#will i actually???? who knows but i have four hours worth of flight to try

[sidesteppostinghours]

*squints and holds f!chentega to the light* ... i could make you messier.

[the-guilty-writer]

Not Just A Rossi

Agent Rossi-Reid

Anthology Masterlist

David Rossi x daughter!reader,  Spencer Reid x reader, Criminal minds x BAU!reader

Summary: When Spencer notices RR struggling with her father's return to work, he can't help but intervene... with help of course.

A/N: It's been a while! This isn't exactly the way I want it, but right now I'm just happy to be able to write a little bit again.

CW: RR forgets to eat, is sleep deprived, eating food, details of a case

---

You were doing that thing again - that thing you did whenever you felt threatened or questioned. It was a defense mechanism that Spencer had identified within the first week that you began working at the BAU.

Desperate to prove your worth, you filled out double (sometimes triple) the amount of files you needed to. On cases, you didn’t eat or sleep until they were solved. You worked harder than any agent on the team, Hotch included, in an effort to prove that you belonged there- that you were worthy of your place on the team.

Those first four months had nearly brought you to your knees. Nobody had seen that you were drowning in self-doubt, being hit over and over again, wave after wave of looking for reassurance that you could never get. Nobody noticed.

Except for Spencer.

He was the one who looked at you one day and told you that you were more than just your name - that your brilliance and boldness made you more than worthy of being an agent at the BAU. He’d thrown you the life vest you were so desperately in need of. He’d also convinced you to grab on.

It had taken time for you to find your own identity within the team; for you to recognize that you were so much more than your father’s daughter, and that was why Gideon had hired you in the first place. There was always an underlying insecurity, but for the most part it had gone away. In the moments that the monster rose to the surface and you didn’t notice, your husband did. Spencer would find a quiet moment in the chaos, brushing his hand across yours to catch your attention before leaning in to whisper “Lo credo in te, mio amata.” in your ear- I believe in you, my beloved.

You hadn’t needed reassurance in a long time, but with your dad’s return to the BAU, you were falling into your old patterns and habits. The doubts and fears were seeping through the box that you carefully contained them in, leaking toxins into your mind.

You didn’t even realize it was happening at first - subconsciously wearing your more professional attire and packing your lunch instead of going out with the girls on days where work was a little slower. You ignored the more passive questions about your family-work situation instead of coming back with a snarky remark like everyone expected.

Spencer was the only one who noticed. Your shoulders were more tense than normal when he hugged you, kisses weren’t quite as long, and the underlying anxiety caused you to be a bit more tired than normal, which he had to admit put a damper on your most private relationship activities. All your husband could do was check in with you at work more often, but he didn’t want to say anything about it until it actually became an issue. For all he knew, it was a phase that would pass after a few months.

It didn’t.

Hotch was the second person to suspect anything was wrong. When a local PD questioned the team, you were normally bold in the face of their accusations, but for the past couple cases, you’d been avoidant of the comments - keeping more quiet than normal. It was during a flight home after a case that confirmed his suspicions to be true. Normally you would have been next to Spencer, both of you asleep with your shoulders brushing and pinky fingers overlapping - trying to stay as professional as possible, but unable to deny that you needed to be touching. But despite the grueling 72 hours the team endured, you and Hotch sat at the table awake, getting through paperwork.

“I can do those, you know,” Hotch said quietly.

You shook your head. “For me it’s just another hour of paperwork. For you it’s another hour you can spend with Jack.”

Since Haley had left, you’d been trying your best to help him. Previously, it was with situations outside of work- mitigating the couple’s conversations, or you and Spencer taking Jack for a few hours so the boy didn’t have to listen to his parents arguing - but now you were taking on his consults when you could, writing up parts of reports for him, going over interviews… anything you could. It was as if you were trying to subtly drown yourself in pen and printer ink.

Hotch didn’t respond to your comment. He just kept writing, knowing he’d have to find some time to talk to Reid about it.

---

“Are you and (Y/N) okay at home?” Hotch asked softly. Spencer had come into his office to drop off his finished files. The doctor was entirely unprepared to be ambushed by such a question.

Spencer’s chest felt tight as he looked at you sitting at your desk in the bullpen, and then at the open office door. “We’re fine,” he said, giving himself time to think about what to say next. “Still making sense of Gideon leaving.” It was the truth, just not the whole truth.

Hotch looked down. “She has nothing to prove,” he said. “None of us do.”

Spencer nodded in understanding and left the office. He almost went straight to you to pose an intervention, before realizing that was an intervention too big for himself to handle. Instead, he checked to see that you were still invested in your work before quietly walking to your dad’s office.

“Hi, Agent Rossi,” Spencer said as he entered. “Can- uh- can we talk?”

Your dad made a face that Spencer couldn’t quite read - maybe it was because his father-in-law scared him just a bit, or maybe because David Rossi had a truly strange range of expressions. Still, he was relieved when your dad said “Sure,” and gestured for Spencer to take a seat across from him.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Rossi asked.

Spencer glanced nervously in your direction. He’d gotten better at hiding his tells over the years, but there was no point in hiding them right now. “(Y/N)’s been struggling with you returning to work,” he said.

Rossi raised an eyebrow at him. “Go on.”

“When Gideon hired her she kind of went through an identity crisis about who she is outside of… well, you.” Rarely did Spencer have a hard time finding words, but he did right then. “It took time for her to feel like she deserved to be on the team because she’s good at her job, and not because she’s your daughter.”

“She never told me that.”

Spencer wasn’t sure if the twinge in your dad’s voice was concern for you, or doubts in him. “I don’t think she ever wanted you to know,” your husband got quiet.

It suddenly felt as though he was spilling a secret he shouldn’t even have access to. You’d never said that you didn’t want your dad to know how hard it had been coming into the most elite unit of the FBI and constantly questioning how and why you were there; always wondering if someone had pulled strings they weren’t supposed to. Yet, it seemed like Rossi had a right to know there was a monster lurking within his relationship with his daughter.

Rossi sighed. “She didn’t even tell me that Gideon hired her until her first day here.”

“You didn’t tell her you were coming back to work until you arrived at the office,” Spencer said, immediately regretting his decision when he heard how accusatory the sentence was. With his foot in his mouth, Spencer found himself scrambling to find words. “I mean- I know it was with good intentions but- not, not but-”

“Spencer.” He turned to see you in the doorway of your father’s office. You looked immediately from your husband to your father. “Papa.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Cosa diamine stai facendo?”

Rossi rolled his eyes. “Can’t Reid and I just talk? Da uomo a uomo?”

Spencer knew enough Italian to know the words the two of you were saying, but he quickly realized that he did not speak enough father-daughter to understand the conversation.

You sighed, annoyed, and ignored Rossi, turning to your husband instead. “I’m going to work late again tonight. I’m helping counter terrorism get through some extra cases and it’s taking longer than expected.”

Spencer stood up from the chair. “I can help you. We’ll get through them faster tog-”

You shook your head to cut him off. “We’ve already worked late every day this week and there’s leftover eggplant parmesan at home that isn’t going to eat itself.”

All Spencer could do was put an awkward grin on his face. He almost leaned in for a kiss before realizing that the two of you were still in the presence of your dad. Instead, he gave you a gentle kiss on your temple. “Come home tonight, please?”

It hadn’t happened before - you staying the night at the office and Spencer waking up to an empty bed - but he was worried it might. The bags under your eyes and hollow look to your face spoke of desperate need for sleep.

“I will,” you whispered to him. 

He left your dad’s office and made his way down to the bullpen. Your desk was stacked with extra files, loose papers with hastily scribbled notes were all over, and your lunchbox sat untouched. Spencer sighed and threw his satchel over his shoulder. Before he left for the night, he put a note on your chair, where you were sure to notice it:

Your lunch isn’t going to eat itself - S.R.

---

You weren’t sure what time it was, just that the bullpen was empty, the janitor had left hours ago, even Hotch’s office was dark, and your lunchbox was still untouched. The stack on your desk had gotten significantly smaller, but at the rate you were going, you hoped you could keep your promise to Spencer that you’d make it home tonight. Your stomach growled as you eyed your lunchbox, but you had to weigh your options: get through another file and make it home, or eat.

You had to make it home tonight. You would never hear the end of it if you didn’t.

With a sigh, you reached to grab another file. this time it would be the last- 

“Mio passerotta.”

“Cazzo!” Your exhausted body was brought to alert by the voice of your dad coming from behind you. You sighed and regained your composure. “Papa, what are you doing here? It’s late.”

“I don’t remember raising my daughter to use words like that,” Rossi said as he walked towards you, ignoring your question.

You rolled your eyes. “Please, Papa. I don’t have time for this.”

“You know you’re lucky that you and Spencer both work for the BAU,” your father continued to go on, finally perching on the side of your desk, uninvited. “You’ve been working overtime. Last week you didn’t even make the poor guy a homemade meal-”

“Now that’s just sexist-”

“And you have to be back here in,” Rossi looked down at his watch, “five hours. You told him you would make it home tonight.”

“And I will,” you snapped. “After I finish this file.” You picked up your pen and opened the manila folder. You might have been able to concentrate on your work if your dad didn’t keep talking.

“After I finish this file…” he said with annoyingly negative nostalgia. “Do you know how many times I said that back when I was your age? It ended two of my marriages.”

“Why do you keep bringing up my husband and my marriage?” The exhaustion and the hunger made you far more irritated than normal.

“Because, mio passerotta, you have a good one. A great one. So great that your husband took it upon himself to tell me that you’ve been struggling with my return to work.”

You froze. The wall you had built up of overworking and papers and file folders and crime scene photos came tumbling down in an ocean around you. You were drowning, just like you had been years ago; and once again, Spencer had been the one to notice. But he sent your father to save you this time around.

Your dad grabbed your lunchbox from the desk with one hand and offered you the other. “Come on,” he said gently.

You took his hand and let him pull you to your feet, leading you towards the glass doors of the bullpen and towards the elevator. Suddenly, you felt like a little girl again; though you were older now, and much taller, your mind was ravished with memories of when you came to the BAU when you were little - your dad holding your lunchbox in one hand and gently gripping your small fist in the other.

