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minnesota-fats · 1 year

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A fic-lit about Danny working at the watchtower, not as a superhero but as an engineer.

This is based on an prompt I read months ago but cant find where Danny put that he was a halfa on his resume but the hiring manager didn’t pay attention to it and hired him anyway. Rather than that its just Danny working at the watchtower and vibing on break when a tiny Robin finds him in the viewing deck.

—

Danny had been working for the justice league watchtower for a couple of months. He has seen hero’s come and go, paying him no mind and he was absolutely living for it! Unlike at 14, he was just a simple, normal worker—despite being half dead and the next in line for the crown in the infinite realms—he is just a simple mechanical engineer, Danny Nightingale. No one to fight, no one to save, just a big space station that needed someone to help keep it up in space.

And that's another bonus to this job; Space!

He gets to spend his shift up in the stars, looking out at the cold expanse of their solar system. Admiring the earth from a whole new angle, and he is getting paid to do it! Sure he could go into space any time, but being able to spend a good portion of his time here really made his core sing in joy. When he was on break he would wander around the areas he had clearance to go into, looking out every window at every star. Cataloging the ships movement through space with sharp eyes. His favorite place to go is the viewing deck, it was exactly what it sounded like, a place to just go and view that space outside.

It was there that Danny decided to take his break today, the Watchtower was at just the right angle to be able to see the earth from the viewing deck. Danny smiled watching the planet he lived on from afar, this really was the best job he could have ended up with!

A few months back he was having a hard time finding work after college, sure he had all the proper qualifications for the positions he applied for. But due to his medical condition—being half dead with a slow almost nonexistent heartbeat—they all refused him, afraid that his heart wouldn't keep up if he left the atmosphere to board any of the space stations orbiting the earth. To be fair it wouldn't have, he tested it by flying up to the moon and back the old fashioned way. But he couldn't just tell them that; being an ecto entity was still a crime that he was just barely able to get away from at age eighteen.

He came out to his parents once he graduated high school, they reacted poorly. Danny’s mom saw red and tried to kill him the rest of the way, claiming that Danny was just a ghost “piloting” his corpse around. Danny’s dad just stayed silent and watched, but before maddie could really do anything he acted. Jack knocked Maddie out with a strong blow to the back of her head. Danny remembered the hope that he had when Jack did that, but after he looked up at the man that hope died in his chest. The man looked torn, both angry and sad and in a voice lacking any of the familiar warmth said, “leave before she wakes up.” And he turned to pick up Maddie and made his way up the stairs. It was because of his dad that he was able to get away because after that Danny Fenton was declared dead. With the help of Sam and Tucker he was able to make a new identity for himself and go to school. From that day on Danny decided to move on and never look back.

After putting his name out there time and time again he was rejected. It wasn't until he got a letter in the mail saying he had been scheduled for an interview at Wayne tech of all places. He didn’t remember applying there but decided to go anyway, needing some sort of job to get him through. But when he got there he was greeted by Lucius Fox and Batman of all people! Danny nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the dark knight, Danny couldn't help but think the worst. But before he could bolt, Lucius explained that Batman was looking for workers with the help of Wayne Industries for the base of operations for the Justice League—The Watchtower. Turns out all his applications to several different space programs caught the man’s attention. He even explained that Danny wouldn't even need to have a physical or get on a spaceship because The Watchtower utilized teleportation technology. Danny was so excited that he agreed on the spot without even knowing the benefits he would get from working with them. Which—surprising to no one—were a lot of benefits.

Danny was drawn from his thoughts when he heard the soft, almost nearly nonexistent footsteps coming from behind him. Danny turned and saw a child—no older than twelve—wearing a hero’s costume that looked like he was mimicking a traffic light. The kid froze in his tracks when Danny turned to face him, the two staring at each other for a few moments before the kid smiled and waved at him.

“Hi,” the kid beamed at Danny, “I’m D—Robin!”

Danny lifted a brow, “you a part of the justice league?” He asked, not remembering a kid being a part of their team.

The kid shook his head, “No, my guardian is though!” He explained.

“Ah, neat,” Danny said nonshalontly as he turned back to look at the window, “you come to see the view?” He asked.

The kid walked farther into the room and gasped when he got a better look at said view. “Woah—”, he exclaimed, now standing next to Danny.

Danny looked beside him to see the stars reflecting off of the kids' eyes, “cool isn't it? I come here on my lunch breaks," Danny says.

The kid looked at him and then squinted suspiciously, “if you're at lunch where is your food?” He asked.

Danny smiled, “I forgot my lunch at home today,” Danny lied, seeing the stars gave him enough energy to continue going. He usually eats when he gets home.

“Really?” The kid asked with a raised brow.

Danny smiled and looked around to see if anyone else was there, when he saw no one he asked, “do you wanna hear a secret?” He asked. Robin looked around himself as well before he leaned down a bit so Danny could whisper into his ear, “I actually just absorb the energy from the stars to sustain myself.” He explained.

“Really?” Robin asked, looking at him again, trying to gauge if Danny was lying or not.

Danny smiled, “yep,” he said, popping the p, “that's why I got a job here, that way I won’t starve to death.” Danny grins.

“But cant you just look at the stars from earth?” Robin asked, tilting his head.

“I mean, sure,” Danny says with a shrug, looking back out the window, “but this is so much better, isn't it?”

Robin looked out the window, “yeah!” The boy exclaimed, “it's so much clearer up here than in Gotham.” He commented.

Danny smiled and looked back at the boy, “I live in Gotham, too.”

“Really?” Robin asked, “No wonder you come up here,” the boy commented, causing Danny to snort in laughter and it wasn't long before Robin joined him.

“You got that right,” Danny says with a smirk before something dawns on him, “Wait, hero from gotham? I didn't know Batman had a kid?” Robin looked away, Danny could feel his nerves and sadness pass through him.

Danny was about to tell him that he didn't have to talk about it but before he could get his words out Robin spoke up, “My parents died about a year ago… he took me in only recently, he decided to train me when I found out he was Batman,” the kid says looking down at his feet, a glare etched on his face, “i never got to avenge my parents, the murderer had a heart attack before I could even get to him….”

Danny reached out to the kid and placed his hand on Robin’s shoulder, Robin looked up at him—as if remembering that Danny was there with him.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Danny says softly, Robin looks away from him. “But I can tell you wholeheartedly, your parents are proud of you and what you are doing,” robin began rubbing at his mask, preventing him from wiping the tears away from his eyes underneath. “Here,” Danny says as he goes to pick up the 12 year old, “let's get you back to the Big Black Bat, I bet he is looking for you.”

Danny sits Robin on his hip and walks out of the room, rubbing circles into the child’s back. They walk together in silence, Robin resting his head in the crook of Danny's neck. “…Thank you,” Robin mumbles.

“Don't mention it kid,” Danny says as he looks around the corridor trying to spot anyone who could help him get this kid to the upper levels, “I know what it's like to lose your parents….”

“Really?” Robin asked, his head lifting off of Danny’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Danny says, “they didn't die, but they basically said they never wanted to see me again.”

Robin gasped, “that's not nice!” Robin declared making Danny laugh again.

