#lungs 2009 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harrywavycurly · 9 days ago

Text

Worth The Fight: Don’t Ruin It

Masterlist: Here

CW: Pregnancy stuff, minor anxiety and a few tears.

A/N: Sorry for the wait I know y’all have missed this chaotic but also kinda adorable duo! I think y’all will enjoy this update it’s full of banter and fluff👀✨

Tag List: @kookjipao @msolbesg @lomlolivia @namoreno @outofthisworl-d @mema10 @watarmelon212 @natykn @sassamanda77 @st-ev-ie @ghayda0 @hannah9921 @indierockgirrl @chaoticthoughts2022 @lizsogolden @gmikaelson @styleswithaseaview @sofaritsalrightt @babegoals @fangirl509east @one-sweet-gubler @stylesftcher @umadirectioner @last-saturday-night @montgomery-929496 @laughterismytherapy @hisparentsgallerryy @jerseygirlinca @behindmygreyeyes @mads3502 @tpwkdpr @unfuckwitablenarry @itscoucouharry @latedirectionerera @ell0ra-br3kk3r @cumuluscranium @donutsandpalmtrees @silastylesswift @prettygurl-2009 @blueleonor @daphnesutton @angeldavis777 @harryssunflower17 @blckburd @tinawritesstuff

Summary: Harry’s never seen The Nanny and you have some news to share with Paris✨

You know your face looks as if you just got told the most devastating news of your life or that you’ve just seen a ghost because you feel all the color drain from your cheeks and your eyes are so wide you can practically feel your eyebrows hit your hairline while your lungs let out all their air in a dramatic sounding huff as if someone just knocked the wind out of you. All the while Harry is just sitting there staring at you with a look of pure regret etched across his features, his eyes are a darker shade of green and his mouth is set in a hard line and it’s not until a few beats of time pass that you watch him begin to chew on his bottom lip. Your mind knows it needs to say something, needs to respond to the confession he just let slip out casually in the backseat of his SUV after saving you from a group of fans outside of your work, but all you can do in this moment is look away from his intense stare and try to get your breathing back under control.

“I uhm did-didn’t mean it-”

“You didn’t mean it? Are you-you trying to Maxwell Sheffield me right now?”

“What? No I’m just- wait who’s Maxwell Sheffield?” That has you turning your head so you can look at him, not believing the very British man sitting next to you doesn’t know who Mr. Sheffield is.

“Mr. Sheffield? He’s from the show The Nanny.” You answer and Harry just gives you a look like he still has absolutely no clue who or what you’re talking about. The frustrated sigh you let out makes him nervously rub his palms on the tops of his jean covered thighs. “Okay well you clearly need to educate yourself and watch the show it’s great. But Mr. Sheffield told Fran-the nanny that he was in love with her but then said he didn’t mean it because he said it in a moment of panic because he well-he thought he was about to die.”

“He told his nanny he loved her all because he thought he was about to die? That sounds incredibly dramatic.”

“They were flirting and he knew she loved him and it’s complicated but that’s not the point Harry.”

“Sorry. But you think I’m trying to take what I said back?”

“You just said you didn’t mean it.”

“No I was in the middle of saying I didn’t meant it to come out just then not that I didn’t mean it. You didn’t let me finish.”

“So you do then? Have a crush on me?” Harry runs a hand over his face as he looks up at the roof of the car, you can tell he is getting a little frustrated at how this conversation is going but you can’t be bothered to care because you need to make sure he meant what he said a few minutes ago.

“I don’t have a crush on you.” He says with a sigh as he adjust his body so he can face you as well as he can while sitting in the backseat of a car, you swallow the nervous lump that’s forming in your throat as his words have you wanting to prepare to have your feelings hurt. “I have feelings for you.” You don’t expect to hear those words tumble out of his mouth so you can’t help what you say in response.

“Oh.”

“That’s what you said last time.” Harry mumbles as he leans his elbows onto his knees and places his head in his hands. “It’s fine if you don’t have anything else to say and want to act like this-”

“What kind of feelings? Good feelings? Bad feelings? I mean what-what exactly are you trying to say Harry?” You place your hands on your bump and begin rubbing soothing circles over it as your words fly out of your mouth quicker than you can fully process what you’re even saying.

“What do you mean what kind of feelings? I just-I just feel things for you.” Harry snaps as he lifts his head so he can look at you. “Like I get this weird fluttery feeling in my chest when you smile at me and I sort of find myself thinking about you all the time even when you’re not around and uhm well I,” Harry swallows down his nerves as his eyes find yours. “I tend to talk about you a lot to people and-”

“You talk about me?” Harry just nods as he sits up and begins to nervously rub at the back of his neck.

“Yeah to the point where I guess I’m a bit annoying about it.” He admits shyly, you feel your cheeks get warm as a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth at the idea of Harry blabbing on and on about you so much that people have gotten annoyed by it. “So to answer your question what I’m trying to say is that I would maybe-if it’s okay with you of course uhm like to take-”

“We’re here boss.” Nick’s voice makes you and Harry both turn to look out the window and you raise an eyebrow when you don’t recognize the house you’re parked in front of.

“Uh and where exactly are we?” You ask as Nick rolls the window down and types in the gate code so he can pull into the rather large driveway.

“My house.” Is all Harry says before he’s unbuckling himself and opening the door to climb out of the car once Nick puts it in park.

Harry’s house is bigger than you expected, not that you imagined him living in a shoebox or anything but you weren’t prepared for just how spacious it is. The living room flows perfectly into the kitchen that then leads you to his outdoor space that you’re almost eighty percent sure includes a pool, the decor is cozy and gives off a lived in vibe that makes you feel as if it would be perfectly fine for you to curl up on his giant sectional with a book and one of the many throw blankets he has rolled up and stored in a basket by his fireplace. It takes you by surprise just how comfortable you feel while standing in the middle of his kitchen, noting how he even has the start of a small grocery list stuck to his fridge with little fruit shaped magnets that you for some reason feel like were a gift from someone. Your eyes dart to a staircase that’s tucked into the corner of the kitchen by the built in bench seating area, not nearly as grand as the main one you walked by near the front door.

“So this is your house?” Harry looks up from his phone as you take a small step towards the fridge.

“Oh uhm yeah sorry I uh forgot you-you’ve never been here.” He apologizes before clearing his throat as he places his phone down on the kitchen island. “Would you like a tour? Or at least see the-”

“I’d love a tour.” You answer while looking over the grocery list. Harry feels his cheeks get warm as he watches your eyes scan the random items he scribbled on the piece of paper the other morning after coming back from your apartment. “You forgot apples.” You inform him as you reach for the pen that’s attached to the list, you smile to yourself as you write green apples to the bottom of the list that’s nothing but your current favorite vegetable and fruit combination for your juice.

“Ah how could I forget apples? Do you mind adding carrots as well please?” Harry ignores the small fake gagging noise you make at the mention of carrots and focuses more on how much he likes how you look in his kitchen adding things to his grocery list. “Might as well start in here then? This is the kitchen.” You turn around to face him after adding carrots with a frowning face next to them to his list.

“Do you cook a lot?” You ask as Harry puts his hands behind his back as he walks around the island so he’s now just a few steps away from you.