The memories became even more vivid when you stepped off the elevator and onto the basement floor.

Your dad let go of your hand and walked to a small clearing in the space, which was now exclusively used for storage. Old desks stacked on top of one another, broken printers in the corner, and long folding tables pushed against the wall still gave it the overly-crowded feel of the old BAU headquarters.

“What are we doing here?” you sighed, following him.

Rossi sat down and opened up your lunchbox, beginning to pick through what was essentially granola bars, bags of chips, and sleeves of crackers. You barely had time to go grocery shopping recently, much less cook for yourself. Your dad pulled out a bag of Spicy Italian flavored snack mix - the same snack mix he used to get you as an after school snack - and opened it before taking a bite. He finished munching the handful of mix in his mouth and held the bag out to you. “Trying to remember who I was.”

You sighed, took a handful from the bag, and sat down across from him.

“You were, what, twelve years old when they finally moved us to this office?” Rossi reminisced.

“Thirteen,” you corrected. “And I’d hardly call this an office.”

“It was better than the glorified storage closet we were in before.”

“This is a glorified storage closet now.” But when you looked around you could still picture the space in its hay-day; where the white boards hung on the walls, the circles of desks, the floor to ceiling shelves that held boxes and boxes of files, even the place that had been blocked off to act as a small conference room. You could have mapped it out better than your childhood bedroom.

“True,” Rossi started. “But I’d like to think some rather important things happened here.”

“Your retirement party happened here,” you pointed out.

“It did.” Finished with the snack mix, your dad got to his feet. You followed his lead as he moseyed around a bit. “But right there,” he gestured to a space on the back wall where a board once hung. “That’s where we hung your high school graduation sign.”

“Yeah…”

“And over there.” He nodded towards the middle of the room where a circle of desks used to be. “That’s where you met Aaron for the first time.”

“What does-”

Your dad brushed right past you and stood in a space that you couldn’t remember if it had any meaning to it at all. “And this is where you helped on your first ever profile, at the age of thirteen years old.”

You paused and stared at him for a minute. Sure, you’d stolen files from old cases without permission, but you couldn’t ever remember putting a profile together. There were a few times you used solved cases as parts of school projects, or sorted through old file boxes for community service hours. You had thought any thievery of paperwork was done well for you being a teenager surrounded by profilers.

“I wasn’t allowed to help with profiles,” you stated blankly. “And I never sto- borrowed files from unsolved cases. Just the solved ones so I could learn. If you spend enough time around here you get curious about what everyone is talking about.”

“You may have not been allowed to help with profiles,” Rossi said. “But you had no problem pointing out when a young trainee was wrong.”

You couldn’t argue with that. As a teenager, you’d gotten a kick out of questioning the younger agents' skills; it was amusing to watch their faces falter into frowns over profiles they had been so proud of just moments before you tipped over their house of cards.

“I was standing over there,” Rossi pointed to a corner, “with Jason, while Agent Chambers presented his preliminary profile on two bodies found in Seattle. Both young women were stabbed in the lower abdomen. The trail went cold quickly.”

“I remember now,” you said. “That case showed up again years later, and then went cold again. It’s still unsolved.”

“That’s the one. Chambers said that because the two victims were young, and their reproductive organs were targeted, the unsub must have been older - in his mid thirties at least. More likely in his forties or fifties.”

You smirked just a bit. “I said there was no way the unsub could be older. There was overkill on the first victim and the second was more controlled. It shows evolving, which pointed to the unsub being younger: twenty five to thirty five.”

“And you were right,” Rossi said, walking towards you. “It opened up the entire profile, so when two more bodies showed up years later, we didn’t ignore it. At thirteen years old you understood more about profiling than an agent with proper training.”

You shrugged. “Because you’re my dad.”

He shook his head. “Mio passerotta, the reason you’re good at your job has very little to do with me. Being a Rossi might have helped you get a jump-start in your profiling education, but it didn’t make you a profiler. It didn’t earn you your academy scores, or get you placed with the BAU. You did that, all on your own."

A rather sheepish grin crossed your face and your eyes began to water. Sure, your dad had told you he was proud of you countless times - so had Gideon - but it was rare that he told you that you were good. The weight lifted off your shoulders; the bouldering burden of your name dissolved into thin air. A tear of relief rolled down your cheek as you stood up just a bit taller than you had in months as that little bit of confidence, the little bit of fire you had lost, began to shine through once again.

Rossi wrapped you in a hug, holding you close like he always did, and you hugged him back. “Grazie, Papa,” you whispered.

Rossi smiled. “Always, mio passerotta.” He gently let you go and planted a kiss on your forehead. “But I think you have someone else you need to thank.”

You smiled and nodded before rushing towards the elevator to get on your way home.

---

It was nearly 4 AM when you walked into your and Spencer’s apartment. You had expected Spencer might wait for you for a few hours before going to bed, but it was clear to you, seeing him asleep on the couch with a book open on his chest, that he had waited as long as he could. You put down your bag and slipped your shoes off before padding over to the couch.

Gently, you took the book off Spencer’s chest and placed it on the coffee table before laying beside him on the couch and replacing the weight of the novel with the presence of your hand. Without opening his eyes, Spencer adjusted so you could snuggle in.

“You’re home,” he said groggily, still half asleep.

“I’m home,” you replied.

You could have contributed how fast you fell drowsy with how long you had been awake, the lack of nutrition in your system, or emotional exhaustion, but it was more than that. It was the warmth of Spencer’s embrace, the gentle feeling of his breath on your skin, the steady beating of his heart under your hand, and the comfort of being with someone who knew you better than yourself.

“Thank you,” you whispered to him, but Spencer had already fallen asleep.

---

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[justapoet]

these roads are changing me (but they all lead back to you)

Honestly, it hadn't been in her plans to have Percy with her in her crisis-induced impromptu trip. It hadn't even been in her plans to leave New York, much less the United States — but she found that very little made sense and very few made plans when in a complete, absolute hell of a burnout from which she couldn't actually run away. She could try. And she could flee the country. Or, Annabeth's first move after finding old letters she'd written to no one was to get on a plane to another country. Or rather, it was telling Percy she'd do that — and, so, her solo, breakdown-induced trip suddenly had a partner. Through letters, tears, and spending someone else's money, she would soon find out that fleeing home wasn't quite an option when the heart in which she lived inside was beating in the chest right beside hers.

read on Ao3

to those who ask

      The turbulence and the sharp inhale beside her were what took Annabeth's attention out of the book she had in her hands.

A mess of blonde curls was lifted from her shoulders, and one of his hands gripped her arm while he tried to understand what was going on. Annabeth adjusted her posture on her own seat, watching carefully as the pair of blue eyes tried to assess the situation they were currently in.

"You still drool in your sleep," she said, just because it was something worth mentioning.

He blinked his eyes slowly, yawning and adjusting his posture to the seat as she'd done a few seconds before.

"Hm," he groaned, never really alert after waking up. Percy rotated his neck, the previous position being quite cruel on his spine, his hand still gripping her arm as tightly as he could not to hurt her. "Wha' happened?" he mumbled.

"Turbulence," she explained, eyes back on the book, then, and moving her arm as to slide their hands together. The pilot had said it'd be a turbulent part about fifteen seconds before Percy woke up, and she knew her best friend enough to know he'd need some lifeline for his mind's sake. "We're fine. You can go back to sleep, Seaweed Brain," she assured him, squeezing his fingers.

"No, no, I—" he said, sleepy, and the loud wind echoed in the plane. Percy closed his eyes shut. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he tried to lie. His voice was shaky and a bit strained, and Annabeth tried to squeeze his hand even tighter. "I'm fine."

They'd been flying for the past four hours or so, on a plane destined to Brussels, Belgium, with nothing but a small baggage, backpacks, Sally's wishes of 'good luck', and their personal belongings. It had been the first flight with vacant seats they could board, and there was no planning whatsoever other than getting to the airport and buying something to eat.

Honestly, it hadn't been in her plans to have Percy with her in her crisis-induced impromptu trip. It hadn't even been in her plans to leave New York, much less the United States — but she found that very little made sense and very few made plans when in a complete, absolute hell of a burnout from which she couldn't actually run away.

She could try, though, and she could absolutely flee the country.

So, when Annabeth knocked on Percy's door to tell him, Sally and Paul that she'd be traveling for God-knows-how-long, to God-knows-where and alone, she hadn't expected Percy to get up, rush to his room and ask her to wait a minute in a muffled yell.

But it was how the moment went, after all: as the three of them processed what she'd said and her best friend read her like he'd always do, probably figuring out she wasn't exactly fine and was physically running and getting far from her problems and daily life, he blinked at her, gathering his thoughts. Sally and Paul had a matching look of concern in their faces, and Annabeth wanted to take back every word she spent the last five minutes speaking.

Then, the next second had Percy moving fast as he rushed to his bedroom, took a suitcase — where he threw shirts, pants, hoodies in —, a backpack — which he filled with personal hygiene items, phone charger, earphones, his wallet and a laptop —, and a pair of shoes he didn't even bother to lace before he was stealing her words and telling his mother and stepfather that he and Annabeth were making a trip to God-knows-where, for God-knows how long.

Both Sally and Paul had, somehow, agreed. They didn't even bat an eye to the absolute whirlwind of information they'd both just dumped on them. And Annabeth was far too stunned to even consider denying Percy's offer (it wasn't exactly an offer, it turned out).

Paul had smiled, sincere as it always was, and offered the two of them a hug. Sally spent three minutes asking Percy if he'd thrown everything he'd need in the suitcase and backpack, and did the very same thing to Annabeth — who had a bigger luggage and a very oversized backpack — before rushing to the kitchen and coming back with four blue cookies for each to eat before leaving the country.

The woman had then kissed both their foreheads and told Percy to take the card his father had gifted him when he was sixteen, that he kept hidden in his bedside table. He obliged, never being one to doubt or disobey his mother, and rushed back inside, coming back with a smile, placing a kiss on Sally's head and taking Annabeth's hand in his.

