9-1-1 | T | 118 firefam | multiple alternating povs | buck-centric | buddie | 30.7k | tags on ao3
They’re gonna need you.
Buck sobs at the words, digging his forehead into the grit of concrete and closes his eyes against the thought, because they don’t. They don’t; they each have families to hold them close, to ground them through this loss; they don’t need Buck to help with that. They’ve each lost so much, they don’t need him to help them through.
But Bobby’s voice rings clear, urging his breaths to slow, to get ahold of himself. An implied order, this time, one he doesn’t dare refuse:
They’re gonna need you.
You’re gonna be okay, Buck. Remember that.
or, the 8x16-18 rewrite, and a bit of saving bobby along the way
Peter shakes his head. “You know I love you, bug, right? A lot.”
“More than three thousand?”
“More than infinity,” he says. Morgan gasps, eyes going big. “I love you more than anything ever.”
Morgan wrinkles her nose. “Not as much as I love you!”
“Not possible, bug. You’re not going to win this one.” He leans in closer, drops his voice a little, “You know your mom and dad loved you a lot too, yeah?”
Her little face goes serious, lifting an even littler hand to grab his shirt. “I know, Petey.”
“Good. Now go get washed up for breakfast.” He sets her down on the floor and watches her race off for the bathroom.
He turns off the stove and is waiting for Morgan’s return when he hears a knock on the front door. Unusual, sure, but he assumes maybe it’s May or maybe MJ finally came round to try and knock some sense into him. It’s not that crazy.
He hears Morgan’s feet racing across the floor. “Morgan, wait a sec,” he tries, but he hears the door open anyways.
He rounds the corner and stops short.
Harley Keener is standing there in the doorway to the cabin with his stupid grin. Morgan’s propped on his hip, flannel bunching around her. His hair is fluffier than Peter remembers and his are bluer than they were in the dark fading light by the lake at the funeral. His jeans are ripped wide in the knees. He’s tan after spending the summer, Peter assumes, out in the Tennessee sun. At the funeral, he’d been pale and drained of all color from the rough day, but now he’s bronzed and grinning and eyes bright and in Peter’s doorway.
“Harley.”
“Harley!” Morgan agrees enthusiastically.
Harley’s grin widens and he bounces Morgan on his hip a few times before setting her down. “Hope this isn’t a bad time, figured it was about time for me to check in on my favourite kid.”
**
In which Pepper and Tony both die in the final battle leaving Peter to pick up the pieces and become Morgan's guardian.
CW: canon-typical violence, weapons, blood, injuries, death, crime, hostages, mental illness, talks of suicide (unsub), injury while pregnant, pregnancy, let me know if I missed anything
hurt/comfort, angst w a happy ending
1.5K words
this is my first ever x reader fic and i don't know how i feel about it but please be kind uwu
Requests are open for spencer reid fics so please send some in!! Hurt/comfort is preferred but I’ll write angst or fluff as well !!
divider by firefly-graphics
You haven't told anyone. You only just found out and then you were whisked away on another case, so you hadn't even had the time to process it.
A baby.
You were pregnant.
It wasn't planned or something you'd even thought about too much, but you couldn't help the excitement.
You'd always wanted to be a mom, always pictured yourself one day raising a baby, and being with Spencer cemented that notion. Having a baby with Spencer? That would be like a dream come true.
Spencer had only mentioned having a kid a few times, in passing, he'd never really brought it up with you in conversation. You know how much he loves Henry and Michael, how much he adores helping kids on cases, how much he loves you. You know all this but you can't help the self-doubt with such a life-changing event.
It wasn't like you thought Spencer would leave. Of course he wouldn't, but maybe that's it's own problem. Maybe he'll stay and grow to resent you for trapping him in a life like this.
You were thinking of telling Penny, just so that she could help in the planning to tell Spencer stage. Or maybe so that someone could hold your hand when you went to your first official doctor's appointment if you chickened out of telling Spencer.
You weren't sure if Spencer was ready for a child, you weren't even sure if you were ready for a child. You were young, sure, but you're financially stable, you have a decent amount in savings after you moved into Spencer's apartment and saved up the money you would've spent on rent. You'd probably have to move eventually, but for now, the small office could be turned into a nursery.
The last thing you would've expected from a relatively basic case with a couple dead bodies and a confused, mentally ill twenty-year old momma's boy who just lost his mom and was taking people who he'd believed to be bad mothers, was to be taken hostage.