“When the mood strikes me.” He answers with a shrug making you just nod as you look around the space, its mostly a white and soft gray marble with touches of color in areas such as the mats by the sink and the cushions on the barstools and the seating area. “But I’ve been really into juicing lately and m’gonna be honest it’s kinda taken up a massive part of my routine.” He jokes making you give him a playful glare as the corners of his mouth twitch as he fights off the grin that wants so badly to spread across his face.

“Just say the word Harry and I’ll find another juice guy.”

“Not happening.” He knows he was too quick to respond but he doesn’t care because the idea of you buying your juice or even worst, having someone else come make it for you makes an unreasonable amount of possessiveness surge through him that he’ll unpack later in the week during therapy. “Now would you like to go upstairs and see Nora and Edward’s rooms?” All you can do is nod as Harry motions towards the staircase near the seating area.

Harry walks up the stairs behind you and notices how you pause to look at the photos he has framed and scattered along the walls. When you pause in front of one that’s him with his mom and sister from back in the One Direction days he looks at how your face lights up and it makes him smile as you look down at him over your shoulder.

“You shouldn’t have this hidden in a stairway. It’s too good.” You state as you point to the photo before turning and looking in front of you so you can finish the short climb up the stairs. Harry just shakes his head as he follows behind you, glancing at the photo you pointed at and find himself feeling silently annoyed at you being right, it is a good photo that should be seen by more than just the people who use the back staircase.

“Nora’s is the first one on the right and Edward is right across the hall from her.” You nod and head towards the door on the right making Harry begin to feel a nervous fluttering in his tummy as he watches you grab the doorknob and give it a turn so you can step inside the nursery.

He lets you have your space as you enter the room, leaning against the doorframe with his arms loosely folded over his chest. You stand in the middle of the room with a hand on your bump as you take in all the small details of Nora’s nursery, her crib is a dark brown color while her crib sheets have stripes that are different shades of light and slightly darker pinks. But the blanket that’s tossed over the side is a nice olive green color that matches the rocking chair that’s tucked into a corner near one of the windows, it has a throw pillow on it that’s the same pattern of her crib sheets and you feel your eyes begin to water when you see the small pillow has her initials embroidered on it. It’s not until you look over to the bookshelf that you feel yourself start to come undone. It’s as if standing in her nursery in Harry’s house makes it all seem extremely real that you’re having babies with him and at some point Nora and Edward will be using their perfectly put together cribs to sleep and rolling around on the soft carpeted floors to play and sitting in the chair in the corner for story time and it hits you that they won’t always be right down the hall from you.

They’ll be here with their dad.

“I had that made for her because uh well I know you’re theme is storybook characters so I tried to do something similar but more-”

“Princess themed.” You finish for him as you take a step towards the bookshelf that’s a dark wood like her crib and made to look like a castle. Harry quirks a brow at how your voice seems thick with emotion as you run a hand over the top of the bookshelf. “She’s going to love it.” You whisper as you bend down just a bit to get a look at the books Harry’s placed on the shelves. It has a few well loved classic fairy tail books as well as a mixture of princess stories. You sniffle and wipe at your eyes quickly before turning around and heading for the door where Harry is still standing watching you with a look of concern on his face.

“Are you-”

“I’m going to go take a look at Edward’s room.” Harry doesn’t have a choice but to move out of your way as you walk past him and right across the hall and into your son’s room. He wants to act as if he didn’t notice your slightly blotchy cheeks and the pink tint to the tip of your nose or the way your eyes seem to be a bit red and watery, but he can’t because the sight of you getting upset while looking at the rooms he spent countless hours worrying over for his kids makes his heart drop to his feet.

“What’s wrong? Is it the color schemes? I wanted them to feel comfortable and didn’t want to have it be such a dramatic change from when they’re at your house so that’s why it’s similar to yours but if you don’t like it-”

“I love it. You did a great job Harry.” You voice is watery as you look at the light blue and white patterned crib sheets that once again match the rocking chair Harry has in the corner of the room near a window allowing lots of natural light to brighten up the room. It’s a twist on the classic story books much like he did with Nora’s room with the Princess theme. But for Edward he went with subtle hints of yellow to go along with the little hidden Winnie the Pooh Bears throughout the room like the stuffed one on the rocking chair that has Edward’s initials sewn onto his red shirt and the framed photo of Winnie and all the animals in the one hundred acre woods above the dresser near the closet.

“Then why are you crying?” He asks with nothing but concern evident in his voice as he reaches a shaky hand out towards you so he can place it on top of your shoulder.

“Because it just-I’m going to have to share them and I think I’ve been sort of avoiding having to come to terms with that but now-now I’m here standing in the room our son is going to spend half his time in and-” Harry’s hand slides off your shoulder as you turn around and face him as a few tears slide down your face. “And it’s beautiful and he’s never going to want to leave he’s going to want to stay with you forever they-they both will.” It all clicks for Harry the moment the words leave your mouth.

He lets out a sigh as he wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest, it’s a move that would shock both of you if he did it even two weeks ago but now it doesn’t do anything but comfort you. Your growing bump creates some space between the two of you but not enough that makes the feeling of Harry’s arms securely wrapped around you any less soothing. The feeling of his hands as they start to run up and down your back has you wanting to melt further into his embrace as you rest your cheek against his shirt.

“You don’t have to worry about that.” You let out a shaky breath and a few sniffles as you wrap your arms around Harry’s middle while he mumbles his reassurances into the top of your head. “There’s a sense of comfort and love only a mother can give so if anyone should be worried that the kids won’t ever want to be with them it should be me.” You want to believe him but in this moment you just can’t wrap your mind around the idea of the two little humans currently growing in your tummy ever wanting to leave this wonderful space Harry has created for them.

“But you’re the one who will be able to get the monsters from under the bed or in the closet and fight off bad dreams and-and oh god you’re gonna sing them to sleep aren’t you?” You lean back a bit so you can look up at Harry who is already staring down at you. “Because that-that’s cheating you can’t sing to them.” Harry playfully rolls his eyes at your statement as his hold around you loosens just a bit as he reaches to tuck a few strands of your hair behind your ear so it doesn’t get stuck to your tear stained cheeks.

“Then you can’t read to them.” He counters making you glare at him. “What? It’s only fair that if I can’t use what I do for a living on the twins then you can’t either.”

“I don’t read for a living.”

“You work with books and I know for a fact you used to do the children’s reading group for a few years so I just know you do the funny voices and hand gestures and that’s gonna make them never want to hear me tell a story it’ll always be you they’ll want reading to them.”

“So you’ll have them be subjected to your subpar reading skills just so I can’t do something better than you?”

“I don’t know are you going to make them endure the torture that is you singing them to sleep just so I can’t do something better than you?”

“Don’t be rude Harry. You loved my singing skills the night we met I know you don’t remember-”

“I remember.” You blink a few times as Harry’s hand that tucked some hair behind your ear stays resting on the side of your face, his thumb gently running along your cheekbone.

“You do?” Harry just nods as a small smile works its way across his face.

“I remember how happy you looked singing and dancing your heart out on that very small stage.” You feel your cheeks get warm as you unwrap your arms from around him so you can try to wipe your face of any trace of the tears that escaped your eyes. You watch as the smile on his face slowly morphs into a smirk as you place your hands on his chest. “I remember that’s why I didn’t really care that my ears were bleeding by the end of it.” He teases making you let out a scoff while giving his chest a few smacks that result in him laughing.

“Don’t ruin this Harry.”

