything.”

She smiled with one side of her mouth. “I don’t think I will.” She looked down at their laced hands. “In the spirit of not regretting anything, I have something else to tell you.”

Aaron was quiet. Waiting. Listening.

“I think you should tell Y/N how you feel.”

He startled, sitting up straight. “What?”

Beth smiled a little wider, a gentle, soft thing. It made his heart ache and his head hurt. “She has your heart, Aaron. There’s nobody who knows you better. Nobody better for you.” She squeezed his hand. “You have a second chance. I think you should take it.”

“Beth, I -”

“Aaron. Please. I’m leaving anyway, and you and I both know we won’t be able to swing the distance.”

He sighed.

She’s right.

“I’m sorry.”

She smiled, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Don’t be. It’s hard to see the things in front of us, sometimes. Especially when they’ve been there for a long time.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up.

“Now’s your chance, Hotchner. Don’t screw it up.” She shoved playfully at his shoulder, drawing a wider smile from him.

The smile fell from his face as he looked around at the decidedly unpacked house. “When do you leave for Okinawa?”

She took a sip of her tea. “Next week. The movers are coming this weekend to pack up the house.”

He laughed to himself. She’d already made up her mind, but was sweet enough to make him feel included. He leaned over and kissed her, sweet and chaste. A goodbye. “I love you, Beth.”

She looked back up at him with a soft smile. “I love you, too.” Then, her face transformed, a mischievous smile on her face. “Need a ride?”

+++

You were laid out flat on the couch watching a movie when there was a knock at your door. With a sigh, you rose and popped the lid on your gun safe with your fingerprint before you unlocked the door.

I really need a peep hole.

Aaron Hotchner was on the other side, sheepish, with his hands in his pockets. You looked behind him, Beth’s little Civic idling in front of your building. She waved at you before driving off into the night.

“Hey,” he said. “Can I come in?”

You stepped back and locked your firearm away as he stepped past you into the house. When you turned to face him, he was studying the photographs on your bookshelf. Some were photos from your childhood, faded and well-loved. Others were more recent, and you knew he would see his face staring back at him in many of the frames. He paused at the shelf that held your favorites, always within your sight and reach.

One was a photo Dave took about two and a half years ago, before you left for Seattle. You all had your backs to the camera, with Aaron holding one of Jack’s hands and you the other. Your head was thrown back in laughter as you helped Jack leap high into the air between you.

Another was you and Haley, nearly a decade ago. You were cheek-to-cheek, her arms wrapped around you from behind, with both of your hands holding onto her forearm. Your smiles were wide, posed but genuine. A dry, crinkly rose petal from her funeral was tucked into the frame.

There was a collage of jet photos - Emily sleeping nearly-upside-down in one of the seats, Dave and Aaron pouring over a case file, Spencer, JJ, and Elle sleeping in a heap, Emily’s nail-bitten fingers resting on her copy of Slaughterhouse Five, JJ looking out the window during golden hour, the team crowded around the latest photos of Henry on JJ’s phone. They were all photos you’d taken on a whim and printed when the homesickness grew unwieldy. A few post-it notes you found while packing your stuff landed in there too.

Derek, Penelope, Aaron, and Spencer smiled out of the final photo. It was the FBI vs. ATF baseball game the year Jack was born. JJ had taken it, all of you in your FBI pinstripe jerseys, capturing the moment right after the game-winning pitch was thrown. Derek was the only one who played, but the rest of you rushed the field to claim victory nevertheless. Spencer held the baseball in the air, mid-shout, while you were up on Aaron’s back with a victorious fist raised. Penelope’s feet were off the ground as Derek spun her in a circle and Haley was visible on the other side of the fence, holding a blanket-wrapped Jack to her chest and cheering.

Those photos were the ones that came to the office with you when you moved to Seattle. More than one person asked if Jack was your son, and you always said no, but with a little smile that prompted more questions.

“Do you have copies of these?” Aaron asked, his fingers tracing the photo of you and Haley. He was careful not to disturb the delicate petal.

You stepped up beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Yeah. I have framed copies, if you want them. They’re still packed.”

You stood in silence together for a little while, letting the nostalgia for the people and places and times past wash over you.

“So…” you started, “are you going to tell me why Beth dropped you like a lost puppy on my doorstep on a perfectly respectable Saturday night?”

He sighed.

Uh oh.

You took his arm and guided him to the couch, shoving wrappers out off the cushions (it was your day off, alright?) and plopping down in the corner.

Aaron licked his lips, and you couldn’t help but look down at them.

What I wouldn’t give…

“Beth is moving to Okinawa.”

Your brow crumpled, and you immediately reached out, grabbing onto his forearm. “Oh, Aaron I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “It’s for the best. I told her I didn’t want her to have any regrets, and it’s an incredible opportunity.”

“Of course.” You shuffled closer to him, hoping your presence could be of some comfort.

He opened his mouth and closed it again, as if he was fighting with himself.

“Spit it out, Hotchner.”

That drew a short laugh from him, and he ran a hand through his hair. All the air left his lungs in one huff. “You know how much I love you, right?”

You nodded, watching carefully as he flipped his hands palm-up before you. You gingerly slipped your fingers over his hands, feeling the callouses from years of handling pens and firearms. He closed his fingers around yours, his hands warm and familiar.

“You know how much Jack loves you, right?”

You nodded. There was a point to this, you could feel it.

“Beth said something to me tonight, and it...took me by surprise.” He swallowed, staring down at your linked hands. “She said I should tell you how I feel.”

You squinted at him, more than a little confused. “Aaron, you tell me how you feel all the time. I know you’re not one to express your feelings with words, but you tell me how you feel every time you bring an extra cup of coffee for me, or save my favorite seat on the jet, or text me a picture of Jack.” You laugh through your nose. “You may not say it in so many words, but I know.”

You could tell he wanted to interrupt you, but you were proud of him when he didn’t. “Yes - yeah. That’s not what I meant.”

He was growing frustrated with himself, and you squeezed his hands. “Hey. It’s just me.”

“That’s the prevailing issue,” he said.

What?

“Aaron, you lost me.”

He steeled himself, taking a deep breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, and you knew if both of his hands weren’t occupied, one of them would have been pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m in love with you. I’m -” he opened his eyes and faltered, exhaling, “so in love with you.”

You let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. You tried to speak, but you were thwarted by your own closed throat. The incandescent joy lit you up from the inside. You were hot and cold all at once and you weren’t sure if you were breathing.

I’m so in love with you I’m so in love you with you I’m so -

Aaron stood abruptly, releasing your hands and grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair.

You swallowed, trying to get your bearings. “Aaron, wait. Stop.”

He turned, and you could see the raw hurt in his eyes.

Oh. Oh my God he thinks I’m upset.

Instead of ruining everything by opening your mouth again, you stood and strode toward him, grabbing his face and pulling him to you. Your lips crashed together, and you let out another completely-overwhelmed-wires-crossed noise. The tears fell down your face with abandon, but you ignored them, completely wrapped up in the feeling of his lips against yours.

You felt him freeze before he kissed you right back, his arms winding around your waist, holding you close. His hands ran up and down your back as you fought to get closer and closer to him.

He pulled back first, chasing his breath. He pressed his forehead to yours, and you dropped your hands to his collar, winding your fingers in his shirt.

“Aaron…”

He surprised you by letting out a bark of breathless laughter. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

You pulled back, playfully lowering your brows. “How long?”

He looked up and made a great show of thinking. “Oh...I would say conservatively 2002, but that might just be when I noticed.”

Your head fell gently to the left. You studied his face for a moment - his straight nose, high cheekbones, the bags under his eyes that seemed to get deeper every day, the stern mouth…You knew his face better than yours. It was the face that haunted your dreams.

“What?” He asked.

You replied, simply, “I missed you.”

He kissed you, holding your face between his large hands like it was the most precious thing in the world. “I missed you.” He kissed each one of your cheeks. “I missed you.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I missed you.” The corner of your mouth. “I missed you.” Your lips. “I love you.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @octothorpetopus @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @saintd0lce @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @vintagecaptainspidey

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction

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djarinbarnes · 3 years

Text

Nothing Personal - Dave York (2/2)

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

summary: after finding out data from the CIA’s security sector has been stolen, the Director finds you to be the perfect fit to find out who the mole inside the office is.

pairings: Dave York x female reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: 18+ smut, minor spoilers from The Equalizer 2, mentions of blood, character death,

a/n: here’s part two!!!! let me know how you liked this! It was so fun to write, and I really appreciate the feedback on the first part!

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

part one

The next few months passes in a blur between stolen glances and frequent hookups at your apartment during the twilight of the night. There had been no useful leads in the case, and one of the only things keeping you in the affair with York, was the director.

“Something is leading me to believe that it is him. Y/N give him one more month. If there’s no more useful leads, you’re free to end whatever the two of you are doing. Remember to keep your heart out of this. We don’t need unnecessary drama here.”

All of a sudden, brief talks with the director were the new normal for you. One more thing that was the new normal was Dave getting more handsy with you than you would have liked him to be. Yet you found yourself enjoying it. A lot.

By the end of said month, there was something comfortable about the reassurance his persona gave you, and you found yourself slowly falling for the man, even though your orders were clearer than day. Keep your heart out of it.

Slowly, you found yourself unable to do just that. With all the flowers he’d been giving you, the gifts, his time. And the pleasure. Sweet, sinful pleasure. You had no idea that a man was able to fuck like that.

You quickly realized that you were giving Dave everything his wife wasn’t. You found yourself getting lost within the pleasure he was supplying, easily giving into him and letting him do whatever he wanted with you.

You found out what he liked and how he liked it, his favorite positions and his wettest dreams. Whatever deems necessary. You found yourself indulged in things you’d never imagined; positions you didn’t even know existed and unsuccessfully trying your best to tire out the libido of a starved man.

And tiring out the libido of Dave York was a challenge. He was insatiable. You’d both agreed that you wouldn’t dare fuck in the office, but the parking garage during lunch break was apparently an exception.

The pressure on your clit was jarring, the thrusts of his hips raucous in the small confinements of the backseat of his car. Your whimpers and moans were muffled by your hand, your teeth digging into the soft flesh just under your thumb to further silence yourself. The parking garage was only that private.

“Just need to fucking have you, at all times…” his voice was strained, his hands gripping your hips tightly, his thrusts increasing in pace. The groans spilled from his lips as you arched your back further, making his cock hit at just the right angle inside of you.

“Fuck, baby, get on top,” He groans as he pulls out of you, sitting down on the seat he was previously kneeling on. You shift and swing your knee over his thighs, straddling his hips before sinking back down onto his cock. “That’s it...”

You moan out when he’s fully sheathed inside of you, his hands gripping and pulling your cheeks apart slightly as you start to move on top of him. You quiver in his arms, your climax building rapidly in your belly. He scoots his hips just a little bit further out on the seat, and it gives you a much better angle to ride him.

“God damn it.” He shudders underneath you, and you relish in the sound of his groans and the squelching noises coming from where the two of you are connected. Your whimpers are triggered by the rapid snap of his hips combined with the movement of your hips.

“Fuck, Dave,” you moan out as he keeps the pace, along with keeping the movement of your hips going. A string of fuck leaves your lips as you feel yourself nearing your tipping point before you’re falling over the edge, your cunt violently convulsing around his length.

“Fuck, that’s it baby…” he groans into your collarbone, only slightly bared by the dress shirt he’s managed to pull off your shoulder. You dig your nails into his shoulders as he keeps moving you, dragging out your orgasm further, making you see stars.

“Fuck, where do you want it?” It’s merely a whisper, his hand pulling your head to his, foreheads resting against one another while he’s trying his best to keep his orgasm at bay. You found out the second time you were together that he absolutely despised condoms, and since you were both clean and you were on the pill, you both didn’t seem to bother anymore.

“Fuck, inside, give it to me!” you throw your head back and his lips attach themselves to the underside of your chin as he comes, his breaths ragged against your skin, his hands tightening on the plump cheek of your ass.

You both come down reluctantly, not wanting to give up the moment you both found yourself in. His fingers tipped your head down, his lips attaching themselves to yours, his tongue slowly sliding over your bottom lip, emitting a giggle from you.

Belgium.

It had been just a few days since you had arrived, and what a few days it had been. Between the suspected murder-suicide of one of the agencies’ affiliates and his wife and the murder of one of your colleagues, you finally had reason to believe York had something to do with it.

Even though you had been in bed with him and attached to his hip for most of the week you had been in Brussels investigating, everything slowly started adding up. Although it just didn’t sit right with you.

You had seen so much in your time, but the stab wound between Susan’s ribs was so expertly placed you knew it had to be someone with expertise and knowledge. And also, the fact that she had been killed while Dave was out to bring you lunch and the Belgian chocolate that he had promised you.

Now you just needed the information from the bug. And it came shortly after your return to the United States. From the director herself, in a direct distress call to your phone.

He’s here. He’s come alone. He’s figured me out.

Your heart was pounding as you sped towards her mansion, hands shaking so bad you were afraid you were going to swivel off the road. You had never been in a situation like this, and you found yourself slightly panicking over everything that could go wrong.

He could know it’s me. He’ll shoot me upon entry. He’s already killed the director.

You turned your car off a few yards away from her house, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to yourself. You relished in the happiness of him coming alone to the directors’, so you wouldn’t have to take down more men than necessary.

You kicked your shoes off in the grass of her garden and slowly approached the door she had left open for you for an easy and stealthy access to her house. You made your way into the quiet house, the lights dimmed way more than you would’ve liked.

You had your gun in your hand, the security on the Glock cocked off. You raised the gun when you heard a slight commotion, before strained voices made their way to your ears. You stealthily moved between the shadows of her furniture.

The director was sitting again the wall of her living room, hands tied in front of her, with the lifeless body of her husband beside her. You were thankful she had marbled floors that didn’t creak as you stepped over the stones barefoot.

“You see director, you’re the only one in my way as of this moment.” You recognized his voice immediately. You could recognize it anywhere by now, since you’d gotten so used to it. It had been so many months since you first had him in your bed.

“Susan would have figured out the motive of that double murder within days. So, naturally, I had to get rid of her.” A few minutes passed in silence as you awaited his next move.

“I figured out what game you’re playing.” You heard the director whimper, making your heart beat faster in your chest. “Trying to distract me while you investigate?” You heard the sound of Velcro, which made you furrow your brows as you stood in the darkness of her house. Her muffled voice reached your ears.