An uber ride and a swipe of his — very rich, Annabeth remembered — father's card later, they were boarding a plane with a destination in another continent.

With the slightest detail that Percy was scared of planes.

Terrified, actually.

Which made the boarding a little (a lot) harder, for Percy was clearly fighting a panic attack while they approached the actual plane through the glass-hallways, his face growing pale and scared, and his eyes widening while his breath got shallow and faster. Annabeth held his hand as tightly as she could, offering a thousand times for them to just get back and give it up and stay in the country instead. They'd figure something else to do. She could freak out in Central Park. In Boston. Washington. Austin, even. Anywhere they could get to in-land.

But he had denied profusely, shaking his head and failing majestically in pretending he wasn't losing his cool as much as he was. Percy gripped her hand like a lifeline, doing everything in his power to not fall apart or literally fall to his shaking knees as they approached the airplane slowly. Annabeth whispered reassurances as much as she could, the guilt weighing in her chest while the blue eyes she loved so much widened more and more.

"Percy? We really don't have to do this," she said again, still a few people away from handing their tickets. "You don't have to do this."

"It's okay, Wise Girl," he had told her yet again. "I can do it, I promise. Besides," he tried to shrug, and it wasn't as relaxed as he planned it to look. "You'll be with me. I'll be alright."

She arched an eyebrow.

"Let me do this, okay?" he had requested, and the determination on his face told her that arguing and backtracking would be a losing battle at this point. His stubbornness was something she had gotten used to after knowing him for so long, but it didn't mean it wouldn't bother her from time to time.

So, if that was a losing battle, Annabeth decided that letting the guilt creep through her veins as the line moved again was something that she could definitely make happen. Choosing an airport had not been the smartest idea she'd ever had, even if she was freaking her brains out when she'd decided to fly instead of fighting against the same old demons she'd always faced.

Literally. She didn't think that was what the saying meant all the while.

"And don't you dare go blaming yourself," Percy's voice was closer, now, and she snapped his head towards him to find his face a few inches from hers. He had an arched eyebrow, a smug smile on his pretty face and both his hands behind his back as he bent his body to match her height. "I can see the gears turning inside your head, Chase. Cut the power," he added, teasing, but Annabeth could hear the truthness in his tone.

So, as the fully grown adult she was, Annabeth rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms over her chest. Percy's smile was cheeky, and his pout was ridiculous(ly cute, her brain wanted to supply) as he tilted his head to the side just a bit, pretending to be sad about her display of dissatisfaction.

He looked so much like a baby seal it was actually hilarious.

"Annabeth," he called, dragging the last syllables on much like a small child. "Annie," he said again, dragging on the nickname just the same, and Annabeth shook her head. The line moved, then, and she could see just how tense Percy had gotten beside her, his smile fading and his eyes turning panicked once again. Silently, she thanked God that people were too busy paying attention to themselves, their luggage, kids, and the angle of pictures for Instagram; one look at Percy's face, right then, and anyone would believe they were walking to their death trap.

Annabeth looked at his face, and then put her phone on her back pocket, taking her passport and ticket on the other hand so she could slip her now free palm into Percy's, who had his fingers tightly closed in a fist. She squeezed his hand as soon as she could wrap their fingers together, and looked at him with the smallest of smiles.

Percy smiled back, even if it was weak and watery.

"Alright," he said, taking a deep breath and holding it for a few seconds before exhaling it long and loud. "Alright, just a few hours."

"And I'll be right there," Annabeth said, knowing it didn't mean much against a machine flying around the world, but it meant enough to settle him down for a while. Percy's smile was a little more genuine, then, and they walked again as the line moved one more time, now only two people away from boarding.

Finding their seats was easy, and Annabeth slipped into the window seat before Percy panicked about it. Despite wanting to watch the outside as the plane took off, and being a complete fan of clouds, she closed it as soon as she sat down, much more worried about making Percy as comfortable and safe as she could manage to in a circumstance out of her control (now that they were already there) than seeing how high they were with her own eyes.

And after they took off, Percy seemed to have relaxed. He had muffling earphones on, his seatbelt much tighter than needed around him, and a neck-pillow so he could try to fall asleep in the following hours of being on air. At some point, he'd managed to succumb to Morpheus' realm, though his pillow of choice had been Annabeth's shoulder — and things had been going fairly smoothly, with her reading her book and Percy drooling on her shoulder, until the pilot had announced a path of mild turbulence.

"The pilot said it won't be long," she said, watching his face closely. "We should be fine in a few minutes," Annabeth tried to assure him. Percy gulped, and nodded quickly.

"Yeah, okay," he said. "God, I hate Dumont," Percy added, and Annabeth didn't hold back a snort.

"Of course, you'd know the name of the Aviation's father," she said, rather fondly. "Now, why would you?"

"Needed someone to hate," he replied, and she laughed again. "Like, dude was brilliant. But did he really need to create death traps?"

Annabeth arched an eyebrow.

"One could say the exact same thing about any old dude that chose to explore another field that is not the earth," she argued. "Or the earth, even. Cars and motorcycles, for one."

"Yeah, okay; but in those, at least, we're in control. Most of the time. And we're not bound to fall to our imminent death just because there are clouds and a little rain," Percy grumbled, and Annabeth pressed her lips together.

"We're not bound to fall to our imminent death, Seaweed Brain," she stage-whispered. "And that's also debatable."

"Yeah, you're not gonna convince me of that in this lifetime," he shot back, and closed his eyes at another particularly strong shaking. It wasn't something to worry about, honestly, to anyone who wasn't afraid of flying, but Annabeth imagined that, for him, the impression was that the plane was breaking apart. "How long until we land?"

"About three hours," she said, her voice soft as she tried to weaken the blow she knew it'd have on him. "Think you can fall asleep again?"

Percy seemed to whimper.

"Can we avoid the word 'fall' until I'm entirely sure we won't be dying today?" he requested, that spooked expression still haunting his beautiful features. Annabeth wished, more than anything, that she could get her hands on Time itself and make it go faster.

"Sorry," she said. "Think you can sleep again?"

"Hardly," he shook his head. "Too aware of being in the middle of the clouds," he muttered, inhaling deeply to try and calm himself down. Annabeth's heart ached.

"Want to watch a movie, then?" she offered, and Percy took a few seconds to understand her words when the plane seemed to shake again. She tightened her grip on his hand as he did the same, the hold a bit too strong, but not enough for her to complain.

"You're reading," he said.

"And I can stop," she spoke back. "Besides, the words did start dancing around the page already. Been making too much effort," Annabeth said, closing the book over her lap and taking her phone from her pocket.

She handed it to him, and Percy opened his eyes again.

"Pick one," she said, smiling, and Percy's hand was trembling when he took the device from her hand. "One that we haven't rewatched a thousand times with Estelle already, please," she added, and it got a weak chuckle out of his lips. Annabeth smiled.

"Can it be one we have watched two thousand times already?" he asked, and Annabeth laughed sweetly at him.

"Yes, Seaweed Brain," she told him. "We can watch Finding Nemo."

Percy's face lit up, though it was still strained by the fear that consumed his nerves and thoughts. It would take his head off of it, at least, to watch something he already knew the lines of and always looked like he was watching it for the first time — Sally had told her that he would smile exactly the same from the very first time she had put the movie on.

It was adorable, honestly, and it made Annabeth's heart melt inside his chest. There was a genuinity to him that was so particular and so pure despite the dark stains in his past that it was impossible not to admire the man he had become — so sweet and loyal and carefree. Someone who would part the ocean in two for those he loved, cross hell with bare feet, challenge the heavens alone and never once look back at it with regret.

Someone who would get on a plane just because his best friend had gone absolutely insane and needed to physically leave her life behind for a while.

"Do you have your earphones?" he asked her, already finding the movie she had downloaded in her phone a long time before. Annabeth nodded, reaching for the earphones in her pocket and handing it to him. "C'mere," he called, lifting the armrest after plugging the earphones to the phone, lifting one arm to invite her closer.

Annabeth smiled, taking one side of the earphones and snuggling closer to Percy, who circled his arm around her shoulders. She rested her head against his shoulder, and Percy tilted his to rest it against her hair, smiling happily while the movie started on the small screen he had put over the small table in front of his seat.

Annabeth smiled, glad that Percy would be distracted soon enough and, against his allegations, would soon fall asleep on top of her.

Dory hadn't even appeared when his breathing evened out.

✉

"We're finding a cruise to go back to North-America," was the first thing Percy said when they stepped inside the International Airport in Brussels, leaning into Annabeth as if processing his feet were stepping back on-land. His eyes were closed as his head rested against hers, and Annabeth couldn't help letting go of her luggage and taking her hand to rest on the back of his head, close to his nape, scratching it softly as she tangled her fingers in his curls.

"You good?" she asked, and Percy nodded, swallowing dry and taking a deep breath. He leaned in to her touch still on his head, careful and caring. "Want to sit down?"

"Just give me a minute," he mumbled softly, and Annabeth knew he meant his legs were too unsteady for him to risk another step. She hummed in agreement, and moved her feet slightly to make sure her body was steady enough on the ground in case Percy needed her to take more of his weight.

The shock of being on-air would've caught up to him at some point, and she was grateful it happened when they were already safe back on the ground. Percy hated being the center of attention, and had it happened in the airplane still, it would've been hard not to attract eyes and more noise and more people standing close to the two of them. Annabeth waited, listening carefully to his attempts to calm down his breathing, scratching his scalp to ground him some more to reality.

"Sorry," he said, and Annabeth quickly shook her head.

"Thank you for doing this for me," she shot back, her voice low and earnest. "I'm sorry I didn't think it through before heading to the airport. I should've known better," she apologized, watching as he, too, shook his head, dismissing her words.

"I agreed to it," Percy retorted. "And I'd do it again. Just not— not anytime in the next few months."

She arched an eyebrow.

