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roosterforme · 1 month

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The Younger Kind Part 56 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley finally gets word about a return date, he has no idea what he's about to walk into at home. You tried your best to take care of things by yourself, but your visit to the hospital shows you how much you need someone with you for physical help as well as emotional support.

Warnings: mentions of blood, pregnancy topics, hospitals, mentions of miscarriage, swearing, angst, fluff, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

You managed to get in the car even though Natasha was protesting. "What's wrong?" she asked at least a dozen times as she tried to call an ambulance for you. But you just told her you could drive yourself to the hospital to be checked out. You thought you said the word pregnant to her at some point, but you weren't really sure. Nothing was making very much sense right now.

There was traffic on every road as dinnertime approached. Everyone else was going out for the night, perhaps for a family meal at a restaurant. You saw kids walking along the sidewalks with their parents, and you started crying. You didn't like leaving Noah to wake up from his nap with Natasha suddenly there instead of you. She would take care of him, of course, but it might confuse him. You didn't see what choice you had in the matter though, as your mind was flooding with worst case scenarios.

What was happening to the baby?

You sobbed as you ran through a yellow light to try to get there faster. What if it was already too late? You were educated enough to know that there were about a million different things that could be going on right now, and they ranged from innocuous to horrifying. Maybe you did something to cause some minor bleeding. Or maybe the baby was already gone.

"Please, no," you gasped as you parked at the hospital and walked quickly through the increasingly dreary weather to the emergency entrance. Your phone was vibrating in the pocket of your sweatpants as you headed right for the desk and blurted out, "I'm pregnant, and I'm bleeding."

The exhausted looking nurse looked up at you and said, "Please have a seat in the waiting area, and I'll come get you when I'm ready for you."

You blinked at her. "I'm bleeding," you repeated in a harsh whisper. "And I'm pregnant."

"Yes," she replied with a nod. "I'll be with you in just a minute."

You took a seat and cried, afraid to use the bathroom in the waiting area, terrified to see more blood when you wiped yourself. Anytime patients came to see Dr. Kelly, you made sure you took care of them right away, especially if they were bleeding or upset. You couldn't stand the tears that would well up in a child's eyes along with uncertainty and fear.

But then you got it. It only took you a minute to understand that if there truly was something wrong with the baby, then there was nothing they would be able to do at this point.

Your phone was ringing again, and it was Natasha. As the nurse came to retrieve you from your seat, you texted her and let her know you made it to the hospital and to focus her attention on Noah. You were shaking again as the nurse took your temperature and blood pressure, and you wanted to scream at her to do something more than check your vitals. You needed an ultrasound. You needed a doctor. You needed someone to focus on why you were bleeding.

She handed you off to another nurse, and at least he smiled sympathetically at you and said, "We'll get you checked out in no time." But you could barely walk, and you felt his hand wrap around your bicep to keep you upright as he guided you into one of the many rooms in the emergency medicine corridor. "I'll get a doctor right in here, okay?"

His voice was calm, emulating what you tried to do at your own job, and he left you a gown to change into. Once he was gone, you put it on, afraid to check your underwear as you settled onto the narrow bed. The room smelled sterile, and the fluorescent lights were making you nauseous, but he was true to his word. You started counting to yourself, trying to keep track of how much time had passed without panicking, and a few minutes later, a doctor appeared in the doorway.

She spoke your name, and when you nodded, she introduced herself. "You're pregnant?" she asked you evenly as she reached for some latex gloves. She reminded you a bit of Dr. Kelly, and you immediately felt a little bit calmer.

"Yes. About thirteen weeks along, and I just started bleeding like an hour ago." Your voice broke on your words, but you tried to keep it together. "I'm a pediatric nurse, so I'm not completely proficient in obstetrics, but can you give me an ultrasound and check? I need to know if the baby is okay."

"Lay back so I can see what's going on here." You did exactly as you were told as your heart pounded and panic rose within you. The baby was already so loved; you and Bradley were both looking forward to the due date. Sure, you'd been a little scared of the unknown, but the idea of miscarrying had you sick with worry.

If Bradley were here right now, you knew you'd feel so much safer, but if the baby was gone, your preference would be to deal with this yourself. The disappointment on his face would be too much to bear. You'd rather never look at him again then have to see how sad he was going to be when you told him. If you had to tell him.

You ran your thumb along the band of your engagement ring as the doctor gave you a quick examination. "Have you had vaginal intercourse in the last forty-eight hours?"

"N-No," you sputtered. "My fiancé is deployed. He's in Japan."

"Did you masturbate?"

You shook your head; you were so tired, you could barely clean up after dinner each day, let alone get yourself off. "No."

She pulled the gown down again and said, "It's most likely just your cervical tissue reacting to something, but let's get you taken back for an ultrasound to be sure."

"Thanks," you sobbed, letting your palm come to rest on your belly as you closed your eyes and tried to stay afloat in your own terrible thoughts. "I just want to know if I'm still pregnant."

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"Finally," Bradley muttered, running his fingers through his hair as he walked through the hangar with his helmet in his hand. Six weeks was a long time to be away from you right now. Too long, really. He had kind of fallen in love with flying Shadowhawk, but nothing compared to sharing a bed with you and reading bedtime stories to Noah. And he was itching to see the newest ultrasound photos.

He'd been confined to the Naval base at Yokosuka except for one day when the weather was too unsafe to let him fly. He took a short trip back into the city, chaperoned of course, but he was allowed to visit a bookstore. He ended up buying eight books for Noah and the baby, and he couldn't wait to show them to you. And he'd be able to do that soon, because he finally had a return date. If he did his math right, he'd be home in time to take Noah out to get candy on Halloween, as long as he wasn't delayed.

With just a few days left flying Shadowhawk, he really let the throttle tilt. He could hear Admiral Palmer warning him about his speed over the crystal clear comms, and he smiled before he responded. "Yes, sir. I'll ease off." But he didn't until he made a beautiful loop through the air. He was getting used to the ridiculous pressure on his body now, and when he got to San Diego and switched back to his Super Hornet, he was going to miss this feeling. He couldn't wait to try to describe it to you.

He knew what was coming. He was anticipating hours spent looking at his own flight data with the officers, but when the time came, he just felt antsy. The sixth-generation fighter had been moved back into the hangar for storage. He'd taken his last flight. His bags were packed, and he was ready to go home, but he had to pretend to be interested in what came next: at least fifty admirals sifting through data before anything would be determined. Bradley hoped these jets would eventually come to find a home with the US Navy, but it would be years from now if they did. He had done his part, and he wanted to be let loose again.

When he woke up on the day of his departure, he signed a final set of privacy forms before his phone was returned to him as he was ushered out to a car waiting to take him to the airport. He couldn't leave soon enough at this point. All he could picture was your face and Noah's, happy to see him home again. He could practically feel your body in his hands, and it was the only thing he wanted.

Once he settled in for the short ride, he turned his phone on to find that he only had a tiny bit of battery left. Without even checking to see what time it was at home, he called you. He'd let his phone die talking to you right now if need be, and then he could charge it later. But you didn't answer. That was okay.

"Princess, I'm coming home. I'm on my way to the airport in Tokyo right now, and it's a ten hour flight. I think I'll be landing after midnight, so don't worry about getting Noah out of bed to come pick me up. I'll get an Uber or a taxi. I can't wait to see you, Baby. I love you."

He ended the call, and as soon as he started to investigate all of his missed text messages, the phone died. He was dropped off at the airport with barely half an hour to spare before his flight was scheduled to leave, and that's when he realized he didn't even have his phone charger with him.

"Fuck," he muttered, rooting around in his bag but coming up with nothing. Maybe it got lost in his room in the barracks when he dumped his bag out? Maybe it was in his duffle which he checked at the airline desk. Regardless, he didn't have time to try to buy a new one, because his flight was already boarding by the time he found the gate. After questioning the flight attendants as to whether or not they had the type of charger he needed, he gave up hope, tossed his phone into his bag and tried to sleep for as much of the ten hour flight as he possibly could. He would be home with his family soon enough.

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You played the voicemail message from Bradley over and over again, but you could barely understand a word that he said. It sounded garbled and fuzzy, and it kept cutting out. He said something about being in Tokyo and something about Noah, and then he told you he loved you, but that's all you could figure out for sure.

"Can you understand what he's saying?" you asked softly, holding up the phone for Natasha to listen to it pretty much as soon as she walked through your front door in her uniform. "I've been trying to decipher this all day."

She took it from your hand and listened to it on speakerphone and then listened again with it pressed to her ear as she made a face. "Hang on," she muttered, playing it a third time.

She'd been staying at the house with you since your overnight visit to the emergency room. She had essentially been doing everything for you and Noah so you barely had to lift a finger after work each day. You wouldn't have been able to do it on your own, but every time you tried to thank her, she told you it was no big deal and that Bradley was her best friend. You were afraid you were eating into her time with Javy, but she just rolled her eyes and said, "Hoes before bros."

She listened to the message one more time before she said, "It kind of sounds like he's coming home? And he's going to arrive after midnight? And he's getting an Uber from the airport?"

Your heart beat faster. "Do you think he means tonight?"

Noah came running into the living room with a coloring sheet in each hand and Skittles bounding after him. "Aunt Natasha!"

"Hey squirt," she said, picking him up and flying him around the room. She turned back to you and said, "Hopefully it means he'll be back tonight. Let's just leave the porch light on after dinner in case." Then she hauled Noah off to the kitchen where she started cooking while you took a shower.

Dr. Kelly had immediately cut your hours back for which you were so thankful. She was very understanding when you talked to her. Tomorrow was Halloween, and it was Saturday. The plan was for Natasha to wear the costume you originally bought for Bradley, but if he arrived home tonight and was able to function tomorrow, maybe he'd want to go out to collect candy himself. You were just aching to see him at this point, and now your skin was tingling with the anticipation of him holding you.

After you ate, you tried to clean, but Natasha said, "I'll clean up after Noah's in bed." And then she sent you to the couch with a blanket while she and Noah took Skittles for a long walk down to the beach. You fell asleep there shortly after they left, and you weren't surprised that you ended up in your bed even before Noah was in his for the night.

You let Natasha take care of everything while you tried to text Bradley again. You'd been trying all day, but he hadn't responded to a single one of them. You checked to see which flights were currently on their way from Tokyo to San Diego, and three of them were arriving late tonight. Honestly, the garbled voicemail had you on edge all day long, making you more exhausted than usual. You fell asleep hoping that he was on one of the flights and that he would be home soon.

And then you woke up to a loud voice coming from the living room. You jolted in bed, throwing the covers off of you in alarm before you realized that the voice was familiar.

"Princess? Baby, it's me! It's Bradley. I didn't want to scare you."

"Bradley," you gasped, jumping out of bed and grabbing at your nightstand until you could get your footing. "Bradley!" you called out a little louder.

"It's me, Baby," he answered. "Is Nat here? Why is her SUV in the driveway?"

You nearly collided with his best friend in the dark hallway, and when you both made it out to the dimly lit living room, you saw him standing there. Tears filled your eyes as you raced for him, and he picked you up into his arms and cradled you against his big body while Skittles whimpered at his feet.

"Daddy," you whispered, aware that Natasha was standing right behind you. "I missed you so much."

He kissed along your neck and your cheek and all of the parts of your face that he could reach as he said, "I love you. I love you so much. I missed you and Noah and the baby." He ran his nose along the shell of your ear and said, "Hey, Nat. What are you doing here? And why are you holding my mom's antique lamp?"

You turned to glance at her over your shoulder where she was indeed standing with the lamp in her hand at her side in her ratty old shirt and lounge pants. "I was making sure you were really you and not an intruder."

He laughed. "You were going to beat the shit out of me with a lamp?"

"Absolutely," she said with a yawn. "Welcome home." Then she turned and went back to the extra bedroom leaving the two of you alone.

Bradley's lips were on yours immediately, and even though you knew you had so much to tell him, you let yourself enjoy the indulgence of his kisses. You whimpered against his mouth and brushed your fingers softly through his hair. "I'm assuming we need to talk," he murmured. "You wanna tell me why she's here?"

You nodded and whispered, "Let's go to the bedroom."

He left his bags on the floor and carried you there immediately, setting you on the unmade bed and dropping down next to you. The room was pretty dark, and you curled up against his body, getting as close to him as you could. You inhaled his scent and soaked up his warmth, finally feeling better than you had in over a month. All of the fear seemed to wash away as he said, "I'm sorry I only left you that one message, but my phone died, and I can't find my charger. Nobody on my flight had the right one either, because apparently my phone is as ancient as I am."

You laughed softly. "I like vintage things, remember?"

"I do recall that," he replied easily. "Is tonight the first night Nat slept here?"

You took a deep breath and whispered, "No. She's been staying here for about a week to help out. Ever since I started... bleeding."

"Bleeding?" he echoed, his arm wrapping around you a little tighter as you nodded against his neck and tried to gather your thoughts. "Princess, what happened?"

His voice was alert and strong yet worried and cautious, and you told him, "I went to the bathroom last week, and when I wiped I was bleeding." His sharp intake of breath had you scrambling as you said, "The baby is okay."

"Are you okay?" he asked, gently rolling you onto your back to get a better look at your face. "Fuck. I should have never agreed to go away." He ran his big hand across your forehead and down your cheek. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," you promised as you cried for what seemed like the hundredth time. "I was just so scared," you admitted, your voice barely a squeak. "I was so scared the baby was gone."

You realized Bradley's fingertips were rubbing soothing circles against your side as he whispered, "I'm sorry I left. I'm so sorry I wasn't here to take care of everything. Please, tell me what happened. Tell me everything."

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

Bradley got you cuddled under the covers, and he turned the lamp on so he could better see your face. You looked beautiful if not exhausted, and he was so grateful for his best friend being there for you. "I guess I overdid it a little bit," you admitted. "I took some extra hours at work and started getting the bedroom ready for the baby. I just wanted the weeks to pass quickly, you know? When I started bleeding, I called Natasha, and she came right over. She's basically been here since then."

He kissed your nose. "What did the doctors do?"

You closed your eyes and whispered, "They checked me over. Every inch. And they found that I needed progesterone shots. They caught it just in time, so maybe it was good that I ended up there."

Bradley felt like an idiot, but it didn't matter as long as you were okay. "What's the progesterone for exactly?"

You smiled as you snuggled closer to him. "It'll make my uterus better for the baby. Safer. The injections are pretty common, and I only need to get them a few more times. But I'm tired of all the needles, and now I can kind of understand how some of my own patients feel."

Bradley laced his finger with yours and asked, "And you're sure you're okay? Perfectly safe and healthy?"

"Yes. The baby is, too."

He kissed your forehead as he realized he was crying. "Just as long as you're okay, Princess. I love you." You nodded as you fell asleep, and he knew how badly you needed to rest. After he turned the light off, he held you against his chest and tried to make sense of everything.

You and the baby were okay. Your doctor and the staff from the emergency room were monitoring your blood work every week now. You were getting injections in your thigh which were making your leg sore and bruised, but it was helping the baby. As much as he'd loved flying Shadowhawk, he regretted his time away from home a little bit more now.

When you rolled away from him around six o'clock, he had barely slept. Carefully, he extracted himself from the bed, and Skittles came trotting right over to him. He picked her up and straightened out the wrinkled clothing he had been wearing for way too long, but when he walked out to his kitchen, he found Nat was already there. She turned to face him as Skittles started licking his face, and he walked right into her arms for a hug.

"Thank you," he whispered, letting her hold him while he cried. "Is she really okay? She told me she's fine."

She rubbed his back and said, "Mostly. I think. She is stubborn, Bradley. When I got here, she drove herself to the emergency room before I even had a full grasp of the fact that she was pregnant. She told me to stay with Noah until she came home, and when I told her I'd get Javy to come stay here while I met her at the hospital, she yelled at me."

"That tracks," he said softly. He thought about how you stood up for him and Noah and fought alongside him for custody. Even after you got hurt. Even after he hurt you.

"She was terrified that you'd be upset about a potential miscarriage."

Bradley felt like she slapped him in the face. "Shit," he grunted as she released him from the hug. It wasn't like that kind of thing could usually be prevented. He would have been sad, yeah, but only because he was so excited. He wouldn't have been upset with you though. Not at all. "I'll talk to her more about that when she wakes up." He scratched his head and set Skittles down. "Did you clean my kitchen?"

"Yes," she replied evenly as she switched on the coffee maker. "And if you try to thank me for anything I did, I swear to god, I will fucking key your Bronco. I did it for her, because she needed help."

He caught himself before he could thank her again, too afraid to find out if she was telling the truth. She probably was. "I'll make sure she's getting all the rest she needs. She will not be lifting a finger around here."

"That's what I like to hear," she said, patting him on the chest. "Now, I'm going to take one of your travel mugs full of your overpriced coffee from your fancy machine and head back to my place. I'll call you later, and I'll stop by tonight to hand out candy to your trick-or-treaters while you take Noah around the neighborhood."

"Shit, I guess I need to go out and buy candy and costumes and everything."

As her coffee brewed, Nat said, "It's all been taken care of. The bags of candy are on top of the fridge."

Bradley glanced in that direction and said, "You have to let me repay you, Nat."

She grabbed the travel mug and pulled her keys out of her pocket, brandishing them in his face. "Fuck around and find out, Bradshaw. You will not thank me, and you will not pay me back. You'll just let me come over and play with Noah at least once a week now while you take care of your wife-to-be. Those are my terms. Have a nice day."