“Ruin what?”

“The moment.” You say with a huff as Harry quirks an eyebrow while his other hand comes up to rest on your waist.

“Oh is that what this is?” He asks as he leans down, you feel your heartbeat quicken and you’re sure the hand he still has gently cupping the side of your face can feel the heat rising to your cheeks as his emerald eyes stare into yours. “We’re having a moment?” He questions as he playfully bumps the tip of his nose into yours.

“Yes.” Your voice comes out more like a sigh as your hands grip the fabric of his shirt. You watch his eyes flick down to your lips before meeting your gaze and it has you licking your lips out of habit making his hold on your waist tighten ever so slightly.

“Is it okay if-” Harry’s question gets cut off as you close the distance between the two of you as you crash your lips into his in a kiss that has your whole body feeling as if it’s on fire.

His hand slides from your cheek up into your hair while your hands cling onto him as if you’re worried that loosening your hold even the tiniest bit might result in him disappearing. He angles your face upward allowing him to deepen the kiss and it’s not until Harry hears you let out the smallest of what he can only assume is a moan that he realizes where his hand that was previously on your hip has traveled making his eyes shoot open as he pulls away in a rush.

“Fuck I’m sorry.” He pants as he looks at you with wide eyes full of worry as he slides his hand out of your hair and drops the hand that was getting way more than just an innocent grab of your ass.

“Oh god did I read that wrong? Did you not want-” Harry stops your panicking before it can even start by grabbing your hands that are still firmly gripping his shirt.

“No no I wanted to trust me I just uhm didn’t mean to grab your uh-uhm ass.”

“You’re apologizing for grabbing my ass?”

“Yes.”

“So Mr. Popular is a gentleman all of a sudden is that it?” You lightly tease as he gives your hands a squeeze before dropping his hands to your waist.

“Don’t be rude Cranky I’m just trying not to ruin the moment that’s all.” He replies with a casual shrug making you laugh. “Can I take you somewhere?”

“Right now?” You ask making Harry chuckle and shake his head.

“No I meant take you somewhere as in a uhm- like a date?” Harry is nervous, he knows you could easily tell him no and he’d have to live with it but he also knows that you wouldn’t have kissed him if you didn’t feel something towards him.

“A date?” Harry just nods as he searches your face for any signs of regret as you begin to think about everything that’s happened today. He feels himself let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding as you smile up at him and nods as you say “A date sounds nice.”

Harry has a firm grip on your hand as the two of you stand in the elevator of your apartment complex. You smile to yourself as you think of how just two hours ago the man that has your work bag slung over his shoulder and your cardigan clutched in his hand that’s not holding yours is the same man that kissed you in the middle of your son’s nursery. You’re not sure when it happened for him, when he stopped seeing you as just someone he should be civil with for the sake of the two babies in your tummy to someone he wants to kiss and take on dates but you feel a weird sort of relieved that he is somewhat on the same page as you now. Because for you Harry was never just someone you needed to learn to deal with because you’re having kids with him, he has always been the goofy and fun guy you met at a karaoke bar that had you laughing until your sides hurt and you left with more than just a crush on.

“I hope you’re thinking about me with that silly smile on your face.” Harry teases as the doors open revealing your floor.

“Actually I was just remembering last week’s episode of The Voice.” The scoff that leaves Harry makes you giggle as the two of you walk hand in hand down the hallway towards your door. “Niall looked so-”

“Please spare me the details of how good my best mate looked okay? I see him plenty so I’m well aware of how good he looks.”

“So you agree then? He looks good?” Harry rolls his eyes as he lets go of your hand so he can dig around in your bag for your keys.

“Haven’t we been over this? I have eyes don’t I?”

“I don’t know? Have we been over it?”

“Pregnancy is destroying your memory love.” He jokes as he slides your house key into the lock while you just glare at the side of his face making him smirk to himself as he opens the door for you. “Yes Niall looks good.”

“That’s all you had to say but instead you-”

“Ruined the moment?” He questions as he follows you into your apartment, dropping your bag on your couch after placing your cardigan on the little coatrack near the door. You let out a huff as you turn around and face him with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Exactly.” You say with a pout making Harry mimic you as he walks over so he’s standing in front of you.

“I’m sorry.” He says as he leans over and places a kiss to your forehead. “Please forgive me.” You roll your eyes as you feel his lips on your cheek. “I’ll never argue with you over if Niall Horan is good looking again.” He adds before placing a kiss to your other cheek and you have to stop yourself for smiling at how over the top he’s being with the affection.

“I forgive you.” Harry lets out a dramatic sigh of relief as you drop your arms to your sides.

“Thank god.” He reaches his hands out and places them on either side of your face as he leans down and places a quick kiss to your lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow Cranky.” You smile as he pulls away but before he can get too far he leans back in for one last peck making you laugh when his hands drop from your face and he takes a step away from you.

“In the morning or-”

“In the morning for your daily juice and then I’ll come pick you up around six for our date if that works?”

“That works.” You answer with a smile making a dimpled grin spread across his face as he stands near your front door. “See you tomorrow Harry.”

“Don’t tell Paris about our date okay? I want to tell him myself.”

“I’ll do my best but you know he loves to hear about my day and how am I supposed to just not tell him that?”

“I think there’s plenty of other things that happened today to keep him entertained.” You just place your hands on your hips as you stare at Harry who just laughs and shakes his head at you. “Fine tell him but he better not bite me tomorrow because he’s mad I didn’t ask his permission before asking his mom out on a date.” You laugh as Harry turns and grabs your doorknob, when he pauses before opening the door you raise an eyebrow as he looks over his shoulder at you. “I’m sorry for what happened today at your work. I promise it won’t even happen again.” His eyes are giving you an apologetic look that just makes you give him a small smile.

“It’s not your fault. Really. It’s okay.” He gives you a small nod as he opens your door.

“See you tomorrow love.” With that he gives you a wave and smile before he walks out the door, closing it behind him. You quickly walk over to the door and lock it because you know he’s standing outside your door listening for the sound of the deadbolt.

“Holy shit.” You mumble as you turn and lean against your front door as you place a hand on your forehead while trying to come to terms with the fact not only did Harry tell you he has feelings for you but also asked you on a date after you kissed him. You begin to wonder if tomorrow morning will make him see things more clearly since he did sort of blurt his feelings out in a moment of distress due to the fans outside your work. But as you hear the familiar jingle of Paris’s bell as he struts his way into the living room from the kitchen you remind yourself that Harry isn’t someone who typically does things he doesn’t want to do, especially things such as asking you on a date and kissing you.

“Oh Paris you’re not going to believe what happened to me today.” You tell your orange cat as he sits a few feet in front of you and stares at you with his big green eyes that still remind you of the ones that belong to the man who just left.

236 notes · View notes

cigarettetracks · 11 months ago

Text

#florence + the machine #2000s #lungs 2009 #indie #uk

2 notes · View notes

segretecose · 6 months ago

Text

you don’t even get a day off to watch/listen to florence + the machine’s orchestral version of their 2009 debut album, lungs, called symphony of lungs live from the royal albert hall (2024) in this economy

222 notes · View notes

whosscruffylooking · 2 months ago

Text

The Purest Things: It Wasn't A Mistake (Nameless, Faceless)

Aaron Hotchner x Fem! Reader Word Count: 5k Warnings: Murder. Blood. Death. Weapons. Canon typical violence. Everything that makes Criminal Minds, Criminal Minds. The Purest Things Masterlist

au! may 2009

Bookend: "Heroes always have their scars. Some you can see, some you read about later on." - George Foreman

A month has passed since your return to the BAU, and everything feels… different. It's not just the challenge of easing back into the work or learning to live with a healing injury. It's Hotch. He's changed.