“Your right,” Danny agrees as he turns down another hall towards where the zeta tubes were, maybe someone in there could help. “But, now I'm here, having the time of my life with the job of my dreams.”

Robin smiled again, “you could say you're living the HIGH life.”

Danny paused in the hall and started snickering, “that was a good one, Birdy.”

“Birdy?” Robin asked.

“Yeah, your name is Robin, that's a bird, so Birdy,” Danny explained, “its a nickname

“Does that make us friends?” Robin asked.

“Sure, as long as your guardian is ok with it.”

The boy smiled happily, excited at the idea of having made a new friend. The calm was interrupted but Danny’s supervisor yelled from across the room, “Nightingale!” He shouts, causing Danny to jump.

Danny turns to look at the man, “hey boss—” he starts, blocking Robin from the man, not wanting to scare the kid.

“You are late to clock back in! You're not getting paid to sit around with your head in the clouds!” The man shouts.

“Sorry sir, I was—”

“No! You need to get back to work, NOW!” He demanded, “this is a multibillion dollar space station, everything needs to be on a strict schedule!”

Danny sighed, his supervisor hasn't liked Danny from day one. Something about him being “young and nïeve” or something like that; “head higher up into space than we were right now.” At least that's what Danny heard him say about him once or twice.

Danny was about to talk back when something just past his manager caught his eye. It was Batman, walking fast with a look that told everyone to get out of the way. But Danny could feel the worry bleed off the man in waves. Must be looking for Robin, Danny’s mind supplied. Danny sidesteps his supervisor and shouts, “Hey Batman!” To catch the dark knight’s attention. Danny had to restrain his laughter when he saw the look of horror pass on his supervisor's face.

Now with the vigilanties cold glare focused on him, Danny smiled and adjusted his stance to show Robbin to him. “Looking for you kid?” Danny asked.

Robin smiled nervously and waved at Batman, guess he wasn’t supposed to wander off like he did. “Hey B!” He shouts.

Batman’s glare softens so slightly, a regular person would have missed it. However, Danny could feel the man’s previous anxieties melt away into a strong relief. Batman strutted forward and glared down at Danny—despite Danny being taller than him. Danny just smiled and adjusted Robin on him so he could hand him over to the dark knight.

Now in Batman’s arms, Robin tapped his pointer fingers together nervously. “Sorry for wandering off,” he mumbled before his smile came back full force, “but,” he exclaimed, “I made a friend! His name is Danny and he liked my puns! And we both have bird names!” He exclaimed all while pointing at Danny.

Batman looked from the kid in his arms to Danny, “hmm,” he grumbled. A man of few words, Batman nods at Danny.

Danny nodded back, “He’s a good kid, glad I was able to help.” Danny replied. Feeling gratitude from that small gesture alone. Batman isn't the most expressive but being able to read emotions like Danny really helps when talking to people.

Batman turns his head to look over at Danny’s superior, “hmm.” After that Batman turned and walked away.

Robin climbed to sit up on Batman’s shoulder and waved back at Danny, “Bye bird buddy! Have a good day!” He shouts as Batman enters the elevator. The doors closing behind them and leaving the zeta tube control center in near silence.

Danny looked back to his supervisor who looked as pale as a sheet ghost, Danny gave him a shit eating grin and shrugged at him. “I tried to tell ya—”

“Get back to work Nightingale!” He shouts.

“Ok, ok, I'm going.” Danny says, turning on his heels and walking away from the man with his hands held up in surrender.

—

I have so many ideas for this au and if I write more I might post it on my AO3 feel free to read other things I posted on there!

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inarvii · 5 days

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˚☽˚｡- AN AMPLE WAGER

Aventurine isn't one to express how he feels, but he finds himself longing and desperate when he decides to neglect IPC protocol and go on a mission alone. It's astounding what just one game of Black Jack can do.

Revelations occur when you save Aventurine, and he saves you.

wc - 4.7k

Warnings - Blood, Gore, Slightly Nsfw

“What beautiful eyes.”

That’s the first sentence you ever said to Aventurine.

Although he had just been promoted to manager of the Senior Investment Department, the IPC still considered him new. Becoming a manager meant meeting fellow managers of other departments for the first time.

It meant meeting you, a Senior Manager of the Marketing Development Department. So he stayed over in the meeting room to introduce himself to you while others packed their stuff and fled. But you beat him to the punch.

It was the first compliment he had received about his eyes. Others had thought them to be “unsettling” or even “bird-like.” Your words had shattered his snarky persona, and his eyebrows raised. Before he could even answer, you followed up your compliment with a question.

“You walk around like that?” You ask, your hands grasping at papers on the meeting room table.

Aventurine’s brow quirks, his mind puzzled by your words as he stands in front of your desk.

You laugh, entertained by his confusion. “With your eyes for everyone to see?”

He doesn’t respond; instead, his eyes travel over you as you walk closer to him. Your hand sneaks to his shoulder, and when your lips get closer to his ear you whisper, “Be careful now. Such pretty eyes would go for a hefty price if the right person found them.”

You pull your business card out of your blouse pocket. “They’re a privilege to look at as well.” You smile, holding the card in front of him. He takes it hesitantly.

Aventurine watches as you walk towards the office door, seemingly having somewhere to be.

“Pleasure to meet you,” you say. “Oh, and congrats on the promotion,” you wink. Then the sound of your heels click and clack down the hallway and Aventurine stares at your business card, twirling it between his fingers.

The next time he sees you, he wears shades

However, he makes sure to take them off when speaking to you—wanting to give you the privilege.

At times, Aventurine thinks that there is no other place that he belongs more in than the IPC.

Being a Manager for the Strategic Investment Department gives him opportunities like no other. Although his job was to spot depleting planets that had the potential for profit, the IPC gives Aventurine plenty of more ways to invest his time.

Like investing in people.

And, oh, what a great investment you were.

He learns so much by your side. He learns what other managers to avoid in different departments. He learns how to navigate the brash personality of Diamond. He learns how to use his tongue more efficiently to get what he wants.

Like when you kiss.

When you touch.

When you fuck.

It’s been different doing all those things with you. It’s never forced when it comes to you. It’s never a transaction like how it was before he came to the IPC. Oh, he learns a great deal, but it leaves him scared of the difference. He wants to kiss you. He wants to touch you. He doesn’t just want to fuck you, but he wants to make love with you. And this scares him greatly.

But he’ll never admit those things out loud. He barely admits it to himself inside his head when his arms are wrapped around you in the middle of the night, and his thoughts begin to run in the back of his mind. Aventurine is able to adapt quickly. It just seems your gentle affection he can’t comprehend

Aventurine had gotten comfortable.

He was too used to his position of power at the IPC. It made him forget that he was but an endangered species to everyone looking in.

“Beautiful eyes,” the man says to him as he closes in on Aventurine, too close for comfort. Raga was his name. His frame was built and bulky, along with the accomplice that sat on the other side of the room. Aventurine doesn’t remember his name due to the twist of dread that fills his stomach at Raga’s words.