"Months?" she asked. Percy was thankful for the change of direction in the conversation — he'd happily ignore that he'd been on a floating abomination, thousands of feet out of the ground, for an ungodly amount of hours. He'd completely ignore it forever, or else he'd freak out and start crying while hiding in a bathroom cabin inside an unknown airport in another country, in another continent.

"Why, of course. How else would we see all there is to see in this continent?" Percy asked, still breathless. "There is food to taste and sights to see and museums with stolen things from other people's cultures and pasts to pretend I'm interested in while you're loving every minute of it," he laughed, still a bit breathless, and Annabeth couldn't help but follow along.

The sound made her heart leap, and the smile grew on her face.

"Oh, please," she said, pretending to be bored by his words. "It's long past the time you pretended not to like museums, Seaweed Brain."

"Shh, don't go spilling my secrets just because we're in unknown territory," he whispered-yelled, pretending to be alarmed. "You said that the secret would die with you, Wise Girl," Percy pouted, and Annabeth rolled her eyes.

An adorable sight, really. But with the intent to bother her, regardless.

"Child," she groaned, and Percy gasped, pretending to be offended. "Estelle is more mature than you are, Seaweed Brain," she said, her teasing tone not going unnoticed, but being purposefully ignored by the blue-eyed man.

"She threw a tantrum over Ariel not remaining a mermaid!" he said, and Annabeth scoffed.

"You took her side," she said. "And you picked up a fight with an old lady over whether or not the general in Mulan is bisexual."

"Li Shang," he corrected her, and Annabeth laughed. "And he is! Maybe not bisexual, alright; but definitely not straight," he argued.

"Alright, Seaweed Brain, alright," she said. "You should've shown her your PowerPoint slideshow on the topic, really. It'd be a losing battle."

"For who?" he asked.

"Whom. Me," Annabeth replied, a side-smile on her face. "And Sally, who was desperately wondering how to send you to your father right then so he'd be the one to deal with whatever the situation was."

Percy gasped. Again.

"Excuse me?" he said, way more dramatically than needed. "Dad would've definitely taken my side."

"Yeah, because Tristan would have sided with the old lady."

"Yeah, because he's an asshole of a brother," Percy huffed.

"No. He only sides against you on Disney-related matters because you chose a Christmas family-party to show everyone another PowerPoint presentation arguing why he was actually Triton, Ariel's father and Prince of the Seas," Annabeth told him.

Percy moved his hand as if trying to express a point. He nodded his head along with it, and Annabeth pressed her lips together, bracing herself for whatever he was about to say.

"Annabeth, put a beard and a fishtail on the man and he is Ariel's father," Percy said. "I wait to this day the moment dad will come and say that he's actually Poseidon and I'm a half-blood prince of Atlantis who is more than invited to spend the summers under the sea because he breathes underwater."

Annabeth barked out some laughter.

"Alright, Mia Thermopolis. And I'm Athena's daughter," she rolled her eyes.

Percy blinked.

"You are," he said, as if she wasn't joking.

Annabeth laughed more.

"Athena the Greek goddess, Seaweed Brain. Not Athena, the 'fabulous' architect," she quoted the adjective, rolling her eyes.

Percy blinked, as if analyzing what she had just said. And Annabeth knew just where that would lead them.

"Holy shit," Percy said, and Annabeth promptly protested. "Annabeth, that makes so much sense."

"No, we're not going down that road," she said. Percy started to speak again. "Nope, no way. My mother is perfectly mortal and perfectly human and that's that," she said. Percy narrowed his eyes. "As is your father, Percy; get over yourself."

"Oh, please; I'm being perfectly logical!" he exclaimed, and Annabeth sighed. She wasn't really bothered — she didn't think those little quarrels, or any silly discussion they ever had would ever get a tired sigh out of her. "Annabeth," he dragged the last syllable, and she laughed.

"No, you aren't. You hardly ever are. Especially in these kinds of circumstances," she said, gesturing around. Percy gasped. She rolled her eyes fondly. "Are you alright?" her tone shifted, now softer and a lot more concerned about him.

They'd been standing in the same place for a while, close to a wall and out of the crowds that moved with bags and carts and hurry. Percy was leaning on her, still, and Annabeth didn't mind it one bit — the closeness soothed her soul and, to some extent, his relief after the despair made her, too, feel incredibly relieved about being back with her feet on the ground. She had never been afraid of heights, and much less of airplanes, but she could sympathize with Percy's despair while they were so far among the clouds.

"I'll probably take some sleep for me to completely stop shaking," he laughed. "But I think I can walk now."

Annabeth studied his expression, still shaken and slightly tired, and nodded firmly in response. Percy smiled at her, still not completely feeling like it, and grabbed the suitcase with the hand that wasn't snaking under Annabeth's elbow to take her arm.

"Let's find our way out?" he asked, tugging her arm a bit so she could hold a bit tighter to her own suitcase. Annabeth smiled, following his laid-back pace as they all but danced around the incredible amount of people around them, and feeling the nerve-wrecking feeling of adventure — some might say 'anxiety' — bubble up in her stomach with impressive speed.

She didn't quite know how to explain, but it was a feeling she was quite familiar with. It'd come in the mornings when she knew her routine would be different from the usual thing she always did, or when something in her day and life was so completely out of the ordinary. A white feeling on the pit of her stomach, even though she knew it didn't make much sense to describe it like that; uncomfortable, but not enough to make her recoil and want to bolt. Instead, it would sometimes make her nauseous and want to regret each one of her choices.

She didn't, though; she didn't get the time to. Percy was babbling on over something he had just seen happening, his easy-going way of living being so, so welcomed to break the straining thoughts in her head that would lead her to buy the next available seat back to the United States. His hand was in hers, now, and she held onto him as for dear life — if because of the crowds or the need to feel attached to reality, somehow, Annabeth didn't really know.

They only stopped when they reached the doors that would take them outside of the airport, and Percy connected to the place's Wi-Fi so he could search for hotels and try to book an immediate reservation. While he did so with a smile on his face and an unquietness to him that highlighted to her just how excited he was to be there, Annabeth took her time to look around, watching as people came in and went out and their lives moved on right past her.

It was a funny thing to think about, though not such a good rabbit hole to wander down — how people were their own minds, their own people, and had their own lives. They were in the same place as her, seeing things through their own eyes and feeling their own feelings and knowing of their own battles and worries; it would, sometimes, freak her out just to imagine and realize the absolute uniqueness and worthlessness of each soul attached to a still walking body over the Earth.

It made her dizzy to think about just how much everything that meant so much to her meant nothing in the big scheme of things. Her dreams and fears and hopes weren't a single thing, and all the big feelings she battled were just as insignificant — the world kept moving on, as it would long, long after her body wasn't walking over the planet anymore, and nothing she ever did, ever hoped, ever loved would matter at all.

A dangerous thought to spiral upon in the middle of an airport, for sure, but something she couldn't help thinking because she was in the middle of an international airport in international territory because she freaked the fuck out. And she didn't need to, because, perhaps, her stress was completely pointless considering that nothing will ever last—

"Alright, found one," Percy said, smiling brightly and turning his phone to her, dragging Annabeth abruptly out of her thoughts. "I mean, dad found one."

Annabeth frowned.

"Your dad?"

"He was tracking our flight," her best friend said, looking at her a bit sheepishly. "He knows I freak out and always keeps track if I ever need to be on a plane," he admitted, and Annabeth smiled affectionately at the blue-eyed man. Sweet, really, and it did come in handy in moments like those.

"That's sweet of him," she spoke, and Percy smiled softly.

"Yeah," he agreed. "It helps to know he knows where I am. Even if he couldn't do anything in the worst-case scenario," he shrugged. Annabeth smiled. "He booked a hotel and just sent me the address.

"Should we trust his taste for accommodations?" Annabeth asked.

"It's a five star hotel," Percy said, seeming impressed himself with whatever he was looking at on his phone.

Annabeth blinked.

"Excuse me?" she exclaimed, a bit more high-pitched than intended. Percy turned his head to look at her, his expression now filled with confusion. "A luxury hotel? Percy, no," she said, and her best friend tilted his head to the side.

"What?" he asked. "It's already paid. We have a few days, and he said we could extend it if we want to," he explained. Annabeth nearly gagged in her shock.

"It's too fucking much?" she said. "A luxury hotel! How am I supposed to pay it back—"

"Oh, oh, oh; wait. What?" Percy interrupted her, now turning his body fully around to face Annabeth. "Pay it back? Are you crazy?"

She widened her eyes.

"Are you?!" she said. "Percy, paying for my ticket was already expensive, and now this—"

"What makes you think you'll have to pay anything back?" he asked, and his face was the complete definition of bewilderment.

read the rest on Ao3

[nickgerlich]

An Apple A Day

I’ve told the story a dozen times. OK, probably more like three or four dozen. But it is worth retelling, if only to set the stage. Besides, if you have never had me for a class before, this story is new to you.

I recall the early 2007 announcement from Apple about a revolutionary new phone. The iPhone would change our lives, they said. It offered a phone, iPod, and camera all in one. Of course, there were a few other features, but the App Store was not yet created. This was primarily a three-trick pony.

And I ballyhooed it roundly. Why did I need to spend that kind of money ($599, if you can believe that!). I already owned a phone, iPod, and camera. So I quickly dismissed the notion as just a flight of Steve Jobs’ fantasy.

A year later I came crawling to the Apple Store begging forgiveness. Silly me. Why carry three devices when one superior one would suffice? Because it was the future, that’s why. The only problem is that the legions of us who bought in relatively early, and everyone since then, including competing phones, have become ringside spectators to a paradigm shift that included us downloading our brains (well, not quite) to these devices, as well as sacrificing personal privacy.

Make that massive amounts of privacy. These things are computers, and unless we turn them off or switch to Airplane Mode, they are keeping an eye on us, and sending information somewhere. We even said it was OK when we checked all those Terms Of Service boxes without reading a word.

Apple as well as Facebook and Google have increasingly come under the magnifying glass of scrutiny. Between the devices themselves and the apps loaded on to them, there’s a treasure trove of data being collected, transmitted, stored, and sometimes sold. Apple in particular has taken heat for the amount of data it collects from users.