While your relationships with the rest of the team have slipped back into their familiar rhythm, your dynamic with him is far from what it once was. He's distant, his demeanor toward you almost uncomfortably stern.

The others have noticed it, too—throwing you questioning glances whenever he cuts a conversation short or keeps interactions strictly professional. But every time you try to confront him, he finds a way to avoid you—burying himself in paperwork, excusing himself for a meeting, or simply walking away. It's as though the bridge between you has been burned, and you're left staring at the ashes, wondering why.

Less than 24 hours after your most recent case in Canada, you're abruptly woken by a phone call from JJ.

"This one's urgent. I'll send you the address," she says as you rush out of bed to get dressed.

You groan. You haven't even had a chance to de-thaw from the iciness that is Hotch now. All you can do is hope that something about his treatment this time is different.

You arrive at the crime scene and follow the team inside. One person is notably missing. It's hard to concentrate without his presence.

"Where's Hotch?" you ask, scanning the room.

"Not sure," JJ says, already pulling out her phone. "I tried his cell, but he didn't answer."

"Try him again," Rossi instructs. "Leave a voicemail—tell him to meet us at the next address."

JJ calls again, but there's still no answer. A nagging unease settles deep in your gut—this isn't like him.

You turn to Emily. "Do you think I'm needed here right now?"

She furrows her brows. "What do you mean?"

You sigh, lowering your voice. "Hotch being MIA isn't sitting right with me. If you think I can slip away, I want to check on him—just for peace of mind."

Emily studies you for a moment before nodding. "You're a good woman." She squeezes your arm in reassurance. "Go. I'll cover for you."

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

Arriving at his apartment, you scan the halls for his apartment number. He's been to your house so many times now, yet you've never been to his. He gave you his address after you were attacked, in case you ever needed a safe house. Little does he know that wherever he is, is where you feel the safest.

You knock, but there's no response.

"Hotch… Aaron, it's me. Answer the door."

Silence.

You dial his number, praying he picks up. But then, you hear it—his phone ringing from inside the apartment. Your pulse pounds in your ears, blocking out every other sound. Instinctively, your hand moves to your gun.

Hesitantly, you reach for the doorknob. It turns easily.

The door swings open, and you step inside, gun raised, sweeping the space for any sign of movement.

The apartment is eerily still. No sign of Hotch. No sign of life.

You move around the couch—and that's when you see it.

A large pool of blood.

Terror tightens around your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs, but you push forward, clearing the apartment. In the kitchen, shattered glass litters the floor. On the table, Hotch's gun and some scattered files. Beneath the table—his phone.

Your hands tremble as you dial Garcia.

"Hello, babycakes, how can I make your wildest dreams come true?"

"Pen, something's happened to Hotch." Your voice shakes despite your best efforts to keep it steady. "I need police and FBI techs here immediately. Maybe even an APB."

"What happened?" Fear creeps into her voice.

"I don't know. But there's blood. I don't know whose. His car is still out front, but he's gone."

"Okay," she says, inhaling deeply. "You just stay strong, my love. I'm sure he's fine…"

Her words are meant to comfort you, but they don't. Not really.

"Don't tell the rest of the team yet," you say. "They need to focus."

She hesitates, then agrees.

You end the call, steadying yourself with a breath. Your gaze drifts across the apartment, carefully avoiding the bullet hole in the wall. You can't let yourself dwell on what that means—not yet.

This is where he lives, where he rests his head at night, where he tries to find peace, if such a thing is even possible for him. You step toward his bedroom. It's pristine, of course. Not a wrinkle on the bed sheets, not a pillow out of place.Everything is meticulously arranged, controlled. Just like him.

For a moment, your mind drifts. You wonder what it would be like to—

A knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts. Police officers and FBI agents begin to flood the apartment, their presence swallowing the space. You watch in silence as they take over, searching every inch of the apartment.

Buzz.

You glance down at your phone. It's Penelope.

"Talk to me, Garcia," you say, trying not to let your hopes rise too much.

"I called hospitals to see if Hotch had checked himself into any emergency rooms," she begins, her voice tight with urgency. "He's not listed anywhere, but someone dropped a John Doe off at St. Sebastian Hospital, and that someone was FBI agent Derek Morgan."

"That doesn't make sense," you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips.

"Do you think someone got the credentials mixed up?" Garcia asks.

You scour your brain, desperate for any hint of logic. If Aaron were here, he'd have drawn the answer out of you already. Then, it hits you.

"Oh my god, The Reaper," you murmur, the realization crashing over you. "Typically, The Reaper takes something from his victims. Nothing of mine was missing when I was attacked because Morgan tried to stop him, and he wasn't able to finish his routine on me. Afterward, Derek realized he didn't have his credentials. Foyet must have taken them."

"Why would he drop Hotch off at the ER?"

You freeze for a moment, the pieces clicking into place.

"What hospital?" you ask quickly.

"St. Sebastian."

"I'm heading there now," you say, already heading for the door. "I'll call you when I know more."

"Go take care of our boy," Garcia says softly, her concern almost palpable.

"I will," you respond, feeling your heart tug at the thought of him.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

The moment you step into the hospital room, the sight of Aaron lying unconscious in the bed hits you harder than you expected. His face is pale, too still, and the sight of the IVs and the bandages covering his torso make everything feel unreal. Your heart clenches at the sight—this isn't how it was supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to end up here, like this.

You walk toward his bedside, your breath catching in your throat. The room feels cold, too sterile. You reach out a hand, your fingers brushing the edge of his, desperate for some sign that he's still here, still fighting. The soft rhythm of the machines is the only sound breaking the silence, but it does nothing to calm the storm inside you.

"He was stabbed 9 times, but no major arteries were hit. It's a miracle he's alive," the doctor explains, her voice distant, clinical.

"When will he wake up?" you ask, your voice quiet, the question coming out almost like a prayer.

The doctor doesn't meet your eyes immediately. "There's no for sure answer. But he will be out of it when he does," she adds, glancing down at her clipboard.

You nod, but your heart sinks. That was the last thing you wanted to hear.

"Can I stay here?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, the words almost a plea.

"Are you his wife?" she asks, her tone soft but probing.

You feel a lump form in your throat at the question, your chest tightening. You swallow hard, unable to keep the emotion from your voice as you answer, "No. I'm his friend though." The words sound too hollow, too distant compared to what you truly feel for him. It hurts to say it.

The doctor studies you for a moment, her gaze full of sympathy. It makes something inside you break a little more. "Alright," she finally agrees, stepping aside to give you space.

You sit down, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. The familiar sense of fear and helplessness floods back to you, dragging memories of your own attack to the surface. The panic. The helplessness. The pain. You can't help but feel it all over again, but now it's Aaron in that bed, and you can't stand it.