The compliment doesn’t sound much like one to Aventurine’s ears. He cringes in disgust at it instead of feeling the excitement when you had given him the very same compliment all those years ago.

“Heh, why thank you, Sir. ”He reaches for his shades in his coat pocket and takes a step backward, trying to regain his personal space.

“They’re a privilege to look at…”

He hears your voice ring in his ears like a reminder. A privilege—he reassures himself. A privilege that the man in front of him is undeserving of.

He flicks out his sunglasses. But as his shades reach towards his eyes, Raga grabs his wrist. Aventurine’s eyes dart upward to meet the man’s.

“Tryna hide them from me?”

The blond smiles sweetly, yanking his wrist out of Raga’s grasp in the process. “Such pretty eyes come with a downside, Sir.” He puts on his glasses, making sure they're snug on his face. “They’re quite sensitive.” He lies. One of the perks of being the sole survivor of an extinct race was that there was no one to fact-check him.

“Only eyes like those can belong to a Sigonian.” Aventurine’s head snaps to the man sitting down in the chair. “And working for the IPC too?”

The bulky man looks back at Aventurine. “Well, color me impressed! A Sigonian this far from home?” He lets out a booming chuckle that causes him to almost wheeze. “Well, I guess you ain’t got none, do ya?”

The man slaps Aventurine on his back. “I thought all y’all were all dead.”

Aventurine forces a laugh. “Well, you get to see a miracle today, don’t you.” He'd rather not go into detail about his home, so he just continues to plaster a grin on his face.

The man walks closer—cornering Aventurine once again. “Those eyes of yours sure are a miracle, too, huh?

Aventurine can only glare up at the man.

“Hey, Chidi!” The man calls. So that was his name? “How much does a Sigonian eye go for ya think?”

Aventurine’s gaze doesn’t leave the man that leers down at him when the other answers. “Not sure…but maybe we can continue our negotiation if we find out.”

The bulky one grins. “How’s that sound?”

“You’ve never played Russian Roulette?” There’s genuine confusion on your face when you ask. But Aventurine can’t help but eye the backside of your naked body as you try to meticulously fix your sex-ridden hair in the mirror.

You pull out one of Aventurine’s shirts and put it on.

“We can’t have an IPC strategist losing his bets,” you say as you sift through your clothes. “Here, let me show you.”

The next thing he sees is your revolver in your hand. You fling out the cylinder and empty all the bullets in your hand.

He remembers only looking at your glossy and bruised lips as your painted fingers slowly put a round into the gun.

You give it a spin and fling the cylinder back in place with one hand as you creep onto the soft comforter of Aventurine’s bed. He can’t help but watch as you get closer and closer to him with a smirk of mischief that only The Elation would be proud of.

Your hands grab his’ as you put the gun in his hand. Your fingers are soft—welcoming as you guide the weapon to your heart. The barrel touches your chest and Aventurine notices the small movement of your breast.

You smile and lean towards him. His facial expression stays unwavering, but his eyes intrigued as they meet yours.

“One in six,” you say. “A one in six chance that you’ll shed blood, take a life, end a path.” Your free hand snakes to Aventurine’s thigh, your thumb leaving soothing circles on his skin. His head tilts back ever so slightly, and he smiles. “That’s what this game is.”

Your fingers guide his thumb to the hammer, pulling it down.

“Wanna take the chance?” You question—tilting your head.

What a game this was. Aventurine jerks the gun from your grasp, taking the bullet out of the barrel. He chuckles breathlessly. “And here I thought you weren’t as crazy as everyone else here.” He leans back, triggering the safety on the gun.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Have to be a little crazy to be a big shot here,” you reply. Your hands replace the gun in Aventurine’s hands as you crawl over his frame.”Don't you think?” Your lips press to his cheek, his neck, and then his chest. He leans into every one. When you give him this affection, he wonders if you mean it. Or if it's just part of the arrangement you two have.

“Why do people play this game?” He groans, closing his eyes and leaning back on the headboard. “You win nothing b-“ A gasp slips from himself after you give him a small nip on his collarbone. He tries again. ”…but can lose everything.”

You leave one more chaste kiss just below his jaw and lift your head up. “Power,” you answer.

Your hand is still in Aventurine’s as he opens his eyes to gaze at you. Your head tilts. “If you avoided the fates of death, would you, too, not feel on par with an Aeon?”

He sighs. What a game. What a crazy and outlandish game.

He might actually like it if he were on the other side of the gun instead of you.

Aventurine is a lucky man. He always has been.

He’s lucky that you’ve been paired up with him to come to this planet–he’s also lucky that you’re quick on your feet.

He shouldn’t have come to this negotiation alone—if you could even call it that. He should have waited for you. Maybe then you both wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place and maybe then you wouldn’t be cleaning up his mess in the form of two twisted games merged as one.

This small planet had been corrupted over the years. Its government had been rendered useless against a hate group's planned coup d’etat. Their citizens now only obeyed and obliged them. It was now yours and Aventurine’s job to either rebuild the government or eradicate the new one—whichever was faster. You both knew which was faster.

So there you two were standing in front of this so called “Leader” as you humored him with a potential way to get the eye he apparently desired.

“I love a good game,” you had announced when you arrived.“How about we play one for it?” Your fingers gently grazed Aventurine’s eyelid, sending him a flirtatious but knowing smile. Your warning had come to fruition.

Black Jack.

It was Aventurine’s favorite game he had learned since becoming a Stoneheart–a freed man–a human being. He thinks it’s because it punishes those who feel overzealous but simultaneously those who are too modest. A perfect balance, he thinks.

But the men had suggested playing it differently, a way that involved more risk. The loser of each round would have to play one game of Russian Roulette. However, another bullet was added to the chamber after each round.

How exciting.

You both obliged. He knew that you wouldn't disagree to such an exhilarating twist on a game beloved by everyone in the IPC. However, when one of the men suggests that you be the dealer, Aventurine notices the way your lip twitches slightly. What he fails to notice, however, is the way you somberly sneak a glance at him in worry.

The tension in the room fills the air like thick smog as the first round commences. There’s nothing but silence as you deal out the cards.

One by one, a string of commands comes your way from each man.

“Hit.”

“Hit”

“Stay.” The built man to your left says.

“Hit.” Aventurine smiles.

When the time comes when all must show their hands, Aventurine is the first to offer. He presents a nice even 18, and you a 20.

Raga spreads his cards before him, showcasing a total of 14.

You frown unapologetically. “Mmm, looks like it’s too low.” You get up from your sitting position and pull out your revolver. Everyone watches as you take a bullet and put it in the chamber, giving it a good spin.

You stand in front of the burly man, gun to his forehead. He smiles. Oh, it’s a sickly smile. A smile that exudes hunger and madness. You smile back, of course.

“Say, I thought your people were ones to brute force with negotiations, not play petty games.” You tilt your head expectantly.

He laughs, the smell of liquor wafting in the air as a result. “Everyone knows the IPC ain’t ones to be messed with, pretty. Do us good to play fai-“

Click

Theres silence. But soon follows a snicker from the other side of the table from Aventurine. He practically coos at the man’s dumbfounded expression.