While Apple has earned some high praise for trying to be forthcoming and transparent about the data it collects, it has still drawn the ire of some European nations, where privacy is more of an expectation than it is in the US. The problem is that, and Apple admits this, the phone and its applications simply do not work as well if we do not opt-in for data collection. That’s kind of like having to strip down at the doctor’s office for an X-ray.

Perhaps the most concerning aspect, at least to some, is Apple’s ability to personalize advertising. Of course, Facebook and Google do it, too. But when you make the device in the first place, you’ve got a home court advantage, as well as the power to limit what third-party apps can do.

So how does this ad personalization work, and why is Apple interested in advertising anyway? The answer is pretty straightforward. Apple has long been a hardware and software company, but has recently evolved into the entertainment business as well, along with advertising. After all, it commands many hours of eyeball time from users each day, and it would be foolish to miss an opportunity.

Personalization works by examining available demographic data, interests and activities, mobility (meaning where you go), and how you use your phone, meaning apps, websites, and searches. Some information is explicitly provided, while other info is deduced. The result is a very accurate user profile, which they swear will never be associated with your name, nor sold as such. We thus see ads that are placed with laser-like precision, which I rather like. It’s better than seeing ads for things I would never buy.

Still, they know it is you, even if your identity is supposedly shrouded. Some people are rightfully creeped out about that prospect.

I have had this debate before with students (in a civil way, of course). As for me, I do not mind all of Apple’s activities, nor those of other third-party apps. I willfully gave up that privacy when I bought the device (actually, six of them now), as well as installed apps. The device and apps work together to give me a robust user experience. I have said many times that our phones are lifestyle devices first and foremost, and how we use them is up to us. But in the process, we cede information. It’s not a matter of having nothing to hide. This is about having a device that greatly enhances my life

That’s another way of saying that ship sailed long ago. If you were onboard, then you know the arrangement. If you don’t like it, you can always try to jump, but that may not work in your best interests either. YMMV.

Yes, it can be scary how much data is collected, and it is easy to feel that Orwell’s 1984 has become reality. But it is also up to us to decide how we are going to live in that new environment.

Dr “Sell Me Something Good“ Gerlich

Audio Blog

[pmbueckers]

— for evermore

01 ‘tis the damn season

⌞and it always leads to you in my hometown⌝ – taylor swift ⋆⁺₊❅.

pairing – paige bueckers x fem oc!dorothea greene

summary – they’ve been at it since highschool, this back and forth, but what happens if and when paige and thea finally realize this hometown situationship might be worth something more?

word count – 3.7k

warnings – idgaf abt punctuation, language

links – masterlist , series masterlist

authors note – find all the information abt this fic with the link above! tried my very best to line it up with the ttds lyrics but giving it my own twist/meaning. it makes sense to me but thats coming from a chronic swiftie so idk if its gonna be confusing for others or not.. pls lmk but be nice lol

dorothea greene pov, december 2023

if i wanted to know who you were hanging with while i was gone i would have asked you 

its been three years since we graduated and no matter how much i told myself the throwing of our caps in the air was it, the symbolic end, i knew myself better than that. i knew her better. i knew us better.

because you can never truly escape paige bueckers.

shes like vines, and once youre in, youre in.

im going home tonight, to celebrate the holidays with my family and hometown friends, but the odds that i dont see her are slim to none. and shes all i can think about as im trying to pack. everything im throwing in my bag, a reminder of her. the shoes she got me for my birthday years ago, my favorite t shirt to sleep in that may or may not be hers. even what im wearing to the goddamn airport, a sweatsuit i bought at the mall of america with her, and a necklace she gave to me before we graduated that i cant muster the strength to give up.

i know i dont mean anything to her anymore, honestly i dont know if i even meant that much to her back then, but i cant help but be conflicted myself, why is it the whole year im fine, “cured” of paige bueckers, but the second it hits december and i know snow is falling back home, i need to be back in hopkins wrapped up in her arms? she probably has someone else by now. no, she definitely has someone else by now. this shouldnt be so hard. i just need to go back home, and not get drawn back in. easier said than done.

im loading all my things into my car, this car, damn we did it in her car too didnt we? see, what did i say? constant. reminders.

its the kind of cold, fogs up windshield glass but i felt it when i passed you 

fuck, “snap out of it” i murmur to myself over and over while loading my bags. its not too many bags so im just piling them into my passenger seat as im paying to keep my car parked at the airport while im gone.

i head back up to my apartment to lock it up then im pulling out of my places parking ramp and am on the freeway to the airport, a peaceful car ride, that is till i get a notification that makes my heart jump and car nearly swerve off the road. and i know its abt to begin, im abt to fall back in, but i cant help it.

paige bueckers

Hey

Whats your break schedule

read 6:21 pm

dorothea greene

hi.

ive got the next four weeks of classes off but im only going to be home for abt two.

deciding to only stay home for about two weeks to minimize the amount of damage i can do involving her, but i decide to keep that part out.

Cool

When’s your flight?

in two hours actually

im on the road rn

Don’t crash pls

I prefer you alive

i roll my eyes and let out a little snicker, thankful she cant hear, but typical paige having to sneak at least something in. im glancing up and down from my phone to the road, dont text and drive is repeating in my head in my moms voice, but its paige. the exact reason why im afraid to go home.

funny

Its the truth

So your landing in 6 hrs then?

At 12?

nice math

Alr alr chill 😂

How you getting home from the airport its gonna be late

Prolly like 1 am

yeah ik

thats what ubers are for paige

Nah uh no way

What if its a creep

I’ll come get you

no

i cant ask u to do that

u wont get home till like two

(a lie, im overestimating, but i really wasnt intenting on seeing paige this early on my trip back home.)

U aint askin im offering

Plus I want to

hm yeah right why is that paige

Aint it obvious comon

I miss you Thea.

read 6:43

theres an ache in you put there by the ache in me but if its all the same to you its the same to me 

and just like that, those three words, eight letters. that i so wish were three different ones, eight different letters, ones im sure shes said to someone else, someone new in connecticut. but i cant bother to care about right now because at least i got something, something to show that maybe she still cares a little bit. a little bit about me.

i dont know if this is a mistake, even though i think i do. i know i do. even though i just told myself a couple of hours ago i wasnt going to do this. but hell, going from trying to not see her at all to her being the first person i see is almost comical.

okay.

im going to be in terminal one

gate G20.

Damn was kinda hopin for a diff kinda rsp

Guess that’ll do…

you’re so pushy omg

i miss you too p.

That’s more like it 😊

i hate you sm

Nah

You dont.

read 6:49

paige is right, which she knows. i dont hate her, i never could, and i dont think i ever will. that is what hurts the most. no matter how much i have to remind myself of the routine and how much this will never go anywhere, how her words are empty, only sounding full and meaningful for the week or two we are in the same city, i dont know how to stop. bc its her. its paige. my paige.

the rest of my travel night goes by in a blur, i paid for my car to be parked in the garage, i checked my bags, went through security, waited at the gate, and am now on the plane where i would normally get a nice four hour nap in so the ride would go by quicker, i dont, because i dont know if im prepared to land, to see whos waiting for me once this plane lands in minnesota. but just like that it does, it lands.

thankfully, im seated near the back of the aircraft so i have a little bit more time wasting im able to do, i find myself walking to baggage claim extremely slow its almost comical, praying my bag isnt one of the first ones out, but of course it is. curse you universe. im plotting on how im gonna look lost outside, how i purposefully cant find her car like i have no idea what it looks like, like i dont have her license plate number memorized. like we havent done unspeakable shit in that car, unable to wait a ten minute drive home from a random bar.

that is until i look up from my phone, suspicious because she hasnt texted me about her whereabouts outside yet, and i spot a little ways down the strip of the airport, a strikingly bright blonde head of hair that i would recognize anywhere.

my pace, unbeknownst to me, picks up, and as i get closer i can make out that shes holding up a sign. not huge and flashy, but modest, smaller, she begins to walk towards me as well with what i can make out so far as the biggest grin on her face i have ever seen. that im sure my own face is reflecting. the closer she gets the more clear her sign becomes, it reads, ‘welcome home thea’ as she flips it to the back that says ‘ive missed you most’. at this point ive completely ditched my bags and have just jumped in her arms, a giggling mess. god im a child. my arms are wrapped around her neck, hers around my waist, lifting me up off the floor slightly, breathing into my neck.

a couple of hours ago i said i wasnt going to get drawn back in, now im in the middle of the airport looking like a lovesick idiot. 

so we could call it even you could call me babe for the weekend 'tis the damn season 

“hi baby” she mumbled against my skin and heart just about burst. i missed her so much. i pull back to look at her face, i just want to look at her face, i could forever. with my hands cupping her face. her rosy cheeks from being outside in the minnesota weather all cold, trying to warm her up.

as shes setting me down shes wiping hair out of my face, off of my forehead, looking deep into my eyes with her ocean blue ones, “god i missed you.” she whispered, quiet enough to be heard by just us, like a secret she didnt want anyone around us to hear in fear of it breaking. “so ive heard” i say back to her, moving my face closer to hers, with a smug but playful grin on my lips. and my arms are right back around her neck as im saying into her ear “i missed you too p.” scattering small kisses across the side of her head. on her ear, hairline, neck, temple. i know better. but at this point, theres no going back. and its not on her lips, so what damage is it really doing?

i back away and intertwine my hand with hers while looking into her eyes, “lets go home, k?” i say while nodding my head in encouragement, “okay” she mumbles, while squeezing my hand, and grabbing my bags for me off of the floor. shes perfect, for these next two weeks shes going to be perfect. 

write this down, im stayin at my parents house and the road not taken looks real good now, and it always leads to you in my hometown 

im in her passenger seat, like ive been in drastically different situations many times before, as we’ve finally made it out of the god awful airport pickup zone. ive been day dreaming out this window for who knows how long, about her of course. because when im with her as happy as it makes me, it only confuses me more. and it drives me insane.

thats when i feel her right hand creep up on my thigh from the drivers side in soothing circles, “thea? hey did you hear what i said?” my eyes jerk down to her hand and then towards her eyes. “sorry p, whats up?” because i genuinely did miss her question. but theres some look etched on her face, one i havent seen before, and it makes me take a big gulp of water thats been sitting in her car for possibly ages, as im all of a sudden afraid of what shes gonna say.

her hand continues to rub soothing circles on my thigh while her eyes i swear are staring into the deepest parts of my soul, i should be worried considering shes currently driving on the highway but i cant seem to care, the way she looks at me makes me feel like im the only person in the world. “hey are you okay?” she says sincerely, “what?” i say almost too loudly, “sorry, yeah no im good p”, safe to say that wasnt what i was expecting her to ask. i dont know what i was, but it wasnt that. not something that made her seem like she cares deeper about me than whats on the surface level. actually able to tell when somethings going on with me. whatever, its probably nothing. “alright thea,” as her goddamn hand is almost territorially sitting on my thigh now, like shes trying to protect me from the heat coming out of the ac in the car.