Your tears come without warning. Silent and unbidden, they slip down your face, and you let them fall. You can't hold it in any longer. You can't stand seeing him like this, can't stand the thought of losing him, especially after everything you've been through together. The weight of it all crashes down on you, and for a moment, you allow yourself to grieve for him, for both of you.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

The soft beeping of the machines gradually begins to sync with your heartbeat as you sit by Aaron's side, never moving from your spot. The sterile smell of the hospital room is a constant presence in your mind, but you're lost in the steady rhythm of his breathing. The steady rise and fall of his chest is the only thing that reassures you he's still here.

It's quiet, too quiet, as if the entire world outside the room has paused, waiting for him to come back to them. Your eyes are heavy, but you refuse to let them close, not when he's here, not when he's so fragile.

It's a soft groan, barely a whisper, that breaks the stillness.

Your heart leaps in your chest, and you look up. His hand twitches, lips parting, and you lean forward, barely daring to breathe.

"Aaron?" you whisper, your voice trembling, unsure if he can even hear you.

He doesn't answer right away, and for a second, you're afraid. You're worried that you imagined it, that the moment of hope was just that—momentary. But then, his fingers twitch again, more deliberately this time, and his eyelids flutter.

"Aaron," you say again, this time louder, more confident. "It's me. You're okay."

His breathing hitches, and then his eyes crack open, barely slits at first. He blinks rapidly as if trying to adjust to the light, the unfamiliar space. His gaze is unfocused for a moment before they find you. His brow furrows slightly, confusion flashing across his face.

“Y/N…” Aaron's voice is hoarse, barely more than a rasp, as if the air is too thick to breathe.

You nod, your own voice caught in your throat. "I'm here. You're safe."

His eyes narrow, and you can see him trying to process. The way his lips curl slightly, as though he wants to speak but can't find the strength, makes something in your chest tighten. He's disoriented and exhausted, and you know the fight is far from over.

"You're gonna be okay," you continue, your voice a little firmer now, trying to soothe him, to reassure him. "You've been through a lot. You're gonna make it through."

Aaron doesn't respond immediately. His eyes flicker to the machines, the IV, and then back to you, and you see the recognition settle in. The confusion begins to clear, replaced by something else—something darker.

"You—" He starts, his voice rasping again as he struggles to speak. His hand reaches out, weakly, and you take it, squeezing it gently. The first time you've ever held his hand. Both of you feel it, the draw, the electricity.

"I'm here," you whisper, squeezing his hand a little tighter, as if that might anchor him, bring him back to you fully.

He swallows, trying to push past the fog of pain and grogginess. His gaze moves from you to the sterile hospital room, his expression growing more alert, more aware. He seems to be piecing together the last few hours, his brow furrowing with the effort.

"Where…" he starts again, his voice cracking.

"Foyet," you answer softly but stop yourself, "You're in the hospital, Aaron. You were hurt… but you're going to be okay."

His eyes close again briefly, as if the weight of it all is too much. You watch him, waiting for him to say something, anything. When his eyes reopen, there's a flicker of something deeper in them—a fear that makes your heart tighten in your chest.

"Y/N…" he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. You know he wants to acknowledge the distance he's caused. That's Aaron. He has to hold himself accountable. But you won't let him right now.

"None of that matters," you repeat, fighting the lump in your throat. "I'm not going anywhere."

For a long moment, there's only the sound of his shallow breathing, and then, as if the strength is returning to him, he squeezes your hand. It's not much, but it's something. It's enough.

"You found me," he says, his voice rough, but there's a faint trace of something else in it, something vulnerable, that you can't quite place.

"You can't get rid of me that easily, Aaron Hotchner," you answer, leaning closer, trying to keep the worry out of your voice.

He takes a shallow breath, and his eyes meet yours again. There's a fleeting moment of clarity behind the haze of pain, and the faintest hint of a smile touches his lips.

"I guess… you're not getting rid of me that easily either," he says, his voice hoarse, but the words are enough.

And for the first time since everything went wrong, you let yourself believe it. He's going to be okay.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

A few hours later, the team joins you. They're working desperately to track down Foyet, but they keep their distance, letting you stay by Aaron's side.

Aaron's eyes never leave you. Even when you're speaking with the doctor or conferring with the team, his gaze is locked on you. Despite everything—his attempt to push you away, the distance he's put between you in the past few weeks—you found him. You stayed by his side. You held his hand, God what he wouldn't do to still be holding your hand right now.

Your attention shifts back to him, and you offer him a gentle smile, one that could heal him faster than any medicine or doctor could. It's a smile that speaks volumes—comfort, reassurance, maybe even love.

"What is it?" His voice is weak, but there's curiosity in it.

"You know," you begin, a smirk tugging at your lips, "We match now."

He looks at you, confusion flickering across his face. "What do you mean?"

Your eyes drop to his wounds, your expression softening. "Matching stab wounds. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that's pretty romantic."

Romantic. His heart rate spikes, and the rapid beeping of the machine makes it clear how much the word has affected him. He glances at the monitor, then back at you with a knowing look. "I clearly agree."

The door opens and the team files in, their presence a welcomed distraction. You stand and instinctively move a little closer to Aaron, positioning yourself between him and the others in a protective gesture. You trust the team, you always have, but right now, there's a primal need to shield him from anything that could remind him of the pain he's enduring. You need him safe. You need him whole.

"So Foyet dropped me off here?" Aaron asks.

Rossi confirms, and Prentiss fills him in on some missing details from his memory. Somehow, you don't hear anything they say. Your eyes are fixed on Aaron. You come to when he speaks again, a sudden look of nervousness on his face.

"What did he take? He always takes something from his victims," he sighs, his voice weak.

"The only thing that caught our attention was a page ripped out of your address book, the B section," Emily responds.

"What did he leave? He always leaves something with his victims," Hotch asks, his voice strained.

"I went over your entire apartment—nothing seemed out of place," you reply, tense.

"Where are my clothes?" He asks, his eyes fluttering with exhaustion.

Emily grabs them, pulling them out of a small evidence bag. Your stomach churns at the sight of his bloodied clothes. Hotch weakly reaches for the bag himself, pulling out his credentials. Inside is a photo. He unfolds it, revealing a picture of Haley and Jack.

Fear floods his eyes, and he quickly shuts them, his head falling back against the bed. His breathing becomes jagged,distressed. "Haley's maiden name is Brooks. I always listed her in the B's in my personal information in case it fell into the wrong hands. He knows where they live."

Dread sinks deep into your chest, the consequence of his words settling in like a cold shiver.

The team moves fast, and you trust that Haley and Jack will be safe in their hands.

You sit next to Hotch again, your gaze never leaving him as he rests. But soon, a change occurs. His breathing becomes erratic, his heart rate spiking—not for the same reasons it did earlier when you spoke to him, but for something more serious, something more urgent.

You can see his stress increasing, his body twitching with unease. Something is wrong. The doctor rushes in, calling out his name, trying to bring him out of this episode.

"I'm okay," he manages to choke out, his voice strained.

The doctor looks at you, her tone firm. "I need you to step out of the room."

Fear tightens in your chest as you force yourself away from Hotch, the uncertainty of what's happening gnawing at you.

"No, I want her here," Hotch musters up the strength to say, his voice uneven but insistent.

You nod, the uncertainty in your chest easing slightly. "I'll be right outside the door, Aaron," you reassure him, your voice soothing yet determined.

The doctor works swiftly, stabilizing him, then motions for you to return. You don't hesitate, rushing back to his side, your heart pounding in your chest. It relaxes next to him, though.