"It's going to be okay," Emily says as soon as they've been left alone in the lobby of the bank as the man tries to come up with an exit plan. He's stupid, he has no plan, no way out of this, but he might be stupid enough to kill the agents and take his own life.
You've been held hostage before, it's in the job description to be held captive or put in life-threatening situations, but you've never done it while carrying another life, if only the size of a pomegranate seed, and nothing more than a clump of cells, but it's the idea, it's the future you've built up inside your head.
"Emily," you say, voice caught in your throat. You tug at the zipties holding your wrists behind your back. "Emily."
"We're going to be fine," she says, almost nonchalant in her certainty. "This guy's an idiot, we'll be able to talk him into something crazy and he'll fall for it."
"Emily, I'm pregnant."
There's a second where every emotion under the sun flashes across her face and then, in the blink of an eye, she's settled on a pokerface again.
"It's going to be fine."
"I shouldn't be this scared."
"Hey, it's not like this job turns us into robots, (y/n), being scared is normal."
The ziptie cuts into your skin and you suck in a breath just as the unsub walks back into the room, panic clear on his face.
"You have two federal agents in your custody, Patterson. Our team is willing to trade you whatever it is that you want for our safety," Emily starts carefully.
Patterson paces in front of them. "Shut up!"
"Patterson, listen to us-" You try, but he turns on you angrily. Pain explodes across the left side of her face and she falls into Emily's side.
"Shut up!" he screams, hitting his head in frustration.
He turns away from them, muttering under his breath.
"You okay?" Emily whispers, eyes franticly searching your face for any sign of panic.
"I'm good, I'm okay." There's blood rushing down the side of your face from where you'd been pistol-whipped, and you can feel the headache coming in strong. Concussed, probably. Stitches, maybe. Longterm, you'll be fine.
Emily gently presses her chin and mouth to the top of your head, still half-sprawled across her, and then takes a deep steadying breath.
"Patterson, we're going to help you, okay? You don't want to die, do you?"
You barely stop yourself from gasping, an ice-cold wave crashing through your body. You trust Emily, of course you do, but things like this are never certain and Emily's choosing time over safety.
Patterson turns on you, eyes wild and hair sticking up and gun waving carelessly. His voice comes out loud and almost childish, "What have I done?"
"It's going to be okay." Emily continues. "But my friend is hurt and she needs to see a doctor, right?"
Patterson drops the gun, breath hitching. He comes closer, lowering himself to the ground in front of them. "What have I done?"
"You're sick, James," you say, throwing as much parental concern into your voice as you can muster up. "You're going to get better, though, okay? I promise. You just have to do the right thing."
If you hadn't seen those women's bodies, if you didn't know the profile, you might've felt sorry for him. He looks like a scared boy, a child, confused and uncertain and searching for help.
"I don't know what that is."
You offer wavering smile. "We'll all go out there together, okay? And we'll make sure you get the help you need."
Patterson stands up hurriedly, going around the counter and returning with a pair of scissors.
He cuts you out of your zipties first and then Emily's too.
You carefully take the scissors from him, setting them down on the counter, and then loop your arm through his.
"I'm so sorry," he says.
You almost feel bad.
As soon as you step through the doors of the bank, Patterson is being pulled away and Spencer's arms are around you, pulling you in tight and tears falling down the shoulder of your shirt.
"I'm okay," you say, but you're crying too, you can't catch your breath, you can't stop imagining the what ifs, you can't unclench your fingers from the back of Spencer's vest. "We're okay."
Spencer walks you to see a paramedic and holds your hand the whole time while calling Garcia.
"Spencer, could you make sure Hotch has enough help? I promise I'm okay, just a little cut."
"I'm not leaving your side."
You let out a little laugh tinged with hysteria. "It was supposed to be more romantic than this."
"What was?"
You turn to the paramedic who's dabbing the blood from your forehead to see how bad the cut is.
"Could you double check the baby?"
The paramedic nods easily, unfazed, focused. But Spencer freezes at your side.
And then he sits down beside you. "I'm gonna pass out."
"Spencer!" you exclaim, hitting his arm.
"Say it for real. I wanna hear it out loud."
"I'm pregnant, Spencer. We're having a baby."