“Who’s your acquaintance?!” you heard him raise his voice before the sound of skin slamming against skin echoed through the halls. He ripped the duct tape off her lips, making her cry out. You flinch slightly when you hear her strained voice, insisting that she didn’t know what he was talking about.

You leaned forward just a bit, finally getting a glimpse of him. He was in all black, crouched in front of the director, her lip now split and a visible bruise showing up on her cheekbone. You noticed the gun with the silencer on lying beside him as he twisted his hands together, trying to get the director to talk.

You stepped out of the shadows, making your presence known to the director. You watched as she visibly relaxed yet keeping your arrival a secret. You make your way toward them slowly, keeping your ears perked for anything that could give you away and for what he was saying to the director.

“Is it her? Huh?” you watched as the director’s eyes widened, his hand coming up to strike her across the face again. “That agent, the one you convinced to fuck me for information?” The back of his hand makes contact with her cheek and she cries out a no.

“So you’re trying to tell me a young, attractive agent with her morals in check from one day to the other is suddenly interested in me? Interested in fucking me? Willing to screw over my family?!” He hits her again and you scrunch up your face at the sound, cringing at the assault you’re witnessing.

“Screwing over your family over was your own doing.” The director spit out a mouthful of blood, challenging him even further to keep him oblivious to your presence. “She’s a tough girl. Admires you. She might even love you.”

The sound of his laughter filled your ears, but it wasn’t like the laughter you were used to. This one was harsh. Mocking, almost. “Love?” He snorted, his head falling slightly before he brought it up again. “If she loves me, I feel bad for her. She doesn’t deserve it.”

Did you? Did you love him? Yeah. You did. Even though it was hard to determine at this point. It was hard to keep your feelings in check, no matter what your mission had been. You watched as he repositioned himself, picking the gun off the floor and pointing it to the director’s forehead.

“You know director… I’ve liked working for you. Especially the time before you turned into a stuck-up bitch.” You watch as he tilts his head before rising to his feet. The aim of your gun follows him as he straightens his back. You raise your aim slightly.

“Ellen…” you hear Dave speak again, watching as he weighs the gun in her hand, towering over her. He takes the aim, and you step closer to him. There aren’t more than a few feet between the two of you. “This is nothing personal.”

“No.” You finally speak up, watching as his shoulders visibly tense up, before he turns to you. You watch as the color drains from his face as you make eye contact over the cocked gun. “It’s not.”

The shot echoes through the living room, along with the heavy thud sounding as his lifeless body falls to the floor. A few moments pass before you step over him and free the director, gently brushing your fingers over the bruise on her cheek, helping her to her feet. You lean down to feel her husband’s neck, finding a faint pulse before giving the director a nod.

There’s a pool of blood spreading on the white marble of the director’s floor, and you wince at the sight of him. “I’m sorry it had to end like this.” You crouch in front of Dave’s body, pressing a kiss to your fingers before laying them against his parted ones. “I really did love you.”

With a heavy sigh and tears burning in your eyes, you walk up to the director and grasp her face in your hands. You brush your thumbs over her teary cheeks, her eyes clearly startled by the situation she was just in.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

#dave york #Dave York x you #Dave York x reader #dave york gifs #Pedro Pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #the equalizer 2

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livesincerely · 3 years

Text

[Bits & Bobs] we’ll be on the road like some country song

AKA the Run Away With Me Fic

00000

Davey nearly loses his nerve about a hundred times in between dialing the number and Jack answering. The phone seems to ring forever⁠—for a moment he thinks that Jack’s not going to pick up and that will be that⁠—but somehow, incredibly, the call connects.

“‘Ello?” Jack rumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

Davey opens his mouth but no sound comes out, his words smothered down by a sudden wave of bitter, scalding doubt. What is he doing?

“Davey? Are you there?”

He needs to hang up. He needs to hang up, needs to stop bothering Jack and let him sleep, needs to pull himself together and just get it over with because there’s no point in putting it off, no point in pretending like there’s anything to be done except accept the fact that… The fact that he…

He’s holding his cellphone so tightly that the plastic creaks under his fingers, his lungs straining in his chest and his stomach churning and churning. He tries to calm himself, breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, just like you’re supposed to, but it feels like no matter how hard he tries he can’t get enough air.

“Guess not,” Jack murmurs to himself, voice trailing away.

Panic seizes Davey like a hand around his throat.

“Jack,” he gasps out. “Jackie, wait.”

“Dave?” Jack asks. “Hey, what’s⁠—”

“Jackie,” Davey says again, because he can’t figure out how to say anything else. “I—“

“What’s wrong?” Jack says, his tone spiking with alarm. “Are you okay?”

Davey presses a hand to his mouth, hot, shuddering breaths stifled by his palm. His vision clouds over, his bedroom fading into a shapeless, colorless blur, and it’s only then that Davey realizes that he’s crying⁠, tears streaming down his face.

“David,” Jack says. “Are you okay?”

Davey’s shoulders shake. He tries to explain⁠—instead, he sobs.

“I’m coming over,” Jack says, and there’s a flurry of movement on his side of the line: the rustle of bedsheets thrown back, the clattering of car keys, soft, hurried footsteps.

“You don’t have to,” Davey chokes out, because he didn’t call intending to drag Jack out of bed in the middle of the night. He just didn’t know what else to do. “Nothing’s wrong, Jackie, I’m not hurt or anything⁠—”

“Bullshit, you ain’t hurt,” Jack says sharply. “You’re crying.”

“But you don’t have to⁠—”

“I’m coming over,” Jack says, in that voice that says he’s made up his mind and there’s no talking him out of it. “Give me ten minutes, okay? I’ll be right there.”

Davey sniffs, feeling at once horribly pathetic and unspeakably relieved. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay.”

“Do you want me to stay on the line?” Jack asks.

Yes, Davey thinks, because the last thing he wants is to be alone with his thoughts. Instead, he says, “You shouldn’t be on the phone while you’re driving. You can hang up.”

Jack hesitates. “Ten minutes,” he says eventually. “I’m already in the car.”

“Okay,” Davey whispers. “Ten minutes.”

Even though he’s expecting him, Davey still jumps when Jack finally knocks on his bedroom window.

He half crawls, half staggers over. His hands are trembling so badly he almost can’t get the latches unlocked, but he eventually manages to get the window open.

“Are you okay?” Jack demands as he clambers inside. He’s dressed like he literally rolled out of bed and drove straight here⁠—he’s thrown a thin jacket on over his shirtless torso, the bottoms of his sweatpants wet with dew and littered with grass clippings, his feet shoved hastily into a pair of his mother’s slippers instead of his shoes. “What’s wrong, what happened?”

Davey can’t help but wilt in the face of such genuine concern, guilt and shame spreading like twin frosts across the plains of his heart.

“Jack,” he starts, curling in on himself. “Jackie, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have called you, it’s nothing, really, nothing I can’t handle myself, I’m sorry I woke you up, I⁠—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jack says, stepping forward and taking him gently by the shoulders. Davey’s frantic ramblings peter out. “Breathe for me, alright, Dave? I need you to breathe for me.”

“Sorry,” Davey says again, struggling to do as he’s asked. “It’s nothing, it’s stupid, honestly, I don’t know why I’m being so⁠—”

“Davey,” Jack interrupts, eyes serious. “Nothing that’s got you this upset is stupid. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

It shouldn’t feel like as huge of a question as it does. Davey doesn’t even know where to start, and the thought of having to try to explain makes something acrid and agonizing rise up like bile in the back of his throat.

“The letters came,” he forces out.

Jack’s mouth goes tight. “All of ‘em?”

Davey gives a weak nod. “I’ve been stealing them out of the mailbox. I didn’t want my parents to see…”

“Where are they?”

“In my nightstand,” Davey answers.

With one last reassuring squeeze, Jack goes to look. He pulls open the drawer and unearths a stack of creamy envelopes, each one thicker and heavier than the last: Columbia, Dartmouth, Yale, NYU, UCLA, UC Berkeley... Just the sight of them sends another wave of anxiety rushing through him; Davey hugs himself against a sudden chill, his nails biting into his arms.

Jack flips one of the envelopes over, dragging a finger over the shiny, golden seal.

“You haven’t opened them,” he says, more of a comment than a question.

“I couldn’t,” Davey confesses. “I tried but I couldn’t make myself… I just couldn’t.”

He doesn’t know how to explain, the feelings refusing to condense down into words. Because they’re just letters, except that they’re not just letters, not really. They’re only the start.

The start of another four years of this: of working himself into the ground and being miserable, of studying and struggling and grinding and endlessly competing against this idealized, perfected, unattainable version of himself. A version of himself that his parents want him to be, a person that they insist he must become, never once considering if that’s who he wants to be.

He can’t even imagine spending the next chapter of his life like this. He can’t do it. He can’t.

But even as Davey thinks it, that familiar sensation starts creeping in again⁠—bitter doubt, overwhelming worry, desperate, aching fear⁠—screaming at him from every corner of his mind. Of course he’s going to college. Of course he is, he has to, there’s nothing to be done, no choice but to make his peace and learn to live with...

Another wave of nausea hits so hard and so abruptly he goes dizzy with it, just barely able to keep from retching⁠—not that there’s anything left in his stomach to throw up.

“Woah, hey,” Jack says softly. He wraps a hand around Davey’s forearm to steady him, guiding him over to sit down on the bed. “Breathe, Davey, breathe⁠. I gotcha.”

“Sorry,” Davey mutters.

“You don’t gotta be sorry,” Jack replies, his face full of understanding. “You just gotta tell me the best way to help you. Do you need me to open the letters for you?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Davey shakes his head, like that might shuffle his scattered thoughts into coherence. “I don’t want anyone to open them. I wish they didn’t fucking exist at all.”

Davey takes a deep breath, straining for calm. Jack watches him silently, rubbing his hand comfortingly along his arm.

“I should’ve listened to you,” Davey admits. “I should’ve put a stop to this months ago. But I didn’t know what to tell them and I didn’t want them to be disappointed in me and now it’s too late, all these fucking letters keep showing up because they made me apply to every goddamn Ivy League in the country, and I don’t know what to do. Jackie, I don’t know what to do.”

“Davey,” Jack says quietly. “What do you need from me?”

“Help me figure this out?” Davey pleads. “I know it’s a lot, but every day my parents ask if I’ve heard back from any schools and I’ve got to come up with a plan before they catch on and I don’t think I can do it by myself.”

He gestures at the pile of letters sitting in Jack’s lap, and as he does, he realizes that his hand is trembling. He lowers it back down before Jack can notice.

“Maybe you can help me sort through these?” Davey suggests. “I just need advice, an outside perspective, an opinion from someone I trust. Someone that will help me pick something I can live with, not just whatever’s most prestigious.”

“But you don’t want to go to any of these schools,” Jack says slowly. “You ain’t even interested in any of ‘em.”

Davey can’t meet his eyes.

“At least one of them must be decent,” he says, in a tone that’s not at all convincing. “It’s just a matter of figuring out which one.”

“And what if none of them are?” Jack says. “What if none of ‘em are decent? What if none of ‘em are right for you?”

“One of them will be,” Davey insists.

“But what if they’re not?” Jack says, still pressing. “What if all of ‘em are horrible? What if we start looking at ‘em and every one is guaranteed to be four years of misery?”

“Then I guess I’m just going to be fucking miserable, aren’t I?” Davey bursts out.

He immediately clamps his hand over his mouth, praying that no one else heard. But the house remains sleepy and silent.

Jack stares back at him, a sea of feeling behind his eyes.

“I can’t think like that, Jackie,” Davey continues after a second, fighting to keep his voice down despite the edge of hysteria that’s creeping into his tone. “I have to hope that one of these schools will be a good enough fit or else I’m actually going to lose my mind. So I need you to help me figure this out. I need your advice because⁠, if nothing else, at least you’re actually on my side. I’m so tangled up at this point that I can’t even tell if⁠—” ⁠

If I’m on my own side anymore, Davey doesn’t say, cutting himself off before he can finish the thought. But Jack looks at him like he knows exactly what Davey was about to say, his expression turning sad and maybe a little angry.

“And you really think that’s what’s best?” Jack asks, voice rough with disbelief and displeasure.

“What else is there to do?” Davey replies, helpless.

Jack’s mouth flattens out into a harsh, thin line, jaw clenched. He stares down at the letter from earlier, then at the rest of the stack, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. He picks one up and at first Davey can’t tell if he’s going to finally open it, or if he’s just going to rip it in half.

Instead, he says, “We could run.”

“...What?” Davey whispers.

Jack turns to him, and the look in his eyes is like nothing Davey’s ever seem before: almost fever bright, threaded with urgency and realization, and speckled with warmth and hints of promise.

“Run away with me, Dave,” Jack says. “Let me take you away from all’a this. We’ll hit the road, drive ‘til the pavement ends, ‘til we’re far away from all these expectations and plans and supposed to’s. Because it’s crushing you. It’s making you fucking miserable, and if distance is what you need to find steady ground and make a choice for your own sake, that’s actually about you and what you want? Then I’m your ticket outta town.”

“Jackie...” Davey says, utterly floored. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, stuttering with something like anticipation and fear and terrible, terrible longing. “Jackie, that’s not… We can’t.”

“And why can’t we?”

“Because,” Davey insists, because one of them has to be reasonable. “Because, we can’t just pack up and leave. It’s the middle of the semester, we’ve got another three months of school left, we’re supposed to graduate, and fuck, can you even imagine the fallout? My parents would kill me, just hunt me down and murder me if I left.”

“I’m still not hearin’ any reasons not to,” Jack says, still looking at Davey with those warm, steady eyes.

“I just told you—“ Davey starts.

“No,” Jack calmly interrupts. “You gave me a bunch of excuses for not going, not reasons. There’s a difference. I’m waitin’ for something more along the lines of ‘my ridiculously long legs make road trips super uncomfortable’ or ‘our friendship won’t survive us traveling together for weeks in close quarters’ or ‘I wouldn’t trust your rusted old Chevy to take us to the state line, let alone any further,’ or how about ‘Jack, I don’t want to.’”

Davey’s mouth closes with a soft click, swallowing heavily around a sudden lump in his throat.

Jack keeps looking at him, and the intensity of his gaze is almost too much to handle, simmering with something quietly fierce.