“Hmm.” You remove the gun from the man’s forehead. “Ever the lucky one,” you commend with a smirk.

The man on the other side of the room starts to cause a ruckus, but Raga calms him down with a wave of his finger.

He smiles. “Couldn’t have two pretty things if I were dead.” His dark eyes drift to Aventurine and then back to you.

Aventurine refuses to let his smile drop, although it yearns to.

The next round is then set in motion.

Cards are dealt, drawn, and played. When the time comes for all to flip their cards over, it doesn't matter the poker faces shown throughout the round or if Raga’s hand is closer to 21 than Aventurine’s because Aventurine says one small word when he tallies up the total of his hand.

“Bust.”

His shades glint in the dim yellow light of the room, and he shows a beaming smile. Your heart sinks, but poker faces are never turned off on the clock when you are an IPC manager. So, you neatly place your own cards down and begin to stand.

Aventurine watches as you take the gun out of your holster. His eyes follow your every move as you add another bullet to the chamber. When the chamber is flicked back in place, he smiles at you sweetly–innocently. Like this is all a game of checkers.

You say nothing and point the gun to his heart.

He chuckles. “Want me to suffer, huh?” His gloved hands gently meet your hand, and he moves the gun so it points at his head, the cold metal stinging his skin.

His peacock-esque eyes put on a performance for you as he looks up through his blond eyelashes. “If my luck runs out, at least make it quick, boss.”

His smirk is sickening, but your face stays that of a stone. You pull the hammer down and…

click

You’re silent, but your actions speak for yourself. You quickly remove the gun from his head, causing all eyes around the room to stay lingering on you. You forcefully lighten your expression, forming a smile on your lips. “Hm.”

“What?” Aventurine questions playfully. “Did ya doubt me?” He just watches as you turn your back without a word and begin to set up the table for the next round.

Its a quick round. One filled with few distractions. And when it’s time for everyone to flip their cards, all at the table are surprised at your hand, including yourself.

Black Jack.

You look around, observing the men’s hands. Aventurine smirks, his eyes practically sparkling at the outcome. He holds an almost perfect hand of 21. His opponent, not so lucky, grumbles as he slaps the deck of cards on the table–his cards only adding up to a measly 17.

You stand up from your seat and begin to make your way over to Raga. Your fingers fiddle and twirl the bullet in your hand. The chamber opens with a clank, and you gently slide the bullet in place, giving it a good spin before closing it.

“That’s three,” you warn. Your shoulders are squared as you aim at the man’s head. “You could call this all off now if you like.”You bend down to his level and give and furrow your brows “Is it really worth it?” You ask.

“Think I can’t win?” He asks boldly as he puffs out his chest.

You smile sweetly. “I think bullets don’t care what your title is, Raga of the Waste.”

You pull the hammer, and Raga grins ear to ear at your smooth voice, calling him by his self-proclaimed title. That is until there’s a loud-

Bang!

Silence fills the room like no other.

Until there isn't.

A wet noise riddled with death plagues everyone’s ears. Shock and fear fill Raga’s eyes as a gargling noise escapes from his throat. Blood threatens to make its way out his mouth as he claws at the wound in his heart.

Your eyes widen as you watch the trail of blood escape his lips, and a small smile appears on your face.

Maybe it wasn’t small enough.

Because then your head is being grabbed and crushed down to the floor as screams and shouts mixed with the wet gasps of death flood your ear.

“You bitch!”

“You knew, didn’t you!”

“Answer me!”

The wind has been knocked out of you, but you still manage to laugh hysterically–your mind just as gone as your physical body. This angers the man, causing him to grab you by the neck, squeezing the life out of you while you’re on your back. You choke, still smiling at him. Your vision becomes blurry. Your mind hazy. Your eyes watery. You can barely even see the man’s malicious expression over top of you.

A sudden loud noise makes you flinch, followed by a sharp, irritating ringing in your ears. A warm, wet liquid begins to drip, drip, drip on your cheek. The man’s grip on your neck begins to fade, and your vision returns just enough to see his eyes roll in the back of his head.

The next instant, your chest is being crushed by the dead weight of the man on top of you, his body limp and lifeless.

You gasp. Wrangled coughs begin to erupt from you as your chest heaves up and down–gasping for air. You look to your left, the sight of splattered brains and blood littering the wall behind you. The smell of iron floods your nostrils. Aventurine stands above you. His own chest heaves as his gun still points at the dead man’s body. You look up at him through your wet lashes, his gun just as flashy as him. You wonder how he was able to conceal it withou-

Bang!

He fires again. The noise makes you flinch, causing your body to jump back to reality. His nostrils flare, and there is a look of pure rage and insanity as he looks down at the already deceased man.

Then he fires again.

And again.

And when the last round fires into the limp man’s body, you can’t even think to react to it anymore.

You both stay still taking in the newfound quietness–the newfound safety. There are only small breaths as you both calm down, the adrenaline leaving your bodies.

Aventurine breathes in harshly through his nose and licks his lips. “Tell Jade…” He lifts his glasses up, resting them on the crown of his head. You watch as his hands shake as he does so.

“Yeah…” You breathlessly agree, already knowing what he’s about to say. You squirm beneath the man’s body and lift his weight off of you.“That we’re not doing business…with this shit hole of a planet.”

He offers you his handkerchief.

You take it graciously while walking ahead of him–your strides unusually long. “Wasn’t that something?” Aventurine humors. You continue to walk as you rid your face of the almost dried blood on your face.

Aventurine tries to catch up to you. His steps hold a slight bounce in them as he does so while readjusting the hat on his head. “You’re hot with blood on yourself,” he flirts, trying to cut the tension. “I ever tell you that?”

You stay silent and keep your pace, wiping the remainder of the blood that imposes itself on your skin. You politely hand him back his handkerchief. When it reaches his hands, he looks down at it, his eyes weary.

“Besides the last part, you have fun?” He inquires. ”Bet you got a kick outta pointing a gun to my hea-��

There's a loud smack as the palm of your hand meets the side of his face. Silence follows, and you look down upon him as his head hands down to the side. He groans slightly as his hand makes its way to soothe the stinging pain of his cheek.

When he recovers, all he can manage to do is look you in the eyes like a kicked puppy when his gaze lands on your mortified face–made so by his previous words.

Your horror turns into anger as you bear into his soul before you turn and walk away without a word.

You had taken a shower to remove the smell of iron and brain matter from your skin, but you had left the bathroom door closed, seemingly uninviting Aventurine to bathe with you.

He waits for you patiently. When you come out clean and dressed, his hand tenderly trails to your neck in worry, the bruise becoming more visible now that your skin has been cleansed.

Your hand reaches for his. You take it away from your neck and squeeze gently. “I’m alright,” you reassure him as you lay down on the bed of the hotel room. He follows.

He doesn’t like this, and he doesn’t like what you do to him. For Aeons' sake, you slapped him hours earlier and haven’t said a word since.

Yet he follows you like a weak lap dog as your silence makes him more and more worried. You had struck him down and given him a look of utter disgust and horror. Hell, he might even like it if it were in the right context. But he believes he hates your silence more than being bitch slapped.