"Okay," he called out, following her to the door to make sure her key went directly into her own ignition where it belonged. Then he got to work, pulling up some recipes on his phone; he was going to attempt to be the best dad and almost husband in the entire world, because that's what his family needed.

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If you have been through any of this kind of shit like I have, I'm sending you a hug. It's stressful and scary, and not something you should have to deal with alone. Bradley is home and ready to be the absolute best. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 57

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stevieschrodinger · 18 days

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Part One

Steve’s bedroom door is open. He’s perched on the edge of the bed, pretty much everyone else wedged in here with him. Rob is on the bed too, leaning against him. Jon and Nance are sitting at the bottom. All the kids are sitting on the floor.

Everyone's quiet. Waiting. Straining to hear.

El and Eddie are next door.

And Steve has no fucking idea what the hell is going on.

The gates are all closed. Hawkins is a mess, but within the first twenty four hours there was a big push to start repairs. The government is probably pouring cash on this to tidy it up, clean it up, cover it up; make sure everyone knows it was an earthquake.

Gas main damaged in the quake leaked; if anyone saw anything weird, they’re already convinced it was a hallucination. So there’s that.

Everyone got out of hospital within hours; the worst off was probably Steve himself. His wounds from the bats, from their first run in with Vecna, still hadn't healed and one of them had been growing steadily more infected. He has fresh injuries from this time around; all of them inflicted by Eddie. Steve has two broken ribs, and he sounds like he's been smoking 100 a day for sixty years from where Eddie nearly choked him out. He needed twelve stitches in the nasty gash he picked up on the back of his head, but luckily no concussion this time. He's covered in scratches and bruises, but the hospital were happy to let him go with antibiotics and firm instructions to rest.

Eddie, surprisingly, has a clean bill of health. He was filthy, and the scars were bad but...otherwise, he didn’t have so much as an open scratch on him. Everything healed up completely. Which makes...no sense. Steve literally saw him die.

But that also means while they were preparing...planning...working to take down Vecna...he had Eddie the whole time. Potentially, that was nearly a week. The shock they had all had, seeing Eddie again. Obviously they hadn’t planned for that, hadn't factored it into their plans, and it completely and utterly fucked everything up.

They were done for. They were all going to die, no question. But something happened. Something changed. Steve was convinced he was about to get choked to death by Eddie, or maybe impaled on that ridiculous sword but...no. Eddie had blinked awake. And then he’d cut Vecna’s head clean off...which, unexpected, but still a win.

Eddie had dropped the sword, stumbling along after everyone else to get out before the gates closed on them.

Since then, Eddie's been silent. Going where he's told, stumbling through the examinations, sitting on the periphery of the group, staring into space. He looked broken, even to Steve, who realistically didn't know Eddie that well. Eddie had the vacant stare of someone who's just been though something traumatic.

When Dustin had tried to hug him, even, Eddie had flinched away.

No one tried to touch him after that, giving up talking to him pretty quickly. Eddie wasn't going to answer. Steve could practically watch Dustin getting more and more distressed over the state of Eddie. Everyone was aware; all they could do was sit and watch it happen.

Once they were out of the hospital they could look after him; try and figure out what the fuck was happening.

Eddie had disappeared pretty much the moment he had opportunity. He’d mumbled something about finding a bathroom, pretty much the first words he;d spoken, and as the minutes ticked by, it became increasingly obvious that Eddie wasn't coming back. The hospital was a mess, and they were supposed to wait for Owens.

Obviously the kids weren’t willing to let him out of their sight that fast. Vecna’s done something to him, controlled him somehow, that much is obvious. Just...nobody knows what.

When Owens finally showed, it was done and dusted fast. They confirmed Henry/One was dead. Owens had a lot of other shit to sort out; they were no longer his priority and they knew it. Dustin had been ball of barely contained anxiety the whole time, clearly wanting to track down Eddie but...by some sort of group mutual understanding...no one mentioned Eddie was alive. No one said he'd come back with them.

In the confusion, no one seemed to question it. Owens clearly hadn't bothered to look at the hospital's records, or whatever it was he could do. They left as fast as they could without raising suspicion.

The kids had found Eddie again pretty quickly, more through luck than anything, but finding Eddie sitting on the porch of some random house, nursing a bottle of vodka was...well. Everyone’s got their own coping mechanisms, Steve guesses.

Eddie still hasn’t spoken about what happened, but he was pretty quick to pass out on the spare bed.

El’s got that look on her face when she comes back, like she’s thinking big thoughts.

“Is he okay?” Dustin asks first. Obviously there were concerns. Vecna had Eddie for days, there could be anything in Eddie’s head. What if there’s something...lingering...from Vecna? Could be a risk.

El shakes her head, “he is very sad.”

“Sad about what?” Nancy, this time.

“When Eddie was…” she makes a face, she doesn’t have the words, for a moment, to convey what she wants to say, she puts the fingertips of both hands together, making bars, “Vecna put Eddie’s mind in a cage, he doesn’t remember what his body was doing, I don’t think.”

“So Vecna had him as a kind of puppet? He couldn’t get out of the cage?” Robin clarifies, “that’s good right, he didn’t see himself hurting us?”

El tilts a hand from side to side, “he did not want to leave the cage. Vecna made him…” she purses her lips, “love. He was in love. They had a baby, she grew up, she was going to college.”

“That makes no sense, he was there less than a week?”

“Time is different in dreams.”

“Yeah,” Dustin chimes in, “even if a dream feels long, it actually happens really fast.”

Steve huffs, “right, but he knows now, right, that it wasn’t real? So it doesn’t matter, right?”

“It matters to him,” El tells him so firmly Steve feels like he fucked up, “it was real to him.”

“Steve,” Nancy turns to him, “imagine if you got married, had...I don’t know, six kids and a Winnebago,” Steve winces because, yeah, okay, he might have deserved that, “and you come home after years and years of living that, being happy, only to find out it wasn’t real, how would you feel?”

“It’d be like they died,” Robin says next to him, suddenly gasping and making a pained noise, “oh that’s horrible. Poor Eddie.”

El’s nodding, and everyone else is silent, clearly letting that sink in.

And, yeah, Steve figures...that’s got to be pretty awful.

The kids have gone home, but Nancy, Rob, Jon and Argyle have all stayed. They promised the kids they would watch over Eddie, which wasn’t hard since Eddie’s been asleep pretty much since they got back. Steve doesn’t know if is the most of a bottle of vodka Eddie had downed, or the week he’s had but...he’s still asleep.

They take it in turns to check on him, every half an hour, someone comes up. Just to check.

Steve doesn’t know what woke him, but he needs to piss. Robins passed out next to him, snoring her wheezy little snore. Steve gets up and goes to the bathroom, figures he should check on Eddie.

And Steve finds himself suddenly very awake at the sight of an empty bed and an open window.

They split up, heading for likely places. Nancy, Argyle and Jon pile into Jon’s car, heading for Wayne first and then with a vague plan to work through town on the way back if he’s not there.

Steve and Robin strike out in the opposite direction.

“Lets head for the place the kids found him.”

“You think he would have gone back there?”

Robin shrugs, “why did he go there in the first place?”

“You think it means something to him?” A horrible feeling starting to form in the pit of Steve’s stomach, even as Robin shrugs ‘maybe’ at him.

They can’t see Eddie, but Robin insists they check it out. Steve’s glad Robin has half their brain, because she was dead right. There’s smashed glass on the porch and the door is open; someone has broken in.

Part Three

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#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #pre steddie #steddie #ao3 writer #the party #steddie dreamed life

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mykoreanlove · 9 months

Text

fitting room.

“Wait – you want to come inside with me?!”

Panic flooded your whole body as you realized that Felix was about to enter the fitting room with you. He smiled at you broadly: “Of course pumpkin! I want to see how you look in those clothes.”

Your boyfriend, whom you started dating a couple of weeks ago, took you out shopping on this warm summer night. You welcomed the idea as you loved spending time with him, but you dreaded the thought of him seeing you change.

“Wait… don’t you want me to come with you?”

His pained expression tore your heart apart. Of course, you wanted to be with him. If it was up to you, you would spend every minute of your day with him. This dark-haired personification of sunshine stole your heart the minute he smiled at you.

But you were hesitant at the idea of him coming with you into the monstrous invention that were fitting rooms. Those small spaces always made you feel insecure and ugly. The bright lightning highlighted all the parts of your body that you wanted to hide so badly. You had no intention of taking him with you in there.

Felix noticed the war you fought internally, so he grabbed your hands and squeezed them, hoping to distract your inner monologue. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

His eyes held so much compassion for you, he was dearly worried about your well-being. Realizing how much he cared for you made you beyond happy. You took a deep breath before confessing your insecurities to him. “I don’t want you to see me change…”, you mumbled silently.

Felix frowned as he did not understand your discomfort. “But why? It’s nothing I haven’t already seen, pumpkin.” He smiled again, hoping you would make it make sense to him.

You huffed out in despair: “Lix, those fitting rooms are every woman’s worst nightmare. They are super narrow so of course you naturally feel like a fat giant. And that hospital lightning – I mean you will see every lump, every dimple and all of my stretch marks. I don’t want you to see my flaws.”

Felix had wondered why you would always turn off the lights when you got intimate with him, but he never dared to ask. He fought his own self love battles a long time ago, but the memory of the shame that came with it was still fresh in his mind.

He never wanted to rush you, but he just did. Guilt was flooding his body as he saw what his careless remarks did to you. Felix squeezed your delicate hands again and apologized.

“Pumpkin, I am sorry. I had no idea you felt that way about your body. Just so you know I don’t agree with you, but I don’t want to pressure you into anything you don’t want. Go ahead and change, I’ll wait over there with the other boyfriends.”

He was about to turn around when you stopped him. “Lix, wait!” Felix turned around and looked at you guessingly. You had never been with someone like Felix before – someone that understood you and let you breathe. You were used to guys that criticized or ridiculed you for your body, so you never had the courage to open up to them.

But not with Felix – it was as if he grasped your every concern with his whole being. You felt safe with him, so you tried to show him more of your vulnerable side. You grabbed him by his hand and ushered him into the next dressing room.

It was just as you had dreaded – narrow, brightly lit and full of mirrors positioned on every side. You watched yourself mortified before your gaze landed on Felix.

Felix, who was looking at you as if you put the stars in the night sky. Felix, who hugged you from behind and whispered into your ear: “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, pumpkin. Because you’re marvelous.” He placed a sweet kiss on your cheek. His love gave you the courage to undress in front of him.

And now you were standing in this small space, exposed in nothing but your underwear, displaying all of your flaws to your godlike built boyfriend. Your bravery ended at stripping down though; you couldn’t face him right now. You felt Felix’ hands caressing your hips and crossing in front of your stomach as his soft lips found your ear. “Now tell me, baby, where exactly are all those flaws you mentioned?” You felt your cheeks fill with heat as you sensed his hot breath on you. “Well for starters, you’re holding one of my flaws right now.”

This was killing you. Your insecurities were eating you from the inside. You already started imagining the worst he could say. “You’re right, y/n. Your stomach is horrific. Why won’t you lose some weight? It’s not that hard.”, followed by him looking at you disgusted and leaving the fitting room.

Felix’ snort let you come back to reality.

“You think this”, he was applying pressure on your stomach as he was talking, “you think this is a flaw?” You nodded your head in agreement. “Oh pumpkin, you little fool.”

Felix turned you around and got down on his knees. Looking up at you he flashed you a warm smile before pampering your stomach with sweet kisses. His actions made you laugh, so you ushered him to stop. “Lix, what the hell, stop.”, you giggled in front of him. He had a devilish smirk on his lips as he looked up at you again.

“I love your stomach, y/n. I love how it holds all of your organs for you. I love how it lets you eat and digest and breathe in deeply. I love how it looks. I love your little navel. I love to kiss it. I love to lay my head on it. I love feeling it rise with every breath. I really, really love your stomach, pumpkin.”

Tears started to form in the brink of your eyes. No one had ever adored your stomach like that, not even yourself.

“What else?”, he whispered. You took a deep breath before pointing out the stretch marks on your hips. “I hate them.”

Felix’s hands landed on your hips again. He was tracing the outlines of your stretch marks, touching the skin cautiously. “Maybe I shouldn’t call you pumpkin anymore.”

Panic arose in your body once more. You knew it. You were disgusting. Of course, he wouldn’t want to be with someone like you. The tone of his voice getting more playful with every touch: “Maybe I should call you tiger instead. Look at the swings of those lines, they are impeccable!”

You felt like an idiot. Here you were being worshipped by your perfect boyfriend, yet you played out one worst case scenario after the other. You looked down at Felix as you grabbed his dark hair, pulling at it lightly. His eyes sparkled with desire for you, they always did. “Where else, baby?”

With a heavy heart you turned around. You grabbed your ass and squeezed it lightly for him to examine. “Do you see all this cellulite?” Due to the many mirrors in the stall, you were able to see Felix’ expression firsthand. His eyes wide from excitement, his tongue licking his lips and hands ready to grab your ass, as well.

“Babe, all I see is your fantastic bubble butt. Do you really think I care about cellulite?” He squeezed your butt eagerly which caught you by surprise. You squeaked and jumped up, only to land in his arms again. He joined in on your laughter and held you close.

“Y/N, I think you’re beautiful. Like all of you is beautiful. I understand that it’s hard to see your body go through changes as you get older but that’s not a bad thing. Baby, you get to get older, not everyone does.” You shared an intimate look with each other in the mirror in front of you.

„Why don’t you think of age as levels? With each passing year you get up one level in the game of life. And getting dimples or stretch marks means you get to wear a new armor. Isn’t that exciting?”

You loved the way he saw life. You knew that his mindset was built on many hours of struggle and hard work, which made you love him even more. You still looked at him in the mirror, but this time you smiled. A whole genuine smile, one that reached your eyes, as well. Felix smiled back at you before ushering you to move your head. “Gimme a kiss, pumpkin.”

You two kissed, tenderly and sweet, while being embraced in the small confines of the dressing room. “Now, will you put on the clothes we’ve picked out for you? I wanna get out of here and show you how much I adore your body in private.” He smirked one last time before kissing you again.

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sirfrogsworth · 1 year

Text

I saw this on Reddit and it reminded me of how hard it is to transport my dad to all his appointments.

I have to push him in a wheelchair for any long distance and because of stuff like this, I have had to figure out how to pop wheelies, back down curbs, and go through doors backwards because the auto-open feature is broken. You would not believe how often the auto-open button is not functioning at doctor's offices, hospitals, and other medical establishments.

This thing.

I don't know why they break so often, but someone needs to do something about it.

One of my biggest pet peeves is people blocking the wheelchair crosswalk in front of my dad's dialysis center.

This drives me nuts.

Especially because a lot of the time it is a family member dropping off someone in a wheelchair for dialysis. You'd think they'd know better.

Because I am able to walk and push my dad I always park in the disabled spot and push him across the crosswalk. People transporting patients or family members with electric wheelchairs or more serious debilitations will choose to park directly in front of the building so they don't have to transport them as far. I park in the parking lot so I don't take up space in front of the building for these more serious patients. I'm trying to do my part to make this process easier for everyone.

Unfortunately these folks will often block the crosswalk. All they have to do is pull a bit in front of the crosswalk and they can still transport the wheelchair with ease. Usually medical transport services will do this correctly, but most family members don't give a shit. They just want to get grandma out of the car as fast as possible.

But the worst offenders are customers and delivery drivers going to the Chinese place directly next to the dialysis center. These are all able-bodied people. Customers can't be bothered to park in a parking space 50 feet away so they park in front of the crosswalk and leave their car while they order food.

And then there are the motherhecking delivery drivers.

Are you seeing this shit?

He angled the truck so his ramp would reach the sidewalk. Absolutely no space to fit a wheelchair.

AHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRGGGG. Are you kidding meeee?

I had to back my dad down a curb and wheel him around the front of the truck and then wheelie him over another curb to get to the parking area.

This dude was blocking the way for at least 30 minutes. My dad wasn't finished when I got there so I had to wait for him. Almost every patient at the dialysis center is in a wheelchair. He saw me pushing my dad all around the parking lot and just kept making his deliveries.

I nearly confronted the delivery driver, but my dad was feeling really weak from dialysis and he desperately needed to get home so he could lie down. But if I see this again, I am definitely going to say something. Anxiety be damned. I was so mad.

I guess I just want people to know stuff like this happens constantly. We need to spread the word that inconsiderate stuff like this is unacceptable.

And sometimes the worst culprits can be the family members of the disabled people. We are in this together and we need to support each other.

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dannyphantom-zero · 3 months

Text

Doctor Danny chapter 3

Danny shivered as he drove to work. The feeling of being watched was way creepier than he expected. The worst part, he couldn't tell if it was all in his head or not.

Sometimes when he was younger he had felt like people were always watching him, turned out he was paranoid.

Danny shrugged it off and started work.

The second he was in he was pulled in ten different directions.

Danny had been treating a patient when on the TV the news was showing footage of a live battle. A bomb had gone off and rubble blocked the ambulance from getting to patients.

"NURSE! TAKE OVER" Danny shouted, he ran out of the patients room as soon as the nurse was there. That attack was still happening.

If Danny didn't do something those injured people were going to die.

"DOCTOR! WHERE ARE YOU GOING!" the head of the ward shouted.

"I'LL BE BACK WITH PATIENTS GET BEDS READY!"

The head didn't hesitate. Danny was infamous for not following orders but he never seems to fail a patient.

"You heard him! Get beds ready!"

The nurses and interns scrambled to ready as many rooms as possible.

Danny floored it to the location. A feeling of dread settled onto him. As soon as he hit the first rubble blockage his car door flew open. He started dragging the rubble out of the way.