“I’m not gonna stand by and watch you kill yourself over a life that you don’t even want. Not anymore. Not when it makes you call me at one in the morning, sounding like the weight of the fucking world’s on your shoulders and you’re terrified to set it down. Not after seven months of watching you waste away right in front of me, moving around like a goddamn shadow, pale as a ghost and hollow inside. Not unless you can look me in the eye right now and tell me that college is what you want. That any of this is gonna make you happy.”

Davey can’t speak. Something’s gone taut in his chest, like a piano wire about to snap. Davey could prevent it. He doesn’t know if he wants to.

Jack leans closer and takes both of Davey’s hands in his own. His palms are warm, or maybe it’s just that Davey’s freezing, has been so painfully cold and lonely these past few months, withering away in the shadow of his parent’s expectations. But the tangle of their fingers threading together is like a balm on Davey’s soul—the spark that reignites the embers of a dying fire.

He’s so tired of being cold.

“I just wanna know that you’ll be happy,” Jack says after a moment—softly, like he’s afraid he might shatter Davey if he speaks any louder, sending the broken shards of him scattering into nothingness. Davey’s not sure he’s wrong. “And I know you, David, and this isn’t going to make you happy.”

“This is crazy,” Davey breathes out, and it’s not what he means to say but it’s what comes out, regardless. “It’s... Jack, this is insanity.”

“Who cares about what’s sane?” Jack says. “Fuck sanity.”

“Jackie.”

“Tell me you’re happy,” Jack says, and the gentleness of the command doesn’t make it any less compelling. “Tell me you’re happy, that you think you’ll be happy with all’a this, and I’ll drop it. I’ll drop it right this second, I swear.”

Davey’s eyes slip shut. He breathes in and breathes out, feeling his ribs pressing against that band in his chest, the last pieces of it holding fast.

“You know this isn’t what you want,” Jack continues. “You’ve known right from the start that this isn’t what you want, you just wouldn’t admit it. But you gotta finally put yourself first for once, Davey. You gotta figure out what’s best for you, and you can’t do that here, not with everything that’s weighing you down.”

In and out. In and out.

“Please, Dave,” Jack murmurs. “Please.”

And the wire snaps.

“Okay,” Davey says, fingers tightening around Jack’s, his lone anchor as the world tilts out from underneath him. “Okay.”

“You’ll—?”

“Let me pack a bag,” Davey agrees.

00000

Tags! @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside, @corbinthecowboy

#run away with me fic #newsies #jack kelly #david jacobs #javid #bits & bobs #*the writing desk #*editor's note #thought i'd post one last preview before settling back into tie fic #this is literally the length of an average chapter of mine what even is this fic #i'm just here y'all ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#listen: i love them #💕💕💕💕#also this is the working opening scene just in case I didn’t mention that #this is quickly becoming the thing I’m most proud of writing ngl

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blissfulsun · 4 years

Text

based on this lovely request

word count: 1,462

Wish you were mine // Jeff Wittek

You meet the friend group by chance, only showing up to pick up Taylor and head off for dinner and a catch up when you’re somehow pulled into the madhouse, David not taking your protests for an answer, a man on a mission with a camera in hand, you can’t say no.

She’s mentioned them all in conversation before, names passing your mind in a blur as they become familiar over time, your hangouts becoming more frequent, numbers swapped, stories and memories shared with an endless supply of laughter.

One particular name never seems to leave your mind, handsome face finding home in your thoughts and heart within a few short months.

Jeff’s somehow better than the pictures, sweeter than in your best friend’s stories of his chivalry and cheekiness that matches your own with ease.

He finds a home in you as a friend, a quiet favourite in the group, though the others understand it without you having to say so, see the way you look at him, how his eyes reciprocate that same spark.

You park down the street, the setting eerily familiar but this time you comfortably stroll inside, Dave’s place a second home to you by now.

It’s a hilariously identical scene: Zane running around, Natalie and her boyfriend cuddling on the couch, Ilya & David with a camera in hand and your best friend stood by the kitchen counter, head thrown back in laughter.

You almost smile, lips pulling up naturally at the sound of the blonde’s happiness, always contagious to you in the years you’ve spent attached at the hip.

But then your eyes shift a little to the side, enough to see Jeff leaning close beside her, teeth on show and eyebrow raised and you fight to keep emotions flooding your chest in control.

Especially once Zane notices you and runs in that direction to wrap his arms around your frame in hello.

‘Baby!! You made it. Ugh thank god, I’ve had enough of all these couples I need my partner in crime’

Your laughter is forced, smile a little shaky at the realisation that holy shit, your best friend possibly likes the same guy.

There’s no time to wallow in pity, not as the others greet you and get ready to play a game of poker someone mentioned in your group text earlier in the day.

You end up in teams: Natalie and Todd, David & Ilya, Zane and yourself and finally, Taylor and Jeff.

Would it be mean to your teammate if you threw the whole game in order to get out of there?

You scold yourself at the thought, mind spinning in search of missed sings.

Had she mentioned him more than any of the others?

Giggled while recalling a funny story or spending time in the group?

The thought that Taylor has kept this from you is almost as painful as the sight of them huddled together and whispering as the evening goes on.

‘I thought you were supposed to be good at this y/n!!’ Zane playfully moans, upset as you lose for the second time in the row.

You clear your throat, shoulders set back and eyes avoiding a familiar brown pair that’s been observing you from across the table.

Jeff notices the small details, how you zone out as time passes, your legs retracting from his own long ones as he tries to poke your foot carefully in a silent ask to get you to look at him.

There was no hug hello, no warm embrace that sets his cheeks alight and heart stuttering in his chest as soon as you walk through the door and into his arms.

He tries not to think about it too much but suddenly Taylor’s insistence of your returned feelings seems doubtful.

Why does he feel like he’s somehow messed up when you’ve barely spoken a word to him tonight?

His opportunity to ask you comes eventually.

Jeff corners you as you leave the bathroom, hallway half lit and your breath lodged in your throat when you stumble directly into his chest as you turn the corner.

‘Careful darlin’ you hate how much of an effect two simple words have on your body.

Stop. You need to get a grip, can’t be feeling this way about your best friend’s...whatever he is.

‘Doll are you listening to me?’ His teasing tone snaps you back, expression lost as you miss half of his speech.

Jeff laughs, lips involuntarily lifting at the corners as he watches you, taking in each detail of your pretty features: bright eyes, soft cheeks and lips that almost steer his thoughts in a vastly different direction.

He has to pull back, clear his throat before stepping closer as he adds. ‘I was saying...you seem off tonight, is everything alright darlin’? If you’re tired we can call it a night and I’ll take you back to yours, or mine if you wanna finish that movie we-’

‘NO’ each of you winces at your rushed interruption, your own expression panicked and his brown eyes lost.

It’s quiet for a moment, uncomfortable for the first time since you’ve met him as Jeff tries to figure you out.

Your body has a mind of its own, panicked at the moment as you attempt and rush past his.

Except Jeff steps to the side, blocking your way once again.

‘Y/n, what’s wrong? Have I done anything? ...cause I’ll make it up to you-’

The way your head shakes instantly in denial makes him pause, lost at the mixed signals you’ve displayed all night.

‘You haven’t done anything I just-’

I just wish I could be happy for you but I don’t know if I can. The words are there, on the tip of your tongue.

Jeff sees the pause, a small shift that makes you stand straighter before you clear your throat and replace whatever’s been weighing heavy on your heart with a ‘Tay’s probably waiting for you, let’s get back to the game’

Jeff’s more confused than ever, left arm finding it’s way around your waist easily.

It fits perfectly around the dip there, palm splayed across your back in familiar warmth, you’re ashamed to admit you’ve missed the comfort of his touch.

The reminder that these small affections will grow few and farther between makes you wince, the man close enough to catch the vulnerable sound leaving your mouth.

‘Taylor can hold her own, I was hoping you’ll agree to my escape plan doll, thought I could steal you away for a little while’ his words are sweet, reminiscent of other times the two of you have sneaked away to spend your night in the solace of his or your home.

‘Y/n?’ Jeff’s panicked questioning makes you aware of the tears suddenly blurring your eyes, his face leaning down closer through the haze in your sight.

‘Stop.’ you beg. ‘I can’t - Tay’s my best friend.’ At his confusion, you find enough courage to add.

‘I can’t be your friend Jeff...you’re with my closest friend and it’s already fucked up how much I like you without this’ you gesture between you, one hand tightened in a fist as it bumps against his hard chest.

Jeff huffs, delusioned laughter rumbling in his chest at your words.

‘Doll? I’m - Taylor and I aren’t together, I’ve’ he sounds almost disbelieved before continuing.

‘I’ve been crushing on you for fuckin’ months’ his reply making you pause.

It’s enough time for Jeff to wrap his other arm around your middle. fingers tightening their hold as he pulls you closer until there’s no space between you.

It still feels like he’s too far. You decide, leaning up on your toes to wrap your own arms around his neck as your lips meet in reply.

It feels euphoric, finally having his mouth slotted against your own, endless nights spent tossing in bed thinking about this, days counting down the minutes until you finally see him for even a short while.

There’s no other noise except his soft groan received by your awaiting mouth when your fingers pull at the hair growing at the back of his head.

Jeff’s own hands are everywhere, one up at the nape of your neck while the other firmly grasps at your ass before finally wrapping around the loops of your jeans when you both pull away for air, his forehead falling against your own.

‘You think they’ll see us if we sneak past the shoe rack to the door or should we just get out through David’s bathroom window?’ your question and cheeky smile garner a round of laughter in reply as Jeff pulls you further into the house and to the bathroom before he kisses you once and then again before unlocking the window to pick you up and pull himself up and outside.

#thank u for reading!!🥺💓#jeff wittek #jeff wittek imagine #jeff wittek x reader #jeff wittek blurb #jeff wittek fanfiction

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

A Cumbersome And Heavy Body

Chapter Three: I'm Treading For My life, Believe Me

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn’t going to go down without a fight. It’s just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word count: 6103

Author’s Note: I did listen, on repeat, to the Anastasia soundtrack while writing this. Which, you would think, would make this a rather happy chapter and if you thought that... how silly you will feel in a few moments. You can find the first chapter here!

Warning: the subject of this fic is cancer and it’s treatment, cursing, maybe out of character (idk, man. hotch is weird) bonus: I’m 19 and a humanities major so obviously I don’t know anything about medicine so I’m doing my best out here

Not knowing how to think I scream aloud, begin to sink My legs and arms are broken down With envy for the solid ground

There is not a sound. Not a shiver. The floorboards do not moan lowly. No hinge gives its creaking complaint. The disturbance is a felt one. Something she feels right where her fourth rib meets her sternum. It has no name. Calling it instinct is superstitious. Claiming it as training or intuition is childish.

It has everything to do with love and fear. And love and fear alone.

“Aaron?” The comforter he seems to be forever tangled has been kicked away in his fitful sleep. In the low light of the room, the hallway light seeping in, she can see his heaving chest. As though he has run a great deal, not lying supine on his bed. “Aaron, can you hear me?” Despite the bitter scent of sweat, she can’t tell what it is that draws her deeper into the room.

Slowly, his dark eyes open, breathing rasping out as he opens his mouth to answer but no sound leaves his pale lips.

Looking over her shoulder, only after looking and listening for a sign they’ve awoken Jack, does she enter the room. Shutting the door behind her, she stifles the room to darkness. She can’t even see the hand extended in front of her. Not that she needs it. The path of his room is simple.

Two steps in there is an outfit shed by the dresser on her right side. The pant leg extends out and if she doesn’t lift her foot, she’ll trip. Three more steps in and she needs to extend her hand just a fraction to feel the cool wooden bed frame. There she can pivot herself with its aid. Step high over the sweatshirt on the floor and she’s good. Well, mostly.

She gets tangled in the comforter he kicked off.

“Em--” he coughs, letting out an achy moan. “Emily?”

She gets to his nightstand and leans heavily on the old wood, catching her breath. The damn blanket was like fighting an octopus. “Right here,” she promises, knocking all kinds of shit to the floor as she fights her way to the lamp. It comes on with a click and they both wince at its sharpness. She’s got her eyes closed, trying to allow her pupils some small reprieve, when his hand wraps around her forearm. Cold clammy fingers wrapped around her wrist. “Hotch?”

The soft hazel of his eyes is unfamiliar. “I want to go home,” he rasps softly. His chest shutters with the effort the simple request has taken. The tears in his eyes slide down his cheeks without the guilt. He strikes her. Not with his palm open and hands roughened by callouses. He does not hit her or cause her to draw back with his words. By the look in his eyes. The confusion. The pain.

“Aaron--” Once and only once does she consider trying to convince him that he is exactly where he craves to be. Mouth open, the words pushing at her tongue, she decides that will only hurt them both. Softening the look on her face, she crouches down by his side. Taking a seat on the edge of his bed.

The rash on his chest has depended its angry red, it taunts her now as the glisten of his sweat across his pale skin. Every visit to the doctor promises that it’s not as bad as it looks. It causes him mild discomfort and nothing can be done. It is a product of the radiation. To heal the wound is futile. Stepping off a cliff to avoid a hill.

“You’re feverish,” she notes, moving the back of her palm against his forehead. To her surprise, he doesn’t pull away from her touch. Not even as her fingers draw against the sharp peak of his cheek bones. He lays, compliant, eyes foggy but on her. With a fond sigh, she observes, “dehydrated. You didn’t drink the water I gave you.”

When he speaks, he sounds much more like himself. The tone costs him more than it's worth. “My throat hurts.” Which is an awful excuse but it’s the truth and she knows it’s just another part of normal life falling away from her grasp. Today it is just water but tomorrow it is the hospital. It’s the central line and the saline and the tube they’re going to place in his stomach because he’s reaching the point of inabilities.

And it is never as simple as a sore throat.

She’s tired of seeing his blood so casually wiped from his pale skin. The bags under his eyes deepened to caverns and the lakes of tears in his eyes. There is nothing she can do. The mass of cancer can be cut out of his flesh but the cells could still multiply. Quite simply, there is nothing she can do for him. Except--

“Stay.”

He mistakes her movement for the path to leave. She’s just aiming to pull the comforter back over him.

“I--” They look at each other. She sees so much burning vulnerability. “I’ll stay,” she caves and with that promise she can reach down and pull the comforter back over his body.