He doesn't know what to say or how to feel, and he is clueless about how to make things right.

So, he resorts to what he knows. Pleasure.

Your thoughts are still processing while you lay down on your back in the cold hotel room. Your arm sprawls across your eyelids to block the sunlight that intrudes past the curtains.

Aventurine places a kiss on your jaw.

You let out a sigh. “I told you not to go without me.” Your voice is soft but stern, not at all reflecting the look of disgust you had given him before arriving back from the mission.

His lips travel to your neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispers softly. He tries to show it by suckling at the tender spot between your shoulder and neck, eliciting a small gasp from you. His fingertips gently trace along your neck, your soft skin now forming a bruise from the previous pressure.

You let out a slow muffled moan. “You almost died.”

He trails small pecks down to your stomach, his hand traveling underneath your shirt to tenderly grope one of your breasts, “Hah, me? Never.” He presses his lips down to praise your skin,

“I could’ve killed you,” you rebuttal.

“I wouldn’t mind dying by your hands.”

“Don’t say that, please.” Your eyes are still closed, and you let out a small sigh of frustration.

“Shh,” he murmurs as his mouth traps down to your hips, and his fingers hook underneath your underwear.

“Kakavasha.” Your voice is sharp and in the present, as you yank his head up with your hand. You say no words, but your eyes speak for you. You don't have to do this. Talk to me. Listen to me. Your eyes beg him. There’s a hint of shock and pain in his beautiful eyes at the sound of his birth-given name. He waits patiently for you to speak, a worried expression riddling your face.

“Don’t say that! I could’ve killed you!” You reiterate with a scream.

“Okay, oka-”

“Why would you do that?” You question. Your own iris’ staring into his with fire in them. “The IPC needs you. You’re too valuable, and you would throw your life away?” You scream. “And let me be the cause?”

He looks at you in bewilderment. He had never seen you with this much panic in your eyes–in your voice–in your body language. You’re stiff as your hand still gently grips his blond locks. Your poker face at the time had fooled him, too. You were always calm; collected. He thought you enjoyed the game as much as he did…that is…until he started not enjoying it…

Flashes of your face enter his mind. Replaying like a broken DVD on a loop. He sees your face turning a wild shade of blue, red, and purple, with the man’s hands on your neck. He comes back to reality, his eyes finding the bruise on your neck.

“Me?” He questions, his voice raising, much different from his normal nonchalant tone of voice. “You act as if you weren’t dying on the floor.” He takes a sharp breath inward. After all that happened you chose to worry about him? “Be angry at me for almost getting you killed god damn it, not for playing a stupid game!”

You let go of his hair in shock as he continues. “What the hell do you think would’ve happened to me if they found you dead and me alive?”

It is at that moment that you both realize what you’re trying to do. You both aim to cover up your glaring emotions with selfish reasoning, to mask the wanting feeling in your chests with your calculated words.

He’s the first to break as his voice begins to crack. “What would I do without you?” His eyes look into yours, and the weight of his question settles in on your heart. “What do you think would’ve happened to me without you here?”

You don’t answer; you only stare at him in bewilderment. He doesn't let you answer–gratefully– because you're not sure if you have one.

“And you were laughing—” he adds. His frame crawls on top of you. “Why were you laughing?” His eyes reflect the utter amazement and shock that he feels remembering your strained laughs, even in the face of death.

With his body so close to you–with his face so close to yours, you have no choice but to answer him.

“I wouldn’t mind dying by anyone’s hand,” you reply quietly, barely above a whisper.

Aventurine’s own words replay in his mind as his eyes widen at your declaration. “Don’t say that!” he grunts, his hand grabbing your chin roughly. His fingers and thumb squish into both sides of your cheeks as he leans forward, his face mere centimeters from yours. “Why would you say that?” His voice is breathy when he questions you. You’ve never seen him so worked up, with so much pain in his eyes, so…vulnerable.

He lets go of your chin and continues to stare into your eyes–a mutual level of understanding found between you two in the thick silence. A somber look.

Both tired of working.

Of negotiating.

Of investing.

Both wearied of your lives.

Aventurine breaks eye contact, and his head begins to sag. He whispers. “I shouldn't have gone alone. I-I shouldn't have had you fix my messes…”

“Shh, shh,” you interject. Your gentle hand travels to his cheek, where you had struck him, as you lift his head up. You usher him closer, and your foreheads meet. “You did well, Kakavasha,” you whisper softly to him. A sigh escapes his lips at the praise. “Please, be careful,” you plead.

Aventurine nods ever so slightly. “Only if you are,” he counters, leaning forward to kiss you. His tongue slips in between your lips. It’s eager, yes. But it’s like no other kiss that you usually share with him. The ones filled with pleasure, want, and lust. Instead, it’s filled with another word that Aventurine dares not think of because it scares him too greatly.

But there is a lingering feeling inside him that thinks you might feel it too.

Don’t date your coworkers, chat. Especially if ur both lowkey suicidal. Also, you know I had to make him say “bust.” C’mon now.

ty for making it to the end, whew. reblogs are appreciated. <3

#skip.writes #honkai star rail #aventurine #hsr aventurine #hsr #hsr smut #fanfiction #fem reader #aventurine x you #hsr ipc #ipc #penacony #aventurine x reader

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miley1442111 · 26 days

Text

nervous night- a.hotchner

a/n: i imagined a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)

you and aaron have jack (obvi) and a daughter, ellie. :) (2k + words)

summary: you see your sister for the first time in a long ti8me, things don't go so well.

pairing: husband/dad aaron hotchner x wife/mother reader

warnings: annoying family members, your sister is a narcissist, allusions to abuse, sad moments, aaron and reader shower together (not sexually)

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Nerves wracked your stomach. You hadn’t seen your sister in 4 years. Your sister was somewhat of a narcissist and practically made you her punching bag throughout childhood. She always had to be the centre of attention, always had to be pitied, and always had to be liked. It was exhausting. Now, you were a successful professor with a husband, a son, and a daughter. Aaron, Jack, and Ellie were the loves of your life, they were your favourite people on the planet. They had your back through everything, Aaron supported and loved you and your children were the most intelligent and polite kids on the earth.

So, why were you so nervous for this dinner?

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When Aaron walked into the bathroom and saw the beautiful floor-length gown you had on for the evening, the flawlessly- applied makeup, and the beautiful way you had styled your hair, he was reminded of a fresh-out-of-the-academy you. Yes, you were younger than him, and yes, at the beginning he was named a ‘cradle-robber’ by the team but neither of you cared. You two were each other's everything. You had joined the BAU just after Haley’s death and Aaron and you grew close. It took about a year and a half before he made a move, since you didn’t want to take advantage of his fragile state. Since then, it’d had nothing but love between the two of you. A year of dating, marriage in Rossi’s backyard, and Ellie joining you only 9 months after the wedding. BUt when he first laid his eyes on you, he was sure you were an angel. You were so kind, so funny, so smart, so interesting. You were everything he wanted and more.

Years on, you were out of the BAU, a professor at a university nearby and Aaron had become a corporate lawyer.