His laugh is more than tinged with hysteria. "Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh god. Oh- ma'am you need to take her to the hospital, you need to do an ultrasound, the baby could be hurt!"
"Right away, Doctor Reid."
The paramedic and Spencer help you up into the ambulance and lay you down in the bed.
"Spencer, we're going to have a baby," you say again and Spencer smiles so wide you think his cheeks might shatter.
"Oh my god."
The baby is perfect. You don't need any stitches, just a butterfly bandage to the head, and Spencer doesn't stop crying until you get him to take a nap on the jet.
"He wasn't even this emotional when I died," Emily says, pouting. She's sitting across from them with JJ, Morgan and Hotch on the bench.
"Oh my god you're pregnant!" JJ gasps, reaching for the tablet, "I have to tell Garcia, oh my god, she's going to lose her mind!"
"You're pregnant?" Morgan says.
You roll your eyes, running a hand over Spencer's arm. "I wasn't going to tell anyone until I was at least twelve weeks, but there was no way Spencer would've been able to keep it a secret, so yeah, I'm pregnant."
You get a round of congratulations and you tell Garcia when she picks up the call. Garcia screams loud enough to wake up Spencer, who will never admit that he cries again, and the team places bets on whether the baby will be a girl or a boy, if they'll have Spencer's curly hair or his intelligence, if they'll have your bravery or eyes.
Summary: Roman rants to Remus after what happens with Janus.
Warnings: Swearing, crying, ranting, hurt/comfort (?), a brief murder mention, and spoliers for the newest episode. Tell me if there’s anything I should add!
Word Count: ~670
Note: This is platonic Creativitwins! Do NOT tag as r/mr/m and do not tag as tw Remus or tw Janus/Deceit.
———
Roman sinks out quickly from the video, appearing in his and Remus’ shared bedroom. He slams the door, hearing a squeak and a crash from behind him. He whips around to see Remus on the floor, quite obviously having just fallen off the top bunk of their bunkbed. Before Remus can ask what’s wrong, Roman groans, hands tugging at his hair.
“God, I fucking hate that goddamn snake!” he yells. Remus’ eyes widen from his spot on the floor. “Ree, can I rant? Please?” Hearing the desperation and anger in the other’s voice, Remus nods, snapping his fingers. Suddenly, Remus is back on the top bunk, now wearing sweats and a red sweater, Roman now wearing shorts and a matching green sweater.
“Thought you’d wanna be comfy,” Remus explains at Roman’s confusion. “Go ahead and rant, I’m listening.”
Roman growls, feet moving quickly as he starts to pace on the soft rug. “I can’t fucking believe them! I mean, Deceit’s the bad guy! Or Janice, I guess?” Remus looks taken back at the (mispronounced) name, but lets him continue.
“LIke, he’s bad! He’s a liar! That’s what they fucking told me at least! It’s like I can’t do anything right in their eyes! Patton’s like “Roman! You can’t side with him!”, one minute, and the next they accept him? What the hell! I get reprimanded for siding with him and then I get reprimanded for not! What kind of twisted bullshit is that?”
He stops pacing, hands flapping quickly. There’s tears in his eyes as he tries to breathe, but ends up laughing instead.
“And y’know what else’s messed up?” he asks, a tear falling. “I insulted him and he shot right back. Should I have done that? No, but I know for a fact that I’m the only one who’s gonna get in trouble.”
He wipes away his tears, one hand still flapping as he looks at Remus. “Why am I the exception? Or not? I guess?” He lets out a small sob, both hands harshly scrubbing tears away. “They can insult me all they fucking want, but I’m the only one who can’t! It’s like ‘Oh, Roman, be nice to Virgil! But he can insult you all he wants!’ It’s bullshit!”
Roman’s voice shakes and cracks, finally falling to the floor as he sobs harder. Remus stares for a moment, both heartbroken and plotting several murders. He appears at Roman’s side, criss-cross on the floor.
“Done?” he asks softly. Roman nods, whimpering out a little “Mhm.” Remus opens his arms. “Cuddle time?” Roman’s teary eyes peek out from his hands, nodding again.
Remus gently scoops up Roman, pulling him into his lap and holding him tight. Roman sobs against his chest, weakly clutching the red sweater as the other rocks him back and forth.
“It’s okay, Ro,” Remus shushes, rubbing circles into his brother’s back. “I gotcha. They’re not gonna come anywhere near you as long as I’m here, I promise.” Roman nods, still crying into his sweater.