Already, his eyes are dropping shut. “You can--” he coughs, his whole body jarred by the movement. “You can sit, Emily. I can keep my hands to myself.”

She rolls her eyes but sits down on the corner of the bed. She takes his hand, rubbing at his knuckles when he turns his head to cough. “Shut up,” comes her hesitation reply. It feels wrong, misplaces. She wants to slip into their innocent, normal tit-for-tat banter but he’s not up for it. It’s not what he needs or is even capable of.

“Please don’t just sit there and stare at me,” he rasps.

Her face flushes. She had been doing exactly that. “If I lay down, you better not try to cuddle me.”

He huffs at that but whatever he might have said is overshadowed by his deep, nasty sounding coughs.

She reaches

“Aaron?”

“Hmm?”

She gently moves her hand across the bed sheet until she finds his. Interlacing her fingers with his she manages, thickly, “please don’t die.” His head turns on his pillow and she can feel him looking at her but she keeps her eyes on the ceiling. After a long pause, her heart beating frantically the whole way, he simply squeezes her hand. Not a promise… just comfort. Sniffling she sits up and grabs some of the blanket, pulling it over her own bare legs. “Stop hogging the covers. You’re not the only who might want some.”

As she settles down, turning her back to him, she closes her eyes. Feeling the hot stream of her tears falling over her face. The last thing she hears before she falls asleep is his hoarse voice, full of tears of his own. “I’m so sorry Emily.”

-------------------------

“How are you?”

Radiation was early this morning. He’d been lying if he didn’t admit that he gave Emily hell about it. Which he does feel fairly guilty about but she got what she wanted to he’s not that sorry. For the first time, he let her come in with him. Mostly because he didn’t have the strength to get himself out of the car but if he doesn’t dwell on that thought too much then it’s okay.

But he also knows that Emily told Garcia about this morning. Briefly, no doubt, about him being an absolute pain in the ass. Mostly how he’d let her tie his shoes. How he’d limped, leaning heavily against the wall to the bathroom and losing the meager bit of breakfast he had. Whatever she knows, she wears on her face. The worried crinkle between her brows. The downward quirk of her pink sparkling lips.

She shouldn’t be here.

Despite the ear protection Dave had spent so much time finding, his ears still ache from the rattling from the radiation machine. Every nerve in his body agitated by hot fire packers digging further and deeper into his brain. The dancers with their little tacs glued to their shoes traveling along his skin. To his legs and then up his arms. And, yet, he pushes on.

As confidently as he can manage, he forces himself to focus his eyes on Garcia. Smiling through the haggard, involuntary sway of his body. “I’m okay, Garcia. No need to worry.”

But she can see how pale his skin has gotten over the last month. How the shadow of a beard across his cheeks makes him look sicker, weaker. She knows that he won’t like her attention but she craves for Aaron Hotchner. So, she finds herself looking at him longer, trying harder to see within him. To find her boss and not the ghost he’s left behind. “We… I love you, sir. You know that, right?” She hesitantly touches his hand and as much as she thought it would hurt to feel him recoil it hurts even worse when he doesn’t.

But he’s here, isn’t he? Is it not just like her stupidly brave boss to keep trying, to keep pushing?

Hotch’s hand trembles where she’s captured it in her own and as self-conscious as that makes him feel… he can’t pull away. All these shields, blocades he’s built around himself have been his destruction. He’s pushed them away until they no longer let him near without armor of their own. Always prepared to enter the cave and find a beast. But Garcia, merciful Garcia, still just sees him. It terrifies him but he just wants someone to disregard his wishes. To throw caution to the wind and hug him. Touch him.

“I know,” he manages. He smiles, clenching his teeth to refrain from showing or saying how much better he feels with her around.

She stands, leaving his side. “Just making sure,” she confirms. She turns, her hand on his shoulder, as she takes in the state of his house. Empty. Emily has been diligent with cleaning up after them. Hotch, too, when he can manage to stand long enough to wash the dishes.

She remembers, like a blow to the heart, that Emily has fallen behind on laundry. That had been the one chore Hotch was solidly keeping up on. Emily had seemed so positive about that, only a few weeks ago. Smiling as she reassured he was very adamant to let her anywhere near the laundry (and as she suspected, his underwear) so as long as he was managing to be his usual stubborn self things would be fine. They had been. But after the nose bleeds he’s not as strong. His appetite is gone and every week when they draw his blood the odds are slowly shifting out of his favor.

He’s anemic and they gave him a blood transfusion at the hospital after the nose bleed but it hasn’t helped. Now he takes iron supplements and a pill that smells horrible and tastes even worse. He can get over the pills. It’s just two more in the sea of things he takes. It’s the fact that he can’t lift anything. Years of training and rigorous training down the drain but his knees are like jelly and his arms like boiled noodles.

On top of all that, this morning they talked about starting chemotherapy in addition to the radiation. His cells aren’t responding. So, Emily’s thoughts have been elsewhere. Not on the laundry steadily building unwashed.

“I’m going to make myself useful,” she says, getting in a quick kiss before he can put up too much of a fight. She’s not sure if his lack of response is good or not. Either way, she tucks a blanket up around him. Smiling when he just looks up at her-- there’s a flash of Hotch in his exhausted eyes. He starts to fuss with her-- she doesn’t need to clean, that’s not why she’s here (which they really don’t need to argue about unless she wants to hash out how she’s really here to babysit him).

But he just sinks into the pillow behind his head. No fight.

“Please tell me if you need help,” she says as she walks away. He hums something under his breath but she knows he won’t. She’ll just have to listen for him.

The laundry really isn’t that bad.

Emily’s room is a mess but Emily is a bit of a mess herself so it’s not that surprising. She picks up minimally. Moving anything around too much will just make Emily flustered to have been caught. So, she just picks up the towels she sees and a few pairs of shirts and pants she knows Emily likes the most and heads to the laundry room. The washing machine and dryer are down the hall, pushed aside in a closet like space.

Tossing in what she’s gathered she goes back to Emily’s room-- she’s just wasting time so she doesn’t have to go into Hotch’s room. Picking up a discarded glass of water and a few water bottles. She makes note that if Emily isn’t back in time to throw their sheets and bed sets in the washing machine. It’s always nice to have clean bedsheets.

Looking at Emily’s room she realizes she has to venture to Hotch’s room now.

She comes to linger in the living room. “You doing okay?” She doesn't get a response but she can’t really see him so she moves closer. One of his legs is drawn up, resting against the couch and the other stretched out and over the arm of the couch. When she’d left him he’d still been sitting up, fighting to stay alert through their short conversation. It’s… nice to see him comfortable.

Without thinking, she reaches down and moves her hand through his hair. Trying her best not to react to the amount of grey she sees. He moves, shifting his face further into the couch. She fears she’s woken him but his eyelashes flutter for only a moment before he sighs and stills once again.

Sighing, she leaves him once again. Blindly hoping he’ll sleep for a while if she doesn’t bother him.

His room is… exactly as she expects it to be and, yet, not.

His bedspread is a dark green color, nearly emerald and surely something Jessica or one of the other’s picked out. There are pieces of him thrown through-out the room with the finest touches of someone else left behind. For example, the books that litter every surface is him. From his nightstand, to his dresser, to a few stacked on the floor. The nightstands are old and she feels a little sore work itself into her throat at the possibility that they are a set and were probably bought for him and Haley.

And now there’s only him.

There is a stuffed elephant and blanket on the floor on the other side of the bed. She wonders how frequently Jack sleeps with him. Probably more than normal now.

His room is neat. She tucks his comforter back where it should be. Placing a piece of paper in the book he’d left face down. There’s a single sock with colorful, swirling patterns. A shirt that looks very well loved tucked inside of a sweater of equal wear and tear. Clothes and homely things. Hotch things.

From down the hall she hears his muffled coughs and something hard hitting the wall.

“Sir!” She hurries from his room, letting the clothes in her hand hit the floor. It’s not hard to find him. His house has a familiar, simple layout. “Are you okay?” He’s standing in the hall, facing her. Shoulder pulled in, left arm around his chest, and the right blindly leading him along.

He nods, muffling his bone rattling coughs into his elbow. “Just…” he shakes his head. “Going to the bathroom.”

She looks over her shoulder, his room and bathroom are only a few steps away but… He doesn’t look like he’s going to get there without a little help. “Could…” she chews her lips into her mouth. “Would it be okay I help-- If you just leaned on me, a little bit? For my sanity?”

He nods, simply going where she moves him. It’s not hard to slip under him. Without heels, his height advantage is much more apparent. She looks down at the floor as she works his arm over her shoulders, smiling at the sight of his socks. Her own don’t match-- a homage to Reid but also because she knows it, secretly, drives Hotch crazy. But he’s wearing a pair of polka dot socks. Each one an extreme loud variation of every color you can think of.

“Nice socks, sir!”

It distracts him for a moment from the humiliation of needing both her and the wall to walk down the hall. He looks down at his socks-- socks that he and Emily had fought long and hard about this morning. He didn’t want to wear them. He’d needed normalcy. Craved it. He wanted plain black socks that would go unnoticed. But she had won and everyone saw him in his boxers and stupidly bright socks. It had put smiles on their faces too. Even Emily’s, though, she had tried to hide it behind her book.

“Emily’s doing,” he reassures her.

They can’t fit shoulder-to-shoulder into the room so she lets him lean against the doorframe and manage it on his own. Following closely behind. “Oh, of course,” she says smiling now she’s behind him and he can't see. Though, as soon as she’s done it she wishes he would see. To see her smile and know it’s at his expense and give her one of those scowls that have always just made her love him a little more.

But instead she sits on the corner of his bed and closes her eyes. Wincing and flinching as he gets sick.

Emily had been so… afraid when she left. Garcia hadn’t understood why. Even when the information Emily was throwing at her-- hurling words, meaningless words. Now… Now Garcia is cursed with Emily's same burden of knowing.

It had all come so quickly-- that the nose bleed had been because he was anemic and that they can’t get his red blood cell count back up. “Not to fret”, Emily had said thickly with sarcasm, his white blood cells are through the rough and the product of much anxiety. That the awful cough he has is from Radiation Pneumonitis and “not to worry” he’s on steroids that make him incredibly nauseous and a complete ass. The best part? It can scar his lungs!

All this information had come so quickly that Garcia hadn’t processed any of it.

Dave had called Garcia early this morning and asked if she needed anything to do. Normally, when he asks that sort of thing, he’s asking her over to do the grunt work of cooking-- rolling breads or kneading dough-- but today when she’d happily agreed he’d had something else in mind.

So, today, while Emily goes with Dave for a long lunch she’s staying with Hotch.

The original plan was just to leave him by himself. Dave had assumed that would be alright. Afterall, two days ago when Dave had last seen him, Hotch was very himself. Stubborn and grouchy when they tried to help him do anything-- even the normal sorts of things you do for people: hold the door, pass them a plate, ask if they want anything when you go to get yourself something, etc.

Having to explain how she couldn’t simply leave Hotch had… broken Emily just a little more. Keeping herself calm, collected as she explained that she was going out with Dave for a while and she’d make sure to bring him something back. Coffee or soup (anything so long as he’d agree to eat). She had cried as soon as she stood to walk to her room, lower lip quivering at just how easily he’d caved. He’d protested everything she did all morning and now just… submits. She’d sobbed in the shower.

He annoys her to no end. Her closest friend, the man she’d left behind to search for something more in London, was a basket case. Do not mistake that. Aaron Hotchner has to do everything himself. Independence is very important to him and she’s being forced to watch him give in. Too tired to fight.

Garcia had arrived a little sooner than expected and Emily had opened the door in a towel, her mascara from that morning smudged under her eyes. Before she could get out an apology, Garcia had already assured her she had plenty of time and that Garcia would go back out and tell Dave to cut the car and come in for a moment.

And Hotch…

He’d been asleep on the couch. Sitting up, nestled into the corner where Emily had left him.

“Hey, Pen?”

Garcia hadn’t even realized she’d been staring.

“He’s got a heating pad tucked against his side, will you warm it up?”

And she’d learned Hotch is prone to chills. That along with nine awful scars, Foyet had damaged his body's ability to regulate temperature and that radiation is being a bitch. So to ease the ache in his side, where Foyet had nicked a rib that won’t ever really heal, Emily just keeps a heating pad around. It keeps him warm.

The beast of knowledge.

“Garcia?”

She hates him. For a moment. Anger and impatient it eats her alive and that’s such an awful thing to have to feel about someone you love. Why can’t he be stronger? It leaves her body in a choked sound. How could she even let herself feel such contempt for the very man who always prides her for her brightness? Loves her no matter how much trouble she drags up? Goes out of his way to remind her to always be her bright silly self?

She stands from his bed and opens the bathroom door.

He looks ashamed and she hates that.

“Have I ever told you about the time Reid and I broke a coffee pot and hid it from you for a month?” she asks before he can apologize.

His Adam's apple bobs as he looks up at her. He’s still curled into himself, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. He feels weak, useless. He couldn't even find the strength to stand and pee. Then, on top of it all, she’d been right there on the other side of the door as he vomited. By now, this is not the first apology he’s been beaten to. Emily has this infallible way of sensing them coming and quickly changes the subject to something else.

It’s… strange to see Garica practice it too.

“Please tell me that was far too long ago to be worth fussing with you over?” he asks, trembling as he accepts the hand she offers.

She smiles and tuckers herself back against him, wrapping her arm around his hips. “Oh it was a while ago,” she assures him. “Like… Gideon long ago. He was just a baby--” she keeps talking no matter what. When he whispers that he needs a break at the doorway, a whole two steps later. Tells him how terrified they’d all been of him at some point in time. How that’s all rather silly because Aaron Hotchner is nothing but a big softy. And, believe it or not, it has always been Derek Morgan breaking that secret to the rookies. That he’s not as big and tough as he looks. That a good, warm batch of snickerdoodles will melt his big icy heart so quickly--

“How many people did you tell that to?” he asks.

She shrugs, only the people that really needed it. “Do I have to give you a number if I make you some right now?”

He considers her offer. His stomach has settled a little and the smell alone would be divine. Plus, Emily had said he could pick dinner… what’s the possibility that she would cave to just letting him eat a cookie or two? He smiles, “I’d consider adequate reparation.”

“Wanna help?”

His smile falters just a bit. He can’t stand for that long and--

“We can make them at the table,” she adds, hastily.

And… he nods. Okay.