“You look so beautiful,” Aaron smiled in the mirror as you fixed your earring. You rolled your eyes and chuckled.

“You look pretty handsome yourself,” you smiled at him. His cheeks warmed and his smile widened.

“The kids are ready,” As he was speaking, Jack walked in with Ellie behind him, an undone tie around his neck.

“Mom!” Ellie smiled in your direction. You smiled at your grown children. Jack was 19 now, Ellie was 11. Ellie and you were so close, just like you were close with Jack. You started tying Jack’s tie without question as Aaron scoffed from behind you and Jack just smiled at you.

“What are you scoffing about?” You gave Aaron a playful kick and he rested a hand on your shoulder, standing behind you.

“I already did Jack’s tie,” he explained. “But he undid it so you could do it.”

“Mom does your tie every morning!” Jack reminded him and Aaron smiled, rolling his eyes.

“I suppose,” he sighed as he picked up Ellie. “Are you excited for dinner Ellie?”

Ellie squealed, trying to get out of her father’s arms as he mercilessly tickled her. You and Jack laughed at their shenanigans and you smiled at your lovely life. You adored your family.

You finished up Jack’s tie and gave him a hug, moving to grab your things when Aaron grabbed your waist. He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, right beside your ear and whispered. “You’ll do great, you’re incredible.”

Some of the weight on your chest lifted.

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The dinner was in a very upscale restaurant, one Aaron had brought you to for your anniversary just a few months perviously. You sat nervously waiting on your sister as Aaron sat beside you, keeping the kids entertained with a story from your time in the BAU. As much as the BAU was a very traumatic time for the both of you, it was still an amazing part of your life. As Jack pretended to not know the ending and Ellie listened with bated breath, you smiled at your amazing family, a sense of immense pride radiating from you.

Then they walked in. What you thought to be your sister, her dark hair the same but… everything different from what you’d remembered. She seemed tanner, different, more-expensive clothing on her, and clearly luxurious jewellery clung to her. Her husband, a short man called Pete with his signature pleasant smile on his face, and three children behind them, all staring down at phones. Your sister, Maeve sat opposite you, Pete opposite Aaron, Liam (her first born son) opposite Jack, Joey (her second child) opposite Ellie, and their youngest daughter, Elizabeth sitting in a seat beside her father.

“Y/n! How are you?” She asked, her voice sickly sweet and far too loud for the atmospheric restaurant.

“I’m good, how are you?” You smiled. Well, here goes nothing.

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

She was still a narcissistic bitch. Her husband was so conditioned to her bullying it seemed to roll off him, but it hit you deep. Aaron could tell how upset you were getting at her ‘not-so-subtle’ jabs at your life and choices that he decided to commandeer the situation and talk about something both him and Pete could talk about, their shared job, being a lawyer.

Pete was a mildly successful lawyer and Aaron could tell his family lived well beyond their means, something he’d noticed since the beginning of the dinner. The children were all dressed well, she was dressed well, but Pete was in a second-hand, or old shirt.

Benefits of being a profiler, I guess.

“So, what do you like to do Jack?” Maeve asked your son, interrupting Aaron.

“I like soccer,” He smiled, his manners were shining through and you couldn’t have been more proud. “What do you like to do?”

“Oh, he’s so cute,” Maeve chuckled like he wasn’t even there. “Liam plays soccer too, don’t you Liam?” She asked him, nudging him to look up from the phone his eyes were glued to.

“What?- Oh, yeah. I scored 7 goals this season,” he smirked. Jack’s interest was piqued, he loved soccer.

“Cool! What team do you play with?” Jack asked.

“I’m kind of between teams at the minute, what about you?”

Jack was not one to show off, but he had gotten a scholarship to Stanford on his soccer talent and it was something he’d been extremely proud of since he’d started going there last fall. “Umm,” he mumbled for a second. “Stanford. I’m the captain of the Stanford team.”

Maeve’s jaw dropped. Liam’s jaw dropped.

“You’re the captain of the Stanford team?” Liam asked, shocked.

“Yeah,” Jack smiled. Liam chuckled.

“Congratulations man, that’s awesome,” Liam shook Jack’s hand in a friendly manner and you were happy Jack was being acknowledged by his cousins.

“And what about you, little miss?” Maeve asked, brushing off your son’s talent.

“I play tennis and I’m in a competitive dance team,” she smiled. “I love tennis though, I probably prefer it to dance.”

"Wow, how amazing!" Maeve's over-exaggerated enthusiasm showed something else, her jealousy.

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“So you’ve landed on your feet,” Maeve slurred.

“I have,” you smiled as you watched your children chatting with their cousins in the garden, playing in the summer sunset.

“The husband is pretty too,” she snorted, clearly far too drunk. “Might have to steal him.”

“There is no way you could steal me away from my wife,” Aaron phrased it like a joke, wrapping his arms around your waist, but everyone could tell it wasn’t.

Maeve fake-laughed as Pete smiled at the two of you.

“I can’t believe it, my baby-sister. You’re all grown up, taking care of a dead woman’s child and one of your own,” Maeve jabbed and you could feel your blood run cold. “I never thought you’d be a good mother, turns out I was right.”

“Pardon?” Aaron asked.

“I mean, yes, Jack is impressive but that was the work of your late wife, what’s her name again? Haley? And Y/n has Ellie in dance and tennis, I mean she clearly wants to give her daughter an eating disorder just like she had back in the day.”

Your heart dropped. You were so hurt by those words.

“What the fuck did you just say to my mom?” Jack asked from the door to the backyard. Maeve had a triumphant smirk on her face.

“Nothing that wasn’t true,” Maeve smirked.

“Why do you always have to ruin stuff mom?!” Liam groaned. “They are actually cool and interesting people and you’re ruining our relationship with them because you’re jealous! Just give up!”

Shouting began. Maeve and Pete were shouting at Liam, Joey, and Elizabeth and they were shouting back. Ellie ran to you, burying her face in your side and you covered her ears. Jack settled himself beside you, letting you hug him close, his face in the crook of your neck. Jack and Ellie both hated shouting, they could not stand it. It reminded Jack of the day Haley died, and it reminded Ellie of a time you had gotten hurt on a case and been rushed to hospital, she had been with you when you were rushed to surgery and she could always remember the shouting of the doctors and nurses.

“We’re leaving!” Pete demanded.

“I fucking staying here, if Aaron and Y/n let me,” Liam shouted back. All shouting was silenced, and all eyes were on you two. You looked at Aaron and he nodded.

“Of course you can stay here,” He assured his niece and nephews. “We’d be happy to have you.”

Pete and Maeve were deeply unhappy at that.

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In the end, Liam, Joey, and Elizabeth stayed, Pete and Maeve practically disowning them and saying they would ‘drop their stuff off in the morning’. I mean, you had the extra space, you had three guest rooms in your house (one of Rossi’s houses you’d bought off him for a very substantial discount), and you truly did love them.

You tucked Ellie into bed and closed the door behind you, coming face to face with Liam.

“Thank you for letting us stay,” he said.

“Of course, we love you guys so much and you’re welcome here any time.”