They stay there for a bit, Remus holding the other close while Roman cries. When his sobs die down to little hiccups and sniffles, Remus pulls him back enough to look at him. Roman’s eyes are puffy and his face is red and tear-stained.
“Time for Squishmallows and a Disney movie marathon?” Remus asks, wiping away some stray tears.
“Yeah,” Roman croaks. Remus just nods.
He gets up, taking Roman with him, and quickly summons a couch into their room. It’s covered in soft blankets and stuffed animals, Roman’s dragon Squishmallow right smack in the middle. Remus carries the other over, sitting down and letting Roman settle into his lap.
With a wave of his hand, their TV starts playing, the Disney theme starting. Roman sighs, hugging his dragon close and melting into Remus.
“Thanks,” he mutters, letting Remus run his fingers through his hair.
“‘Course,” Remus replies.
They both know they’re going to have to deal with everything later, but they ignore that for now, falling asleep on the couch with the TV still playing in the background.
Hey loves! So I’m such a sucker for the twins as dads so I thought I’d write a lil something for dad!gray🥺 after that lil vid on his IG I was already soft and then a video got recommended to me on YouTube so I just had to write something🤍 Here’s the video for reference: https://youtu.be/qVBAOAMU7hg
Warnings: Dad Gray because it’s what we all needed🥰 literally just fluff!
Time is such a perplexing and peculiar concept for you to try to wrap your head around. The perception of time is subjective. For you, the past 4 years have felt close to a lifetime, yet also went by unexplainably fast, in the most intense and spectacular way. When spent with the right people, time feels distorted. You’re left unaware of how long has passed, yet still you never find yourself searching for the nearest clock or grabbing for your phone to check the hour. You find yourself revelling in the enthralling feeling.
It’s always felt like this with Grayson. From the day you first ran into your own personal angel in aisle 7 of Gelson’s, you have savoured every single moment spent with this man. Always thanking your lucky stars that you had ran out of avocados that day. Now here you are, on the 4th anniversary of that initial interaction, standing in the doorway of your shared bathroom admiring the two people you were undeniably put on this earth for. Heaven above knows they are your heart and soul in human form.
The sight unfolding in front of your eyes left you in complete awe. Words can’t describe the amount of love that was flowing through your body as you watched your fiancées big arms encircling your sweet little buba, holding her close to his bare, warm chest. You swear you felt your heart swell at the cheeky grins that took occupancy on their faces. You couldn’t help but pull your phone out from your jean pocket and begin filming.
Coming from the speakers in your bedroom, played “Girls Like You” By Maroon 5. Standing in front of the mirror, gently swaying in time with the music, Gray was staring at his beautiful baby girl with nothing but pure adoration. You could see the tears forming in his eyes as he attentively watched her every move. He studied her facial expressions with so much love and fondness, loving her little giggles when he began to quietly sing along with the song, only loud enough for his princess to hear. “I wants sing too dada!” Your precious 2 year old daughter, Fallon, bellowed. “So whats stopping you? Sing along baby!” Grayson grinned, tickling at her sides.
So many thoughts were filling your head but you were rendered speechless. Words couldn’t capture what you were feeling, but you wished you could experience it forever. You will never understand how you got so lucky. Whoever was watching over you, you couldn’t thank them enough for the life they have blessed you with. Once the final notes echoed between the tile walls, you stopped the video you know you all will treasure for years to come. You pushed off of your spot on the door frame and made your way over to your loves.
“Mama!! I missed you s’much!” Fallon shrieked, stretching her little arms out for you to take her in your own. You gladly scooped her up, smothering her face with lots of kisses, making her laugh uncontrollably. Gosh did you love this kid.
You took in a sharp breath as you allowed your eyes to take in the sight before you. Wearing nothing but his fitted dress pants, Gray stood in all of his glory. How was he still able to take your breath away every single time you see him? 4 years later and he still made your stomach flutter with just a simple look in your direction. In that moment, you were convinced there is nothing you would not do for your little family, they have your whole heart. After a few moments of silence, filled with your unwavering stare, Gray lightly ghosted your lips before locking his lips to yours.
Although no words were exchanged, the passion he put into the kiss spoke enough. You could feel the love radiating from his touch. When you broke away, you kept your foreheads pressed against each other’s, staring into his eyes.