That’s how Dave and Emily find them an hour later.

Hotch is covered in flour and Garcia too. A good proper mess.

He’s wrapped in a blanket, the one from the couch, and leaning heavily on the arm propped up on the table. Smiling, content, as Garcia checks the cookies and reassures him that they need only a little bit longer. So that they come out right as the bottom is browning but not brown. ANd he nods his head like he understands when she says the point is to let them finish baking on the pan outside of the oven. That’s the secret to soft cookies.

Which, to him, just sounds like she’s saying she's going to feed slightly undercooked cookies but he’s eaten cookie dough raw for years. He’s never had salmonella but he did get cancer so obviously someone wasn’t warning him about the right things.

“What in the world did you two get into?”

“Cookies!” Garcia holds open the oven to show them. “If you wait just a moment they will be ready!” She places the dirty dishes into the sink. Throwing some water over them to make it easier to wash the dough off.

Emily raises an eyebrow at Hotch and he shrugs. She’s amused by the sight of him covered in flour and what more is to add but a submissive shrug. What can he say except he’s a softy who has always lacked the ability to tell them no?

“You didn’t let Hotch do the measuring did you?” Dave asks, stepping in and inspecting the damage done to the kitchen. Under his breath he continues, “you can tell he’s never been a math man. I’m convinced he doesn’t understand fractions.” Dave has cooked with him too many times. Hotch has never once successfully measured everything right in any dish. The amount of times one fourth has been mistaken as a half or an eighth of something rounded up to a third… it’s crazy.

Garcia glances at Hotch and he already knows exactly where she’d going-- “Well,” she admits, “I let him put the cinnamon in--”

Hotch groans from the table, a dramatic sigh as he closes his eyes and admits defeat.

“It wasn’t his fault!” It was. “There might just be a little bit too much cinnamon. It’s not a big deal!”

Aaron Hotchner brought to his knees by fractions.

-------------------------

When Hotch was in the second grade he got chickenpox from his next-door neighbor Michael. A very common thing given the time and the general mindset of “chickenpox parties”. It had been awful and itchy. His brain so ravished by the fever that he doesn’t remember a whole lot about the experience. Just that it had begun as a patch of dry skin under his right arm, perfectly wedged between two of his protruding ribs. That week of horrible fever and endless itching is the only time Hotch can ever recall his father being gentle.

He’d awoken once during that week, just after four and when his father typically arrived home, to the door shutting softly. His mother whispering to gather his father’s attention and diverge the man away from Hotch. Who, thanks to itching, had only just managed to fall asleep.

Halfway up the stairs, Hotch can remember waking up in his father’s arms. The man had shushed him softly, rocking him the way you might a child until Hotch had laid his head against his father’s chest and gone back to sleep. The gentleness of that action has haunted Hotch for years. Something he thinks about occasionally. Trying and failing to wrap his mind around something so out of character. So bizarre.

“Daddy,” Jack whines, he twists in his father’s lap. “You’re not watching, look!” His little finger demands Hotch’s attention, pointing to the TV. “Did you see it?” Jacks asks, sitting up to gauge Hotch’s reaction. “It was amazing, huh?”

Knowing his son, Hotch does try and get the boy out of the house as much as possible. Which means that lazy nights come far and rare in between. If he can, Hotch likes to take him to the park, museums, aquariums. Anything to keep his little mind crazed by the ideas of the world around him and actively engaged. Today… is not one of those days. There hasn’t been a lot of those days recently.

“The cancer is spreading--”

There’s a certain understandable science to the way that chickenpox works. They actually follow a pattern on the body when they spread. Hotch’s had curled from his left side to his right, working in the grooves of his ribs, and up his sternum.

A very similar pattern to the cancer spreading in his body.

Radiation is no longer enough.

He has two rounds of chemo and spends a lot of time thinking about what comes next. He’s going to get sicker. Weaker. Probably lose his hair. What will really be left of him when all is said and done?

Outside the rain comes down in buckets, thunder shaking the earth, but there’s nothing to the peace inside. Emily had gone around lighting candles, trying to soothe Jack in preparation for if the storm knocks out the electricity. Even if she’d managed to annoy him with her fluttering about, she’d been gentle and understanding. Making sure his shirt was buttoned to hide the deeply irritated skin on his chest.

She’s stronger than he is.

They are all.

“Asland,” Jack mumbles in amazement. He’s settled back down in Hotch’s lap, head on his thigh so Hotch can mindlessly play with his hair. Hotch can’t follow the plot of the simple movie but he’s seen it enough times to hum and mumble responses to Jack’s questions.

The Chronicles of Narnia. It’s Jack’s new favorite thing.

They’ve probably watched it now at least a dozen times.

Emily’s started having dreams about the movie.

No matter how many times he requests it though, she’ll still play it and Hotch will sit down and let Jack explain the plot again. Everytime, it ends with tears.

“I don’t understand why he has to leave,” Jack whimpers.

Hotch is struggling to fight with consciousness. Radiation leaves him haggard. Limbs seemingly attached by measly strings and joints that buckle with minimal weight. He’s got a rash up his chest that itches and burns a lot like that chickenpox rash. It’s normal, he’s assured, and they give him ointment to keep on it. Not to clear it up but rather to keep it from getting infected. Which… seems so practical if not normal. Mundane, really.

“Who?” Hotch rasps, forcing his eyes back open to squint at the TV.

Jack looks up at his father, tears streaming down his face. “Asland.” Over the course of the last few months, of course Jack can tell his father isn’t well. Everyone treats Jack like a thoughtless child, and he is child, but he’s not stupid. He knows why he has to sleep at Jessica’s and why, no matter how much Emily and Hotch make a point to only see him on Hotch’s “good” days, that his father is slowly withering away.

The thigh under Jack’s head used to be bigger. Tense with muscles not thin, almost to the bone. His father seemed to loom, towering over everything. Jack had thought him a king, a knight, a hero. Someone who, through the aches pains of it all rises triumphant and reigns on. Because his father has always been the best kind of person. Strong, vigilant, and forgiving. Surely… that would offer some forgiveness, no? An extra life in the bonus round or a break.

Hotch swallows thickly around the nausea knotting up in his throat. “Asland,” he repeats with a sigh. Right. Asland dies. They’re passed that point but he does die. For the greater good, a strategic move, but the sacrificial play none-the-less. “Sometimes,” Hotch lifts his head. “He was saving the other’s, Jack. He sacrificed himself.” He’s too tired to explain how the book was just a huge religious metaphor. “Sometimes people have to leave.”

Jack sniffles and wraps himself around Hotch’s stomach, burying his head closer. “Why?” he asks miserably.

Hotch doesn’t know. It’s never what you want but he doesn’t want to tell Jack about all of that. How at one point Jack and Haley had been the ones to leave Hotch reeling with that same question, despite logic dictating a clear answer. That Emily had done the same thing to him multiple times. Everyone on the team, really. He’s probably done it to them. If not already, then soon.

“I don’t know, buddy,” Hotch shakes his head. “I really don’t.” Jack nods his head, crying softly against Hotch. Hotch starts to rub Jack’s back, despite the ache in his limbs. “Listen…” Hotch clears his throat and Jack senses the turn in conversation. Jack sits up, looking, searching in Hotch’s eyes as he sniffles and wipes his face with the back of his hands. “I have to… We have to talk about something, buddy. About what’s been going on.”

Emily sits in the guest room and tries her best not to think about what’s going on in the living room. It was only a matter of time but… she couldn’t help but think maybe they could fix all this. It must be a matter of faulty testing. Surely, that must be the case. Hadn’t they already been through enough? Have they not lost enough?

Jessica sends her a text, Hotch isn’t answering his own phone.

Emily leaves her room, leaning out first just to see if they’re still talking. They’re not. The TV has been turned off, no sound.

Jack is curled into his father, clutching Hotch’s t-shirt in his little fist. Despite the dried tear tracks on his face, the boy looks at peace. His head tucked under Hotch’s chin and arms holding on tight, Hotch won’t be able to move without Jack noticing. Understandably, Jack has some apprehensions about his father leaving his sight.

“How’d he take the news,” Jessica asks. Her anger has melted, leaving her wilted in a puddle of emotions that she doesn’t even know where to begin to deal with. “I can’t--” she shakes her head. “I just can’t imagine it,” she whispers, glancing at Emily. “He’s so young,” she brushes her tears from her cheeks. “He can’t lose Aaron, too.”

She nods her head, she’s afraid to lose him as well. To be a child, though, living this as a reality that at any moment you might become an orphan… Jack’s only a child. He’s not even ten yet. What will he have to cling to? The cold nights come frequently and he’ll be alone. Surrounded by people but alone.

In London, there wasn’t a single moment she could step out and not get lost in crowds. It was the safest way to avoid detection. In those days, she’d clung to online Scrabble and read and rereading the letter Hotch had written her before she’d left. It was in the file with the other identities and money. While it had not been a technical element to the FBI’s idea of “everything” she might need it kept her alive.

On those cold night’s she’d curl into herself with her heating pad pressed against those old wounds and read his letter. Fingers ghosting over the ink and eyes taking in every detail. Where his hand wavered writing about Reid failing to cope. The stain of a tear beside Jack's name. Her favorite passage:

“I believe Ashley will try to leave the unit the next chance that she gets. You were her mentor and I’m afraid I have not offered her too much in claims to stake here. A part of me is partial to her staying. You were her mentor and she reflects that in the strangest moments. I hope she stays, I indulge myself in her rebellions against me. I think it reminds me of you.”

It never failed to make her smile. Take her back to the nights she’d drive home in a fit of rage or have arguments with her imaginations version of him in the shower. Cursing like a sailor but telling him how she really felt.

What will Jack cling to when Hotch is not here?

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #cancer fic #tw cancer #tw hospital #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #jessica brooks #david rossi

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heresathreebee · 3 years

Text

A Halo of Holly

Marcus Moreno X Black!reader (1940s AU)

Summary: you can’t help falling in love with your neighbor who happens to be a fellow single parent (and unbeknownst to you, a superhero, too).

Masterlist Part 2

Word Count: 1.3k words

Warning(s): rated T (for now), barely edited (no beta but myself), fluffy Christmas stuff, transatlantic speech, you’ve got your son’s dad’s last name despite never having married him, mild language, inappropriate thoughts

December 19th marks the beginnings of the Christmas season for most families in Holly's Grove. As the menorah's came down from some of the apartment windows, wreaths and lights went up, the holiday decorations turned white and red and green in celebration of that special time at the end of the year. The residents of Holly cleaned out their chimneys, dusted their boots of snow just outside the front door, and tuned into whatever channel was playing It's A Wonderful Life and Miracle on 34th Street on the television set.

Except for you, of course.

Your rooms were decorated just the way you liked it, all except for the lights and the tree. You sat on the floor inspecting each and every bulb on the string for the faulty wire while Billie Holiday's Christmas specials played on the gramophone. The wood from the fire was finally dry enough to light and the warmth eked its way slowly through to your bones.

"Damn things," you cursed.

You dropped the lights in a huff and leaned forward. You've got two options, girl, you thought. Buy some new ones or get some help. But who could you call for help with a broken light at a time like this?

Across the delightfully inviting alley, Marcus Moreno let his daughter adjust the television settings. Missy groaned as her favorite movie came to an end, but perked up when yet another toy commercial came on. He chuckled as she pointed excitedly at the screen, and he tried to pretend to be too busy making dinner. That's when a knock came at the door.

Dumm dum-duh-dum dumm.

Missy stood on the couch cushions, but her father waved her down to sit. "I'll get it."

He opened the door. A rush of freezing cold air and the gentle swinging wood revealed his (second) favorite face: yours. Wrapped in nothing protective except a scarf and shivering in your boots.

"Come in, come in!" He waved you inside and shut the door, mindful of his daughter with her head turned like an owl's. "Well, you must be frozen solid!"

You laughed despite your chattering teeth. "I suppose I didn't think to grab a coat since you were so close, but on the way, why it felt like I walked a mile to get here."

"Silly thing," he chided. His hands rubbed up and down your bare arms, coaxing his warmth into you. Your shivering only worsened and you had half a mind to drag him closer and wrap him into a hug. Almost. "What did you walk through all that snow in next to nothing for?"

Oh I'd love to see you in next to nothing. "Oh just this."

You pulled the lights around from behind your back and put your head down in embarrassment. "I plugged it in and the whole thing won't light. They worked just fine last year, but I can't find the busted part…"

"Let me take a look." The way Mr. Moreno's face turned hard as rock as he focused on something never failed to make your toes curl in your shoes. "Why don't you sit down and get comfortable. Missy? Stir that pot for me, will you?"

Your embarrassment came clawing up your back again. "Oh I'm so sorry, if I'd've known I was interrupting your dinner, I would have waited until tomorrow!"

"Nonsense," Mr. Moreno waved it off and took the lights to his work bench, "we both know Dave isn't going to let you put anything else up after tonight."

You harrumphed onto the couch knowing he was right. Dave was running the homeowner's association since his wife was sick, and in a lot of ways he was worse than she was. All decorations had to be put up by the 20th or they wouldn't be allowed to go up at all. He had always hated that the Peabody's seemed to acquire something new and shiny every night until Christmas and now he had the authority to do something about it.

"For a Christmas lover, he sure can be a grinch about the details," you said, and preened at Missy's merry giggle.

You felt strange sitting there in that house. Missy was one of your students, her father never missed a parent-teacher conference, and yet you felt you knew more about them after you had realized you were neighbors. Perhaps one day, this place might feel like a second home. The Morenos’ certainly seemed to want you to feel that way.

"Sauce is ready!," Missy called.

Mr. Moreno stood up from his desk and dropped his tools, taking the pot off the stove top and shooing his daughter away with a conspiratorial whisper. The little angel bounced towards you, leaning in a little too close and asking if you'd like to have dinner with them.

"Oh," you start to protest, "oh no, dear that wouldn't be…" wouldn't be what? Appropriate? You were already in their house asking for free repairs. An unmarried woman in a man's house. The rumor mill was already churning so why try to save face now? "Oh, alright then."

The first bite of the Moreno's dish nearly had you swooning to the floor. You slap a hand over your mouth just in case you start drooling. It's an explosion of flavors and it's so warm sliding down your throat. You can even feel a tear or two prick up in your eyes.

"Oh Mr. Moreno, this is wonderful," you praised the man who tried to bury his head and hide his blush.