“Thank you,” he said, pulling you into a hug. You could feel the small sobs wracking his body but you didn’t mention it, allowing him to cry into your neck.

“Do you want to go golfing with Jack and Aaron this weekend? You can offer it to Joey too. Ellie and I can take Elizabeth with us to get our nails done,” you offered, knowing they would probably be staying for a while.

“That would be really nice,” he pulled away, smiling. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

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You knocked on Jack’s door, and he opened it immediately.

“You alright?” You had barely got the question out before he wrapped you up in a bone-crushing hug.

“I love you mom,” he stressed. “Thank you for letting them stay.”

You were kind of aware that Jack and Liam had been friends online in recent years, but clearly they knew each other better than you thought.

“You two are close?”

“He’s been telling me a bit about life with his parents and… it’s not good.”

You nodded, understanding what he meant. After sitting with him for some time, you wished him sweet dreams and moved to your own bedroom, exhaustion pulling at your eyes.

You heard the shower running, knowing it was Aaron, you removed your makeup and clothes, then joined him.

“Hi honey,” he smiled sympathetically. “How are you doing?”

“I’m here,” you yawned as his hands gripped your waist. “Looks like they’ll be staying for a while.”

“Should I look into papers?” he asked, grabbing some shampoo and softly running it through your hair.

“Not yet,” you mumbled, allowing your eyes to close as he took care of you.

“You looked so beautiful tonight,” he whispered against your skin as he kissed up your neck.

“Thank you,” you smiled sleepily. “You looked very handsome.”

“Thank you,” he chuckled.

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

After finishing up in the shower, Aaron escorted you straight to your bed, where he wrapped his arms around you and kissed you silly, whispering words of encouragement and thanks for your strength.

"And how do you feel about it?" he asked after a few minutes.

"Like shit, I feel terrible for them, and then of course, everything she said to me-"

"You're an amazing person, and mother. Don't listen to people who don't know anything about you anymore. The only contact you two have had in the past few years is through social media. She barely knows who you are, so her opinion doesn't matter," He assured you, pressing small kisses along your collarbone.

"Then who's opinion matters?" You smiled back.

"Mine, and I think that you're the most incredible," a kiss. "intelligent," another kiss. "sexy," another kiss. "beautiful," another kiss. "deserving of love and praise," a kiss to your lips. "Human being on the planet."

The chuckle as he continued his kisses and soft words and fell asleep quickly. He watched you for a moment, appreciating your beauty.

You were perfect.

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criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

#criminal minds #bau team #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotcher

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theemporium · 3 months

Text

[2.6k] it's hard to remember you are good enough when everyone and everything in the world seems hellbent on convincing you otherwise. or, at least, the voice in your head is.

tw: description of panic attacks and symptoms

Luke Hughes thought he was ready for this.

He had spent the better part of his life preparing for this moment, letting it lead up to this moment. From the day he was born, it was like a prophecy that he would inevitably fulfil, just like his brothers. From the moment he put on those skates and took his first step onto the ice, it was like planets aligned and stars shone down on him and the universe decided that Luke Hughes would make it to the NHL.

It was everything he wanted in life, it was everything he trained for in his life.

And he watched his older brothers do the same.

He had spent his childhood listening to his parents tell him all about the bigger leagues. He trained and trained and pushed his way through the junior leagues. He went as far as doing his stint in college hockey, in following Quinn’s footsteps in hopes of being just like him.

He watched Quinn be drafted. He watched Jack be drafted. He watched his own name be called out.

He even got a fucking taste of it all in the playoffs, that small insight into what would be the rest of his life before he officially started his rookie year. It was overwhelming but it was everything he ever wanted. He had trained for this. He was prepared for this. He was made for the NHL.

He thought he was ready for this but he really fucking wasn’t.

The bitter sting of a loss was a familiar but unwelcome feeling, one that washed over him and suffocated him as he stood on the ice. He liked to torture himself a little, to tilt his head back and look at the losing score on the big screens whilst the echoes of the fans around them hit his ears. He liked to make himself feel the sting so he wouldn’t forget it, so it would push him to do harder, to play better.

But these days, it seemed like nothing was enough.

It was humiliating, some of the games they were losing. No one on the team was going to outrightly say it, but Luke could see it on their faces. He could see it in the way Nico’s face shut down like he didn’t want them to see their captain down. He could see it in the way Jack gripped his stick a little tighter, like he was reissting the urge to hit it against something to vent his frustrations out. He could see it in the way Jesper’s shoulders sagged as he skated towards the tunnel, or the way Daws kept his head down so nobody would see the look on his face.

He saw it on all of their faces, and some horrible, bitter voice in the back of his head told him it was all of his fault.

Logically, Luke knew that was impossible. Hockey was a team sport and one bad player didn’t make the whole team bad. But it didn’t help him from feeling like he was dragging them down, stopping them from being the same team that made it to round two of the playoffs last year.

Luke couldn’t help but feel that maybe he wasn’t made for the big leagues, that he didn’t belong.

That he didn’t deserve his spot.

His body felt heavy as he followed the team and skated towards the tunnel. Every move felt slow, lethargic, weighted. Everything felt like it was too much, and yet his mind never stopped moving.

It was like watching a tragic movie on loop in his head.

Each fumbled pass replayed in his mind. Each missed shot. Each stumble on the ice. Each bad call. Each intercepted passes. All of it. The shitty plays and shittier calls. Not even from the game they just played, but the string of losses they had been pushing through. They all played in his head over and over again until that voice was screaming at him.

It was his fault they were losing.

It was his fault they weren’t scoring the points they were capable of.

It was his fault he wasn’t good enough.

It was his fault because they thought he would be as good as Quinn and Jack, and he fucking wasn’t.

It was all his fault.

It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his—

And the voice just didn’t stop.

It didn’t stop screaming at him as he stepped off the ice, his body wanting nothing more than to stop fighting gravity and just give in. It didn’t stop screaming as he joined the line towards the locker room, every other sound muffled to him. It didn’t stop as he shuffled towards his stall, collapsing onto the bench like his body couldn’t handle his weight anywhere.

It just didn’t fucking stop.

His brain was so loud and noisy and deafening, he couldn’t focus on anything else. He couldn’t focus on whatever post-game speech Nico was inevitably giving the boys. He couldn’t focus on whichever players got pulled for media. He couldn’t focus on the way everyone was meticulously packing up their equipment, discussing what their plans were for the night since they didn’t have practice until the afternoon tomorrow.

He couldn’t focus on anything but that screaming voice.

And truthfully, Luke didn’t know how long had passed since the horn blared at the end of the game. He didn’t know when everyone else started leaving the locker room. He didn’t know when his hands started shaking and his vision started to well up with tears. He didn’t know when it became so fucking hard to breathe.

“Luke?”

The voice was muffled and he should have tilted his head back, he should have looked up to see who was calling out to him. But his head felt heavy and his blurry vision was making it seem like he had more fingers than he should and it was just all too fucking much.

“Hey, Luke. Buddy? You good?”

And then there was another voice.

They both sounded concerned. They sounded close. They sounded like they cared.