“As adorable as you two were being, our reservations are in 30 minutes and the restaurant is a 25 minute drive. Get a move on Dolan, I don’t think they’ll appreciate public nudity.” You snorted as you trailed off into the bedroom to get Fallon changed into her outfit for the evening.
As you slipped the blush pink dress over her wavy brown locks, you let your mind drift to the scene that had played out just minutes ago, it already felt so long ago. When you were gazing into Grayson’s eyes, Fallon in your arms, you swear you saw your whole future reflecting in those warm pools of honey. This. This is where you were meant to be.
summary; “Best friends playing best friends - how poetic.”
Even as a flush blooms across Peter’s cheeks, his heart twists at his mother’s words. Best friends. It’s not wrong. But it’s not the entire truth either.
notes; uhhhh so this is the first ~something~ i’ve written in almost a year?? and first bare fic whoOp. honestly, this drabble/fic was gonna go in a completely different direction and i tried so hard to keep it on track but the tones just didn’t match so this is a lot more tender than i’d intended. it’s a lot shorter than my usual but, hey, it’s something. please forgive me if they’re ooc sfdjsdhfkj
“Best friends playing best friends - how poetic.”
Even as a flush blooms across Peter’s cheeks, his heart twists at his mother’s words. Best friends. It’s not wrong. But it’s not the entire truth either.
The thought gets tucked away when Jason wrap his arms around him, resting his chin in the crook of Peter’s neck.
And maybe it’s the giddiness of being cast in the play or the way his heart flutters as he feels Jason’s smile that makes him nudge his phone towards Jason eagerly. He can’t quite hide the disappointment in his voice as Jason untangles himself and pushes the phone away like it’s poison.
As he hangs up on his mom, he turns his face away from Jason, schooling his features into a more neutral expression.
But Jason’s always been able to read him anyway - knows Peter’s every heartbeat and every mannerism better than Peter himself - and he must’ve caught the way Peter’s expression falters or recognised Peter covering up his emotions because he yells “Give me a second!” to Nadia and takes Peter’s hands in his.
The hallway is mostly empty but Jason’s eyes dart around for a few moments before settling on Peter. And even as he meets Jason’s blue eyes and Jason squeezes his hands and leaves after Nadia with a “see you later” and a smile that speaks more than those words could, Peter can’t quite shake the feeling Jason’s still not entirely focused on him.
It makes sense, Peter supposed, pulling into the straps of his backpack as he wanders back to the dorm. They were still in public - anyone could’ve walked in - so they had to be careful.
They’ve been best friends since twelfth grade and have been able to get away with being a bit more tactile - pressing up against each other, arms wrapping around each other, a hand resting on the other’s arm - the kinds of things that could be brushed off as affectionate best friends.
It’s only behind the closed doors that they can be more.
----
When Jason comes back to their room, Peter’s lying belly-down on his bed, the script for Romeo and Juliet in front of him.
He can’t stop the smile from forming when Jason flops down next to him, half on the bed and half on top of Peter, and plants an awkward kiss on his cheek.
“Well done, Mercutio,” He teases, prodding Peter to reposition himself on his side so they’re both squeezed onto the single, noses almost touching.
Peter grins, “Not so bad yourself Mr ‘I-decided-this-morning-and-got-the-lead-role’.”
He stifles a laugh when Jason groans and drops his head to the pillow. “I have no idea why I did this - I’ve never been in a play before!”
“Hey, no,” Peter says, using one hand to cup Jason’s cheek, “You were incredible and you totally deserve the role.”
He doesn’t give Jason a chance to say anything before he leans in and kisses him tenderly on the lips.
“You’re my best friend y’know?” Peter mumbles when they pull away, foreheads still touching and breaths intermingling. “And so much more on top of that.”
Peter wants to live in this moment forever. Him and Jason in each other’s arms. Feeling all this rush of tender love and affection for each other. It’s a feeling he wishes didn’t have to be confined to the walls of their room but that’s not an argument he’s willing to bring up now.
Jason smiles at him softly, eyes understanding as though he understands every emotion Peter is trying to project, “I love you too.”
The two of them fall asleep together in Peter’s bed that night and, just for a moment, everything seems perfect.
Here’s a little something based off of this post by @coconut-cluster
Also, credit to @itsme98z for the idea of Emile being the teacher who helps Logan out with his situation.