“you never told me where im takin you.” she states, looking at me with her cute but smuggish at the same time grin. “yeah right, sorry, uh im staying with my parents. i’ll send you the address.” i ramble, trying to get this car ride to go by quicker. i swear shes driving slower on purpose. just to see me squirm. i see out of the corner of my eye as im going to send her the address her hand coming up to my phone, shes setting my hands down in my lap, and then turning my chin to face her, “thea. enough with the sorries. and i know were your parents live baby you dont need to send me the address.” she lets out a chuckle, but not one making fun, a light hearted one, as her hand moves to find mine and intertwines our fingers in my lap. but i know paige better than anyone, before we were whatever this is, we were friends, bestfriends. so of course she lets no teasing opportunity pass her by,

“damn,” she says, looking down at my phone, that has our messages open, “legal name as the contact name is lethal” she says, looking up at me with a smirk, i shove her shoulder trying not to give her the satisfaction of a laugh and am then playing with the rings on her fingers. “alright p i would like a better suggestion. your name as your name in my phone makes complete sense to me. now i dont even wanna know what you got me as in yours,” i say with a chuckle, but also leaving it on a hint, i do wanna know. its probably nothing special, but paige is right, anything other than my full name would be special.

“oh really?” shes looking at me with that smirk, god it kills me. shes pulled out her phone and opened it up to my contact, 'thea 💚'. it really seems like nothing special to the blind eye, but it is to me. not even my full first name, my nickname, with a heart that just about makes my own burst. because its not just any, one of my favorite color, that ironically is the same as my last name. no words are exchanged between us. just two pairs of eyes looking deeply into one another, faces with the biggest grins on them, while the rest of the car ride was silent. the center console of her car jabbing into the left side of my rib cage so my head was able to lean on her shoulder with her hand in my lap the whole way home. our hearts beating almost too romantically in sync the whole way to my parents house.

paige, despite what i knew she wanted to do, dropped me off at home. she pulled into my parents driveway with her headlights off, sure to not wake them, and though the door wasnt even twenty feet away, “im still walking you to it” she insisted, while grabbing my bags from the backseat.

i unlocked my front door, placed my bags inside and turned to the tall blonde, looking up into her icy blue eyes. “thank you for getting me p. and bringing me home,” i whispered the last part as i reach up to place my arms around her neck, as her arms find their familiar home around my waist. i couldnt tell you how long we stood there for, swaying lightly, not wanting to let one another go, with my front door wide open letting all the cold minnesota air in. like when i come back home, and let paige back in.

i finally pulled away looking into her eyes, mumbling “but i cant let you in. i want to, but i cant, p.” paige sighs, looking down at our feet, then back at me, “i know baby, its okay.” she spoke while wiping baby hairs away from my face and once again scooping me up in a hug. her breath warm agaisnt the left crevice where my neck and shoulder meet. i want to let her in so bad, but i cant because i know myself. i know her. i know us. and she knows it too. one thing will lead to another. and i need to try to hold out for as long as possible, as much as its killing me.

as paige pulls away she leaves a kiss on my cheek and mumbles, “i’ll see you soon. get some sleep okay?” looking at me with questioning eyes and a raised eyebrow. god shes so cute. “okay.” i breathe out, reaching down to grab both of her hands. till she starts to back away, i find myself trying to hold onto the tips of her fingers for as long as possible as shes whispering goodbye and just like that her car is backing out of the driveway, and im standing under the porch light. alone. i know this scene all too well. we arent in highschool anymore, i have to remind myself, so i turn around and head inside before i overthink our situation, again.

i parkеd my car right between the methodist and thе school that used to be ours

with playlists blasting in my ears, im unpacking my bags in my childhood room, tidying it up because my mom has turned it into her own personal closet while ive been gone, finding little knickknacks that meant everything to me as a kid.

i stumble upon a hopkins basketball sweatshirt on my closet floor, i wonder who that belongs to? a cross on my wall from our communities church event. from the same church i went to every sunday that i would always find myself sitting next to paige at.

and cleaning my bathroom i so luckily have attached to my bedroom, putting away my toiletries, opening a drawer that still has some of her things in it from when she would stay over almost every night, all as im about to get in the shower before i finally try and get some sleep.

thats when my music pauses to signify a ding of a notification. its paige, of course.

paige bueckers

U up?

read 2:13 am

thea 💚

nope

Alr 1 ur mean 2 I thought I told u to sleep

one you love me

two shouldnt u not be textin me then?

Damn u right on both tbh

But nah yk I cant leave u alone

read 2:17am

overthinking is my speciality, but am i doing that right now? because in all of our years of just being friends we expressed our gratitude for one another, but since we’ve been whatever the fuck this is, flirt, hookup, ghost, paige has never even said the words “i like you” to me.

we both know we care so deeply for one another, possibly more, but its complicated. our lives never worked out together that way, never overlapped, so we accepted the mutual heartbreak but kept pushing forward with this toxic cycle anyways because neither of us could bare not having the other in our life anymore.

did she just admit that she loves me? nah. no fucking way. we say shit in playful tones like that all time. oh you love me this you love me that. but shes never admitted it back, not like that. what is going on. god its late, get out of your head thea. play it cool.

yeah ur lowkey annoying

highkey actually

Alr get out

U love me back dw ik

mm debatable 

Ouch

Wyd tmr

i dont know actually

my parents arent awake to make any plans with lol

Oh so I get u first

ok who said that??

You basically 😊

paige madison omg

Hey that reminds me

You change that contact name yet??

that rlly buggin you huh

Maybe

then i might just keep it

Thea istg

alr alr chill i will change it 😂

dorothea greene changed paige bueckers contact to 'paige 💜'

And I will pick u up at noon?

where tf did i agree to that?

Would you rather meet somewhere?

i dont see where i agreed to do anything with you

I want to see you

paige.

you just saw me not even an hour ago

I miss you

you cant possibly

How do you know that

You dont know I feel

I miss you

I miss you

okay will you shut up if i say yes

Um only if nice Thea shows up

okay sorry p 😂😂

Never be sorry

Sooooo I will pick you up tomorrow at noon?

you will pick me up tomorrow at noon.

Goodnight baby sleep well

Actually sleep please

read 2:35

that damn petname, nickname, whatever it is it fucking kills me and she probably has no idea. no she definitely knows and thats why she uses it.

thank god she cant see my face right now because its full blown red, completely embarrassed post screaming my lungs out into my pillow.

i will

goodnight p

see u tmr.

i just snickered to myself after sending paige those last texts. almost shameful of myself. i dont know what im doing. or maybe i do? i think its safe to say my winter break is gonna go different than i planned, but the same way as it always been whenever i dare to mix myself with paige bueckers and my hometown.

the next chapter will be finishing out the lyrics of ttds (in blue) which will be linked in the masterlist once finished! - im gonna try and make this into a full blown series incorporating other songs from the album 'evermore' going back in time as well to give some background information on their relationship, etc. we'll see how it goes...

reminder: my box is open for all requests ⋆˙⟡

[lovefromskyee]

22/03/24

Not a long post today, I think. Not much has happened that is worth documenting. A little bit depressing, maybe. Trigger warnings for mentions of homophobia, and body dysmorphia.

I did go swimming the day after my last post, but I'm afraid that was the last time this week. There was always some reason or another to not go, but thankfully, I'm visiting my hometown tomorrow to see my grandparents and every time I'm there, they force me to go swimming and get some exercise anyway. Our flight is at 7 in the morning, and we have to leave at 4, it is currently 1:19.

I talked to one of my best friends for almost an hour today, and it was very fun. We were just talking about the randomest things we could, and at one point I was complaining about the cup of instant noodles I had made for myself (which was SO bad, by the way, that is the last time I'm trying that brand) and after a while, we just started screen sharing reels on Instagram.

I'm not going to lie, these last few days haven't been the greatest. I can't fall asleep at any time before four in the morning, and if I do fall asleep before that, I just wake up at 3:30 in the morning with no intention to fall asleep again.

Aside from that, my problems are very cliche for that of a teenage girl. The combination of not getting much exercise, having a lot of free time on my hands to do nothing but lay on my bed and read books all day, and getting almost no sleep (resulting in having definitely no energy to do skincare) has definitely made me a little dysphoric about my appearance, especially when I remember the fact that I'm going to be in eleventh grade next year, with a bunch of new students who I have to make a good impression on.

It definitely doesn't help that there's a good chance I'm going to be the only gay person in our class next year. Until this year, our class was definitely very diverse in terms of sexuality and almost everybody was very open-minded about it all, so I'd come out to everyone too. But now that so many people have left, and so many people are going to join, it feels like I'll have to rebuild everything again to get to that point of comfort talking about myself again. I won't be able to jokingly flirt with my friends or make jokes about being gay again for a long time, in fear of being outed to my parents by people who I barely know, and that fact is making me a little bit sadder than it should.

I'm just lacking the motivation do a lot of things recently, and it is throwing me back into a very depressive and very unhealthy cycle that I have worked very hard to get myself out of. I'm going to have to try my hardest to make sure things never get that bad again, but that's not a promise I'm sure I'll be able to keep.