The news reporter noticed Danny.

"Just coming into the scene, a mysterious unnamed man has jumped into the frey. He appears to be clearing the road."

The camera focused on Danny who had the road almost clear. Danny motioned for the ambulance to get closer.

Danny rushed further into the disaster area. He pulled the rubble off of pinned down citizens. Danny put as many patients as possible in the ambulance.

There were so many. He couldn't wait for another ambulance.

"This man is carrying two people at the same time! He's acting like a superhero!"

The head of the ward stared at the TV back at the hospital.

"Doctor, what are you?" He asked himself in wonder.

Danny had a worker from the ambulance drive his car back, he wasn't done here yet.

He thought he had heard it.

HELP PLEASE SOMEONE PLEASE I CANTBREATHE.

Yes, those were the scrambled screams from someone soul. If a person was put in an extreme situation, their soul in rare cases screamed.

This worked on Damners favor. Danny scanned the area and then he saw it. A mother and her child. The mother had protected the child and got pinned under falling rubble.

Danny hoisted the rubble off from her and thrust it aside.

The women would get more injuries if she were.moved carelessly. Danny grabbed a thick piece of nearby board.

He laid his coat on the board and put both hands under the women securing her. He hoisted her onto the boards and then used his belt to latch her to the makeshift gurney.

Danny was alone on this war front. He really didn't want to carry a critical patient alone but he had no choice.

"Hey kid, you gotta be quick. Run get out of this rubble and to the open street, if you do that I promise I'll get your mom out of here"

He nodded before sprinting away. Thankfully the women wasn't too heavy. Danny picked her up and do his best not to jostle her as he made his way through the wreckage.

They had nearly been out when a peace of cement fell from the sky. Danny quickly adjusted the women and thrust his fist into the concrete. It broke into smaller pieces, none hitting the patient.

Then they were out. Another ambulance was waiting there for him.

He transfered the women to the real gurney and sat on the ambulance. A soon as he got to the hospital he was running from patient to patient doing his best to swiftly treat each one.

The entire time one name kept repeating in his head. Joker.

The villain who had attacked, the villain documented to have taken the most lives. He needed to pay.

Danny sighed. He was standing on the hospital roof, a good place to go and think.

The patients were all stable and thankfully there were no deaths.

Danny drank his canned coffee and headed back in. What he saw was chaos. One of the patients had gone into shock suddenly and without warning.

Danny rushed to the ED with the patient. They started performing emergency surgery. On the end it was futile.

They could not save the patient.

"Time of death 1:23 AM" one of the other doctors said in a solemn tone.

Danny gritted his teeth and stormed out.

"DAAMM EEIIT, AAAAHHH!" Danny screamed once he was on the rooftop.

Tears streamed down his face. He lost a patient because of that damned psychopath!

Danny wiped his tears and made his way to the hospitals morgue.

"Let me see my patient" he had to help the soul pass on, it was his duty.

The soul looked like a cloud of blue mist. It glowed and swirled.

"Go, be in peace" it evaporated and Danny sighed.

"It's time for you to go home Danny, you need to rest. You've been working tirelessly and you just lost a patient"

Danny was frustrated because he knew the head was right. He had to throw away the cost and get a replacement because it was torn to the point that it was unrecognizable.

Danny sat in his car with his head pressed on his hands that were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

His car made a low rumble sound as he drove home. Once he got there he crawled into his sleeping bag and tried to forget.

Jason had been watching the fight, ready to jump in at any moment. Then he saw Danny, the way he had pulled those people out of there.

There was a clip that had been missed by the news. It wasn't a professional camera the way it kept shaking but through all the dust you could see a slab of concrete falling towards Danny and then he just... punched it.

Later he had heard that Danny's patient had died and he knew he needed to make a visit.

No doubt the doctor was blaming himself. He knew what it was like losing someone you were trying to save.

Jason slowly slid open Danny window. It's lock was faulty, he wondered if Danny knew that.

"Danny?"

He didn't respond.

"I know what it's like to lose a person like that, especially to joker"

Danny sat up and looked at Jason with rage burning in his eyes.

"If I ever meet Joker, I will tear his arms off"

Jason stared at Danny for half a second before grabbing his shoulders, "I knew I liked you!"

Jason let go and reached up to take his helmet off.

"Don't!" Danny said grabbing the helmet.

"Danny, I'm going to stalk you whether you know my identity or not"

Danny sighed and let go.

"Okay but what about the other vigilantes identities. Once I know yours, figuring out theirs won't be so difficult"

Jason paused, considering it.

"Meh, they'll be fine"

Danny shook his head.

"When I'm kidnapped and tortured and all of your identities get revealed, it won't be my fault" Danny said.

Jason grinned and took off the helmet.

Danny glanced at Jason. He didn't look half bad in terms of looks, he considered Red Hood to be pretty handsome.

"I don't recognize you at all" Danny said peering closer.

"Really? I'm Jason Todd"

Danny pulled back like he had touched something hot.

That name, Jason Todd was famous for his soul being reborn due to a hazardous pit called the Lazarus Pit. It must be eating away at him, probably destroying his mind.

"Shit" Danny muttered.

"What?" Jason asked.

Danny seemed conflicted.

"I am about to say something that's going to sound, in a word, insane"

Danny paused, "I'm only telling you this because I feel obligated to help you"

"Help me? How?" Jason asked with a sly smirk.

"With your situation" Jason had a blank look on his face.

"The Lazarus Pit that you fell into is contaminated. It's going to damage your brain"

Jason's eyes grew wide and Danny could see the sparks of the contaminated ectoplasm influencing Jason's emotions.

Before Jason could fly into a rage Danny grabbed him.

"Sorry, this is gonna hurt but I have to filter the ectoplasm"

Danny bit Jason's neck finding a vein. He began sucking out the contaminated ectoplasm, replacing with his own. He tried to think of it like a blood transfusion.

Jason was too stunned to do anything. The longer Danny was like that, the calmer Jason felt.

Finally Danny let go. He waited for a horrified look or a demand or anything.

But Jason seemed almost like he was in a trance.

"Jason?"

He snapped out of it, his hand flying to his neck.

"That felt...nice"

Danny sighed.

"I'm half ghost" Danny said.

Jason looked at him like he was dead.

"I was in an accident in my parents lab and sort of died, my DNA was mutated due to ectoplasm. It was the purest form."

"Your half dead?"

Danny nodded, "what I did was filter the Lazarus water and replace it with ectoplasm."

"Am I all good then?"

"Well no. I can't do it all at one time since it's mixed with the blood in your veins. If I did you could die"

Jason smirked.

"Oh noooooo" he said sarcastically, "looks like I'll have to come back"

Danny rolled his eyes.

"So are technically like a vampire ghost then"

"I am not a vampire!" Danny said.

"Sure, sure."

Danny sighed.

"So are gonna leave or what?" Danny asked.

Jason grinned.

"Naw, Imma stay right here"

Danny opened the window.

"Shoo"

Jason put a hand on his heart.

"Wow, I can see how welcome I am"

"I hope so"

Jason shook his head as he climbed out of the window onto the fire excuse, helmet secure on his head.

"You can't get rid of me Danny"

"I know, that's why I'm getting a restraining order"

"What?" Jason asked in alarm. Danny shut the window cutting off Jason's concerned cry.

Now THAT was satisfying.

Jason couldn't stop smiling. His new friend had the cure to his pit rage and had powers. Not only that, he was medically equipped so Jason wouldn't have to go to the hospital ever again!

It also worried him. Danny was too skilled, he was a big target for any villain.

Danny fell asleep and he slept deeply.

Danny was surprised to wake up to something other than his alarm the next day.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dc universe #batman #dpxdc #Jason Todd #Red Hood #fanfiction #phandom

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bangtanflirt · 8 months

Text

(Un)natural Instincts (Part 6)

*Series taglist is closed.

angst, fluff, smut

Pairings: OT7 x Fem Reader, Human CEO Reader, Human Assistant Yoongi, Wolf Hybrids Joon, Jin, Hobi, Jimin, Tae, and Kook.

Basic premise: You and your assistant end up rescuing six wolf hybrids. No part of the process is easy.

Part 1 > Part 2 > Part 3 > Part 4 > Part 5 > Part 6 > Part 7

General Warnings: Hybrid abuse and lab experimentation, hybrids as second-class citizens/owned property, future smut (Minors DNI, 18+ content)

Specific Warnings: mentions of covering up SA cases, lasting mental effects of dubcon under the synthetic hormones, morally gray characters, lots and lots of self-deprecation and low self-esteem, one mention of sexual dreams

____

Yoongi’s eyes are on the screen, but his mind is everywhere but the presentation. The meeting room is chattering away about profits and liabilities but all he can think about is you and Hoseok. The feeling of betrayal clawing its way into his chest, ripping out his heart and snuggling into his ribcage as a replacement. Betrayal for making him think you weren’t just as twisted inside as the rest of your kind: the ones with mansions, luxury cars, and chauffeurs waiting on their every move. The kind that Yoongi’s worked for already. He remembers how lucky he felt when he got this job, how ecstatic he was to finally work under someone who wasn’t insufferable. Sure, you were brash and cold, but that was nothing compared to his old boss—the one who’d make him commit a thousand crimes to cover up his own. He can’t remember how many books he’s cooked or funds he’s laundered at this point. The worst were the sexual assault claims, looking into every poor woman’s eyes and writing off a check as if it would make her hurt any less. All the nights he’d cry himself to sleep, feeling like a monster, but not knowing how to stop. His mother’s health has always been the first thing on his mind, and it goes from bad to worse too quick for him to quit with no backup. Hospital bills never pay themselves, do they? Especially not when he's the only breadwinner in the family.

He remembers the day you two first met, at a museum opening in Spain, where he was assisting his former employer in landing a partnership with your firm. He can’t say he liked you from the get-go. Didn’t like you at all, quite frankly. You were quite the expert at barking orders, making a scene at every little mistake the nervous waiters made. Everyone was on edge the minute you’d sit down, designer purses propped on the table that cost more than the last surgery his mother needed. But something changed as the week-long trip progressed, when he saw how quickly you shut his boss down the second he proposed a less-than-legal deal. It’s a deal he’d help get many others to sign off on before—with no one caring about the legality when millions were on the table—but you were passionate in your rejection, saying Shin Investments would never take part in anything illegal under your watch.

He still doesn’t know how he found the courage to approach you for a job at the end of the trip. He knew it was risky, that you could not only reject him but also tell his current boss that he’s looking elsewhere. But he was so fed up. Fed up with doing all the dirty work. Fed up with evading the law under the excuse of “doing his job.” You gave him hope that there was a place where he didn’t have to do all that.

You had given him an amused brow raise in response, mentioning how you’d fired your last assistant, just prior to the trip, for smiling in a way that annoyed you. He knew you were challenging him, basically telling him he’s free to try, but he won’t last more than a week.

But, surprisingly to everyone, he does. It’s been two years since his first day, and it’s not an exaggeration to say his relationship with you back then is night and day from the one now. You had purposely put him through absolute hell during the first month, having him run around the office scrambling day after day. But even at your most difficult, it was always “run four blocks to my favorite salad bar and get me lunch in the next twenty minutes” and never “tell the new hires if they keep whining to HR about a compliment, they won’t ever work in this industry again” (the latter being the exact words his former boss once said to him). So, as challenging as you were, it never phased him, as you were much better than the alternative.

It was a little after that first month when you started warming up to him, having your first real conversation after you had one too many glasses of wine at an afterparty. It’s when you admitted that you were looking for any excuse to fire him.

“Because I can just do it. I can do it without any red tape, you know? Firing an assistant is that easy. My father wouldn’t even bat an eye. It's one of the few things I don't have to report to him.”

In a strange way, he understood. You were overcompensating. Even you, the CEO, felt powerless in her circumstances.

That was the first of many similar conversations over the years, each one giving him more insight to why you are the way you are. He’s managed to be the only person who can dull your sharp edges, and you’ve managed to do the same for him. And that’s why it feels like a knife is twisting into his gut at the thought of you using Hoseok for you own pleasure, taking advantage of him in a way Yoongi didn’t know you were capable of doing. No, it wasn’t illegal, but still morally wrong—and though he was understanding of your questionable ethics when you agreed to the Kang deal, knowing how you get when you’re backed into a corner, this was unacceptable. No one was backing you into any corner this time. You did this because you wanted to. It made him feel like he was right back at his old job.

And the worst part is the jealousy. His rational mind knows Hoseok is the victim, but his irrational mind—the one that’s in love with you—can’t stop feeling jealous. His thoughts are racing at a thousand miles per hour, conjuring up scenarios of what the two of you could have been doing. Was it like the dreams he’s had of you? Dreams of you flipped on your stomach under him, moaning his name…but with his name instead? Yoongi feels his skin crawl at the thought of you chanting Hoseok’s name in that way. He’s disgusted in himself for thinking like this, but it’s hard to push it all down when his emotions are threatening to spill out at any moment.

___

Jin steps out of the library for a broom when he lays his eyes on you, absolutely mutilating a poor dethawed chicken. It’s clear that you haven’t cooked a proper meal for years, or maybe even ever. The way you’re holding that knife is unintentionally the funniest thing he’s seen in a while, and that’s why he doesn’t even realize the slight laugh escaping his lips. You look up at the sound, meeting his eyes, which turn from joyful to terrified in a single second.

He almost flinches at the expectation of yelling alone, but that’s not what happens. Instead of your shouts filling the giant kitchen, it’s your laughter.

“I look like a mess, don’t I?”

He shakes his head no, to which you just laugh louder.

“It’s okay Jin, I know I suck at cooking. I’ve been putting this poor chicken through hell for the last forty-five minutes.”

He takes tentative steps forward, broom forgotten as he tries to think on his feet and be useful to you.

“I could…I could do it if I’m allowed. I’m a really good cook!”

You look down at the chicken, almost considering it with how outside of your skillset this all is. But you think better, as he’s already been cleaning the library for hours.

“It’s alright, I think I’ll just leave this chicken alone for tonight and order pizza.”

“Please, I insist! You let Jimin make breakfast!”

You don’t miss the way he pouts the last part out, eyes furrowed in a way you can’t help but find adorable.

“I wouldn’t have let him if he didn’t wake up before me. You guys are recovering patients, you should be resting, not cooking. You shouldn’t even be cleaning the library honestly.”

“But we want to help, we want to be use-“

Jin’s words are cut off by the sound of sniffling, heads turning to the source: a very scared Taehyung stands in the entryway of the kitchen, with Jimin by his side. Your heart drops at the sight of tears rolling down Taehyung’s cheeks, and so does Jin’s—apparent in how fast he makes his way over to the wolf.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt anywhere?!” He takes his pup’s face into his warm hands, trying to provide some sort of comfort.

Taehyung doesn’t answer, instead saying “I’m so sorry” like it’s a mantra. Jimin doesn’t dare speak, eyes trained on the ground.

You’re unsure if you should step in, as it looks like they’re all having a moment, but it’s clear Taehyung isn’t going to respond to Jin.

“What happened?” You ask softly, knowing anything more in your tone will easily spook them further.

Taehyung’s too distraught to register you’re even addressing him, let alone answer back. It’s Jimin who nudges at the younger wolf’s hands, which you notice have been hid behind his back.

“Taehyung, sweetheart, what’s behind your back?” You pray the use of the nickname will calm him like it did with Hoseok, but he just keeps hyperventilating more.

“Jin, please get him some water” the oldest wolf is darting to the water pitcher before you even finish your sentence. Taehyung refuses to let his hands leave his back, leaving Jin with no choice but to bring the glass to his lips for him. It’s only after a few gulps does he regain some sort of composure. It’s then that he brings his hands to the front, bringing to light the ruined mess of pages in his hands.

Jimin crosses his fingers, praying to any and every god that the book isn’t of significance to you, but your reaction makes it clear to everyone how that is far from the case. You look devastated.

It’s your late grandmother’s favorite book: a collection of translated old German poems. You had stored it in the library—granted, in a clumsy pile with the rest of the things you’ve been too busy to properly put up—planning to get a glass case and eventually display it in the living room.

Your grandmother was your favorite person in the world, and that book was her favorite thing in the world. Some of your happiest childhood memories were created with her reading you those poems, at a time when every other adult in your life was too worried about the family business. When she passed last year, she left you a lot, but the diamonds and pearls were never as dear to your heart as that book. And there it was, in Taehyung’s hands, pages stained and soaking wet.

Jin and Jimin had warned Taehyung not to bring orange juice into the library, but he was too stubborn. He assured his hyungs that he was careful enough to drink it without spilling anything, too excited at the prospect of having full access to the fridge to think much about anything else.

And now the damage was done.

Frankly, you want to break down. But you don’t. You do what you’re used to from the office: take a deep breath and compose yourself before the slightest hint of a tear can creep up on you. Crying alone in your room? Perfectly acceptable. Crying in the sole presence of your assistant? Not the end of the world. Crying in front of literally anyone else? You’d rather burn your flesh off.

“It’s okay” the words are not convincing, but at least your voice isn’t shaking. You try to get away from the situation, feeling suffocated, but the worried hybrids are hot on your trail.

It’s at that moment the main door opens, and you can’t be more thankful at the timing. Yoongi’s here. The one person you can let all your emotions out to. Yoongi, with his comforting words and ginseng tea offerings—if anyone can calm you down right now, it’s him.

Except there’s no warmth in his eyes today, not even when he sees your crushed state or the book in Taehyung’s hands.