Warnings: Mild self-hatred, comparing oneself to others, mild anxiety (mentions of fear for grades/being judged), Logan just practically drives himself to a walking being of exhaustion
Word count: 1,871
—————
Logan was one of those students who, to the outside eye, seemed to have his life together. He already had a plan for the future, already knew which college he’d go to and what he wanted to be when he grew up, despite only being a junior in high school. He got pretty good grades and seemed to dress to impress, wearing a tie and either a polo or button-up every day. Others in his classes seemed to look up to him in some ways. Logan, however, never saw himself in the way they did. He seemed to only see those above him.
Oh, how he wished he were them, the ones who graduated with a perfect GPA and got awarded as the valedictorian. Those who got all A’s all the time, who seemed to never have a problem with getting above a 90 on every test and quiz, no matter what class. Those who never knew what it felt like to fail so miserably at something such as grades. Logan tried so hard to be like them. He tried so hard to be perfect like them, though at this point it felt unattainable. He was in only 2 AP classes, as History and English weren’t particularly his best subjects. That alone proved to him that he wasn’t as good as a lot of other students. Even in his best class, Pre AP Calculus, he had a 91 as his grade for this 6 weeks.
His life was average at best. Sure, he had friends and a pretty good home life with a lovely pet and supportive parents, but he couldn’t bare to say anything about his disappointment in himself. He knew he wasn’t alone, but he sure felt like it. Logan knew that there were others, even some in his friend group, that got grades such as C’s and D’s regularly, so it seemed sort of selfish and mean to voice his concerns to them. And he just knew that if he told his parents all they’d do is try to reassure him that no, he was absolutely amazing and he had no reason to worry. But he knew that there would always be someone better than him. He knew he could never compare, no matter how much he tried.
These thoughts had been invading Logan’s mind more often this year now that college was just about a year and a half away. To make it worse, his AP Psychology teacher was leaving at the end of the week. Mrs. Kingswood had been Logan’s favorite teacher from the first day he’d entered her classroom. She had apparently been offered a new, higher-paying job in another part of the state. Logan saw the logic behind it, of course. She would’ve been a fool to turn down such a job, but that didn’t mean he’d miss her any less.
From what he’d heard, the person replacing her was a someone named Dr. Picani and he’d used to be a couples’ therapist, a fairly popular one at that. Logan didn’t have much time to think about him though, too worried about his US History, English, and Physics tests later this week.
—————
Logging into the home access center Monday morning, Logan sighed in relief. He’d made an A on both his English and History tests and a low B on his Physics test, which, with the square root curve, would end up as a low A, thank god. He walked into Psyche, a frown replacing the small smile on his face as he realized that the new teacher would be here today instead of Mrs. Kingswood.
The tardy bell rang just as he’d sat down in his seat, his eyes training on the stranger in the front of the classroom. He was wearing a white button-up with a brown sweater vest and a pink tie that matched perfectly with the shade of pink of his hair.
“Hello,” the man spoke enthusiastically, his bright smile immediately reminding Logan of his friend, Patton. “I am Dr. Emile Picani, but you can just call me Emile. Now, there was supposed to be a lesson today, but I figured that today could be a day for me to learn about all of you lovelies. Let’s start with the roll, now, shall we? Fiona..”
Logan sighed. While it seemed the new teacher was extremely nice, he also seemed to have the energy level of both Roman and Patton combined.
“..gan?.. Is Logan Foster here?”
“Oh, uh, here!” Logan spoke, raising his hand.
Emile smiled at him and Logan offered a small smile back before averting his gaze. He seemed nice enough, and he was respectful of his students’ preferred names and pronouns, from what he’d seen. Maybe this new teacher wouldn’t be so bad..
—————
Emile soon became Logan’s favorite teacher. He’d always leave little encouraging and helpful notes on Logan’s tests, which, to be honest, did help somewhat. Logan knew he wasn’t the only one to get the little comments though. He saw the writing in various colors of ink, pink, green, blue, or purple, scribbled at the top of every other student’s tests as well. That seemed to take away some of the meaning of it, except for when he used Logan’s name in them. Then, he knew the comment was for him and only him.
That was only a small booster for his confidence that lasted until he had to go to his next class, though, then he was filled with dread for the rest of the day. This feeling had become all too common these days. His grades began to slip, despite him doing practically everything he could to keep them up. He’d even taken to studying into the late hours of the night, trying to retain any information he could for upcoming quizzes and tests, going to tutorials for multiple classes a week, and asking his parents for help on his homework.