I think that's going to be enough for today, that is enough depression for a good few weeks actually.

Love from Skye <3

[scarlettriot]

Stood Up

You (Y/N) get stood up from a date and Kaminari decides to do something about it.

Pairing: Kaminari/F!Reader

Contains: Fluff, Flirty Denki, Established BakuSquad Friendship

Warnings: 18+ Below the cut, Minors DNI! Swearing, Electro-Stim, Overstimulation, use of pet names (cuddle bug & cutie), oral (F receiving), consensual recording

A/N: Well, here we are with the third in my Stood Up series. There is also Bakugo & Kirishima if you're interested. This one took me way too long and it's also my first time writing Kaminari at length. I hope you all like it :)

Word Count Starting Below: 2,461

You slipped your foot into the silver heels you had picked out. Something a little fancier since this was a first date after all and you wanted to make a lasting impression. Not only that but this was your first first date in a while. Being a Pro Hero made life busy and dating difficult.

Practically the entire day leading up to this very moment revolved around you either getting ready or babbling with excitement to your closest friends.

An alert chimed on your phone with a text from your date, a smile sliding onto your face expecting to read some message about how they were on their way and that they'd see you soon, but that wasn't what you were met with.

Instead, it was a screenshot of your Instagram page, multiple of them actually, all of you and the ridiculous photos you took with your friends but mostly with one Denki Kaminari. The most recent of which was from a tea shop he met you at just earlier that day so you could show him the shoes for your date.

The message below was simple and more than enough to leave a sour taste in your mouth, this isn't what I want to see when I'm supposed to be taking you out tonight. What, one date a day isn't enough? Why are you even dating? Does your blonde boyfriend know?

You giggled at what they were implying, quick to explain how these were all your friends, they had been since high school! They are people you spent what little free time you had with. Especially Denki, your best friend since you were 15!

That joy you felt started dissipating within the next few messages. You hadn't even had a first date and they were already jealous, and that was something you didn't have room for in your life. So, you slipped the heels off your feet and put them directly back in the box to return when you had the time. Tight black jeans and fitted top were exchanged with a hoodie and sweats although your makeup and hair stayed done, you didn't have the energy to undo your hard work.

Instead, you slid back into your computer chair, your headset snuggly back on your ears and before you notified everyone you were back online, you took a moment listening to the chatter of your friends.

"Shitty Hair! Fuckin' pay attention!"

"Yeah, man! We're getting slaughtered over here!"

"Less yelling at Kiri! More shooty shooty!"

"All of you are hopeless..."

Eijiro chuckled out an apology that was accompanied by a lighter giggle also coming from his mic. "Think this is gonna be my last round for a bit, guys."

"You're so fuckin' whipped." Bakugo scoffed, before screaming profanities.

"Is it whipped if I'm the one who's wanting to get her into bed though?"

You clicked your mic back on then. "Hey, remember last week when Kats forgot his push to talk so we all heard him getting head and we party whipped because someone couldn't focus?"

"You better shut the hell up right fucking now!"

Everyone else roared with laughter. "Yeah! At least I have the decency to mute myself!"

"Hey, wait a sec, why are you online, Y/N!" Denki noted, "You should have already left!"

You screenshot your messages to the group chat because it was far easier than just explaining the ordeal.

"Cute shoes." Eijiro and Kyoka commented at the same time.

There was a lull as their game ended and the messages were read.

"Ya don't need 'em if they're gonna have their head so far up their ass like this."

"I agree." Hanta chimed in. "They're not worth your time."

"Still, sorry they turned out to be a shit." You could hear the frown on Kyoka's face, "I know how excited you were."

"Right, you doin' okay, Y/N? I can stick around and we can all shoot some things!"

"Thanks, Kiri but I'll be just fine! Go spend time with your girl!"

One by one, everyone signed off. You pulled up Spotify and Stardew Valley, something of a comfort for you to get lost in for the rest of the night.

Less than an hour later, you noticed your phone lighting up with your best friend's familiar smiling face. "What's up, Denki?"

"Open your door! I have my hands full and don't wanna put everything down to get my key!"

You sprang from your desk and rushed to your door. Sure enough, on the other side was Denki with bags in both hands and his phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. You grabbed it and a bag before he had a chance to drop anything like the klutz he was. "What's with all this?"

"I feel bad."

"Why? You didn't stand me up?"

He fiddled with the edge of a paper bag. "Yeah, but, we both read those messages and no one said anything but they didn't just call our group out, they called us out.

"Denks, it doesn't matter to me-"

"But, it does to me! You were so excited about this and I got in the way, unknowingly but, still! So, I gotta make it up to you now!"

He pulled out take-out boxes from your favorite restaurant. Two bottles of your favorite wine. Your top three favorite movies and video games, and a board game you both had been meaning to try. "I mean, if they think I'm your boyfriend I kinda gotta live up to the hype, right?"

You really wanted to insist that none of this was necessary. That just because some person that neither of you really knew that well, assumed something about your relationship that didn't mean he had to blame himself for it.

But, you had to admit, this was really sweet. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to you that he knew everything you liked but it was nice. Instead of sitting across from a stranger, making awkward small talk, and trying to learn about one another, you were barefoot in your kitchen, laughing with your best friend while he plated dinner and you poured the wine.

Formalities were out the window. Both you and Denki were eating dinner in your living room, laughing and drinking just as you'd done a million times before. You snapped a photo of the delicious food on paper plates, toasting good times with your cheap wine, ready to post them to your Instagram.

"Gonna make them more jealous..."

"I think they made it pretty clear they don't want to see me so why should I care?"

He shrugged. "I just thought they might, you know, come to their senses that they obviously lost."

"I don't really care either way." You wandered back into your kitchen, putting away the leftovers, "They can forget I exist or they can stalk my page like a creep. If someones' gonna try and tell me I can't be friends with my friends or just not listen to me, then I don't want them in my life. No matter how good-looking they are."

Denki watched you from the sofa, a bit of a lopsided grin on his face that had butterflies taking flight in your stomach. "What?" Laughing to hide the bit of a crush you always had on the man. It was unavoidable you told yourself. His personality was infectious and had 15 year old you head over heels.

He pushed back bright blonde hair back off his forehead and just shook his head. "Nothin'. Uh, what's next? Video game, board game, or movie?"

You peaked on the counter at the options. "Well, we probably should have checked this but the board game needs at least four people to play... guess we'll have to save that for our next game night. Is a movie okay?"

Of course, it was.

You brought over the DVD with a refill of wine and he pulled a blanket down off the back of your sofa.

It really didn't take long, just fifteen minutes or so, and you were curled up into Denki's side. You'd make grabby hands for your wine glass and he'd pass it over with that damn grin again.

And not long after that, he'd pulled out his phone, angling it to take a picture of the two of you. "What are you doing?" You could see him on his own Instagram, tagging you, with the caption, Check out my cute cuddle bug.

"I thought you didn't want to make them more jealous."

"I decided I don't care either. You're mine tonight, their loss. And since you're mine tonight, I get bragging rights." He snapped another quick picture of you rolling your eyes at him, and then he kept snapping them.

"Denki! Why!"

"Because you're cute, cuddle bug! I like having all the pictures of you that I can!"

Even as you tackled him back down on the sofa, pinning him below you, he still managed a photo. "Bet if I post this one, they'll really get the wrong idea."

You could have moved. You were the one on top of him and you had his arms above his head. You had the power here and yet you just lingered above him.

"Y/N? Not that I'm one to complain about having a beautiful person such as yourself pinning me down, like, it's kinda hot, but..." Looking down into half-lidded golden eyes, you wondered why you had to become best friends with such a damn flirt! "Are you gonna take advantage of this situation we're in or are we just gonna keep dancing around this for another decade or so?"

You couldn't have heard him right? No... no this was your brain playing tricks on you because he certainly hadn't had that much wine tonight. You sat upright on his lap. "Another decade then, Y/N?"

"You- ha- you should stop that, Denki."

He leaned up, moving his arms around you, "Gimme a good reason to and I will."

You didn't have one. And not just because you've been in love with him for ten years but also because he was your best friend. The only reason to not go through with it was the possibility of losing your friendship if something bad were to happen but, you really didn't think anything would.

Denki might have been a serial flirt but he was surprisingly loyal in all the relationships he'd been in, not that there had been all that many serious ones.

"I'm not hearing anything." He teased, his face getting closer to yours. You could count each and every one of the faint freckles that littered the balls of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. "But, I promise, if you tell me no, I'll stop, won't push this any further."

This whole thing seemed like a frickin' whirlwind, happening faster than your brain could really process the situation but you didn't want it to stop either. You wanted to take it further, didn't want to say no.

Which was why you coiled your arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. There was that small little buzz of electricity that tickled your lips when he'd kiss your nose or cheeks that was now playing on his lips, on his tongue when you welcomed him in.

He leaned back again, pulling you with him until you were both a pile of needy hands and breathy pleas. Everywhere his hands roamed you felt that faint trail of shock against your skin, making the little hairs on your body stand on end.

Clothes were shed, tossed haphazardly around your living room, both of you pausing to laugh when Denki managed to land your hoodie over a lamp. His attention was drawn back to you quickly though, still perched on top of him but now he had your chest on full display since you'd forgone a bra when your date canceled.

Electrifying tongue twirled around your nipples, sensitive normally, now it felt like you knew what it was like when he fried his damn brain. He was eager, relentless even, pulling and sucking, another hand giving your other breast a similar treatment. He had you so focused that you let out a broken moan when slender fingers found their way into your panties.

"Fuckin' hell, Denki."

The bastard winked up at you, nipple still between his lips and before you could retort, he sent another small jolt through you.

You were blatantly grinding down on his hand, reaching behind you, you found him completely solid, barely being contained in the tight black boxers he wore. You had enough sense to tug them down and wrap your hand around him making his teeth sink into your soft flesh, whining when you stroked him.