"It'd be nothing without the help of my second chef," he motioned to Missy. "She knows all the herbs and spices for a good sauce and she stirs like a champion."

Little Missy beamed like a star. And how could she not with praise so readily given. You purposefully take one forkful at a time to pace yourself and enjoy the meal and the company. After helping clean up in the kitchen, Mr. Moreno comes back to you with your lights. He plugs the cord into the outlet and…

"Voila!"

Golden white light fills the space between you and you cheer. "Which one was it? Where was the line broken?"

"Here," he points to the wire between the sixth and seventh bulb. He sees the frustration from earlier mar your happy face and he bends down to get you to meet his eyes. "It's one light in a hundred, I missed it once or twice when I was looking at it, too."

You take the string from him (neatly coiled for easy carry unlike when you had brought it to him earlier) and planted a lightning quick kiss on his jaw. "Thank you, Mr. Moreno, you're a real Johnny-on-the-spot."

He shifted his feet and seemed pleased with himself. "You can call me Marcus. It's only fitting since we live so close and all. And, you know, you are Missy's favorite teacher."

"It's true," the girl yelled from the countertop. Her father picked her up and set her on her feet to start getting ready for bed. "Goodnight, Mrs. Jones!"

"Goodnight, dear!"

You're back in your home as quickly as you can be, Mr. Moreno hot on your trail to make sure you get in safe. He offers to help you put up the lights, but you decline firmly. You can see Mrs. Aldridge looking at you from out of her window and you know exactly what she'll tell people if she sees him come through your door.

"I really must thank you again Mr. Moreno," you say, "I'd be at it all night just to get these things right."

"It's no trouble at all," he says, and then, boldly, with a cautious but telling smirk, he calls you by your name.

Your breath catches in your throat and you smile. "Goodnight, Marcus."

Author’s Note: do you want to be tagged in future pedro pascal fics of mine? let me know in the comments!

#Marcus Moreno x reader #A Halo of Holly #my fics #black!reader #fluff

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crowdvscritic · 3 years

Text

round up // NOVEMBER 20

Hi, I’m tired. Actually, my friend Celeste created a piece of art that puts the emphasis needed on that sentiment:

I’m very tired. November felt like it was three years and also felt like it went by in a blink and also I’m not sure where October ended and November began—how does time work like that? (I’ve yet to see Tenet, but maybe that will explain it.) But like Michael Scott, somehow I manage, and lately it’s been like this:

Late-night Etsy scrolling. Browsing beautiful, non-big-box-store artwork is very calming just before I go to bed. I’d recommend Etsy stores like Celeste’s chr paperie shop, which I know from experience is full of great Christmas gift ideas.

Taking a day off of work to do laundry. I’m not sure if it’s more #adulting that I did that or that I was excited to do that.

Eating Ghiradelli chocolate chips straight from the bag. I actually don’t recommend this as a healthy option, but this is also not a health blog.

Watching lots and lots of ‘80s movies. One day I’ll ask a therapist why this decade of films is so comforting for me despite its many flaws, but for now I’m just rolling with it.

Reading. Have you heard of this? It’s a form of entertainment but doesn’t require screens—wild!

Memes. All good Pippin “Fool of a” Took jokes are welcome here.

Leaning into the Christmas spirit by ordering that Starbucks peppermint mocha, making plans to watch everything in that TCM Christmas book I haven’t seen, and keeping the lights on my hot pink tinsel tree on all day as I work from home.

This month’s Round Up is full of stuff that made me smile and stuff that sucked me into its world—I think they’ll do the same for you, too.

November Crowd-Pleasers

Sister Act (1992)

If in four years you aren’t in an emotional state to watch election results roll in, I recommend watching Whoopi Goldberg pretend to be a nun for 100 minutes. (Though, incidentally, if you want to watch that clip edited to specifically depict how the results came in this year, you’ll need to watch Sister Act 2.) This musical-comedy is about as feel-good as it gets, meaning there’s no reason you should wait four more years to watch it. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 7.5/10

Nevada Memes

Speaking of election results, Nevada memes. That’s it—that’s the tweet. Vulture has a round up of some of the best.

youtube

SNL Round Up

Laugh and enjoy!

“Cinema Classics: The Birds” (4605 with John Mulaney)

“Uncle Ben” (4606 with Dave Chappelle)

RoboCop (1987)

I’m not surprised I liked RoboCop, but I am surprised at why I liked RoboCop. Not only is this a boss action blockbuster, it’s an investigation into consumerism and the commodification of the human body. It’s also a critique of institutions that treat crime like statistics instead of actions done by people that impact people. That said, it’s also movie about a guy who’s fused with a robot and melts another guy’s face off with toxic sludge, so there’s a reason I’m not listing this under the Critic section. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 8/10

Double Feature – ‘80s Comedies: National Lampoon’s Vacation (1983) + Major League (1989)

The ‘80s-palooza is in full swing! In Vacation (Crowd: 9.5/10 // Critic: 8/10), Chevy Chase just wants to spend time with his family on a vacation to Wally World, but wouldn’t you know it, Murphy’s Law kicks into gear as soon as the Griswold family shifts from out of Park. The brilliance of the movie is that every one of these terrible things is plausible, but the Griswolds create the biggest problems themselves. In Major League (Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 6.5/10), Tom Berenger, Charlie Sheen, and Wesley Snipes are Cleveland’s last hope for a winning baseball team. Like the Griswolds, mishaps and hijinks ensue in their attempt to prevent their greedy owner from moving the Indians to Miami, but the real win is this movie totally gets baseball fans. Like most ‘80s movies, not everything in this pair has aged well, but they brought some laughs when I needed them most.

This Time Next Year by Sophie Cousens (2020)

They’re born a minute apart in the same hospital, but they don’t meet until their 30th birthday on New Year’s Day. So, yes, it’s a little bit Serendipity, and it’s a little bit sappy, but those are both marks in this book’s favor. This Time Next Year is a time-hopping rom-com with lots of almost-meet-cutes that will have you laughing, believing in romantic twists of fate, and finding hope for the new year.

Double Feature – ‘80s Angsty Teens: Teen Wolf (1985) + Uncle Buck (1989)

In the ‘80s, Hollywood finally understood the angsty teen, and this pair of comedies isn’t interested in the melodrama earlier movies like Rebel Without a Cause were depicting. (I’d recommend Rebel, but not if you want to look back on your teen years with any sense of humor.) In Teen Wolf (Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 5/10), Michael J. Fox discovers he’s a werewolf.one that looks more like the kid in Jumanji than any other portrayal of a werewolf you’ve seen. It’s a plot so ‘80s and so bizarre you won’t believe this movie was greenlit.

In Uncle Buck (Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 7.5/10), John Candy is attempting to connect with the nieces and nephew he hasn’t seen in years, including one moody high schooler. (Plus, baby Gaby Hoffman and pre-Home Alone Macauley Culkin!) This is my second pick from one of my all-time fave filmmakers, John Hughes (along with National Lampoon’s Vacation, above), and it’s one more entry that balances heart and humor in a way only he could do. You can see where I rank this movie in Hughes’s pantheon on Letterboxd.

Lord of the Rings memes

This month on SO IT’S A SHOW?, Kyla and I revisited The Lord of the Rings, a trilogy we love almost as much as we love Gilmore Girls. You can listen to our episode about the series on your fave podcast app, and you can laugh through hundreds of memes like I did for “research” on Twitter.

Nothing to See Here by Kevin Wilson (2019)

Most adults are afraid of children’s temper tantrums, but can you imagine how terrified you’d be if they caught on fire in their fits of rage? That’s the premise of this novel, which begins when an aimless twentysomething becomes the nanny of a Tennessee politician’s twins who burst into flames when they get emotional. The book is filled with laugh-out-loud moments but never leaves behind the human emotion you need to make a magical realistic story.

An Officer and a Gentlemen (1982)

Speaking of aimless twentysomethings and emotion, feel free to laugh, cry, and swoon through this melodrama in the ‘80s canon. Richard Gere meanders his way into the Navy when he has nowhere else to go, and he tries to survive basic training, work through his family issues, and figure out his future as he also falls in love with Debra Winger. So, yeah, it’s a schamltzier version of Top Gun, but it’s schmaltz at its finest. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 7.5/10

November Critic Picks

Double Feature – ‘40s Amensia Romances: Random Harvest (1942) + The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947)

Speaking of schmaltz at its finest, let me share a few more titles fitting that description. In Random Harvest (Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 8.5/10), Greer Garson falls in love with a veteran who can’t remember his life before he left for war. In The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 8.5/10), Gene Tierney discovers a ghost played by a crotchety Rex Harrison in her new home. Mild spoiler: Both feature amnesiac plot developments, and while amnesia has become a cliché in the long history of romance films, Harvest is moving enough and Mr. Muir is charming enough that you won’t roll your eyes. You can see these and more romances complicated by forced forgetfulness in this Letterboxd round up.

The African Queen (1951)

It’s Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn directed by John Huston—I mean, I don’t feel like I need to explain why this is a winner. Bogart (in his Oscar-winning role) and Hepburn star in a two-hander script, dominating the screen time except for a select few scenes with supporting cast. The pair fight for survival while cruising on a small boat called The African Queen during World War I (in Africa, natch), and the two make this small story feel grand and epic. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 9/10

Kind Hearts and Coronets (1949)

A young man’s (Dennis Price) mother is disowned from their wealthy family because she marries for love. After her death, he seeks vengeance by killing all of the family members ahead of him in line to be the Duke D'Ascoyne. The twist? All of his victims are played by Sir Alec Guinness! Almost every character in this black comedy is a terrible person, so you won’t be too sorry to see them go—you can just enjoy the creative “accidents” he stages and stay in suspense on whether our “hero” gets his comeuppance. Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 8.5/10

Bluebeard’s Eighth Wife (1937)

What would you do if you found out you were to be someone’s eighth wife? Well, it’s probably not what Claudette Colbert does in this screwball comedy that reminds me a bit of Love Crazy. This isn’t the first time I’ve recommended Colbert, Gary Cooper, or Ernst Lubitsch films, so it’s no surprise these stars and this director can make magic together in this hilarious battle of the wills. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 8.5/10

The Red Shoes (1948)

I love stories about the competition between your life and your art, and The Red Shoes makes that competition literal. Moira Shearer plays a ballerina who feels life is meaningless without dancing—then she falls in love. That’s an oversimplification of a rich character study and some of the most beautiful ballet on film, but I can’t do it justice in a short paragraph. Just watch (perhaps while you’re putting up your hot pink tinsel tree?) and soak in all the goodness. Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 10/10

The Third Man (1949)

Everybody loves to talk about Citizen Kane, and with the release of Mank on Netflix, it’s newsworthy again. But don’t miss this other ‘40s team up of Joseph Cotten and Orson Welles. Cotten is a writer digging for the truth of his friend’s (Welles) death in a mysterious car accident. Eyewitness accounts differ on what happened, and who was the third man at the scene only one witness remembers? 71 years later, this movie is still tense, and this actor pairing is still electric. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 9/10

The Untouchables (1987)

At the end of October, we lost Sean Connery. I looked back on his career first by writing a remembrance for ZekeFilm and then by watching The Untouchables. (In a perfect world I would’ve reversed that order, but c’est la vie.) In my last selection from the ‘80s, Connery and Kevin Costner attempt to convict Robert De Niro’s Al Capone of anything that will stick and end his reign of crime in Chicago. Directed by Brian De Palma and set to an Ennio Morricone soundtrack, this film is both an exciting action flick and an artistic achievement that we literally discussed in one of my college film classes. Connery won his Oscar, and K. Cos is giving one of the best of his career, too. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 9.5/10

Remember the Night (1940)

Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck in my favorite team up yet! Double Indemnity may be the bona fide classic in the canon, but this Christmas story—with MacMurray as a district attorney prosecuting shoplifter Stanwyck— is a charmer. I’ve added it to my list of must-watch Christmas movies—watch for some holiday cheer and rom-com feels. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 8.5/10

Photo credits: chr paperie. Books my own. All others IMDb.com.

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chocoholicannanymous · 4 years

Text

(Take) These Broken Wings (Glee) 8/?

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, and you couldn’t pay me enough to take responsibility for it.

Post BIOTA: For someone who’d claimed to be his friend Blaine’s behavior sure left a lot to wish for. Hurt and angry Kurt begins to question his situation – and what he can do to change it.

POV: Kurt Hummel. Pairings: kurtofsky, blainchel. Slightly shady relationship-consent. Not Blaine friendly (no suprise at all).

So, not only do you get another chapter already (I know, what happened?) but it’s a long one. You’re welcome. Here’s hoping I can keep this up!

Previous: Part 7, Part 6, Part 5, Part 4, Part 3, Part 2b, Part 2a, Part 1

8/?

“Mr Schue? Before we get started I have an announcement I'd like to share.”

While most of the New Directions grumbled Rachel ignored them and stood up. Kurt on his part was looking sharply at her, because something was off. Not only had Rachel not mentioned having a song, she hadn't left the seats to stand by the piano.

Yeah, something was up.

“Blaine and I have broken up. I listened to what you were saying, and I have been thinking hard about it, and the truth is that being in rival show choirs was just too big of a stressor on our relationship as was the fact that us being a couple made it so that you all couldn't trust me. It was a hard decision, but I couldn't do anything else. We're going to try and be friends still, of course, but that's all.

“Thank you for listening to me, and for showing me understanding in these trying times.”

With that she sat down, looking demure, and Kurt shook his head a little – a move he got away with only by sitting in the back row.

The only surprising thing here – besides Rachel not taking the opportunity to perform – was how long the breakup had taken. There had even been a betting pool, and “blainchel” (which really, it sounded like a venereal disease) had surpassed every single bet.

Even Santana, who Kurt felt should have been the most supportive in regards to bisexuality, had put them down at two weeks at the most.

He hadn't participated himself, for a number of reason, and in the end was probably the least surprised one.

Yes, Blaine and Rachel had been a very bad fit, but they'd also had a lot of reasons to stay together. Rachel hadn't exactly been subtle in her attempts to rub her new boyfriend in Finn's face, and Blaine... Well, Blaine had had something to prove hadn't he? After all Kurt, had basically called his attempt at dating Rachel a sham and Blaine had not liked that.

There was also Blaine's hints to Burt Hummel that his own dad had tried to make him straight.

Blaine definitely had something to gain from a continued relationship with a girl.