He still acted as if everything was fine though, because he was still better off than some others, right? So, what was the point in complaining about something if the person you’re complaining to is in a worse situation? That’s how Logan saw it, anyway.
Logan tried as hard as he could to do better, to at least just get back to where he used to be, but how could he do that when he could barely even stay awake during his classes? One day, Emile was passing the latest tests back, and Logan saw that he’d gotten a 75, the lowest grade that was still considered a C. He’d only sighed and looked at the note in the top right, this time written in purple. It read, ‘Logan, please visit my room after school.’ He’d frowned at that, but he assumed it was only a matter of time before one of his teachers questioned him about why he couldn’t seem to keep his grades up.
By the end of the day, all Logan wished to do was go home, curl up in bed, and hide from everyone and everything, but he still had to visit Emile. He plastered a small smile on his face as he walked into the room and toward the teacher, who was sitting at his desk, typing something into the computer.
“Um, h-hi..” Logan silently cursed the way his voice shook as Emile turned to look at him, smiling.
“Ah, Logan.”
“You, um, wanted to see me?”
“Ah, yes, of course. Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the desk nearest to him, which Logan made his way to, slipping off his backpack and sitting down. “Now, I wanted to ask, how much sleep have you been getting?”
That certainly wasn’t what Logan was expecting. “A few hours.. Maybe 2-4 a night.. Why?”
Emile pursed his lips for a moment. “You know how I write notes for each of my students?”
Logan nodded, the corner of his lips twitching up the slightest bit.
“I do that because I want them to know that I care about each and every one of them. I want them to see that they’ve done something that makes me proud, and that I’m here to help if they need it.”
Logan’s eyebrows drew together. Why was Emile telling him this? He knew that he cared for his students. He was one of the only teachers that actively sought out to help his students and acted as if they were actual human beings with different learning patterns. He used examples that students would understand and explained it to those who may not.
“I told you to come see me because I’m worried about you. I see that you’re trying very hard in my class, but you’re lack of sleep and possibly other factors are contributing to difficulties focusing.”
Logan looked down at the lines that squiggled across the wooden desk he sat at, biting his lip as he debated on telling Emile what had truly been troubling him.
“I-I guess my mental health has declined, as my grades have always been a cause of stress for me, but now th-they’re dropping and..” His eyes filled with tears as his voice shook again.
“And?” Emile rolled his chair to sit next to Logan’s desk, offering his hand for logan as a source of comfort.
Logan took the hand as tears began slipping from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. “I’ve tried everything to bring them back up. Even before they started dropping I was trying to bring them up and I feel like it’s impossible to ever even get back to where I was..”
“Oh, Logan.. Here.” He retrieved a box of tissues, from where, Logan had no idea, and set them on the desk. “Have you ever talked to someone about this?” At Logan’s shake of his head, Emile nodded. “I encourage you to try to talk to someone whenever you feel like you need to. It could be a friend or a parent, or it could even be me if you’d like. No matter who it is, I want you to feel safe and less stressed. It seems that you’ve kept your worries to yourself for so long that they’ve manifested into this fear of failing, while also exhausting you to the point where you’ve accepted it, is that right?”
Logan nodded, a metaphorical weight lifting from his chest at someone finally understanding how he felt after so long of keeping it all to himself for fear of being judged. “Yes. Yes that’s..thank you, so-so much.”
“Any time, Logan. And hey, try to get a little bit more sleep tonight, alright?”
Logan smiled, nodding as he stood from the desk. “Alright. I’ll try. Um, could I possibly get a hug?”
“Oh, of course!” Emile stood from his chair to wrap Logan in a warm hug, allowing Logan to pull away when he was ready. Once he did, Emile offered a warm smile and clapped him gently on the shoulder. “Go get ‘em tiger. You got this.”
“Thank you again.” Logan smiled, feeling happier now than he had in a while as he grabbed his backpack and left Emile’s classroom.
This new teacher had really grown on him, hadn’t he?
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Alrighty, I hope y'all liked it! I’m currently working on a pretty hefty angst fic involving Virgil and the snake man (not saying his name or speaking of anything that happens for those that could possibly have a trigger linked to the character), so be looking forward to that in the future!