But Luke couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t lift his head and see looks on their faces because he know, without a fucking doubt, who those two voices were. He knew it was Nico and Jack. He knew it was his captain and his brother. And in complete honesty, they were the last people Luke wanted to see.

He didn’t want to see the look of pity on Nico’s face. He didn’t want to see his captain look at him like he was some wounded animal that probably wouldn’t make it. He didn’t want to see that disappointment like he expected more from a Hughes brother, like he expected more from Luke. He didn’t want to see Nico stare at him like he was a freak for being upset when it was his fault they lost the game.

He didn’t want to look at Jack. He didn’t want to see the mix of emotions on his face. It had always been a dream of theirs—all three of them—that they would play in the NHL together, and it fucking happened for them. He didn’t want to see the regret on his brother’s face. He didn’t want to see the disappointment in what he’s turned Jack’s team into. He didn’t want to see the anger on his brother’s face that he had fucked up their chances of playoffs again. He couldn’t fucking handle seeing his brother look at him with distaste, for not being good enough.

Nico and Jack were the last fucking people Luke wanted seeing him like this.

He didn’t want his captain or any of his teammates right now. He didn’t want Jack or Quinn or either of his parents.

He didn’t want anyone.

His chest felt tight, his body felt cold, his hands wouldn’t stop fucking shaking and the gear felt like it was weighing him down even more to the point he swore he could have melted into the ground. He didn’t fucking want them around him, he didn’t want them to see him like this. He just wanted—

“Luke?”

This voice was softer and quieter. It was like a hum, familiar and warm and—

Fuck, it was just what he fucking wanted, needed.

His movements felt slow and shaky but he managed to lift his head, his bottom lip wobbling like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to scream or cry. But somewhere in the well of tears, in the blur of colours and blobs, he saw you.

“Baby,” you whispered, soft and heartbroken and he honestly thought that was worse than any pity or anger he could have received. He didn’t like seeing you sad, and he hated it even more when he was the reason behind it.

But when he opened his mouth, no words came out. Just a garbled noise, a choked out sound that had his lungs heaving for the air they so desperately needed.

“Hey, shhhh,” you murmured, and suddenly your hands were on his face. He could feel you wipe away the tears streaming down his face, soft brushes of your thumb against the irritated skin of his cheeks. He could feel you shift closer until you were kneeling between his legs, until you were as close as you could be whilst still keeping your eyes on his face. “Just breathe.”

Luke shook his head, something like frustration bubbling inside him.

“Yes, you can. I know you can,” you continued, your voice firm but reassuring. One of your hands dropped from his face and he almost cried a little harder, cried for you to keep touching him. But then he felt your fingers wrap around his wrist, felt you guide one of his shaking hands until it rested on the centre of your chest. “Just copy me, okay?”

Luke blinked at you.

“Just gotta copy what I do, baby,” you told him, giving his wrist a soft squeeze like you were telling him you knew he could do it. “Just breathe with me. Deep breaths. We will go slow, okay? Just follow what I do.”

So, he did.

He wasn’t sure how long had passed. He wasn’t sure where everyone else was. He didn’t know if the team had already left, if Jack had already left. He didn’t know if there were any fans left in the building or if the rest of the team had started making their way home too.

He didn’t know anything except you.

It took a while to ease the band around his chest enough to let air into his lungs. His breaths were shaky and shallow, his body still felt buzzed and on alert like it was preparing him to run at any given moment. But with each passing breath, each little exercise, his heart slowed down from his thundering pace and his blood wasn’t roaring in his ears anymore.

And somewhere along the line, the rest of his tears were blinked away until he could finally see you again.

“There’s my pretty boy,” you murmured with a soft smile on your lips, one hand remaining on his cheek whilst the other was pressed over his on your chest. “You’re doing so well, baby, just like that. Keep breathing.”

And Luke continued to breathe, continued to copy the way your chest moved with each breath until his brain started to remember he could do this himself. And it was only then he spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, his voice a little rough and croaky like he hadn’t spoken for years. Like his throat wasn’t used to it. “I am so sorry—”

But before the hyperventilating could take over his body again, you were squeezing his hand to catch his attention. “Hey, no,” you frowned at him, an emotion he couldn’t quite read passing over your face. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologise. You didn’t do anything wrong, Luke.”

“But I—” He let out a shaky breath, feeling a ball form in the back of his throat like it was stopping the words he wanted to say. “The game—”

“Was unfortunate,” you finished for him. “But it happens, Luke. And it wasn’t your fault.”

He shook his head like he disagreed.

“Luke,” you started.

But the boy looked away. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t see the expression on your face when he pointed it out. He knew you had probably seen it all online anyways, he knew you knew what they said about him. But he didn’t want to see the moment it clicked for you.

He didn’t want to see the moment you realise he wasn’t good enough, for the league or for you.

“Luke,” you said in a firmer voice, a little more serious and it finally scared him into lifting his head again. “None of this is your fault. Hockey is a team sport. You win as a team and you lose as a team. This isn’t on you—”

Luke let out a choked noise. “People say—”

“People will say a lot of things but that doesn’t mean it’s true,” you said to him, the hand on his cheek becoming a comfort he leaned into. “Luke, baby, it’s your rookie year. You are going to make rookie mistakes. It happens to everyone. It happened to Jack.”

“I know.” He could feel his throat closing up. “It’s just…maybe it was a mistake—”

You frowned. “What was?”

“This,” Luke said as he gestured to the locker room around him. “Me. Hockey. I don’t know.”

Your frown deepened. “Luke—”

“Maybe I just wasn’t cut out for the big leagues like Jack and Quinn were,” he continued as he swallowed harshly, the truth raw and bitter and suffocating.

“Luke,” you said once again and this time both of your hands were cupping his cheeks. “Don’t start bullshitting me now.”

His eyes widened a little. “Baby—”

“No, Luke, listen to me,” you said, squishing his cheeks a little to emphasise your point. Your stare was strong but full of sincerity, and it made his chest tight for a different reason. “You aren’t here because of Jack and Quinn. You are here because you are good enough. Because they saw your skills. Because they think you are skilled enough to be a fourth overall draft pick. Are you hearing yourself right now? You are made for this. And yeah, a couple of losses are gonna knock anybody’s confidence. But you are at the start of your career, Luke. You have so much ahead of you.”

He blinked away the tears that were starting to form again.

“You are more than these last few games, Luke. And you are more than enough to be in the NHL.” Your voice was softer, quieter too. “You are going to get past this rough patch. And I’m going to be by your side and so is the whole team. This isn’t the end of the world, this is just the start.”

“I love you,” he blurted out because he didn’t know what else to say. His body was still shaking with the after effects of his panic attack and his body still felt heavy, but it was hard to focus on the bitter voice in the back of his head when he was so full of love and admiration for you. “Like, so much.”

You smiled at him and he could have sworn his heart fluttered.

“I love you too,” you told him, leaning forward to press a sweet but chaste kiss to his lips. “Now, c’mon, let’s get you changed and then we can head back home. I told Jack to order us burrito wraps.”

He swallowed back the urge to say ‘I love you’ again.

“You’re amazing, Luke Hughes, and I’ll be damned if you ever forget it.”

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