Oh, Rachel probably hadn't been the best choice for that, seeing as the two were not all that compatible. They were just too similar, equally eager for the spotlight, equally needy for attention.

Even if Blaine had decided he was attracted to girls- and Kurt still wasn't sure that was the case – Rachel would always be too occupied with her own need to be admired to give Blaine what he needed.

Case in point? It had taken one week for Rachel to announce a breakup after having being told off for Blaine being a risk for the New Directions. One. Week. She'd spent their entire relationship telling everyone who would stand still – and quite possibly a few that wouldn't – that her relationship with Blaine was all but written in the stars, as would their names be in the future. Together, of course, as they were just such a suited couple, both with the same dreams and ambitions and goals.

And yet as soon as Rachel thought said relationship was risking her solos Blaine was gone. In a fit of cruelty Kurt thought that they both had been looking more for a “biggest fan” than a partner.

Regardless, they were over now and Kurt hoped that it meant he wouldn't have to be subjected to Blaine again.

He cleared his mind of them both – such a waste of valuable seconds – and instead switched from pretending to listen to Mr Schue to actually doing so as the man described the latest development in their quest to not fuck up at Nationals. Oh, he didn't it call it that, but Kurt was fairly adept at translating Mr Scue-isms to reality by now.

Things are about to become interesting...

Kurt perked up and watched Rachel like a hawk. It would be very telling how she reacted to what Mr Schue was about to say – or at least, what Kurt believed the man was about to say based.

“So! To that end I've recruited some more members. Now, they won't be here until next week since I wanted to give you guys a heads up first, and I hope you'll welcome them.”

Eight Cheerios, two of them guys. Five Titans. Exactly the kind of people who never would have signed up on their own, and who most of the Glee kids would never want to sign up.

Everyone turned to stare at Rachel and when she stayed quiet – though, Kurt thought, not without a fight – they looked at him instead.

“What? Are you waiting for me to protest or what, faint in fear or something? We need the numbers, and it's not like we've done that great a job at recruiting on our own. I've worked with the Cheerios and while I can't speak for their singing each and everyone of them mean we can kick our choreography up another notch.

“As for the guys from the Titans... Well. I am going to trust that they're smart enough to not just follow directions – which they clearly managed during the halftime show – but also leave any ideas of bullying outside this room. After all, McKinley's supposed to be free from that now.”

“But, but, Karofsky's one of them!”

Which Kurt already knew. Dave had told him both about being approached and about considering it – It'll look good on college applications. Make me “well rounded” or some shit like that – and Kurt hadn't seen a problem with it. The opposite in fact. After all, Glee had helped turn Finn and Puck around (in varying degrees) and Kurt liked to think that it'd help do the same for more jocks.

“So? I'm sorry, Mercedes, but I am not seeing a problem here. Dave Karofsky has apologized to me. He has made promises to not just me, but to this school, and so far he's kept them. He has been part of my escort around school ever since I came back, and not once has he given me reason to fear him.

“If any of you want to have an issue with him, or any one of the others, joining us that's your right. Just don't expect to use me as a weapon in that fight. Because to be frank? Right now Dave Karofsky has done more to balance his scales than at least half the people in this room.”

And that shut them all down, just as Kurt had know it would.

Curiously, Rachel didn't say a word the entire time.

Another week and a half went by before the other shoe dropped.

It did so in the form of a phone call.

It wasn't a number from his contact list, but Kurt had thought it familiar so he answered anyway. He regretted it immediately.

“Kurt, hello.”

“Blaine.” Why? What did I do to deserve this?

“I was hoping we'd be able to meet up tomorrow, say at the coffee shop two blocks from Dalton? Would 2 o'clock suit you?”

Kurt had to struggle to make his voice work. Not only was Blaine calling him, but he wanted to meet? Was he asleep? Was this a nightmare brought on as punishment for having had a second slice of cheesecake after dinner? He pinched himself, and no, that hurt.

No such luck then.

“I'm sorry, but I have other plans tomorrow. Besides, I can't see what we would have to say to each other.” I definitely said everything I was willing to last time I saw you.

“Come on, Kurt. Don't be like that. Just come tomorrow.”

“Did you not hear me? I have other plans. I'd say sorry, but I'm actually not. Goodbye Blaine.”

When the doorbell rang shortly after 10 the next morning Kurt considered not opening. Somehow he wouldn't be surprised to find out that Blaine had called Rachel to complain about Kurt being mean, or unreasonable, and that she'd come to lecture him about kicking someone who was already down. The problem was that if it was Rachel then not opening would lead to either her ringing the bell again and again until Finn woke up and came to open or her being a bitch in school.

Neither was appealing, so he sighed and went to open.

Pro: It wasn't Rachel. Con: It was Blaine.

“Good morning Kurt.”

“What are you doing here? I told you I have plans.”

“Well, I knew you weren't being honest about that. Mercedes is at Rachel's, having some girl-time.”

Kurt waited for something more, anything, but nothing came.

“So what, you think I have no one to spend time except those two? Nice. I'm sure you'll be happy to find out that's not true. Also, there is such a thing that having plans on your own.”

“But if you're just doing something on your own then surely that can wait, and you can spend some time with me instead.”

“I suppose it could,” and Blaine's smile practically radiated superiority, “if I was doing something on my own, and if I wanted to spend time with you.”

The smile vanished.

“Kurt.”

It was just his name, but Kurt could hear so many things in it. “I'm disappointed in you.” “You're being ridiculous.” Too bad for Blaine that Kurt's done listening to those silent rebukes.

“I don't understand why you're pushing this. The last time I saw you at Dalton we hadn't spoken in weeks. Because you didn't want to.”

“You hurt me!”

“And I have apologized for that. Publicly even. After, I might add, trying to do so repeatedly. I didn't mean to hurt you, or make you feel like I was some kind of phobic, hateful person.

“You on the other hand meant for the other Warblers to shut me out, didn't you? So I guess we're even. I hurt you, you hurt me.”

“See? That means we can start over!”

“No, it doesn't. That's not something I want in my life, Blaine, that balance of payback. That's not healthy, and it doesn't end. After all, what happened was I said something stupid, which I said because I was hurt and angry, and that then made you hurt and angry, which made you act in a way that made me – again – hurt and angry.

“It's a vicious circle, and not one I want or need in my life.”

“Are you saying we can't be friends again? That we couldn't be...more?”

And wow, that came out of left field. It did explain a few things though, like why Blaine had gone so far as to go to Kurt's home though.

Huh.

Blaine was asking him out? Not that long ago that would have made Kurt deliriously happy, and he would have said yes before Blaine even finished the sentence. Now however, now was...different.

When Blaine had fallen head over heels for Jeremiah he’d serenaded the older boy and talked about marriage – all based on a few coffee dates, that Jeremiah hadn’t even seemed to think of as dates.

When Blaine had dated Rachel he’d done so based on drunken kisses and duets. He’d showed up at McKinley at least twice a week, to take her out for lunch or coffee, and always took her to the movies and Breadstix during the weekends. He’d sung to her as well, both in the choir room and backed up by the Warblers out in the quad.

And Kurt? Kurt got an offer for coffee in Westerville after weeks of silence, which wasn't even presented as a possible date. Only a question if they couldn't be something more than friends – and that much only after Kurt pushed. And there hadn't been even a hint of an apology for Blaine's behavior.

“Really? That's where you're going now? You and Rachel broke up, what? A week and a half, two weeks ago? And now you want to date me?”

“Why? Why now, when you weren't the least bit interested before?”

Blaine opened his mouth, probably to protest, which, no. Not acceptable.

“Don't. Back at Dalton everyone knew I liked you. Hell, you knew I liked you – I told you. But you weren’t interested in me. And that’s okay, really. Not liking someone is your prerogative. Just as everything else you’ve done. Sure, you could have changed your mind, that happens, but why now? You didn’t see me as a potential boyfriend until I left Dalton and moved on.

“So I really have to ask why? Especially since you haven't apologized for a single thing you said and did before I left. In fact, you came here still pushing that I hurt you.

“To be brutally honest, it feels as if you’re trying to guilt me into dating you. I said some things that were hurtful and rude, but I did apologize. You don’t get to hold that over my head for the rest of my life, okay? That’s just not how things work.”

Kurt took a deep breath, trying to reign in his emotions.

“We both messed up. Sure, it’s not a competition, but that’s just the way it is.”

Wait...

The coffee shop Blaine had suggested was one Kurt had been curious to try, and he had hinted at going there several times. Blaine had never wanted to go there though, but now he'd suggested it. Maybe he'd done so to please Kurt, and a couple of months ago that would have made Kurt ecstatic. Now it just made him angry. Also very suspicious. Me thinks there's something rotten in the state of Lima...

“Wait. If you were angling for a date, why make me drive all the way to Westerville? We both live here, and I know you don't usually stay at Dalton during the weekends. So why not ask me to meet up at the Lima Bean? The cinema here is a lot better than you'd think, so why not suggest a movie? Or you could have really signaled that you intended it to be a date and made reservations for dinner at Breadstix. I know you are capable of that.

“You had so many options, and instead you want to go to a coffee shop you dissed repeatedly while we were still on speaking terms and insisted we go to the Lima Bean instead. Why?”

Quiet.

“Tell me, or leave.”

Blaine pouted a little at being questioned, but broke down quickly.

“It wouldn't be fair to Rachel to go on dates here. I just can't do that to her. You know what people are like, what they say to her. What do you think they'd say if her boyfriend went from dating her to seeing another guy?”

Kurt hated to admit it, but Blaine did have a point. He could imagine exactly what people would say much to well. Understanding that didn't mean accepting being given only crumbles though.

“So you're saying...what? That protecting Rachel from possible fallout is more important than making me feel valued? At what point would your breakup be far enough in the past for a date that doesn't mean leaving town? At what point would you stop treating me like your dirty secret?”

Kurt looked at the boy he'd thought was Prince Charming and felt empty. Even as he was asking Kurt out Blaine was putting Rachel's comfort and reputation over his. And apparently that meant he wasn’t going to openly date another boy in Lima. Or was that “openly date Kurt in Lima”? Whichever it was, it still hurt.

“You matter” his dad voice whispered in his head, yet Kurt couldn’t help but feel that he didn’t. Not to Blaine. Because if he did, then surely Blaine wouldn’t act ashamed of him?

All this, after having been strung along and rejected for over six months before finally saying enough.

The sad part, the horrible part? Blaine seemed certain it’d work. Not that Kurt didn’t see why – he had, after all, been absolutely pathetic when it came to begging for Blaine’s attention.

Kurt wasn’t sure what was most pathetic now though: the fact that a part of him still wanted to say yes, just to have a boyfriend, or that the only thing holding him back was the boy who’d bullied him, and who’d sent him running towards Blaine in the first place.

He could see himself accepting Blaine’s proposition, could see himself going out with the other boy, pitifully thankful for someone actually asking him out, and just ignoring all the reasons why he shouldn’t. Sure, he was sort of doing the same when it came to Dave, but there was a difference: Dave wasn’t angling to be his boyfriend. Also, with Dave he had an easy way out. There wouldn’t be one with Blaine – not for him.

He looked at Blaine and shook his head. This was pointless.

“Don't bother answering. I am not going to go out with you regardless. Thanks but no thanks, I guess.”

Blaine's blush increased and he started spluttering out a protest of some kind (at least that's what Kurt interpreted it as.)

“Look. I'd like you to leave now. I have, as I've said repeatedly, plans. I don't want to be late because of you.”

“Late? Are you actually meeting someone? Who?”

“Nice to know you think so low about my ability to find people to socialize with. Not that it's really any of your business, but after everything that had been happening I decided I wanted to try and meet more LGBT youth. I had no idea there were so many people I could connect with around here.”

It had been heady, finding all of these teenagers that could relate to what he had gone through growing up, and who were willing to accept him as he was. Not all of them were out, but that meant less to him these days. Besides, when the lion's part of communication and socializing happened online “out” became a completely different thing.

Of course, he wasn't actually meeting any of them now, but Blaine didn't need – or deserve – to know that he was meeting Dave.

“Really? That's great! I could go with you, it'd be great.”

Sigh. There apparently was no way getting through to Blaine that didn't include a verbal version of a 2 by 4.

“No. I have plans. You are not invited. And quite frankly, I can't imagine anyone of my new acquaintances appreciating someone else tagging along without warning. You see, I learned something really important from you. It was something I already knew, but didn't really get. So, I guess thank you for driving the lesson home.”

“And what lesson was that?” Blaine looked a little cautious, which indicated that yes, he actually had a functioning brain.

“You don't out people. Goodbye Blaine.”

And he closed the door, without slamming it – he was tempted, yes, but the way his luck was running he'd crack it or something.

Kurt waited 15 minutes before leaving, just in case Blaine was standing outside waiting to ambush him. Still, as he pulled out of the driveway he kept an eye out for Blaine's car. And there it was.

It was just so Blaine. He had been told, explicitly, that he wasn't welcome to join Kurt and whoever he was meeting – a person Kurt had hinted pretty heavily wasn't out. And Blaine had just decided none of that mattered because he wanted differently. Selfish bastard. He was going to deserve everything Kurt was planning on raining down on him.

Going to the garage was a detour, and not one Kurt really wanted to spend time on, but it was his best bet when it came to getting away.

It being a Saturday meant that Hummel Tires & Lube was running on a minimal staff, for planned jobs and emergencies only. That meant there was plenty of space for Kurt to pull into the fenced yard and park behind the garage. Next he walked through the building, waving at his dad, and peeked through the window. Yup, there he is. Blaine had parked so that he'd be able to see if Kurt left – or so he thought.

“What are you doing here, buddy? I thought you were meeting up with some of your internet friends?”

“Yeah, I am. Only it seems I picked up a stalker.”

Burt looked at him, sharp and worried.

“Mhm. Blaine – from Dalton, remember? – showed up at the house, and for some reason he thought I should agree to go out with him.”

“I thought you said he wasn't interested like that.”

“Yeah, that's what I thought too. After all, not only did I not even try to be subtle, but in the end I straight out told him. His response to that was – more or less – to start dating Rachel. I haven't really spoken to him since he called me a bully for not being supportive enough of that.

“He froze me out completely after that, even though I tried to apologize so many times, and that didn't change after I left.