Speaking of Taehyung, the wolf is looking at him with pleading eyes. If you aren’t in a state to punish him, someone has to. He fucked up big and deserves whatever either of you dish out. He does hope, however, that his knuckles are spared this time.

“I-I ruined y/n’s book. ’M so s-sorry! Please punish me!”

“Taehyung, I said it’s oka—”

Yoongi cuts you off, tone ice cold.

“It’s not your fault. She should’ve kept it in a safer place.”

You stare at him, stunned.

“What the fuck, Yoongi?”

“Am I wrong?”

“That’s not the point. You know how much that book means to me…and that’s the first thing you say? You know that’s not what I need to hear right now.”

And that’s when Yoongi’s bottled up rage finally spill all over the floor, flooding everything in its path.

“Well life’s not always about what you want to hear, and if you were taught that as a child instead of being surrounded by servants and yes-men, then maybe this concept wouldn’t be too foreign for you.”

There’s a bite to his words, a bite with canines sharper than those of any wolf hybrid, and it completely destabilizes you. Hot tears start prickling your cheeks, fighting them off no longer a choice.

“What’s gotten into you? W-why are you acting this way?” Your voice is shaking now.

“Because I’m fucking tired of coddling you, of telling you that everything you do is okay even when it’s not. Maybe it’s on me, maybe if I called you out on your shit earlier then it would never get this bad.”

You’re not understanding what he’s trying to say, but you don’t know if that’s because he’s not making sense or how cloudy your brain is right now. Regardless, the venom with which he speaks is enough to shatter your already fragile mental state. The others shuffle down into the living room at the commotion, and suddenly everyone is seeing the one thing you never wanted them to: you bawling your eyes out.

None of the hybrids know what to do. Namjoon’s eyes are locked on Yoongi, ready to lunge if he poses any physical threat, but it’s clear in his body language that Yoongi doesn’t intend to hurt you in that way. Hurting you with words, however, is not something the lab trained Namjoon to protect you against.

It’s not long before you’re running to your room, locking the door, and letting the mascara fully trail down your face, all while gasping for air. Your lungs feel heavy, your eyes feel heavy, everything just feels so heavy. But nothing’s heavier than your heart.

___

Hours go by and the chicken on the counter is long abandoned—no one quite in the mood to eat. You haven’t left your room since the incident, and Yoongi cooped himself up in his room shortly after. The air feels as thick as smoke in a burning building, blocking the lungs of anyone who tries to breathe it in. It’s Taehyung who’s squirming the most, mentally degrading himself for causing all of this in the first place.

I should have listened. Jin and Jimin warned me, but I’m just too stupid to listen. It’s always me that messes up. I’m always the problem of the pack. Maybe if I beg, she’ll only kick me out and let everyone else stay.

A lesser Alpha might have scolded him at the moment, but Namjoon understands how much Taehyung is punishing himself already. He’s all too familiar with how married his pup is to his self-deprecating ways, no matter how much anyone assures him that he’s enough. The lab was always the most strict when it came to the youngest caretaker hybrid, his naturally clumsy nature being the perfect target for their cruelty and leaving him with little to no confidence in anything anymore. So all Namjoon does is take the boy’s hand into his, giving it a squeeze that translates to “I’ve got you,” and wiping away his tears as they rapidly fall. Jin’s got him situated in his lap, hands gently stroking his sides in a way that’s always soothed Taehyung.

“You’ll listen to Jimin and I next time, won’t you pup?” Jin’s voice isn’t all that scolding either, just firm enough to make sure Taehyung learns some sort of lesson from this…for whatever adoption center they’re shipped off to soon.

Taehyung lifts his head up from the oldest’s shoulder, frantically nodding yes.

There’s a knock on the door that makes every hybrid jump, Yoongi’s voice asking to be let in.

“Come in.” Jimin decides too quickly for anyone else to protest.

He awkwardly hovers beside the door, not bothering to close it as he steps in. It’s not long before Yoongi’s eyes zone in on the one he’s here for: Hoseok.

It’s a selfish thing to do, as Hoseok looks like he’d rather be tied to a train track than look into Yoongi’s eyes, but he needs this. He needs to look at the hybrid, the victim, to remind himself not to falter no matter how many tears you shed—because, yes, even now there’s a part of him that wants to hold and comfort you. Yoongi’s always loved sparsely, but hard, and turning it off overnight isn’t something he can do. So, there he is, actively draining out as much as he can by looking at the victim of your actions.

He’s about to apologize for snapping at the wolf yesterday, when another figure peaks into the ajar door. You inch your way closer, not aware of Yoongi’s presence until you’re right at the entrance. Your eyes are puffy and stained black from makeup, but you clutch the wound care kits close to you and brush past him nonetheless. No matter how much you want to lock yourself in your room for eternity, you have a responsibility towards these hybrids and their recovery. It’s clear, as you make your way to the couch, that you’re tired and embarrassed. No one comments on it, though.

“I need to do their wound care.”

And yet again, he seems ready to pick a fight, ignoring your unspoken plea and staying right in place—eyes narrowed into judgmental slits.

“I don’t know what I did that pissed you off so much, but I’m fucking sorry, okay? I can’t deal with this right now, please leave.” Your voice is meek, absolutely no fight left in you. Just desperation to not be in Yoongi’s presence, afraid of what hurtful words will come out of his mouth next.

Yoongi lets out a dry laugh, putting everyone’s nerves on edge. “You don’t know what you did wrong?”

You shake your head earnestly, trying not to feel small when he uses that condescending tone.

“How can you even say that?! How can you pretend to play the victim when Hoseok is right here. I want to throw up just looking at you right now.”

Hoseok? Why would he bring up…

Suddenly all the pieces fall into place.

“Oh my god Yoongi…you assumed I…we…”

“I didn’t assume anything y/n. Hoseok told me directly, so lying isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

You turn your head at a rate that almost gives you whiplash, looking at the hybrid with big eyes. Hoseok doesn’t look at you—can’t look at you. The feeling of your gaze scorches his skin.

“Hobi…”

Hoseok doesn’t know how to breathe anymore, doesn’t know how to do much of anything other than let his own tears waterfall down, heart cringing at the disappointment in which you say his nickname. He knows it was wrong to lie, but he could never have guessed it would turn into something this serious. Did Yoongi like you? Is that why? Or did he have the same moral code thing you had—one that Hoseok couldn’t wrap his head around. The lab had made it very clear that using him for his purpose was no different than using a chair for its purpose—and no one here had a moral problem using chairs. It all hurt his head too much to think about. But regardless, thinking was pointless, because you weren’t even using him. He couldn’t even do that for you, and now his lie is the reason you’re hurting.

Stupid Hoseok. Dumb Hoseok. Stupid Hoseok. Dumb Hoseok.

“I’m so sorry!” The words are broken and muffled through tears, “Y/n didn’t lie…it-it was me…I didn’t want everyone to know I was b-broken.”

The room goes still, the last sentence lingering in the air.

I didn’t want everyone to know I was broken.

Your eyes soften.

“You’re not broken Hoseok”

“You don’t have to say that. I know I am. That day…you pulled back because you could tell I didn’t want it…you shouldn’t have been able to tell that…no…I shouldn’t have not wanted it…that’s why I’m broken.”

Jimin is quick to embrace his hyung, shielding his wrecked state from view, although too late. The hybrids are at a loss for words, with Namjoon being hit the hardest. Hoseok lying meant he didn’t feel comfortable enough to tell the pack the truth—to tell his Alpha the truth. And that’s a failure Namjoon will have to carry on his shoulders for a long time. But now’s not the time for a self-evaluation, now he needs to make sure Hoseok feels his touch on his back. The rest get their hands in wherever they can, gentle pats and caresses to lessen his distress.

You don’t know what else to do to comfort him, to make him believe your words. And frankly, you don’t have the emotional bandwidth to comfort anyone right now. For a moment you can’t help but envy Hoseok, seeing the way his packmates hold him so dearly when he’s crying. You wonder how it must feel to be loved by so many people. It’s not something you can see ever happening for yourself.

Yoongi's not faring well either.

There’s not a word strong enough to describe what he's feeling right now: a cocktail of guilt and absolute dread, swirling in the glass that is his body. Every spiteful word he’s said rings in his ear. How mean he was, how cruel he was. How easily he dismissed your grandmother’s parting gift to you. The worst thing? He made you cry. He’s always promised himself that he would be by your side when the world made you break down, but now it was him causing those mascara stains. And in front of a fucking audience—the thing you hate the most.

“Y/n I—” he doesn’t even know what to say.

No one does, honestly. No one has the heart to blame Hoseok for lying—not when he’s huddled up crying and labelling himself broken. You can’t exactly blame Yoongi for believing him either, because who wouldn’t do the same?

But, regardless of the context, is that how he thought of you? Has he always been by your side with this contempt, thinking of you as a spoiled brat he’s obligated to follow around? That you’d use anyone to get what you want? You would understand if this was back when he was a month into the job…but now, when it’s been two years and you’ve opened up so much of yourself to him…he still held those views? Were they always buried down, hiding until he couldn’t keep them hidden any longer?

Has he stuck by your side all this time feeling so disgusted by you?

Can I even blame him? I am a bitch, after all.

It’s Jimin that pulls you out of your head, bringing a glass of water to your lips as you so badly need it right now. “We’ll do wound care on ourselves tonight, please get some rest.”

___

Yoongi’s two steps behind you, holding his breath as the two of you leave the hybrid room. He doesn’t stop at his bedroom, though, instead following you straight into yours.

“I’ve been a dick.”

You slump onto your bed, dejected, “Maybe I deserved it.”

That’s the last thing he wants to hear. Never in his life did Yoongi think he would be jealous of his coworkers, the ones you’d yell at and kick out of your office the second they made a mistake—but right now, that’s precisely what he wishes you would do. Because the yelling he can withstand, but this is too much for his heart.

“You didn’t deserv—”

“No, it’s okay. You don’t have to pretend that you didn’t mean any of it. I know I’ve never been the easiest person to deal with. You don’t have to like me to do your job well…if you still want to even work for me…”

“I should be the one begging to keep my job. I only said what I said out of spite, y/n, I wanted to hurt you because I just felt so angry. Fuck, the thing I said about your grandmother’s book too, I feel like shit.”

You wince at the mention of the poems.

“Seeing her book in his hands…I wanted to yell at him so bad Yoongi...but he looked so terrified…and Hoseok looked so terrified too …so who am I even allowed to be angry at?”

Yoongi doesn’t know how to respond, so he instead grabs a makeup wipe from the vanity. He’s gentle in the way he glides it across your skin, extra care around each eye. You let it happen, like a limp doll in his grasp, head hurting too much to be anything else.

“Get some sleep now.”

“How can I be sure you don’t hate me? That you don’t hate working for me?”

“Because”

I’m actually in love with you.

“You’re more than my boss. You’re my best friend y/n.”

____

A/N: I know I'm the writer but I'm waiting for them to be a fluffy big happy family as much as the next person. Baby steps though. Please let me know your thoughts! They are always appreciated.

Permanent Taglist: @skyys-universe @morelovefortn @seagulljk @shadowyjellyfishfest @m4gg13-g

Series Taglist [CLOSED]: @welcometomyworld13 @kalala22 @fxirytaetae @btsfluffsworld @belikejk @shycreationdreamland @danielle143 @singukieee @blackrockshooter780 @g-b-artist @i-have-no-life-charlie @sopemee @no-regrets-just-confusion @acciocriativity @ldysmfrst @amara-mars @caelumwrites @estrellaburnxd @borahaetelevision @on-1ce @fuckthinking @jaiele

#bts hybrid au #bts hybrid x reader #poly ot7 #ot7 x reader #hurt/comfort #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #unnatural instincts

971 notes · View notes

the-magpie-archives · 2 years

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You see, Martin says 'I grieved for you' to Jon, but this doesn't do justice for just what he would have gone through.

As most people know, having a loved one in hospital is horrible, but Jon's case is an entirely different thing. Assuming Jon was initially taken to a hospital in Great Yarmouth, it would've taken Martin a while to get there, even if he left right away. He might have missed Jon's emergency treatment, but he certainly didn't miss the worst of it.

Many people assume that CPR is a quick, simple, lifesaving procedure, it is not. Jon was found not breathing, and without a pulse, so he would have had at least 20 minutes straight of CPR, and that messes up a body. On a person as weak as Jon it would badly break ribs, and cause a lot of bruising. Even if Martin didn't have to watch Jon's chest be crushed to no avail, that type of damage is often visible.

I don't know if you've ever seen a dead body, but it's different to an unconscious one in every way. Jon of course, was not dead, but he would absolutely look it. As I'm sure you know, blood being pumped is what keeps the body warm, and breathing accounts for a large part of what we perceive as living, so the absence of both of these, especially in a loved one, is jarring, and likely to send anyone into shock

In lots of TV shows you see doctors calling deaths, but in reality it's actually quite a difficult thing to diagnose. It's not a quick check of the pulse and you're done, there's a lot of tests; there are many conditions that can look like death. In Jon's case his mind and nerves were still active, meaning it would have been picked up on fairly quickly, but Jon would have been assumed dead until these tests were completed.

The thing with a case like this, is there's nothing the doctors can feasibly do; as Elias says, it's an unknown quantity. The most likely course of action would be to make him as comfortable as possible, and redo the death checks every so often. There would be no hope for his recovery, but legally the hospital would have to do this, and would be able to offer very little comfort.

Although of course you want your loved one to survive, many family members of coma patients confess to hoping that they'd just die. The limbo of waiting is impossible to process, and having them there but having no way to communicate with them can be excruciating. There's no way to properly grieve for someone if you always have it in the back of your mind that they could wake up.

Giving up on someone like that is terribly and awfully painful. You can tell them you're sorry all you want, but you'll always be thinking about how they'd have wanted you to stay. Having to create both sides of an interaction like that when truly you're in control of neither is simply impossible to recover from.

Every action Martin took after Jon's death was justified, logical, even. To succumb to the lonely after leaving the man you love, sentencing him to die alone?

It feels right.

3K notes · View notes

smellrain · 27 days

Text

𝐧𝐡𝟏𝟑 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭

in which: nico and you had met years ago in a cold rink in canada but then lost touch for several reasons. It's hard, growing and correcting mistakes of your past but you try anyway.

tags: written, angst, hopeful ending, mentions of: depression, injuries, hospitals, doctors, etc. (masterlist)

notes: [5.1k] I have no idea what this is? I woke up, wrote the entire thing and passed out again for 2 hours. Tried polishing it through editing? Yeah. It turned out a lot different than the rest of my stuff so far, so it's scary posting this. Come & tell me if you liked it.

The ice was as harsh as it was unforgiving.

The cold air of the rink has seeped into your bones years ago and the reddend tips of your fingers went numb a while ago, but you were used to it by now. Nothing really mattered when you got like this, too caught up in your head for anyone to reach.

Not even yourself.

You had been home and then suddenly not, your body already knowing what you needed before your mind caught up to it.

The rink wasn’t open, not yet, but you had gotten a key years ago. The owner, David, had been the only one that had looked at you the same back then. There had been a knowing sort of look in his eyes when he had seen you waiting for him at the front door stepps, eyes red.

He had given you a key, because he had seen you for who you were: a girl whose entire life had collapsed around her.

Bronze at fifteen, silver at sixteen, gold forever out of reach.

You could still remember the red pen tucked into your doctor’s coat. The ‘my condolences, but’, the white light, the letter in your hand, the sinking realisation that this was it.

That you were going to be one of the several girls that had pushed their body too far.

The same way you had done everything back then you had followed the instructions of your therapist to the letter. Stretching, compressions, different exercises. Still, there was no full recovery, no chance of ever skating professionally again.

That might be the worst part, still being able to skate but knowing that you will never be able to feel it anymore. That you were cursed to be in this limbo, never letting go of it but never being able to live for it anymore.

The harsh sound of your blade cutting over the fresh ice was as pleasant as it was torture. You wanted more, but you had to settle for this. You had to learn that this was all you were ever going to get.

These select few hours in the early morning, just before your classes started, before you had to start living your life.

You could feel yourself drawing harsh breaths, but it didn’t matter. You had pushed through worse, hunger, hurt and feelings just to stand here for a bit longer. The ringing in your ear accumulated when you thought about all that you had lost, that you could never regain.

Suddenly the heavy door of the entrance fell closed. You slowed down, curious who it might be. The clock in the corner of your vision reflected a red 05:57 back at you. It was too early for it to be anyone aside from David or another person with a key, someone like you.

It was a guy, a bag in his hand and another slung over his shoulder.

You would recognize the equipment anywhere, familiar with it in a distant way. It must be a hockey player that David had picked out out of the hundreds that frequented this place.

For some reason you already didn’t like him. Maybe because unlike you, he had the chance of actually archiving his dreams. Bitterness was an annoying but frecent emotion that stained the back of your mouth.

You wanted. You wanted more than this. You wanted the early morning practices, the ones after school, the rigidous schedule, the heavy monitoring. What were you without all that?

The static in your mind had been interrupted by his arrival but you hardly noticed, more focused on the way he walked down the stairs, casually like he had done so hundreds of times already.

It was almost six, which meant it was time to get off the ice anyways, so you circled a few laps, rotating your wrists and shoulders to feel if anything was off, and then made your way towards the outside of the rink.

“You look pretty,” said the boy from where he was tying his shoelaces up on the benches. “Out on the ice, I mean.”

Something in you hurt at that, as if your heart started pulling at its own strings. It’s been a while since anyone has watched you skate,, since you let someone else watch you. There was a sharp kind of anger rising up in you that it had been him watching you which dissipated as soon as you looked back at him.