"JJ just texted. Haley and Jack are safe and on their way here," you murmur, your voice soft but filled with relief.

Hotch nods, letting out an irregular breath as he sinks into the pillows, a subtle wave of relief washing over him.

You wrestle with the question, unsure if it's something you should ask. But the words slip out anyway, driven by the need for understanding.

"Hotch," you begin, your voice weary. "The Reaper went after you, and now he's targeting Haley and Jack. But�� why did he attack me?"

The room falls into a heavy stillness as Aaron processes your words. The guilt building in him seems to burden him even more, as if the air around him is too dense to breathe.

"I mean, believe me," you continue, trying to buffer the intensity of the question. "I would much rather Foyet make a mistake and I be the collateral damage than him go after Haley and Jack. I just… you know him better than anyone. Why did I get caught in the crossfire?"

Your words hang between you, full of pain and confusion, as you await his response. But Aaron doesn't answer right away. Instead, he looks down at his hands, and you know the answer isn't easy for him to say.

As Aaron takes a deep breath, clearly preparing to reveal the truth about why Foyet attacked you, the door opens, and Haley steps into the room. You exchange a brief, silent nod with Aaron, then turn to Haley, offering a quick glance that says everything you can't put into words right now. You quietly step out without a word, giving them the space they need.

In the waiting room, the tension that had been hanging over you like a storm cloud starts to lift slightly as you spot JJ and Penelope sitting on the floor with Jack, their laughter softening the atmosphere. Jack's eyes meet yours the moment you enter, and the change in his expression is immediate—his face lights up with relief, and before you know it, he's running toward you.

He crashes into your legs, his little arms wrapping around you in a tight hug. "Is my daddy okay?" he asks, his voice small but full of concern.

You kneel down, smoothing his hair back and offering him the reassurance he needs. "Of course. All he can talk about is how he can't wait to see you." You give him a soft smile, trying to mask your own anxiety for his sake.

Time seems to stretch on as you keep glancing toward Hotch's room, the silence of the waiting room now deafening. It feels like the walls are closing in, and with every passing minute, the weight of everything—everything that's happened and everything that's still to come—sinks deeper into your chest.

"You did good today," Penelope says, her voice full of warmth and a touch of admiration, though the strain in her eyes tells you she's not immune to the gravity of the situation either.

"I'm so in over my head, Pen," you whisper, barely managing to push the words past the tightness in your throat. You don't need to say more for her to understand. She wraps her arm around your shoulder, pulling you close into the comfort of her embrace, and for a moment, it almost feels like everything might be okay.

Before you can gather your thoughts, Penelope's voice breaks the silence again, softer this time. "Oh, incoming," she whispers, her tone shifting to one of quiet anticipation.

You look up to see Haley approaching, her gaze searching the room as she locks eyes with you. She doesn't look at you with warmth—not that you'd expect it. There's a coolness, a distance in her eyes that you've learned to recognize but can't quite reconcile with the situation at hand.

"Y/N, right?" she asks, her voice neutral but pointed.

You nod, feeling a slight knot form in your stomach.

"I'm gonna bring him into Aaron," Haley says, her words short as she nods toward Jack.

You look down at Jack, whose face is already lighting up again as he eagerly looks up at you. You smile at him, trying to keep the mood light. "I know your daddy will be so excited to see you."

"Really?" His eyes widen, and the joy on his face is almost heartbreaking, especially with everything else on your mind.

"Really." You say it gently, guiding him toward his mother, offering him the comfort of normalcy amid the chaos swirling around all of you. The heaviness hasn't left, but for now, it's enough to see Jack's smile as he walks hand-in-hand with Haley, all while you stand in the waiting room, helplessly caught between the past and what's to come.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

Aaron holds Jack close, his grip firm but gentle, memorizing the warmth of his son in his arms, knowing this could be the last time he sees him for the foreseeable future. He presses a lingering kiss to Jack's temple, breathing him in, as if trying to make the moment last just a little longer. Across the room, Haley watches them, her fingers twitch slightly at her sides,like she's holding herself back from reaching for Jack just yet.

"Jack said earlier that you were helping another agent who got hurt," she says, her voice measured. Then, after a beat, she adds, "Was it Y/N?"

Aaron's gaze flickers to her, his breath hitching just enough to betray his surprise.

Haley gives a small, knowing smile, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "She favors her right side when she walks and winces when she stands. I learned a thing or two from being married to a profiler for so long."

Some of the tension in his shoulders eases, his guard lowering ever so slightly.

"The same man who attacked me went after her a month ago," Aaron admits, his voice flat, factual. "Left her for dead as a message to me."

Haley doesn't react immediately, but when she does, her question is sharper than he expects. "And why did he choose her for that message?"

A hush stretches between them. Aaron has no answer that he's ready to give. Or maybe, he just doesn't want to say it out loud.

Haley exhales, her features softening in a way he doesn't quite understand. "As long as you aren't alone," she murmurs. She steps forward and presses a gentle, remorseful kiss to his forehead, lingering just long enough that his eyes flutter shut. "Don't shut anyone out, Aaron. You can't forget to be human."

He looks up at her, searching, trying to decipher the meaning behind her words. For a moment, he forgets that he's a profiler, that he should be able to read her. Right now, he can't.

"Don't profile me, Aaron," she says, amusement flickering through her tired expression. "We were married once. You know what I mean."

And for the first time in a long time, she smiles at him—not the polite, distant smiles they've exchanged for years, but something real, something worn down by time but still familiar. Then, with one final nod, she turns toward the door.

You're standing in the hallway with Prentiss, Morgan, and U.S. Marshal Sam Kassmeyer when Jack runs out, making a beeline straight for you. His little hands tug at your pant leg, and when you kneel down, he looks up at you with wide, hopeful eyes.

"When I'm on my trip, can you come see me?" he asks, his voice small and sweet.

Your heart clenches. You glance up at Haley instinctively, searching for any sign of her feelings. She meets your eyes, and for a moment, there's something obscure there. Then, after a beat, she smiles—not big, not bright, but a smile nonetheless. A resigned kind of acceptance.

You turn back to Jack, smoothing his hair with a tender hand. "You're going on a very special trip with your mom," you tell him gently. "I wouldn't want to get in the way of that. But maybe when you're home, we can make spaghetti again, just like when we first met."

Jack grins at the memory, and from the corner of your eye, you see Haley's shoulders ease slightly. Maybe she recognizes the reassurance in your words—that you would never come between her and her son, that you know where the boundaries are.

"Give Miss Y/N a big hug," Haley encourages.

Jack throws his arms around you, and you hug him back, holding onto him just a second longer than you should. When you finally pull away and stand, your eyes find Haley's again.

"We're going to catch this guy, Haley," you say, voice firm, steady. "This won't be for long."

She exhales through her nose, then reaches out, lightly squeezing your arm. "I don't doubt it," she says quietly. "My concern is… at what cost?"

The significance of her words is not lost on you, and then she's turning, taking Jack's hand in hers as they start toward Sam. But just before they reach the end of the hall, Haley stops. She turns back to you one last time, something unreadable flickering across her face.

"Take care of him," she says.