“Only now he and Rachel broke up, and apparently Blaine thinks I'm still waiting around for him to notice me. I don't know why, because I'm not that much of a doormat, but he sure seems to think so.”

Burt gave him another sharp look.

“You sure about that? Because to me it looks like you were willing to put up with a lot – not just from him either – to get a boyfriend.”

Kurt blushed. He was well aware of his mistakes. Falling at Blaine's feet again was not going to be one of them though.

“Damned sure, dad. If Blaine hadn't insisted on dating Rachel first, then I probably would have agreed. But now? After being passed over not once, but twice? No thank you. Yes, I want a boyfriend. But I deserve someone who will look at me first, not as a backup once all other options have been explored.”

Because that was how Blaine made him feel. Like he was the living version of “two last people on earth”, and damnit if he didn't matter more than that.

“Okay. That's fair. I'm proud of you for sticking up for yourself. Now, what about stalking?”

“Well, when I told him that not only did I not want to go out with him but I also had plans – which I had told him when he called yesterday – he tried to invite himself along. Then he followed me here. After I told him he wasn't invited to come along, and that I had no intention of outing the person I was meeting.”

Kurt watched his dad's face turn red, and felt a bit guilty. His dad's heart attack wasn't too far back, after all. But. Needs must.

“Want me to talk to him?”

“Would you? I would be so grateful. And if you'd let me go out through the back I'd be even more so.”

Because that was why he had gone there, in the hopes of using the locked back gate few people thought about. Blaine would most likely never guess to its existence, and even if he did Kurt would be able to leave while Burt Hummel gave “the prep school stalker” a piece of his mind.

As Kurt drove off he kept thinking about Blaine's actions over the past 24 hours. It made no sense. Blaine really had treated him like the last resort. The faithful dog that would come crawling back for petting even after being kicked. And that really wasn't Kurt. Except...

He'd thought Blaine and Rachel a bad match because they both wanted to be the center of attention, something neither of them would get from the other. Kurt however had always been so happy to admire Blaine that he'd constituted a fanclub all on his own. And that, right there, held what Kurt saw as the possible explanation as to why Blaine was now looking to date him instead of one of Dalton's mythological gay or bi boys.

Kurt would have – before the shunning – been happy to make Blaine the most important thing in his life. And as he'd been shown over and over again, most people would never have looked at Kurt when Blaine was there.

Thirty minutes later, stretched out on a picknick blanket with a deliciously heavy body pressed against him Kurt smiled into kisses because Dave? Dave would never look at Blaine if Kurt was around.

Monday mornings were always a downer – coming from freedom and peace to McKinley was never fun, not even with the lessened bullying. This Monday however was in the running for most annoying of the year. In one word: Rachel.

She was laying in wait for him at his locker and started her attack as soon as he was within hearing.

“Kurt? Blaine told me he asked you out, and you turned him down? Why would you do something like that? Surely he must have misunderstood you?”

Blaine again. Kurt was beginning to wish for a time machine so he could go back and tell himself to stay as far away from Blaine as possible at all times.

“I was asking myself that same question for a bit, but if he's saying I turned him down then apparently he did get the message.”

She frowned, obviously not pleased.

“Look, Kurt, I know you have all these ideas about love at first sight and all that, but honestly? You have to be realistic. So it took Blaine some time to get to the point of asking you out – but do you really think it’s fair to punish him for that? You should give him a chance. After all, this is Lima – who else is going to–”

“What? ‘Who else is going to go out with me’, was that what you were going to say?”

And why wouldn’t she? This was Rachel Berry. Tact wasn’t one of her strengths – maybe not one of her character traits at all – and neither was empathy. This is Lima, remember? Remember what Dave said about you being his only option?

“Honestly? I know that this is Lima, and I know what that means. Hell, I was sure I’d have to wait until college to get a boyfriend, and you know what? I’m okay with that. I have more respect for myself than to go out with someone just because they ask” or at least I want to have “and I definitely have too much self-respect to go out with a guy that acts like I’m something to be hidden away and he’s only asking me because he’s out of options. You might not care about me and my happiness, Rachel, but I do.

“Yes, I turned Blaine down. Yes, I meant it. And no, I’m not regretting it.

“And frankly? It's more than a little pathetic for Blaine to have his ex try and sell him to someone new – even disregarding everything. It's also not at all attractive.”

The problem with Rachel Berry – be honest, Kurt, one of many problems – was that she was a lot more dangerous than she looked, and she didn't care about casualties as long as she got what she wanted. Well, he was not going to let one of those casualties be Finn.

“No, Quinn isn't cheating on you. I don't care what Rachel says, because unlike her I actually know what's happening. Yes, Quinn is doing something that she's not telling you about. No, that something isn't making out with her ex-boyfriend.”

“Then why isn't she being honest with me about what she's up to?”

“Because it's not her secret to tell. It's not mine either, so don't look at me like that. We all know you have a problem with keeping secrets. Not because you're a gossip, or untrustworthy, but because sometimes you forget who is and who isn't in on something. So, do you think you can trust me when I say that I know what's going on, Rachel's completely wrong, and you have nothing to worry about? Because I promise you, if Quinn was cheating on you I would tell you.

“Rachel's just stirring up shit, hoping that you'll dump Quinn and come back to her now that she and Blaine's over.”

“You promise?”

And Kurt's heart hurt as he looked at the boy that'd become his brother. Finn had believed Rachel's trash-talk because he was so used to being cheated on – and cheating himself – that he didn't know how to expect anything else.

“I promise. Now, want to help me finish up dinner?”

Crisis adverted. Hopefully.

Of course it wasn't that easy. Finn refusing to go along hadn't stopped Rachel – if anything it'd made her even more determined to dig up some kind of dirt. And in her wake had come Jacob ben Israel and his damned camera and pictures in the fucking Muckraker. He liked Sue Sylvester more than most students, and felt he owed her to a degree, but this was crossing a line he wasn't going to forgive in the first place.

Not from anyone involved.

And of course it all came to blows in Glee. Even worse? The newly recruited members were there to witness.

He'd been happy to see their numbers increase, but now he found himself wishing that Mr Schue had been as ineffectual as usual so that there hadn't been quite as large an audience to Sam's humiliation.

“No. Sam, you don't owe them an explanation. You don't owe anyone anything. Rachel's inability to keep her nose out of other people's business did this, not you or I. McKinely isn't safe for LGBT students and she knows it. She also knows that it doesn't matter if someone's actually LGBT or not, just what people believe. What Jacob ben Israel posted could have landed you in the hospital or worse, and Rachel was the one who led him there.

“Won't your dads be proud of you, Rachel, knowing what you've done?”

“I haven't done anything wrong! Quinn was the one sneaking around on Finn–”

“Shut up, Rachel. She wasn't doing anything wrong – she was being a good person. Remember what that is?”

Rachel wasn't the only one whose mouth fell open as Finn spoke. Quinn looked happy as she sent him a soft smile, and Kurt, Kurt was so damned proud of his brother.

“Finn!”

“No. Look, what I did to Sam–”

“We.”

“Fine, what we did to Sam was shitty. Yet somehow he and Quinn managed to keep some level of trust and friendship, and that's just... Awesome. And I am not enough of an asshole to get in the middle of that. I trust Quinn, and I trust Sam, and you don't get to say otherwise.

“As for Kurt, yeah, you don't get to say shit about that either. Sam's never been anything but cool with Kurt, unlike the rest of us, and I thought you of all people should know better than this.”

And wow, Finn had really worked on his “disappointed in you” look. It was quite frankly amazing. The others seemed to think so too, judging from how they reacted as Finn slowly turned to meet everyone's eyes.

“I hope I don't have to explain to anyone exactly how not at all acceptable it is to spread this shit around the school. I know I'd hate to end up in detention for fighting with a team mate, or for getting into it with a girl.” “That doesn't mean I won't” hung in the air, just as loud as if Finn had actually said it out loud.

“Mr Schue? Could we get back to what we're supposed to be doing here?”

And of course since it was Finn asking that was exactly what happened.

Kurt spent the rest of practice seething.

Rachel was waiting for him by the Nav after Glee, which meant she'd put on some really impressive speed to beat him there.

“Kurt. You have to listen to me. Finn doesn't understand how dangerous it can be, being LGBT in a town like this, but you and I, we do. You know how much danger Sam will be in if people think you are seeing him.

“There are already people whispering about you turning him gay, or worse. You remember what it was like before. Do you realize how bad this is for Sam? He could get hurt – someone could hurt him, because of this. Because of you. Do you really want that for him?”

“Of course I don't, but–”

It was like speaking to a wall, except less effective.

“I just...I think you should try and distance yourself from whatever it is that you think that the two of you have going on. You should get a boyfriend.”

And there it was. Find a boyfriend. Next she’d be pushing Blaine on him again.

Anyone else, Mercedes or Tina or Brittany or yes, even Santana, and he’d have been willing to think they were looking out for him, and Sam. But this was Rachel, and he knew her too well for that.

Maybe Rachel really did care about Sam, but, Kurt knew, for Rachel Berry it was always about her in the end. Apparently once her romantic relationship with Blaine was over they’d allowed it to morph into some strange symbiotic friendship – which Kurt felt was probably less than healthy.

Blaine wanted Kurt to go out with him, and that meant Rachel wanted it too, meaning it should happen. After all, not getting what they wanted lessened the duos’ focus on being stars, or something like that.

Also – and okay, he had no proof for that part except for experience, but that was valuable enough – if Kurt wasn’t around Sam Rachel could focus on the fact that Quinn was, could try again to drive a wedge between the blonde and Finn, hopefully leaving Finn free for the taking.

Too bad Kurt wasn’t going to cooperate then.

“Look, Rachel, even if I did find a boyfriend it wouldn’t stop me from being friends with Sam, from spending time with him. In fact, any boyfriend worth the trouble would never try to stop me from that. And it’s not like something as simple as me staying away or the truth is going to stop the gossiping jerks of McKinley. It never has before.”

They'd both been subjected to enough gossip to know that, after all.

“Also, seriously Rachel? This is only a problem because of you. You had no business sneaking around and spying, and you most definitely had no right spreading those rumors. If someone hurts Sam because of that it won’t be my fault, it’ll be yours and Jacob ben Israel's. After all, we kept a low profile for a reason. No one would know about us being friends outside of the choir room if not for you and your big mouth and your damned stalking.”

“Then you need to do something about it! We'll find a girl to go out on a couple of dates with Sam – I'm sure Mercedes would be willing. And Blaine is still interested in you, all you have to do is stop playing hard to catch. This isn't the time to let your hurt feelings run the show, Kurt, this is when you need to be better than that.”

And wow, really? Did she crack completely while I wasn't looking?

“Thanks for that suggestion, Rachel. Now would you mind moving, I would like to get out of here.”

Except he couldn't stop thinking about everything. It all went round and round in his head, until the pieces started falling together in a very ugly pattern.

Twenty minutes after leaving Rachel behind in the parking lot Kurt rang the doorbell at the Berrys.

“Kurt! I knew you'd come to your senses! I have the perfect suggestion for you to–”

“Did you do it on purpose?”

“What?”

“Did. You. Do. It. On. Purpose? Did you lead Jacob there on purpose? Did you plan this, Rachel?”

The words were coming out louder and louder, dripping with bitterness, until he was practically shouting.

Hiram Berry came running in to the hallway, took one look at his daughter backed up against a wall and the furious Kurt, and started trying to defuse the situation. Kurt wasn't having it though.

“I'm not leaving without an answer, Rachel. I also don't have a problem with airing this in front of your dad, so if you thought him being here would save you, think again.”

“What's the matter, Kurt? Whatever it is I'm sure we can fix it.”

“Right. Well, see, Mr Berry, I really doubt that. Unless of course you have a time machine hidden away somewhere.

“See, once Rachel and her boyfriend broke up – supposedly because having to keep the New Directions' setlist secret from him was just so hard – she started trying to talk my brother into dumping his girlfriend by claiming she was cheating on him. When that didn't help Rachel decided to keep stalking Quinn in the hopes to take pictures that'd make Finn leave Quinn and come running back to Rachel – or so I assume, since it's not exactly common for her to do things like this without personal gain.

“Now, maybe I would have let Rachel get away with this normally, because she didn't stand a chance of getting what she wanted, but thanks to her actions a good friend of mine is actually in danger right now.”

“I had nothing to do with those photos! And if you're so worried about Sam you should stay away from him and–” Rachel snapped her mouth shut, possibly realizing she was close to saying something that would only give Kurt more ammunition.

“You didn't take those photos, no, but there is no way Jacob ben Israel would have found Sam there without you. You already know he stalks you on a regular basis, so why would you believe he isn't now, knowing that you're single again?”

“I'm sorry, but would you mind telling me what you're talking about?”

Rachel tried to serve her version, but Kurt just talked right over her and informed Mr Berry about exactly what had happened.

“That is horrible, and we are going to come back to that later, but for now I'd like to know why you were asking if Rachel planned this.”

“Because I know her?

“No, sorry. First of all there's Finn. She went to him first, but he refused to listen to her, choosing instead to trust his girlfriend. It would be very much Rachel's style to believe that spreading the information would make Finn change his mind.

“Second, when people started asking Sam if he was involved with me in some way Rachel suggested that I could protect Sam from being called gay – and subjected to the same treatment I get – by abandoning my friend and start dating her ex-boyfriend. That I have no interest in doing so, and have in fact turned him down already, wasn't a concern for her.”

Mr Berry frowned and gave Rachel an appraising look. She soon began to blush, leading Mr Berry to frown even harder.

“I'm really disappointed in you right now, Rachel. I suggest you go to your room and think about what you've done, and we'll talk about this when your dad comes home. Kurt, would you mind answering a few more questions for me?”

It ended up being more than a few questions, but seeing as the result was Mr Berry leaving to talk with both Jacob and his parents Kurt was fine with it.

He was even more fine with it the next day when he found out the results. Jacob had lost his camera and his channel was gone. The Muckraker had been disbanded and that everyone involved had been forced to apologize to everyone they'd trashed – including Sue. And the Evans family had gotten some proper help, both with their living situation and looking for jobs. Mr and Mr Berry did not play around.

The fact that Rachel was subdued and refused to even look at Kurt was just the cherry on top.

~TBC ~

#chocoholic fics #kurtofsky #kurt hummel #dave karofsky #pov: kurt hummel #(take) these broken wings #not for the klaint of heart #not blaine or rachel friendly

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