It wasn’t his fault. There really was something wrong with you.

You knew your parents didn’t approve of you being here, but they couldn’t look at you anymore when you skated, disappointed that this was how it had ended. Disappointed in you.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice completely scraped raw. You hoped he didn’t notice it.

“I’m Nico,” he said, approaching you. He held out his hand. He wasn’t wearing gloves yet but his dark shirt had thumbholes that his thumb peeked through which was weirdly endearing on him.

You looked back up to his face. There was a tired but polite smile plastered on it but you didn’t have the energy to give him one. Instead you simply told him your name and took his hand. Even through his layer of fabric it was warm beneath your icy fingers.

He didn’t flinch at the cold of your hand and instead started genuinely smiling which took you by surprise. People didn’t react to meeting you like this, not anymore.

Then, without saying anything else, he took off his guards and stepped on the ice, skating around to warm up. You watched him for a bit while scraping off the excess ice and putting your skates away.

His skating was differentthan yours; not as delicate. The beauty of it had been hammered into you from an early age on which didn’t seem to be the case form him. It was weird, not being on the ice, being the one to watch instead.

You changed back into your shoes and walked up the steps.

From the top, which wasn’t all that high because this rink wasn’t that big, he seemed small. You wondered if you looked like that too, if anyone had thought that when you fell down, when they had seen you sprawled on the ice at fifteen, not being able to get up again.

A sick shudder passed through you. You wondered if you had ever gotten up from that ice.

Then you turned around, your back to him and left without saying goodbye.

~*~

The next time you saw him again, was two days later, just after six.

You knew you were going to be late for class but didn’t really care. Today you weren’t as cooped up in your own head, but it was still hard to let go of these stolen few hours of freedom and face reality.

“Hey,” Nico said, “it’s you again.”

“Hello,” you said in return. He stepped on the ice and you fought off the urge to leave immediately. That would be impolite, a voice reminded you in your head, even if you didn’t want him to be here right now.

“Are you here every morning?” he asked you, falling into step beside you and therefore joining you on your cooldown laps.

Your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. Couldn’t he just do his own thing? Did he have to come talk to you? “Yes.”

"Dedicated. I only come every second day,” he said as if it mattered to you. You might have to leave early every second day now to avoid talking to him, which made your scowl even worse.

“Okay.” You said instead.

He hummed in reason but dropped the conversation after. When you took a look at him from the corner of your eye he didn’t seem deterred at your attitude, seemingly just satisfied that he got a response.

After another lap in, you hated to admit it but companionable silence, you left, without saying anything but this time he waved back at you from below. You didn’t return his gesture.

~*~

Despite your early judgement, the two of you formed some kind of routine over the next few weeks. You came early, and sometimes you left a protein bar for him in the stands and sometimes he brought you a hot tea for when you got off the ice.

Still, always without fail, he joined you for a few laps. He talked about his life and sometimes asked you a few questions. Sometimes you answered him, other times you didn’t. He never pressed for answers.

Nico told you that he was from Switzerland, which explained the heavy accent. He just joined Halifax, and he came early to work on his technique, preferring to do so in silence without his teammates chirping at him. You, in turn, told him that you had skated, professionally, before your injury. He didn’t ask for details about either of these things and you didn’t share of your own accord.

Slowly, so slowly that you didn’t even notice, you realised that he had become your friend.

It was strange. You hadn’t made friends in a long time. Before, you had had school friends, but because you never hung out outside of it, always training, it never deepend.

A weird sort warmth seeped in under your skin at the thought of the two of you being friends like a steady fire that kept you warm at night.

The friends you had made while skating splintered along with your knee.

It was hard, you knew that, to see their worst fear reflected back at them, but it was still hard for you to reach out, so you simply stopped talking to each other.

On your bad days you thought that it was all their fault, on your good you knew that it was a mutual mistake.

The thing about Nico was that he was hard to pin down. He was hardworking, thrived under pressure and loved hockey. He was also afraid of falling and failing, he loved sitting under the sun in the summers, feeling his skin heat up and his favorite colour was green, but he admitted that it changed every few weeks.

You knew that this friendship wouldn’t last, not really. Neither of you had any way of reaching out to the other, and neither expressed the desire to do so but it was still nice, this tentative kinship.

~*~

“Have you ever played hockey?” he asked you, once.

It must have been a Saturday or Sunday because you were in no hurry to get off the ice, instead basking in his company.

“No,” you answered, simply.

He grinned, “you are missing out.”

“Really now?” you asked, teasingly, when you turned around to skate with your front to him.

“Really. I wanna teach you,” he said, leaving the choice up to you without outright asking. If you wanted to you could just brush it off and the conversation would continue.

Instead you said, “yeah, sure, why not.”

His smile was blinding, the adoration for his sport bleeding from every inch of his skin. It was a good look on him, happiness. Distantly you wondered if anyone had ever thought that about you.

It was different, skating with a stick in your hands but it was fun. He taught you how to shoot and aim at a certain spot which you weren’t half bad at if you stood still.

Hours later when the two of you stepped off the ice your tea was cold but you hardly noticed it.

~*~

Another day you asked him what he was reaching for.

“Olympics,” he had answered immediately but after a beat of silence he looked up as if the lights in the ceiling were stars he could wish upon. “I think I want someone to look at me and think ‘I want to do that. I want to start playing hockey.’”

You looked at him and the only thought that crossed your mind was that he was the reason you could step off the ice again, that you knew you would always be able to come back, just one more time.

“I like that,” you said because it was true.

He tilted his head back to you, and the way his eyes glimmered with a rare vulnerability made your breath catch. Or maybe that was just the effect he had on you, standing still, alive and just in reach.

Oh.

That was that feeling in your chest.

~*~

Yet another day he joined you on the ice and you immediately kicked him off again.

“What did I say about injuries?” you asked, frustrated in a way only he could make you.

“That they were not to be ignored,” he parroted back, his gaze between his feet as if staring at his ankle would magically heal it.

“Exactly,” you said. Then, gentler than before, “you need to give yourself time to heal, otherwise you will never get better.”

He looked back up to where you were hovering above him. “Okay.”

You didn’t want him to have the last word. “Okay,” you said firmly and sat down next to him.

The two migrated up to the changing rooms where he sat on a bench with his ankle elevated while you worked through your stretches, your knewww aching in phantom pain.

~*~

Today your mind was quiet.

It was your last time and you had wanted to take it all in again, one last time. You were moving, your father had gotten a new job somewhere in New Jersey. You knew it was good, a new start away from everything, a chance to start over.

But still, you were going to miss this. The rink, the quiet, the place you had grown up in. The place that was your prison as much as it was your salvation.

As you looked up towards the ceiling, the lights shining down on you, the dark gary that seemed black in contrast, you thought you should cry. This was the perfect moment to, and you hadn’t yet.

Then, the door opened.

You were surprised because he wasn’t supposed to be here today. Nico had been here yesterday and the two of you had argued about your favorite brand of cereal, and you selfishly had wanted to leave it at that.

To leave your friendship without having to say goodbye, without having to ever really let go of him.

“Nico,” you breathed, before you could stop yourself.

“Hey you,” he said, as he came up to you. You didn’t even realise that you had stopped moving.

“It’s late,” he stated. You looked up to the clock and sure enough, it was almost twenty past.

“Ah,” you said, uncaring. It’s not like you had school today. You wondered when he went to school, if his just started later than yours had. In all your talks you had never actually talked about it.

And you never were going to anymore, you had to remind yourself. Suddenly it was a lot harder to breathe through the ache in your chest.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and you knew he meant it, “you look, I don’t know, sad?”

“I’m moving,” before he could ask anything more, “like tomorrow. This is the last time I’m going to see you in a while.”

“Oh.” The expression on his face was hurt, because he must have realised that you had intended to leave without saying anything.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “for everything.” You weren’t really sure for what, but it seemed like the right thing to say. For your intentions, the way you acted, maybe.

“It’s okay,” he said, but it wasn’t, not really. You knew that and he knew that you knew.

“I’m moving to New Jersey.”

He was quiet for a bit.”America,” he started. Then, “do you want to exchange numbers?”

You ignored the sting behind your eyes. “I’m probably going to have to get a new simcard, but you can give me yours.”

The two of you skated back to the door, from where you had stood still in the middle of the open space. He got a piece of paper and a pen from his bag and then somewhat messily tore off the corner of a worksheet and scribbled down his number in blue ink and signed it with his name.

He looked up at you but neither of you said anything for a while. What was there to say, anymore?

“Don’t forget about me,” he ended up telling you and you reached out to hug him. He was warm under your hands, steady and you were going to miss this, him.

“Don’t forget me either,” you murmured into the crook of his neck.

Still, in the back of your mind, you knew that you were never going to use his number. You were going to cut off your old life before it could follow you to your new one. But for once you had told him the truth, you weren’t going to forget about him, probably ever.

And that was that. You said goodbye, waved and you left him there. He returned the gesture, face unreadable and you were sad that the last time he looked at you he wasn’t smiling.

From the top you looked down at him one last time. He seemed bigger now, compared to that first time you had looked down at him, still filled with bitterness.

Maybe that was just your imagination, or maybe it was his confidence after playing with his current team, after seeing his results pay off.

You turned and let the door fall closed behind you.

Then, and only then tears started to well up in your eyes. You ignored them and moved on. Always looking ahead, never back.

Still, you kept the number tucked away safely hidden in a small corner of your wallet. A piece of him that you would always carry with you.

~*~

You made new friends, graduated and decided to attend college. Got diagnosed with chronic depression and mild anxiety, got a boyfriend and broke it off again after three months, cried, laughed and finally lived.

But there was part of you hidden in the corner of your wallet, too.

~*~

If you were being honest, Nico didn’t really cross your mind when your friend asked you to go to a hockey game with you.

In a way he did, because he had been one of your few friends that played hockey, but it was more of an oh yeah, the sport Nico loved and not oh yeah I’m going to a hockey game and I wonder if Nico is still playing, I wonder if he made it to the big leagues.

Okay, maybe that was a bit of a lie, but still. You hadn’t expected this.

The two of you went to the Prudential Center and you were excited despite your earlier apprehension. Your phone with the blocked tags of icehockey and nhl seemed to burn a hole in your pants but it’s not like anyone would know.

Your friend had told you a bit about the team, but if you were being honest, you could not remember any of their names, much less which position and line they played.

When the players got announced, the home team first, you froze. Suddenly the noise of the cheers around you were completely quiet until they flooded back to you, a harsh reminder of reality.

Because it was him. That was Nico. Your Nico. Or like your past Nico.

There, with a red thirteen and a small C over his chest, was Nico. He was all grown up now, and instead of thinking wow, he is kind of attractive when he smiled at the camera, you thought, holy shit, he is really, really handsome.

Your friend picked up on your strange behaviour. “What's wrong?”

I know him, you wanted to scream. I think he saved my life without meaning to, and I think I loved him but I never told him. What came out instead was, “I think I'm going to be sick.”

“What?” she asked, suddenly even more worried, “do you need fresh air? Or do you just want to leave?”

You wanted to stay. You wanted to shoot a puck at his head and tell him to look up at you, the way he had done back then.

“No, don’t worry about it,” you said and when didn’t change at your reply, you added, “I’m just going to get some water. I think it might be the crowd or something.”

“Are you sure? Do you want me to come with?”

You knew how much she had been looking forward to it, and besides there was nothing she could help you with anyhow. “No, really, it’s all good. Just need to breathe for a second.”

She gave you a look, and you smiled despite wanting to curl up in a corner and cry, “if you are sure. But if anything,” she took your hand in hers, “if anything is wrong call me. I’m gonna have my phone in my hand the entire time.”

You squeezed her hand the same way your heart did at her words. “Thank you, really, but it’s okay. I'll be right back.”

Then you fled up the stands and you couldn’t help but think about the first time you had seen him, how you had left without saying anything. You looked down, just once, and spotted him immediately, as if he was the north pole to your south, your eyes drawn to him.

He seemed even bigger now, as if he had finally grown into the steady confidence he had had, even back then.

You smiled. He deserved it, genuinely. You were glad that he did end up making it to the big leagues, even if some part of you hurt at that. You still missed ice skating, your rink from back then, David, but most of all you missed what could have been if you hadn’t been scared.

What could have been if you had just texted him.

Regret was a useless emotion to feel, but all of a sudden you felt yourself drown in and you coughed once, just to ease that feeling in your throat.

Then you turned your back to the ice and walked up the rest of the stairs to the stands to get yourself some water.

It was useless trying to think about any of it now, so you pushed the thoughts aside for later.

~*~

A week later you were drunk. It was a Friday evening and you had finally finished the gruelling lab you had worked on for the entire day.

You were hanging out in your friend’s room, the same friend that had taken you to the game a week before. Two of your other friends were sat ob the floor, leaning gainst the opposite bed and a warm, content feeling spread through your chest.

You had friends now.

“What’s wrong?” she suddenly asked from where she was sat next to you on her bed, her back against the headboard, yours against the wall adjacent to it.

“Nothing,” you answered because nothing was.

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me, tell me,” she said, “you've been quiet ever since we came back from the game a week ago and I’ve waited long enough for you to say something, so now I’m going to.”

Had you been that obvious? Or did she just know you that well? Either way, she deserved the truth, the full truth.

“I just,” you began and stopped again, starting to peel off the sticker on your beer with the blunt edge of your nail.

“When I was younger, I skated.” You started. You knew that she had never expressed any kind of interest in skating so you elaborated further, “really well.” Wow, you were really eloquent tonight.

“Okay,” she said, no doubt wondering where you were going with this.

Your mind was fuzzy around the edges because of the drinks which made harder than usual to focus on your words, but it made it easier to talk about it, too. These people didn’t know about anything that had been, only what was. “I was good enough to win. Olympics, I mean.”

Suddenly one of the other two friends from the other side of the room joined in. “The Olympics?”

“Yeah,” you said, staring firmly at the bottle in your hands, not looking at any of them. “I won bronze and silver, fifteen and sixteen.”

“Holy shit,” she said, as did your other friend, but one of them remained quiet, so you looked at her.

From the look in her eyes you knew that she knew. “And then I fell, badly. Tried to get up again but couldn’t. Went to the doctor and you know,” you trailed off, “retired. Started physiotherapy, got a lot better but…”

“Not enough to ever compete again,” she finished for you.

“Yeah,” you said, voice hoarse. “But I couldn’t let go of it, you know? So sometimes, before school, I snuck out to the local rink and skated around just because I didn’t know anything else.”

Your friend that was next to you on the bed made an encouraging noise, and laid a hand on your knee, so you continued.

“Then I met a guy. I was in a bad mental place, not really talking to anyone unless I had to, but we somehow became friends.”

Then you looked at them, “I don’t know, it was a weird friendship because we only ever saw each other at the rink every few days, but I felt something for him anyway. It wasn’t quite love but could have been, maybe.”

The others were still listening, and the words rushed out before you could stop yourself. “Then I moved. Wanted to leave before saying goodbye because that would hurt too much. On the day I was leaving I saw him anyway. He gave me his number but I never used it.”

“You wanted to make a clean cut?” your friend asked.

“Yeah. It was sefish, because it wasn’t just about me, you know? I should have told him how I felt, but I didn’t.” You shook your head, “but that’s not even the point. I saw him again at the game.”

“Oh,” your friend that had dragged you to it, said.

“Yeah,” you answered, and your other friend asked, “why didn’t you talk to him?”

The other friend, the one that had never asked you about your skating, even though she had known, even though she had every opportunity to, said, “because he was playing, right?”

“Yeah,” you said and you wanted to cry. You could still hear his name announced by the speakers. “Funny, all the time we spent together and I never knew his last name.”

“Who is it?” she asked, gentle, and you knew you could just not answer. You could bury it deep down, once and for all. But that’s not what you wanted to do, not anymore.

“Nico Hischier.” And your friend laughed.

“Of course it’s the captain,” she said and you couldn’t help but join in, the effects of the alcohol cursig through your veins. What were the chances, really? That he ended up in the state you had moved to all those years ago.

The others joined it. “He changed his number by now, I’m sure.”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” one of them said.

All of you were quiet for a second. “Wait, I have an idea,” she said and moved her hand from your leg and grabbed your phone.

She gave it to you and made a motion for you to unlock it. You did and gave it back to her. From where you were sat you weren’t able to see your screen, much less what she typed on it.

After a few seconds she gave it back to you.

It was Nico’s instagram profile. You hesitated before clicking on his most recent post. Your other friends that had been sitting on the floor climbed up to join you.

“Follow him,” one of them said. You could feel your heart thumping in your chest. This was not the account you had used to document your wins and training back then, but it still had your first and last name in the username, but it was on private.

Underneath your thumb the button changed colour. “Fuck,” you said.

The other three laughed at your exclamation. “Wait, do I text him?” you asked, turning to the others.

They all looked back at you, and one of them asked, “do you want to?”

You did. You really fucking did, but you had no idea what to say. “But what do I say? Hey, sorry for being a dick to you when we were like seventeen, I was half in love with you and didn’t know how to tell you, so I just cut you out before anything could possibly hurt me.”

One of them leaned her head on your shoulder. “If you leave out the half in love part, it’s not too bad.”

“You should also ask if he wants to meet and talk in person,” the other said.

You opened your notes app and the four of you composed a message to him.

Your hands were shaking and your heart was beating too fast. This was it, this was your chance and you weren’t going to let go again without a fight. This time you would stay and he could make the choice: to stay or to leave.