And then she's gone.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

You and the team return to Aaron's side, the room filling with quiet murmurs of reassurance and unwavering support. Morgan cracks a joke in an attempt to lighten the mood, Prentiss offers a knowing look, and JJ's soft words are meant to soothe. But despite it all, you hover just beside him, your hands hanging at your sides, unsure where you fit in this moment of camaraderie. Every so often, your gaze drifts to him, and without fail, you find his eyes already on you.

The team fills him in on the case they closed earlier—an investigation wrapped up in a matter of hours—but you can tell Aaron isn't entirely there. His nods are absentminded, his jaw tight, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. You know where they've gone. To Jack. To Haley. To the uncertainty of what comes next.

You shift closer, just enough that your fingertips barely graze his. It's subtle, a quiet offering meant only for him. Something small, something grounding. A tether, if he needs it.

For a moment, there's nothing. And then, slowly, his fingers brush against yours, the touch light, tentative. But then he holds on—just enough to make it count. Just enough that neither of you has to say anything. The contact is both everything and nothing, a lifeline and a release.

It's the smallest of gestures, unnoticed by anyone else, but in that fleeting moment, it feels like you're both holding on for dear life—and somehow, at the same time, setting each other free.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

When everyone else leaves, you stay behind, offering to be his security for the night.

As the unit settles into its late-night hush, the nurses dim the lights and draw the curtains around his room. You giggle softly, the absurdity of it all hitting you at once.

Aaron glances at you, his lips curving into a faint smile simply because yours is so infectious. "What is it?"

Your laughter only grows. "I just think it's bizarre that a month ago, I was in the hospital from stab wounds, and now here I am, in the hospital with you… because you were stabbed." You shake your head in disbelief. "Wanna know the most ironic part of it all?"

He chuckles, the sound low and rough but full of amusement. "What's so ironic?"

Still grinning, you tug at the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough to reveal the fading, jagged marks along your skin. Then, you step over to the chart hanging by his bed, pointing to the initials scribbled across the top.

"Of all the things my scar could've been, it had to be your initials," you say, shaking your head before bursting into laughter again. "Penelope said last week that it's like those soulmate tropes—where your soulmate's initials appear on your skin. Except mine were carved in by a psychopathic serial killer."

Aaron exhales a quiet laugh, but the motion is too much. He winces, pressing a hand to his side.

"I've been there," you say knowingly, your amusement fading as you settle beside him.

The silence that follows isn't heavy, nor is it uncomfortable. It simply exists, a quiet space between you both.

Then, in a voice so soft you almost think you imagined it, he whispers, "It wasn't a mistake."

Your breath stills. "What?"

"Foyet targeting you," Aaron murmurs, his eyelids fluttering shut. "It was never a mistake."

You blink rapidly, his words sinking in, pivoting something deep within you. But before you can speak, his body relaxes against the pillows, the exhaustion overtaking him.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner angst #hotch x y/n #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner series #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #criminal minds imagine #the purest things series

64 notes · View notes

anonymous-dentist · 10 months ago

Text

Or: a PJO AU

Cellbit hasn't been a demigod since he was eight years old staring a snake woman in the eyes in downtown Manhattan. It's been almost ten years since then, and he hasn't bothered with the gods since. (Good riddance.)

But then, of course, Richarlyson.

And then, of course, the spiders.

Oh, the spiders...

So now Cellbit has Richarlyson in the back seat of a stolen car with Pac and Mike on either side of him, Felps riding shotgun and shouting insults at the dozen or so dog-sized spiders chasing them down the highway. They're just under five minutes away from where Cellbit vaguely remembers camp being, which means Richarlyson is just under five minutes away from what is going to be the worst day of his life.

(Cellbit never got claimed, thank the gods. Mike says that he doesn't believe in divine authority, so he won't recognize whoever his parent is. Pac is long-claimed by now, but this also isn't his camp or pantheon. And Felps is... Felps.)

Richarlsyon has his headphones on, and he's watching The Lorax on his tablet (also stolen.) This is probably why the spiders are chasing them, but Cellbit doesn't have the heart to take it away from them.

Spiders... eugh. Of course, it just had to be spiders.

Cellbit watches a spider lunge for the driver's side door via the side mirror.

With a grimace, he takes one hand off of the wheel and slams his door open with his free hand.

The spider goes flying, and it's immediately run over and squished into a spider-shaped mass of goo on the road.

"Ewwww," Pac complains.

Cellbit wrinkles his nose in agreement. He pulls his door shut and stabilizes the car and tries not to think about how the squished-up spider is going to reform in a second and come after him and probably, like, murder him in his sleep after he drops Richarlyson off.

(The downside of refusing to associate with the gods for a decade is a distinct lack of celestial bronze weaponry. Except for...)

"Keep an eye out for a sign," Cellbit tells the others. "It's... strawberries? Something about strawberries."

The car jerks as a couple of spiders leap onto the trunk and start hissing.

Cellbit swears and sharply turns the car to the left, sending the spiders- and Mike- flying.

Mike shouts, and then he screams as a spider jumps up onto the window next to him.

"What the fuck?" he yells. "Pac!"

"Got it!" Pac cheerily says.

With only a little hesitation, he unbuckles his seat belt, leans across both an unbothered Richarlyson and a freaked-out Mike, rolls the window down, and stabs the spider through with the blade of his gladius. The spider screeches and dissolves into dust.

One down, so many more to go.

Pac grins and sits back in his seat. He ruffles Richarlyson's hair as he does so, retracting his sword back into his watch and re-buckling his seat belt.

Cellbit turns his attention back to the road. No signs yet... but it's also been ten years since he's been in New York, let alone at camp. Things could have changed. Things probably did change, and probably not for the better. Maybe the campers lost the war. Maybe the Titans won (but probably not considering the world hasn't been destroyed in the years since 2009.) Maybe Bagi-

"Delphi Strawberry Service," Felps hums. He looks at Cellbit. "Is that it?"

Cellbit answers by jerking the car so hard to the right that everybody inside, himself included, is pulled to the side. He grits his teeth and tries to stay as upright as he can.

(Why is he the only one who can drive, again?)

The car pulls onto a familiar gravel road. There's a tall tree on the hill ahead of them. Even through the windows, Cellbit can smell the scent of sweet, fresh strawberries and bonfire smoke. There are people on the hill braiding flowers.

The spiders continue giving chase. One must manage to puncture one of the tires with its fangs, because one of the lights on the dashboard goes red, and the car starts to wobble and slow down.

Cellbit groans and presses his foot to the gas. "Nooo, come on!"

They're so close! He can see the Golden Fleece waving in the wind.

He can also see a very large statue of a woman towering above the treeline. She looks... familiar. In a bad way.

Cellbit shudders and tears his eyes away from the statue. It's none of his business, anyway; he's just dropping Richarlyson off, and then he and the others are leaving before they're noticed.

Another tire is popped. The car stops.

Finally, Richarlyson takes his headphones off.

"Where are we?" he asks.

Cellbit tries to smile at him through the rear-view mirror.

"We're going to summer camp, remember?" he attempts.

Richarlyson- six years old and too smart for his age- does not appear to be too happy about that statement. Makes sense, he didn't want to leave California in the first place. Cellbit doesn't blame him; the weather is much more tolerable there than it is in New York.

The car shakes as spiders start climbing it. They start trying to break through the windows using their evil little spider legs and their absolutely horrifying spider fangs: enormous pointy things oozing a purple liquid that bubbles as it hits the glass.