Then, you hit the small blue icon and sent it and let out a quiet scream. You wouldn’t be able to take it back, not anymore.

You threw your phone away from you onto a small patch where the blanket you were sitting on was still visible.

Over an hour passed and you still hadn’t heard back from him. Soon after you pased out, but a quiet acceptance had settled in your stomach. He forgot. Or maybe he didn’t see the message or maybe he didn't want to talk to you again, which you couldn’t blame him for.

But when you woke up the next morning, you had a single notification from him.

For a second you debated not clicking on it, but that would mean standing still. It would be different this time. You would be different this time. There was an unfamiliar, new kind of determination that flickered up your spine and it reminded you of the steady ice under your skates, of the final hug the two of you had shared. Harsh, unforgiving, certain.

You clicked on it and there was no going back now.

Nico Hischier Hello, it’s been a while. Of course I remember you, didn’t I tell you? For sure, I'd love to meet up and talk. Does next weekend work for you? I have a home game which makes it easier for both of us.

notes: So. How are we feeling? Thoughts? Part 2? Please talk to me about this one because this lives in my mind rent free.

#nico hischier #nico hischer x reader #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier x y/n #nico hischier imagine #nhl #nj devils #nhl imagine #nhl x y/n #nhl x you #nhl x reader #ame writes

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14buddy22 · 3 months

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Hello!! Can i request an angst to fluff hotch x reader fic. Basically hotch and bau! reader are together and then something comes up from reader’s past that makes hotch question their relationship, they have this huge fight and hotch says something that hurts the reader so much, a bunch of yearning later the two make up. pls make it really angsty with a very fluffy end!

Getting His Last Name

Warnings: angst, fluff, guns, stalkers, blood, hospitals.

Aaron's P.O.V. is italicized :)

Your relationship was a fairytale. Well, not exactly a fairy tale, but he treated you like a princess. He was your Prince Charming.

You were certain about that.

You knew you loved him. You had ever since you laid eyes on him. Actually, no, not since you first laid eyes on him because you were in a relationship with someone else.

You fell in love with him when he showed up at your apartment to check up on you after one of the worst days in your life. You were held hostage, the person you were held hostage with died, and then your boyfriend broke up with you that night. Saying that he had cheated on you and he had to come clean since he felt guilty. He hadn't even asked about your day.

Aaron told you that night that he just so happened to be walking by your apartment. He had your favorite take out food that you and him had ate in his office to work on case files together.

When he saw your mascara smeared and running down your face, he knew he was not leaving your apartment that night. He wasn't going to leave you alone until he knew you were okay.

He didn't know about the boyfriend part until he asked you what else was making you upset.

That was the moment you fell in love with him. When he knew something else was going on and when you realized he wasn't going to leave you alone for the night.

Here you are now, you two had been dating for 2 years, engaged for 3 months. You two were cleaning your home, Jack was spending the weekend with a friend.

When you were singing and cleaning the bathroom, Aaron began to call your name. Pausing your music, you followed his voice into your shared closet.

He was holding a case file. You knew what that case file was. You never wanted him to find it.

"Aar-"

He cut you off. You hurt him. You could see it in his eyes. You had a past. You didn't want anyone to find out. You're afraid Aaron just had.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't. You have to understand. Please."

"I let you know my son. I let you know me. I've told you things about me that no one else knows, and you couldn't tell me this. Tell me that the woman I'm engaged to is in witness protection?"

"Aaron. I'm sorry."

"No -Y/n. Wait, is that even your name? You know what. It doesn't matter. You should have told me this."

"I'm no longer in witness protection."

"What do you have to say for yourself, Y/n/n? Why couldn't you tell me this? What made you feel that you couldn't trust me?"

You were teary eyed. You never thought that the man you loved would ever make you upset. But here we were and it's all because you had a secret you never told him. You never wanted to tell anyone.

"Since you don't have an explanation for me, we'll finish cleaning the respective rooms and uh, I'll sleep in the guest bedroom."

You weren't going to let him do that. This was his house to begin with. You moved in. You could at least tell him you'd at least be sleeping in the guest room.

"No, Aar. I'll sleep in the guest room. This is your house."

He dropped the case file on the table and walked out past you.

You hurt him. He's been hurt before and you promised you'd never hurt him again. But you broke him. After slowly helping piece him back together, you broke him apart. This broke him and it's your fault. You saw his look of disappointment, despair, heart break.

You waited until the light turned off in the hallway. A sign that he was heading to bed. You pulled out the case file. Looking over your past, what made you into who you are today.

Being in witness protection changes you. You have to lead this life you never wanted to. Come up with small, but smilier lies about your life just to fabricate this made up story to keep you safe.

You had an unsub who was obsessed with you before you entered the BAU. In a different unit, yet, you interviewed him when he wasn't a suspect. Then he became obsessed. Would send you flowers, chocolates, would leave notes on your apartment door.

It freaked you out and that's when you entered witness protection. You changed your name, just your last name, though. You changed little life of your details, but you were going to stay this way. You never wanted to go back to who you were until your stalker was dead.

However, your stalker wasn't caught until a year into your witness protection. That had been the 1st year you joined the BAU. You've been working for the BAU for 4 years.

Your stalker had been in prison for 3 years. Your relationship with Aaron being together for a little over 2 years. You should have told him. You knew that. You felt bad. But you wanted to protect him as well. You knew if you told him, he'd go looking into it. Possibly even go visit the prison your stalker was at and intimidate him.

You never wanted that. He told you what happened when Haley and Jack went into witness protection. Granted that was 8 years ago. But it still hurt him to this day.

You decided to cry yourself to sleep. Not knowing how you had royally fucked it up between you and Aaron. You never wanted to hurt him but you did. You were going to have to live with that for forever.

Waking up the next morning, you decided you'd get a head start. You and Aaron could drive separate instead of together. You didn't know how he'd be.

But when you went to grab clothes, you noticed the hallway light on, which meant he had left already. It was only 6am. Yes, he was up early, but he never left early ever since you moved in.

Getting showered and dressed for a casual day, you decided to stop and get breakfast for everyone. You knew the team was going to be in for a rough one today after yours and Aaron's event last night, so why not try to make it a bit better?

Leaving the house and arriving at your favorite coffee shop, you saw a little kid crying. You couldn't just ignore it being an agent and just being a good person.

You knelt down to the little boy and said, "Hi, I'm Y/n. What's going on today, buddy? Can I help you?"

Aaron's P.O.V.

Rossi said, "Where's Y/n?"

"Her and I drove separate. I didn't want to wake her up."

Strauss came knocking on my door with the director of the FBI trailing behind her.

"Where's Y/n?"

I explained that we drove separate. I made up the excuse that I didn't want to wake her up since I got here early. I didn't have the heart to tell them that it's because I was so hurt by her last night that I wasn't ready to see her again this morning after I found out the truth she's been hiding.

"She'll be in shortly, but as her unit chief, what do you need her for?"

"Agent Y/l/n, was in witness protection when she came into the BAU. There was a prison break last night. Y/n's stalker was one of the prisoner's who escaped.

I knew that all the color had drained from my face. She would have been at work now, surely she would have. She was amazing, always on time. Usually early. But now that she wasn't here, I was scared. What if last night was the last conversation I had with her. I was upset by finding out she was in witness protection. She should have told me. I would have protected her more.

"I-I don't know where she is. Let me try and call her."

"We tried. She didn't answer."

I grabbed my phone from my pocket and found her contact name. I called her, praying she'd pick up before it got to voicemail.

You saw Aaron was calling you. You knew if you didn't pick up, that'd be cruel for him, but you were trying to help this little boy. You decided to pick it up.

"Don't answer it."

The little boy looked at you, but you recognized that voice from anywhere. You ID'd that voice, you testified in court, you were put in witness protection from that voice.

"Hello Y/n. Did you miss me?"

Aaron's P.O.V.

Voicemail. Damn it. Where the hell is she? We need to get all the information we can on this guy and dig into her past life. Unfortunately I wasn't an expert on her as I thought I was. I thought I knew everything.

But was everything in our relationship a lie?

It was weird to be at a house that you once kicked the door in. Arrested this guy. it was weird. But you were here. In a home, tied up in the basement.

You were scared. You knew what he did to the women. He raped and tortured them. He stalked them first. And now he had you at his mercy. If you wanted to survive, you had to comply. Fighting would make it worse. He liked it when they put up a fight.

You had blacked out again and you don't know from what. You remember drinking water in the car. He must have roofied you.

Rossi walked in with Garcia and said, "We got her last known location, we got security footage, we were able to track his plates. He went to the home that Y/n arrested him at. He didn't try anything tricky. Which means..."

I stopped in my tracks. Knowing exactly what it meant.

"It means that my fiancé is his end game."

Chills ran down my spine. We didn't have time to waste. If I wanted to find her alive, we had to go now. When we looked through his case file, he was not sticking to his routine. The love of my life was his end game. He knew it, I knew it.

Speeding to the house, I just needed her to be okay. Her and I would be okay. Jack needed her to come home. I needed her to come home. She was the love of my life. Not was, I had to hope she's still alive. She is the love of my life.

I got out of the car, pulling my gun out. My bulletproof vest feeling tighter than ever. Did I tighten it too much? Has it always been this tight?

My mind was racing. As I kicked in the door, I thought about Y/n kicking in this door 3 years ago. Except today, I'm afraid someone isn't coming out alive.

My team checked the house until we found a hidden door to a basement. As I opened the door, I made my way downstairs. Finding a room. When I walked in, Y/n was there. Her stalker, Chris, was holding her at gun point.

I held my breath in my throat. I couldn't be scared. I had to be strong right now. Y/n was looking at me.

"Aaron."

That's all you could muster up when you saw Aaron. Sweating a little bit. Worried written all over his face. Tears filling his eyes. You put him in this situation. You should have been more careful. You should have told him that you were in witness protection.

"I'm sorry, Aaron. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry. We're gonna be okay. I love you."

Chris said, "You can't have her. I want her. I've wanted her for 4 years Hotchner. She's mine now."

"I will never be with you."

You looked at Aaron. He was reading you right now. You were hoping he knew what you were going to do. You saw him slightly shake his head no, but you wanted to just be by Aaron.

You kicked your foot to Chris' ankle and he knelt to the ground. It seemed like everything happened in slow motion. He let you go, you began to run to Aaron when you felt a piercing pain in your lower back and abdomen.

You saw Aaron's eyes widened and then you heard another gun shot. You think it happened at the same time you hit the ground. But all you could focus on was Aaron.

You saw the tears roll down his face now. Everything was muffled. Maybe it was the gunshots still ringing in your ear. Aaron had to have shot him, right? Chris was dead.

Then you saw Rossi leaning over you as well.

"He's gone. Chris is dead and you're going to be alright. Right kiddo?"

You felt the blood you were losing. This wasn't a normal amount, right? Maybe it was. You hadn't been shot before so you weren't sure.

"Aar."

As you began to talk, you felt blood coming from your mouth. Was this right? No. It couldn't have been.

"Hey. Hey sweetheart. The paramedics are here. You're going to be okay. I love you so much. Okay. Chris is dead. You're free from witness protection. You're so strong. I'm not mad at you."

"I'm sorry, Aar. I never meant to hurt you."

Watching her lose that much blood scared me. I didn't lose this much blood when I was stabbed 9 times. Blood coming from her mouth wasn't a good sign. I was going to lose her. I was right when I said someone wasn't coming out of this house alive. I was hoping it was Chris. While he was dead, I didn't want to lose Y/n either.

She was losing blood and losing it fast. She was coughing up blood next. This wasn't good. No, no, no. Please, no.

"I need you to keep your eyes open for me. Please honey. Please."

I leaned down to kiss her forehead. Giving me something to hold onto. I watched her eyes closed. She still had a pulse, but where the hell were the paramedics. We're losing her. We're losing her too fast.

The paramedics arrived within the next 5 minutes. Their training took over. All I could do was sit back and watch. The blood from Y/n's words staining my shirt.

The ride in the ambulance was terrible. I watched the love of my life lose her life. Flatline, then be brought back to life. Still losing blood.

As she was rushed into surgery. All I could do was wait. I sat there. Watching everyone else around me. My world stopped and their world was still going on.

After multiple hours of sitting there, a doctor came out to be met with me and my team.

"Y/n Y/l/n?"

"I'm her fiancé. Is. Is she okay?"

"It was touch and go for a while, but we managed to stop the blood, give her blood transfusion and she's alive, and expected to make a full recovery. She's awake and she's asking for Aaron."

I felt a sense of relief wash over me. She was going to be okay. I'm going to marry her. It didn't matter what her last name was before she met me. It doesn't matter what her last name was now, she's going to be Y/n Hotchner someday.

Walking into the hospital room, she looked small and fragile in that bed. But that was the opposite, she was strong. I'm so proud of her, she had to know that.

"I'm so sorry we went to bed mad last night. Let's never do that again. I love you, Y/n. I want to know all about you before witness protection. I want you to tell me everything that you will let me. Just never leave me, okay?"

"I love you Aaron Hotchner. Now let's get married the minute I get out of here so I can get rid of this last name I never wanted. I've always wanted yours."

He got next to you in the hospital bed and held you in his arms. Both of you sharing a kiss. You felt so happy to be alive. You felt so relieved that he loved you. You felt excited that in three days, when you did leave the hospital, you were on your way to the courthouse to officially become "Y/n Hotchner."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner

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pb524830 · 2 months

Text

anyone else

part: epilogue pairing: paige bueckers x oc word count: 8.2k c/w: sexual content, language, injury a/n: .... surprise!!!! i want to give the biggest shoutouts in the world to @imaginespazzi, @iminlovewithpaigebueckers, and @sellaspeaks. this fic truly could not have happened without them. i cannot tell you how many times i have bothered them with new ideas or snippets and they've offered their help. i <3 them.

AUGUST 2, 2022

I hate this hospital.

It’s enormously shitty to say. It’s state of the art, clean, smells vaguely like a hospital might. All in all, it’s an excellent facility.

I still fucking hate it.

It’s suffocatingly quiet. I clear my throat to break the silence.

“Do you, uh… do you need water?”

Paige stares ahead blankly, shaking her head. “Are you hungry?” I fidget uncomfortably. She’s not crying or angry or really anything at all. It’s disconcerting, to say the least. She shakes her head again wordlessly. I chew the inside of my cheek, wishing I had the right words to say to her, but I just don’t.

The pickup game had been just like any other. Paige would take any opportunity to hoop. You could tell she felt most at home with the ball in her hands. She looked the most natural with it there, too. Sometimes, when she couldn’t think, she’d shoot a mini ball into the hoop on the back of her door, or dribble a ball between her legs, much to the chagrin of my downstairs neighbors. But I loved that about her. I loved watching her play the sport she loved, so I pretended to let her convince me to come to her pickup games. She’d drag me to these things and I’d sit with a book in my hands or my laptop perched on my legs, but my eyes were on her the whole time - watching her smile and laugh and pretending as though those two things weren’t my entire world.

I was watching her when she went down again.

It was like deja vu. Like watching her get hurt last December all over again. She was writhing at the floor, grasping at her knee, and I was at her side instantly.

She’d tell me later that she’d felt her ACL tear, felt it pop and just about heard it, too. She’d tell me that the second she felt my hand at the small of her back, the pain was more or less gone. I’d laugh at her tearfully, resisting the urge to kiss her and finding it impossible not to love her and her stupid heart.

Now, I watch her wallow in her own thoughts, assuming the worst, hoping for something maybe a little better. She hasn’t moved since we came out of the MRI room to sit in the waiting room. Caroline and Azzi and a couple of the other girls are here, too.

Suddenly, Paige’s hand inches towards mine. She doesn’t glance around to see if someone is watching, so I don’t either. I just take her hand quietly, intertwining our fingers and squeezing. Carefully, we shift so that her head can rest against my shoulder, and her good leg bends to plant on the couch, resting against my body. I bring our hands to my mouth, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles, and rub soothing circles onto her hand with my thumb.

And though Paige hasn’t said anything, I can tell from the way she grips my hand that she’s fucking terrified.

A pang runs through me. Is this what it had been like last time? When I’d just left the next morning?

I hadn’t been there for the MRI.

I hadn’t been there for her surgery. She’d texted me that day to tell me happy birthday.

Fuck. I don’t deserve her.

I glance down at her, and her blue eyes are trained on me. I place a kiss, one meant just for the two of us, on her forehead. I really, really don’t deserve her. I vow to myself, and to her, that I’ll stay until I do.

OCTOBER 20, 2022

“Go back to sleep.”

“But it’s my birthday.”

“You never wake up earlier than 9 A.M.,” I groan, smothering Paige’s face with my hand. I feel something wet on the inside of my palm, and I shoot up to a sitting position, my eyes wide with disbelief. “Did you just lick me?” I demand. Her smile is sheepish, but there’s a childlike, triumphant glimmer in her eyes. “You’re up, aren’t you?” She reasons.

I smack her forehead lightly with the heel of my palm. “You’re so stupid,” I chide, but I let her pull me into her and push my body against the bed again. She hovers over me, her hair curtaining our faces as she grins down at me. I fight a smile as I look back up at her, taking in the stark blue of her eyes, slightly puffy from sleep, her full bottom lip. “You want a picture?” She teases, watching me watch her. “Shut up,” I tell her softly, then loop an arm around her neck to pull her lips to mine.

God, I love kissing this girl.

I sometimes think that if I did nothing but kiss her, just rolling around in her sheets that smell like her, getting to kiss those lips that taste like her, I’d feel pretty fulfilled with what I’d done in life.