Cellbit bites back a whimper. They're so big...

Pac's mouth narrows. He presses the button on his watch and only flinches a little as his gladius pops out of it.

Mike steels himself. He clicks his seat belt off, and he picks his bag up off of the floor and puts it in his lap- ready to run.

Felps, though, smiles wide and turns around in his seat to look at Richarlyson.

"Are you ready to run again?" he asks.

Richarlyson is good at many things, but he's best at running away from his problems (just like everyone else in the car), and the killer spiders are definitely problems.

So Richarlyson nods and clutches his tablet to his chest. He should really leave it behind, but...

"On the count of three," Cellbit tells everybody.

He takes his seat belt off and gets his backpack from the floor by his feet. He checks his boot and lets out a tense breath. Okay. It's there.

"Um," Cellbit says.

The spiders manage to crack the back windshield. Richarlyson gasps and rushes to take his seat belt off.

"Dois."

Pac yanks his seat belt off and grabs the door handle. His eyes flicker between the spiders and Richarlyson and Mike and Cellbit and Felps, though they linger on Felps for just a moment too long to be normal.

(Oh, Pac...)

"Três!"

Cellbit shoves the door open and jumps out of it, pulling his knife from his boot and stabbing it right into the abdomen of the closest spider.

"Wait, you meant on three!?" Pac screeches, tumbling out of the car and swinging his gladius at the nearest group of spiders.

"Yes!" Cellbit snaps. "What did you think I meant?"

He rips the knife out of the spider, panting heavily from both fear and exhilaration. The edges of his vision are red and dripping with blood, but the spider simple crumbles into dust at his hands.

Mike stumbles out of the car, Richarlyson in his arms and his bag on his back.

"I thought you meant after you counted to three!" Pac shouts.

He spins in a neat circle and manages to decapitate two spiders at once. They dissolve, but two more spiders take their places immediately.

Mike takes off down the road towards the hill, grumbling about Richarlyson's weight as he goes. Richarlyson starts talking about Mike's weight in return, and there are spiders.

There are spiders.

Oh fuck.

Knife's effects be damned, Cellbit screams and jerks backwards in sheer terror as a spider scrambles onto his side of the car. He falls onto his ass on the gravel and scoots away, eyes wide. His hands shake and his vision flickers back into something resembling normalcy and he can't breathe- fucking spiders, of course they're spiders! What else would they be? Fucking spiders, of course!

"Cellbit!" Pac cries.

"I've got him," Felps says, finally getting out of the car.

He calmly raises his arms above his head and stretches. As he does so, he walks around the side of the car and crouches by Cellbit's side.

"These things suck," he tells Cellbit, voice so low that Cellbit is convinced that only he can hear it. "Let's just run away."

There's just that smallest hint of magic in his voice, but Cellbit isn't worried about it. No, he's used to it. He's known Felps basically since he ran away, he's more than used to it.

His body stands. Cellbit only comes back to himself as he's approaching the hill, Felps and Pac close behind.

He skids to a stop just in front of the camp borders. He can seen Mike and Richarlyson already safe on the other side, and he can see a group of campers gathered around them and attending to Richarlyson, whose fake tears are convincing enough to get three or so campers to give him all of their flower crowns and chains.

Pac crosses the border and shivers. He immediately runs to Mike's side, clicking his gladius away and taking Richarlyson from him.

Felps stops next to Cellbit.

"Come on," he whispers. "The spiders, man."

Cellbit gulps. He feels all tingly; the statue of the woman stares angrily down at him, furious over his very existence.

A spider hisses, entirely too close to Cellbit for his comfort.

He yelps and rushes across the border, and it feels like his first breath of fresh air in a decade as he does so.

He hates it.

Felps follows, sticking close to Cellbit's side. He smiles and waves politely at the campers staring at the two of them.

Or, well. Staring at the air over Cellbit's head.

One of the campers, a taller boy with messy brown hair and a blue bandana loosely tied around his forehead, looks positively befuddled. Why?

"Don't get any bright ideas," Cellbit warns the campers. "I'm not staying. None of us are."

Richarlyson raises a dejected hand. "Except for me. They're abandoning me..."

He bursts into a fresh round of crocodile tears. Most of the campers coo and gather around him and Pac and Mike; Cellbit watches as Pac steals the watch off of a girl's wrist, and as Mike snags a solid handful of golden rings from several different campers. (Nothing ever changes.)

But the boy with the bandana keeps staring at Cellbit.

Slightly unnerved, Cellbit shuffles closer to Felps, who ignores him and looks up at the statue with his hand acting as a visor over his eyes.

"Oh, look. The Athena Parthenos," he comments. "When did that get here?"

Athena...

He nudges Cellbit in the side with a grin. "Look, Cellbit. It's your mom!"

...What?

"No," Cellbit firmly says, completely ignoring the various puzzle pieces clicking into place in his head. "I don't have a mom. Now, come on, we need to take care of the..."

He trails off as he turns around and sees the gaggle of spiders pressed up against the camp's barrier hissing and quivering and oozing.

His voice trails off into a whisper: "...spiders."

He can't help it. He drops his knife in shock, and, as he does so, an ice-cold needle jams itself into the side of his brain.

Cellbit immediately drops to his knees and scrambles to pick the knife up. He wipes it on his jeans, holds it, looks at it, loves it.

His reflection in the blade is clear. The glowing golden owl symbol floating above his head is even clearer.

"Told you," Felps says.

Cellbit reaches back and smacks his leg. Felps kicks at him. Cellbit smacks him again.

Richarlyson starts crying again. This time, he sounds serious. (He is only six...)

Cellbit sighs and stands, carefully tucking his knife back into his boot as he does so.

As he raises his head, he's met with the boy with the bandana standing only a foot or so away from him with his hands in his pockets.

"Hey," he says, "so if you don't want to stay, keep away from the training grounds. The Athena cabin is down there, and I... well, let's just say the head counselor is gonna want to see you."

He winks, and he walks off to join the other campers.

The Athena cabin's head counselor... who? If he's, then... oh, fuck.

Cellbit grabs Felps' arm and looks up at him desperately.

"Kill the spiders," he begs. "Please. We need to get out of here."

Felps pats the back of Cellbit's head reassuringly.

He smiles. "No."

And then he goes to squeeze through the campers to get to Richarlyson, who immediately brightens upon seeing him.

Cellbit looks at the spiders. He looks at the- what did Felps call it?- Athena Parthenos. He looks at the campers.

He looks at the hill as there's a scream from it, a screechy: "What the fuck? Are those spiders?"

The boy with the bandana looks up at the girl on the hill and offers a wave. "Bagi! Hey! I thought you were training?"

"I heard screaming," the girl explains. "I came to help."

She has a sword in one of her hands and a shield in the other. She's gotten her nose pierced in the last ten years. She looks... happy.

Quietly, Cellbit starts backing away. If he can make it into the woods and then run, he might be able to outsmart the spiders before they can catch him.

The girl looks at Richarlyson. She looks at Pac and Mike and Felps.

And then she looks at Cellbit, and she drops her sword.

Yeah, no.

Cellbit turns on his heel, and he books it into the forest.

He hasn't been a demigod in ten years, and he sure as hell isn't going to start again now.

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#qsmppjo au #<- that's it that's the tag #idk how happy i am with this? but i love writing these types of chase-action scenes

174 notes · View notes