She pulls away, and I make a face at her. “You have morning breath,” I inform her.

Paige smiles down at me, knowing what I really mean.

Kiss me again and never stop kissing me.

She pecks my lips again, pulling back to look at me.

“Your eyes are so fuckin’ pretty,” she mumbles. She traces my lips with her finger. “Damn. I really get to wake up to you everyday?” I laugh hoarsely, shrugging to the best of my ability from where I’m trapped in her arms. “That’s what they’re saying,” I laugh, and I reach up to kiss her again, several soft, repeated pecks as my hand steadies her jaw.

She sighs, separating us again, but she keeps her eyes on my face. I shift uneasily. “What? Do I have something in my teeth?” I ask. She shakes her head, eyes glued to mine.

“I love you.”

My heart stops. And then it starts again, beating a million miles a minute.

“What?” I breathe.

She chuckles, tugging on a curl of my hair. “I said ‘I love you’, dumbass.”

I recover from my shock, slowly grinning at her. We’d been skirting around this for months. We both knew, possibly since the day we met, that we were head over heels. Ruined for life, well and truly smitten, and any other possible iteration of the words ‘hopelessly in love’. But saying it out loud felt… scary? Maybe, I don’t know.

It also felt like such a mundane way to describe how I felt about her.

I mean, how could those three words possibly encapsulate the way I wanted to bottle up the sound of her laughter? The way her touch made me feel whole, the way I felt that in this life and in every other life, I would search every fucking corner of the earth for her if it meant I could kiss her just once?

“Say that again,” I say.

Her eyebrows raise. “I love you?” She says, almost as a question.

I turn us over to crawl on top of her, cupping her face in my hands. I smooch a cheesy kiss against her mouth, peppering kisses on her cheeks. “Again,” I demand, smiling. She laughs. “I love you, Ava.” I place kisses all over her face, loving the way she giggles under me before wiggling out of my hold to squeeze my body against hers. “I think there’s something you’re supposed to say back,” she muses.

I raise an eyebrow. “The feeling is not mutual,” I deadpan. For a moment, her face drops and her grip on me loosens. I feel a little bad immediately, but I grin at her anyway. “I love you too, headass,” I admit, and she smiles in relief. “Don’t ever do that shit again,” she warns me, but she kisses me again, and just like all the other times, it feels so right.

DECEMBER 13, 2022

“He just wants your autograph. Or a picture, probably.”

“He’s staring at you,” Paige gripes.

I roll my eyes, kicking her under the table. We had come out to this cheap diner for my birthday because I’d let Paige pick the spot and because neither of us really cared where we went. She’d spoiled me all day. That NIL money is really something; a huge bouquet of flowers as soon as I woke up, a Van Cleef bracelet, a promise ring (which I’d begrudgingly cried over), and tickets to a Timberwolves game (we’re both from Minnesota). Besides, the diner is very us - we’d come here over two years ago.

According to Paige, it was where she realized she was really falling for me. I called bullshit.

Now, she’s shooting daggers at our poor waiter, who’s been nervous and flustered all night. Unfortunately, Paige is under the impression that everyone in the world wants me. Realistically, the gangly teenager who’s been refilling our waters all night is probably just a huge fan.

“Here’s the check. Can I get you anything else?” The boy - his name tag says Daniel - just about stutters. He can’t be more than sixteen. Paige narrows her eyes at him, and he gulps, averting his eyes to me. Paige takes the check, handing him her card. She never lets me pay for a damn thing, so I just sneak the occasional twenty into her sock drawer.

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Paige asks him. I shoot her a look, startled. “Huh?” He stammers. Oh, this poor kid. I kick her under the table again, but she doesn’t stop. “Do you think she’s pretty?” She asks again, her tone disturbingly serious. Daniel looks frozen, his eyes wide as he looks between me and her. “Uh… yes?” He tries. He sounds positively petrified. Paige nods, tapping the pen against the table. “I do, too,” she hums thoughtfully. She reaches for my hand, tapping the ring on my finger. “So I put a ring on it.” I gape at her, my cheeks burning. No fucking way.

Poor Daniel still looks extremely confused, so she rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. “She’s taken, idiot,” she spells out for him. He immediately begins spluttering. “Oh, I didn’t… I wasn’t- like, she’s very pretty- you’re very pretty- but I wasn’t hitting on her. I just… wanted a p-picture?” He rushes all of this out in one breath, turning to me, then back to Paige.

I glare at Paige, whose lips are pursed and whose eyes are wide with guilt. “Oh,” she intones. “Yeah. Yeah, of course,” she amends quickly, standing up to take the picture with him. In my head, I alternate between bursting out laughing and banging my head against the table.

Paige has always been a very possessive person, but ever since we made things official last semester, she’s taken it to a whole new level. If we’re at parties, she keeps a hand at the small of my back or draped lazily around my shoulder. She knows I’m not huge on the PDA, so she fends people off with the small things.

If she could, she’d shove her tongue down my throat every time someone so much as glanced in my direction.

I decide once we exit the diner that laughter is the only viable option.

I guffaw at her, doubling over and elbowing her in the side as we walk towards her car. “Stop it,” she complains. I can’t, quite frankly, and I’m laughing so hard my side starts to hurt. “You’re so fucking stupid,” I gasp. “Okay, yeah, I overreacted a little. You can’t tell me it didn’t look like he wanted you,” she argues.

I howl as I tug her car door open, my body shaking with laughter as I hop up into the passenger seat. “Oh, my gosh,” I gasp. “I can’t believe that just happened. And you thought you were so tough, too.” Paige looks offended, climbing into the car and pushing her key into the ignition. “Yo, what? I was! Bro, he was shitting himself!” I laugh even harder at this and she pouts.

“Nah, actually, I’m gonna let every guy who wants you make a pass at you. Fuck do I look like?” She demands, glaring at me, pulling the key out of the ignition. I calm down, grabbing her bicep and rubbing her arm to appease her. “You did great, baby. Thank you for defending my honor from a sixteen year old,” I say, trying to stay straight-faced, but the last part of the sentence sets me off.

“Ava!” She complains again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“It’s not funny!”

“It’s kind of funny.”

Paige lunges over to the passenger seat, entrapping me in her embrace, her arms tight around my body. “You ungrateful little shit,” she scolds playfully. “I put my life on the line for you just now.” I gape at her. “You had at least half a foot on him,” I inform her. She shakes her head, gazing at me.

“You know how I get about you,” she reminds me quietly, searching my eyes.

I sigh, giving her a kiss. “I know. That’s why I’m not mad,” I remind her, and she pulls a face at me, returning back to the driver’s seat reluctantly.

“It’s hot, most of the time,” I admit. She smirks at me, backing out of the parking space with one hand on the wheel, the other braced on the back of my seat. “Oh, yeah?” She asks. I nod, taking her hand when she rights the car.

“Mhm. Just not when you’re about to beat the shit out of a tenth grader.”

“Fuck off.”

DECEMBER 2022

Drew hides behind his dad, peering out at me. We’ve just reached her dad’s house in Virginia, and we’re planning on spending Christmas here with her family and Azzi’s. Paige’s house is warm and cozy, her basketball memorabilia hanging on walls or balanced on shelves. There’s pictures of her from all ages, at ten, with her jersey hanging loose off of her slender shoulders, a sheepish smile on her face. At twenty-one, her frame filled out, her chest puffed, shoulders broad, smirk wide.

“Drew, it’s okay,” Paige soothes, beckoning him closer. Paige’s little brother’s eyes flick to her, and they light up when he remembers that she’s here, too. My heart swells as he barrels towards her, nearly knocking her back with a hug. She lets out an exaggerated grunt as she picks him up. It’s so cute that it’s almost suffocating.

Drew locks his arms around his sister’s neck, burying his face into her shoulder. “I missed you, Paigey,” he mumbles. He glances at me, and then his eyes go wide again, before he hides his face back in his sister’s shirt. “Hey, Drew. Come on. Say hi,” Paige urges. I laugh. My nephew is the same way around new people. “P, it’s okay,” I reassure her. I’m more than happy to watch the two of them interact.

Drew chances another glance at me, watching me quietly. He turns to Paige to whisper in her ear. Her mouth twitches into a smile at what he says. “She is very pretty,” she appears to agree. Drew hits her on the arm. “Paigey!” He whines, his face growing a little red. I laugh at this, inching closer. “Well, Drew, I think you are very handsome,” I tell him. His mouth twists, lips pursing, before he relents, a small smile on his face. “Really?” He asks. I nod. “I think we could be really good friends,” I sing-song, and he grins at this, clambering off from his sister to come stand in front of me.

I give him my hand to shake, and he takes it eagerly. Paige watches us, eyes flicking between me and her brother. “I’m Avantika,” I introduce myself. “Avantika,” he mumbles quietly, nodding. He looks up at me, his innocent eyes wide. “Your name is pretty, too,” he says in awe. I laugh again at that, and Paige frowns. “Drew,” she warns. “What?” He demands, his tiny hands on his hips as he turns to sass his sister. He really is her little mini-me, right down to the attitude.

“Can I pick you up?” I ask him. Drew nods eagerly, and I edge my hands under his armpits, hoisting him onto my hip. He hesitates before wrapping his arms around my shoulders, and I nearly die from how sweet it is. He lurches back, his eyes wide as he stares at his sister. “She smells like cookies!” He exclaims gleefully, and I giggle even harder at that, squeezing him to me.

- Paige’s Point of View -

It’s official. My nine year old brother has stolen my girlfriend.

He’s colonized her lap, sitting with her on the couch to regale her with stories of his rec team’s basketball escapades, or how much he despises this one girl in his fourth grade class. I narrow my eyes.

“... Switch with Paige,” Ava is saying. I snap out of my trance. “Sorry?” I ask for clarification. Ava grins wickedly at me. “I was telling Drew that since I like him so much better, you guys should switch. You stay here and I’ll take him back to Storrs.” Drew nods happily at this, nestling further into Ava’s lap.

“Okay, that’s enough,” I huff, reaching over to tug Drew off of my girlfriend, but he holds fast to her. “No!” He yells, kicking at me. “No?” I demand. He shakes his head adamantly, and Ava squeezes him to her. “No,” she affirms. I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Drew, I’m not playing with you right now. If you steal my girl, I will fight you,” I tell him. Ava rolls her eyes, turning to him. “We all know you would win that,” she reassures him. He giggles, and she places a big kiss on his temple.

My heart swells watching her with him, seeing him snuggle into her as she shows him pictures on her phone, or the rapt attention with which she listens to him talk.

I get a sudden vision - the two of us, in our own house. She’s done with medical school, I’ve been in the league a few years, and the kitchen is tiled with sage green. We’d argued over it, because I’d wanted purple, I’m sure, but I couldn’t say no to her. I never could. I kiss her good morning, and she hands me coffee, something saccharine sweet with a new flavor of creamer I’ve dared to try that week. And there’s a miniature her, or me, but probably her, because she’d just be so easy to love. Perched at the kitchen table, her nose buried in a book.

Drew laughs out loud as Ava’s fingers dig into his sides, tickling him.

And I’ll think back to this moment, years in the future. I’ll remember their laughter melding together and Ava’s voice tinkling as she tells him embarrassing stories about me. I’ll remember the smile she shoots me, and the feeling of home that shudders through me. And I’ll remember the weight on my chest, heavy, steady, reassuring - that I want to spend the rest of forever with this girl with the beautiful eyes and the beautiful name and the beautiful smile.

I watch them interact all day, almost giddy at the sight, but pretending to pout. “Drew, you’re spending more time with her than me,” I complain, trying to lay my head on her lap. He shoves me away immediately. “Ava and I are besties now,” he tells me firmly. She nods solemnly. “We are,” she agrees, shrugging. My mouth drops open. “I thought we were besties,” I whine to him, and he rolls his eyes. “Paigey. We need to learn to share,” he instructs, holding a hand up to me. I flick his forehead, and Ava dies of laughter.

Later that night, Ava’s brushing her teeth over my bathroom sink, and something about her in my ratty old Hopkins t-shirt, in my family’s house, looking completely at home, is dangerously enticing. The shirt is big on her, and it slides down to expose her bare shoulder and the tattoo she has on her collarbone of the Sagittarius constellation. Her hand rests on her hip, bunching the shirt above her wrist, riding it up so the band of her panties is visible to me.

I inch behind her as she gargles, spitting out water. She turns to leave, but I hold her there, resting my hand on hers, looping the other arm around her waist. I splay a hand across her torso, and dip my nose into her neck, inhaling her scent. Ava sighs, leaning back into me, watching me intently in the mirror.

I ruck her shirt up further, exposing her panties completely, winding my arms around her bare stomach, before letting my hands wander over her thighs and her hips. “He really likes you,” I tell her, referring to my brother. She smiles softly. “I like him, too. He makes me miss my nephew,” she admits, smiling slightly.

I kiss her neck, loving the way she sighs again. “You’re really good with him,” I hum, peppering a few more kisses down the column of her throat. She lets her head loll to the side, giving me more access as her hands trace over my arms. “You think so?” She breathes. I kiss at her jaw, sucking a little, and she lets out a quiet moan.

“I do,” I reply, smirking into her skin. She’s normally cold, but right now, her body is burning. I run a hand over her ass, then back over her stomach, then into her shirt to tease her breast. “Mmm,” she lets out. “I liked it a lot,” I whisper. She smirks at me in the mirror. “Yeah, I bet you did,” she muses, turning around to face me. She hooks a finger in my pajama pants, pulling me closer as she backs into the counter. My hands go to her ass immediately, loving the way it feels in my hands, loving the way I’m the only one who gets to touch her like this.

I hoist her up onto my bathroom counter. “You know what I was thinking?” I murmur, ghosting my lips over hers. “Mmm, what?” She asks. Fuck. Her voice is low, sultry. It’s hard to keep my hands off of her regularly. Her lips are so fucking kissable, and her volleyball shorts leave next to nothing to the imagination. Not to mention those shirts she wears when we go out. I remember this one time she showed up in this blue corset top, cinched tight at the waist, her tits perky and full over the top of it.

I’d fucked her in it that night.

I grin at the memory, licking my lips, feeling her breath stuttering against them. I lean in, and she edges away, but her hands drift to my body. She edges them under my tank top. “What, baby?” She urges. The nickname and the way she says it sends a jolt between my legs. “I was thinking…” I start teasing, and she bites her lip, her eyes trained on my mouth. I ruck her shirt up further, moving my hands up her back before massaging her ass. “Tell me,” she whispers.

I grin wickedly.

“I was thinking I wanna put a baby in you.”

She damn near moans at that. “You think I could do it?” I hum, nipping at her lips.

“Fuck. Try,” she almost begs. My resolve snaps at that, and I crash my mouth to hers, moaning against her lips. She responds hungrily, shoving her hands into my tank top to run them over my bare skin, dancing over my abs, clinging to my hips. I slide my hands under her ass and pull her to me, letting her wrap her legs around my waist and carrying her to my bed.

I throw her against my sheets and crawl on top of her, devouring her lips, basking in the way her leg wraps around my waist to press me closer. “I’m serious,” I murmur, ripping her shirt over head and kneeling to straddle her waist. I take her tits in my hands, kneading them sensually, and she moans. I shake my head, drinking in the sight of her body.

The tattoo just under her breast in Sanskrit, the scar across her hip bone from when she hurt herself hiking, her butterfly belly button ring. I tug at her nipple, and my cunt pulses at the sound that falls out of her mouth.

“I wanna marry you,” I breathe, squeezing her breasts again. I grind my hips against hers, and her eyes look up at me, glimmering. “I’m already naked, you don’t have to say all that,” she teases.

I shake my head. “I wanna fucking marry you, dude,” I say again, insistently. Her eyes soften, realizing the sincerity of my words. She doesn’t say anything, just pulls me down to kiss me, her mouth saying everything without uttering a single word. “Wanna marry you. Want you to have my kids,” I rasp, pressing her into the bed. “Yes. Everything. All of it,” she responds, nodding eagerly.

I run my hands over her body, her skin smooth, her body pliant under my fingers. “I want a beach wedding,” I tell her, pulling her panties down her legs. “In California?” She breathes, sitting on her knees to take my tank top off. I shrug it off, my torso bare, and she attaches her mouth to my stomach, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses everywhere. “Yeah. And a house. In Minnesota.” I sigh as she kisses my nipples, then pushes my pants down my hips. I ruck them off and toss them to the side. She sits back on her haunches, looking at me.

I used to hate being stared at. I mean, when I was a freshman, hooking up with girls for the first time, I’d keep the lights off. I have an athlete’s body, and I’m proud of it, I’ve worked for it. But these girls, with their slender shoulders and narrow waists and full breasts… that wasn’t me. I’m angles and lines and broad shoulders and muscle and sinew. Even when I was naked for her for the first time, I was terrified. This beautiful girl, with curves and thighs and all of it mine to hold and touch and caress, and I couldn’t offer her the same. But she’d braced her hands on my hips, staring down at my body in awe. She’d told me I was perfect.

See, when Ava looks at me, it’s like she can’t believe I’m real.

She covers her face with her hands, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” she breathes. “Stop it,” I chide, tugging at her hands. She sits up further on her knees. “No, you’re… you don’t even understand, Paige,” she insists. I look her in the eyes. “Show me,” I tell her.

Ava knows what I mean. She knows what I want. She sits back, laying against the bed, knees bent, her elbows propping her up.

Slowly, slowly, she separates her legs. She spreads them wide, biting her lip as she stares me down, her gaze challenging. My pussy drenches at the sight. “This what you wanted to see?” She asks coyly. I reach into my backpack next to my bed. “You know what to do,” I say and she smirks.

Fuck.

This girl and her doe eyes that she flutters at me while she does the filthiest things to herself… she’s going to be the death of me.

I slip into the strap as her eyes hold mine. She places her two middle fingers in her mouth. Swirls them around. Then she trails them down her body. I follow them hungrily. I watch as they hover over her pussy, right at her clit. Then she swipes them up through her wetness and she circles her clit and she moans.

Loud.

“Fuck,” I groan, wrenching her hand away and plunging into her. Her back arches up off the bed. “Shit!” She gasps. I don’t give her any time to adjust. I just pound into her, gripping her hips harshly enough that I’m sure there will be marks tomorrow. Good. Good. I want my fingerprints all over her.

I want bruises on her neck.

I want marks on her thighs, I want my name tattooed across the small of her back so I can see it when I drive into her from behind.

I want everything from her. Everything.

And she’d let me have it. She keens as I fuck her, mouth open and jaw locked in a permanent silent moan, noises emitting from the back of her throat. “Feel good?” I demand. She lets out a whine, and I'm grateful for how thick the walls in this house are. “I need words,” I say, licking my fingers to circle her clit. She shudders when my fingers touch her, thighs quivering as I force them open.

“Fuck. Fuck, yes.”

“Who’s making you feel like this?”

“You- shit. Oh, shit.”

“What’s my fucking name?” I say, my voice uncharacteristically deep with desire.

“I- Please, Paige.”

“Who?”

“Paige,” she begs, gesturing for me to come closer. I do, pressing into her body as I continue fucking into her. She kisses me hard, her mouth open against mine as every profanity in the book slips out from between her lips. She drags her nails down my back and I groan into her mouth, which she swallows needily.

My hand circles her neck loosely. “You almost there?” I mumble against her mouth. She nods, her face screwing with pleasure and the tension of her impending orgasm. “You gonna come for me?” I ask. My hips snap against hers and I reach my hand down again to pressure her clit, rubbing rapid circles against it. My fingers are slick with her, and I can hear it, hear the sound of me pushing in and out of her wetness, hear just how fucking bad she wants me.

And when she comes, with a cry of my name into my shoulder, teeth digging into my skin, her thighs shaking around my hips, her come soaking the covers underneath, I nearly finish, too. “Fuck,” she whispers against my lips, grinding up against me to ride herself through it. “Always take it so good, don’t you?” I coo, and she bites her lip, nodding at me with her eyes wide.

“Take my cock so good for me?” I ask, pushing in and out of her again. She whines at how sensitive she is, and I grip her neck harder. “Don’t you?” I demand. She nods, but I don’t stop talking, slowly fucking into her again. “Letting me fuck you like this in someone else’s house,” I tut, and she immediately looks guilty. “So dirty,” I tease, my voice low and seductive, and I watch her tits bounce as I speed up again, her mouth dropping open, core pulsing at the sound of my voice.

“Paige, I can’t-”

“You will.”

And if I drive into her especially hard that night, if I fuck her until she has tears streaming down her face and if I fuck her after that, if I make her come more times than is appropriate to make a girl come in your parents’ house, she has no one to blame but herself.

After all, she told me to try.

And I’m nothing if not persistent.

JUNE 2023

- Ava’s Point of View -

“I got roses. She likes roses, right?”

“Yes, Paige. She also likes punctuality.”

“Shit. Am I late? I’m gonna speed.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Already speeding. Be there soon!”

“Drive safe. Love you!”

Paige is meeting my family. Which, in retrospect, doesn’t seem like a big deal. Both my parents moved to the States very young, so they aren’t as traditional and are very accepting. Paige really has to pass the test with my older brother, who’s extremely protective.

I hear a knock at the door, and I rush to open it before he can. “Arjun, move!” I complain when he tries blocking me from getting to the door. My mom shoots us a look. “No fighting with guests in the house,” she warns. I shove him away and storm to the door, glaring at him over my shoulder.

My brother, at the ripe age of twenty-seven, sticks his tongue out at me. His wife, thank God for her, pulls him out of the hallway and back into the kitchen so I can open the door in peace. Paige looks hilariously nervous. I’ve seen her play on some of the biggest stages you can as a college athlete, and she’s never looked as anxious as she does right now.

She’s wearing a pair of loose blue jeans, a white collared shirt, and a red sweater over it with her cross necklace and one with an A layered on top of it. Her hair is down and stick-straight, glossy and blonde from just having got it done. She has a bit of makeup on, some concealer, gloss, and mascara, and her eyes are stark blue. She looks beautiful. I bite back a smile as she grins at me nervously.

I step aside to let her into my house. “I, uh…” She waves the bouquet in her hands a little. “These are for your mom.” “For me?” My mom asks, her eyes lighting up as she approaches from behind. She looks just like me, everyone says. We have the same long, curly hair, and my dad says we have the same eyes and nose. Paige stammers. “Uh, yes. Hi, I’m Paige.” She hesitates, trying to figure out which hand she should use to give my mom the flowers and which she should hold out to shake.

I roll my eyes, grabbing the flowers from her, knowing that my mother won’t settle for a handshake. Just as I thought, she envelops Paige in a hug, squeezing her tight. Paige immediately relaxes, hugging my mom back. I watch as my mom pulls back, gushing about how gorgeous she is. My dad is next, shaking her hand firmly, but glancing at me with a glimmer in my eye. A little bit of relief washes over me. He approves.

My brother puffs his chest, brushing past me, and I roll my eyes. He’s ridiculous. He only has a couple inches on her, but he tries to make it seem like more, standing up straighter. Paige holds out a hand for him to shake. “Paige,” she introduces herself. “Arjun,” he replies, gripping her hand. It looks like a pretty tight grip to me, and he shakes it just once. “So you’re the chick dating my sister, huh?” He questions.

“Oh, my God. Mom, can you get your son in check?” I beg, handing her the flower.

“He’s just asking a question,” she reasons, smiling as she heads back to the kitchen.

Paige grins at him sheepishly. “Yes, I am.”

“You treat her well?”

She shifts uneasily. “I’d like to think so.”

I scoff. “This is ridi-”

“You think so?” Arjun demands.

Paige stammers. “No. Yes. Yes, I treat her well.”

I groan, grabbing her hand and tugging my girlfriend away from my psychotic brother. “Very well!” I toss over my shoulder. We run right into my nephew, Aryan. He shakes his full head of curly hair as he stares up at her with wide eyes, toddling around on his little four year old legs. “And who is this?” Paige asks, her eyes lighting up at the sight of a child. “I’m Aryan!” He chirps. “Do you want to see my hoop?”

“Um, yes?” She says, as though it’s obvious.

“Yay! Follow me!” He instructs, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the miniature hoop we have set up in the living room for him. My brother played basketball too, being fairly tall, so I’d grown up around the sport. He wants his son to play, too, so we’ve got a hoop at his house and my parents’ house. Paige tosses the plastic orange ball back and forth with Aryan.

I watch them interact, listening to their conversation.

“You know, I play basketball,” she tells him.

“Really? Are you really good?” He demands immediately. Aryan isn’t exactly shy.

“Mmm. I’m okay,” she tells him. He throws the ball back to her, and I giggle when it bonks her in the head.

“Are you better than the Greek Freak?” He asks.

Paige grins at this. “Than Giannis? I don’t think so,” she admits.

I smile. Aryan looks at me. “My Chachi tried to tell me how to say his last name, except for I can’t do it,” he says sadly. Paige’s brow furrows. “What is… who is Chachi?” She asks. The Hindi word for ‘aunt’ sounds foreign on her lips, but it warms my heart. Aryan points to me, jumping up and down, squealing, “Avantika Chachi!”

“Yes, Aryan!” I call back.

“Come play!”

We spend the next thirty minutes or so playing with Aryan. He gets pretty comfortable with her pretty quickly, clambering all over her and tugging her hair. She lets him, and it makes me love her that much more. My love for her fills my heart so quickly and intensely that I think it just might burst from how impossible it must be to love her any more than I already do.

When my parents announce that dinner is ready, Paige leaps to her feet. “Mr. and Mrs. Singh, do you need any help?” She asks, standing at the entrance of the kitchen. Kiss ass, I think fondly. My mom tuts at her. “Paige, of course not! You’re a guest!” She exclaims.

She carries a huge pot of rice over to the dining table, and Paige’s eyes widen at the sight of all the food my mom has laid out in preparation for meeting her daughter’s girlfriend. I nudge her. “Fatass,” I tease. “Avantika, language,” my mom scolds. “Look at her, she’s so thin! Come eat, put some meat on those bones,” she says to Paige, whose mouth drops open. I suppose her clothes do a good enough job of hiding her muscles, but Paige has always been on the leaner side.

“Mom, you can’t say that!” Arjun tells her, herding Aryan into the dining room, but my mother waves him off. He crawls onto Paige’s lap instead of his normal seat. “Aryan, sit in your chair,” his mom tells him. My brother’s wife is a sweet white woman named Jennie, whom my parents adore. The thing is, Aryan doesn’t listen to a word she says. He stays firmly planted on Paige’s lap.

Paige takes the spice from the food like a champ. Jennie always drinks loads of water, but Paige doesn’t seem to need it. She gushes to my mom about how good all the food is, and my mom beams. “See, this is how you should eat,” she says to me and my brother, and the two of us immediately start complaining, talking over each other.

“Enough,” my dad commands, and we both fall silent. Arjun pushes food around his plate, clearing his throat.

“So, you play basketball?” He asks her. I roll my eyes. “Yes, Arjun, Paige plays basketball. Just like Michael Jordan ‘played basketball’ or Tom Brady ‘dabbled in football’.”

“I’m just making conversation.”

“Make it better.”

“It’s okay,” Paige chuckles, laying a hand on my arm. “Yeah, I play at UConn like Ava.”

He nods, pretending not to be impressed. The truth is, my brother is a pretty big fan of hers. “I saw your tournament run last year. Good shit,” he relents. She nods. “Yeah, thanks. Wish we could have finished it off right, but, you know… next year.”

My brother nods thoughtfully, shrugging. “Hey, Bron’s lost six times in the Finals. He’s still the GOAT.”

I freeze, my eyes widening. Shit.

Paige turns to me, her grin shit-eating. “Did you hear that?” She just about sings. I pick at my food. “Mm, I didn’t hear anything,” I say. Arjun is confused. “What? What’s going on?” He asks.

“No, no, your brother makes a great point. I’m sorry, she said she didn’t hear what you said, do you mind repeating it?”

“Enough, Paige.”

Arjun furrows his eyebrows. “What, that LeBron James is the greatest player of all time?”

Paige closes her eyes and nods to herself, holding a hand up to me dramatically. “God, it feels so good to be right.”

I scrunch my face at her. “That doesn’t mean you’re right, dumbass! That just means you’re both wrong.”

“Language!” My mom chides.

Arjun’s face lights up. “Wait, you have Bron in the GOAT debate?” He asks.

Paige grins at him. “Yeah, I got Bron!”

I sit back and pout, watching them scramble to their feet to dap each other up.

“Oh, you better marry this one,” Arjun says gleefully, sitting back down. Paige is grinning uncontrollably. “I love it here,” she smiles. “You guys don’t know ball,” I snap.

“Says the one who doesn’t play basketball,” Arjun argues.

“MJ has as many rings as LeBron does Finals losses, are you guys stupid?”

“At least Bron didn’t retire at 30!” Paige exclaims.

“MJ literally came back after that! And won three more rings!” I say incredulously.

“I’m so sick of this conversation,” my mom groans. My brother and I had this argument time after time growing up, and my parents have heard every possible variation of it.

Arjun smiles to himself, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He wags his finger at Paige. “I like this one. Keep her.”

FEBRUARY 2024

Paige hasn’t spoken to me all day. It’s making me anxious, because tonight is Senior Night, and I know her decision is impending. I’ll be happy either way. I’ve decided to take my fifth year and complete an MBA program here at UConn while I apply to medical school. While I’d love to have her stay with me for a fifth year as well, I know she’s been ready to head to the WNBA since she was in high school. I’d be ecstatic if she declared tonight - she’s fucking incredible.

She’s also fucking annoying. She left early this morning, because she knew that seeing me would make it really easy for me to figure out what her decision was. According to her, only her parents and Azzi know.

I watch, racked with nerves from just behind the bench, as Paige approaches Coach Geno to take her flowers and her framed jersey. I’m taken back to my own senior night. Paige had walked with me, along with my family. It hadn’t been an announcement of our relationship by any means, it had been more like: “Avantika Singh, escorted by her parents, brother, and… Paige Bueckers.”

Obviously, the rumor mill had immediately been abuzz. It’s not that we were necessarily secretive about our relationship, it was just that media attention on Paige had always been more than that of a normal college athlete. Which made sense. I mean, she is spectacular. People on campus more or less knew, but verbally affirming our relationship to people who weren’t our teammates or families had yet to happen.

We were both fine with it either way. I left it more up to Paige - she was the one with the million Instagram followers.

She takes the mic from Geno, clearing her throat. She starts her sappy speech about how UConn fans are the best in the world, how the past four years haven’t gone as planned, and my heart pounds. I can feel it in my ears, and my head nearly hurts from it. “Unfortunately…” My heart drops to my feet at this. She’s declaring. Okay, that’s fine. I have to be supportive. Phoenix and Connecticut are far, sure, but we’ll make it work…

“This will not be my last senior night at UConn, because I’m coming back!”

The arena erupts in cheers before she can even get the second part of her sentence out, and I don’t even process it at first. My hands fly to my mouth, my eyes pricking with tears. The team on the floor is a mess jumping onto Paige and Aubrey, and it looks like it’s news to Geno, as well.

Paige catches my eye, peering into the stands. I shake my head at her, fighting a smile.

She holds her hands out, flicking her fingers in a ‘come here’ gesture almost imperceptibly.

I sprint out of the stands towards her, leaping onto her and throwing my arms around her neck. She laughs, wrapping her arms tight around my waist and holding me. “You dumbass,” I complain. “You could have told me.” I pull back to look at her, grateful for the fact that people are filing out and that the team is loud and raucous enough to cover us from most of the cameras. She shrugs - or tries to.

“Yeah, I could have,” she reasons. “But then I wouldn’t have gotten to see this smile.”

I ease myself off of her, unable to stop myself from grinning. “God, you’re corny,” I tease.

“You love it.”

I sigh. “I do,” I admit.

Then Paige gets pulled away for media, and Geno and CD usher me after her. “What?” I ask, confused. CD shakes her head. “Come on. You’re going to want to see this.” I stumble into the room for media personnel, and see a table set up with four chairs and mics. I’m confused. “Wait… what’s going on?” I ask. Geno shrugs, a twinkle in his old eyes.

It’s about twenty minutes before Aubrey, Nika, Aaliyah, and Paige come out, all wearing ridiculous sunglasses, and sit at the media table. The media people start with routine questions, asking Nika and Aaliyah if they plan on staying, to which they respond tiredly that they don’t know. I nearly giggle at the canned response. I know those two have been rehearsing it since the season started.

Aubrey pokes fun at Geno for announcing that she’s coming back prematurely. Then they ask Paige how she feels about the decision.

“You know, it feels like a weight off my shoulders. Obviously, a lot of thought went into this decision. I talked to my family, my teammates, my coaches, and, uh…” she pauses, a shit-eating grin taking over her face before it fades into a smirk. I swear she glances at me, because I can feel her eyes on me, but I can’t really see properly through her glasses.

“I talked to my girlfriend, who had to make a pretty similar decision recently. And, yeah. It just felt right, and to be able to do that in front of the best fans in the country… It meant a lot.”

My mouth drops open, and I turn to CD. “Did she just..?” I demand. CD nods, smiling at me. “I think she did.”

The media personnel are buzzing with excitement at the little tidbit that Paige has just let slip, but I don’t hear a single word of the rest of the press conference. I march straight to the locker room, seating myself on a bench.

Paige walks in just a few minutes later, laughing with the rest of the seniors. She spots me on the bench, arms crossed, one leg over the other.

“Are you mad?” She asks sheepishly. I get up, not saying a word, and begin walking towards her.

“Okay, maybe I should have asked. Don’t be-”

I stop her, grabbing her face and pulling it to mine.

And I kiss her. I kiss her and kiss her and kiss her, I kiss her until the rest of the world fades away, until it feels like I can’t tell where I begin and she ends, until nothing and no one else matters. When I pull back, there’s tears on my face. “Okay, so you’re not mad,” she guesses, and I shake my head, smiling.

“I love you,” I tell her firmly.

She grins. “I love you, too.” She pecks my nose.

“Another year together,” I giggle, cupping her face tightly.

Paige laughs. “Another year, and every year after that, if that’s okay with you,” she murmurs.

I laugh shakily, standing on my tiptoes to kiss her again.

“How does forever sound?”

And then smiles at me, her eyes suddenly shining, too.

Sometimes, you just know. You don’t know when it happened or how it happened. Somewhere in between that night at the gym or in the training room or my place or hers, somewhere between her hands and my heart and her eyes and mine, I’d realized that my forever has a laugh that feels like home and a smile that breaks my heart from the inside out. My forever loves the color purple and overly sweet coffee and her little brother and she loves me. My forever looks at me like I hung the moon and holds me like what we have is the most precious thing in the world. And maybe it is. Maybe she is.

And I’m glad it’s not anyone else. I’m glad it’s her.

Paige is my forever.

“Forever sounds like a plan.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #fic #wcbb #paige bueckers x oc #uconn wbb #✂️ anon #ncaaw

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