"Y/N..." He whimpered, his hand momentarily distracted from his ministrations gave you enough time to shift in his lap to scoot forward putting his cock in front of you. In one swift motion, you had his length between your slick. "Oh fuck, cutie!" Golden eyes were squeezed shut while you moved along him, feeling that pleasant curve he had, you could only imagine what it was gonna be like to have him inside you.

"You're being a little tease, ma-makes me wanna do all sorts of things to y-you."

He was kissing your neck, your chest, shoulders, and arms, anywhere on you that he could reach. His hips bucking up into you, just trying to hit that perfect angle.

Strength and agility were something most overlooked when it came to Denki Kaminari but when the man wanted something bad enough, he found a way to get it.

He had your ass rising up in the air with a harsh thrust of his hips and a small squeak from you, giving him exactly enough time to scoot down on the sofa so you were sat atop his face. If you complained, he didn't hear you. Denki already had your thighs around his head and his tongue devouring you completely.

Little shockwaves rocked you while you cried out his name, hands fisting blonde locks just trying to stay upright.

One orgasm from you apparently wasn't enough, neither was two but on the third, Denki finally relented, allowing your heartrate to come back down and your gasping breaths to come in more steadily.

You slid back down his body, his erection now smack against your ass. His hair was recked, face completely flush but he had the biggest grin on his face that you'd ever seen.

Denki kissed both your cheeks, "You are so amazing, cutie!" Kissed your lips, "You taste better than anything I've ever had!" And one more on the tip of your nose. "Doin' okay?"

You nodded, starting to really gather yourself again, and by this point, you really just wanted one thing.

"I wanna... Denks... can I take care of you now?"

"Sure, cutie! How do you want me?" The wiggling eyebrows had you rolling your eyes and pushing him on his back again.

It took little effort for you to position yourself above his cock, and with how slick you were, his bright pink head slipped right inside. He held your hands while you scrunched up your face, sliding all the way down him until he was completely sheathed within.

The curve was immaculate. Hitting in just the right way that had you moaning with just a couple thrusts from him. Before long, you were eagerly bouncing on his cock. Riding him hard so he filled you up each and every time.

You barely registered him reaching for the coffee table, his phone now in his hands. "What're you doin'?" You practically slurred, slowing only slightly. He tapped the camera lens with a wicked grin. "Seriously?"

"We could make 'em really jealous now..."

Somewhere in your brain, you knew your date wouldn't give two shits, in fact, this probably would have only validated their thoughts about your's and Denki's relationship but with his cock stuffed so deeply into you, kissing your cervix in the most beautiful way, you really didn't give a damn.

You and Denki put on the best possible show you could think of. You were overstimulated, sore, and completely elated! He balanced the phone against the wine bottle so neither of you had to try to hold it.

This way he could play with your breasts or squeeze your thighs while you dug half-moons into his chest. Shocked with the playful zaps he sent right to your core.

Your makeup you'd didn't feel like taking off now ran down your cheeks with tears. Your hair was a mess thanks to him pulling at it.

Denki had you howling through another two orgasms, telling you how perfect you were, how nice you felt squeezing him so tightly, your nails felt so good against his skin.

It was only when you collapsed against his chest did he hoist your hips up so he could ram into you, pulling out just at the last second with a strangled cry of your name.

He wiggled himself free, grabbing a towel from your bathroom and cleaning you both up before stopping the recording.

"You're, hey you're gonna send that to me right?" You asked when he handed back your hoodie off the lamp.

He dropped a kiss on your lips, plopping down beside you on the sofa again and you noticed your email already up and the video uploading. "Obviously, we share all our videos and photos. Why would this be different?"

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 25: Conjure

10/25: Conjure

Universe // Characters: Den of Thieves - Penny Series // Benny “Borracho” Magalon 

Borracho is certain he has just conjured you into existence. At least, existence as it pertains to location, which currently is a touristy bar in LAX. 

It’s been a few months since he first encountered you in the bar by the Sheriff's office. He had lifted your number from Nick’s phone, not an easy feat, and the two of you had been texting back and forth sporadically. The conversations were short and friendly, flirty if you squint. It was more about the fact that you were talking behind Nick’s back then it was anything else. But he liked you. You were funny, witty, and…not like Nick at all. 

It made him more and more curious about you. 

But then his flight to Mexico is canceled and he’s trying to figure out if it’s worth it to go back home and try again tomorrow, when he catches sight of you sitting at the bar across from his gate. He sends a quick text to his brother about the flight cancellation before heading over to the bar. 

“We have to stop meeting like this, Mamí.” 

If you’re surprised by his arrival, you hide it well. “I’m starting to see the nickname now.” You soften the barb with a wink and a smile. 

“So where are you headed?” he asks, ordering a beer. 

You pull one of the three olives off the toothpick from your martini glass and pop it into your mouth. “I was headed to Ireland. I was going to meet a friend of mine at Newark and we were going to go over there to look for horses for her. She’s an event rider. But,” you point to the TV over the bar with the weather report running, “that midwest blizzard put a fast end to that.” 

“No Christmas in the motherland then?” 

“Not this year. What about you? Where are you headed?” 

“I was headed to Rocky Point, in Mexico. My family always meets there for the holidays. But my plane is stuck in that storm apparently. Should be able to fly out tomorrow morning though.” 

You nod. “Cool. Never been there.” 

“Mexico or Rocky Point?” 

“Both, actually.” 

“You’ve been across the ocean but not the country directly below us?” 

You shrug. “Maybe now that I know someone who can tell me what spots to go to, I’ll make it down there.” 

“So are you going back up to Sacramento for Christmas or staying with your brother?” 

“I haven’t decided yet. Christmas with Nick,” you pull a face. “It’ll end up just waiting for him to be an ass and then listening to Deb complain about him. Then I’ll take the girls out to do something and Nick will find us and Deb will think I did it on purpose and I think I should just make the five hour drive back to Sacramento.” You drain the martini glass and order another one. “But I’ll make the decision tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?” 

You show him the stack of vouchers. “They were feeling generous given tomorrow is Christmas and they ruined a lot of family’s plans. I have vouchers for a new international flight, a hotel room, and $20 for dinner.” 

“Wow. All I got was ‘Come back tomorrow and we’ll try again.’” 

He orders a second beer and starts asking questions about the horses you were going to look at, what exactly is “eventing” and what you liked about visiting Ireland. He has to admit that the competition that you’re involved in aligns more with Nick’s personality than he thought it would with yours. Jumping six foot jumps in mud and sand, seems to be more for adrenaline seekers than what he had envisioned. You start to ask him about his family and what he looks forward most at the family gathering in Mexico. He tells you about the massive amounts of food, the beach bonfires, and being able to listen to the ocean from his uncle’s home. By the time there’s a lull in the conversation, he realizes it’s almost midnight and he has four missed texts from his family. He glances over them and sighs. 

Let us know if you can get a flight tomorrow. 

Your mom wants to know if you have a girlfriend, who is she, and is she coming with you? 

If you don’t, she’s got like three girls lined up from next door. All in the 40’s and good Catholic girls, just warning you. 

Any word on flights? 

“Everything alright?” you ask. 

“Yeah, fine. You have your family drama and I have mine.” 

You laugh. “Sounds like your family is pretty normal from how you described them.” 

He has four beers in him and is tired so he’s more honest than normal. “I have three sisters and one brother. My brother isn’t married and has no desire to be so when I got married it was up to me to carry on the Magalon name. Now that I’m divorced, my mother is panicking about the family line dying out.” 

You laugh, but unlike Nick’s laugh, yours holds no harshness. “So your Christmas gift is a new woman.” 

He glances down at his phone. “Looks that way. Maybe I won’t catch a flight tomorrow morning.” 

“Nah,” you shake your head. “Whenever I talk to a client about handling a horse, I also say ‘you have to be smarter than the animal.’ So, be smarter than your mom. Cut her off at the pass. Tell her you do have a girlfriend. Hell, show her a picture of me and call it done.” 

“So lie?” 

You give him the side eye. “Like you haven’t done worse than that before.” 

He laughs. “Better yet, I could just take you with me.” 

You start to laugh but stop. “You’re not serious.” 

He certainly wasn’t when he said it but, well, why not? “You got somewhere to be?” 

You tap the side of your martini glass as you think about his offer. “I do have a voucher for an international flight.” 

“And you already have your passport.” 

“And I’ve never been to Mexico before.” 

“Be my fake girlfriend for a family Christmas at the beach or stay here with your brother.” He holds his hand out towards you with a small smile. 

“Well, when you put it that way,” you slip your hand into his and give it a shake. “You have a deal there, Benny.” 

“Nick can never find out.” 

“Oh God, no, never.” 

Benny laughs and orders another round of drinks, sincerely hoping this doesn’t blow up in his face.

[mountswhore]

Hey girl, me again 🥺I’ve had this idea in my head for ages 🤔 based off the song ‘Polaroid’ by Liam Payne Mason Mount on holiday with the boys in Mykonos, him and the boys befriend a small group (reader and friends) bassically a holiday fling between reader and Mason but he never actually gets her name or anything just a few ‘Polaroid’ pictures of them both, few months later he’s been trying to find her but can’t and the lads convince him to post it on Instagram with the caption “Instagram do your thing” after a while he notices numerous different people (her friends) tagging the reader in it and turns out it’s her and sends her a message. Thankyou sweet cheeks 😎💙

aaahh bestie this is such a good idea

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 — mason mount

summary: mason can’t find the girl he had a fling with last summer, so he takes to the internet to find you.

notes: my requests are open, ask away!

for @yourmypurpose

Winning the Champions League was supposed to be a feeling like no other, a feeling that you’d remember for the rest of your life. But Mason felt deflated, he felt like the world was closing in on him and he could do nothing but watch it happen. Even his friends noticed his awful mood, they’d gone from watching him run around the pitch with the trophy, with a smile nobody could take away from him, to this; a man not wanting to leave his bedroom, let alone his house. His career was the only thing he was doing well in, his girlfriend left him, he would just train, come home to an empty house, sleep, and repeat. It wasn’t a life worth living.

“It’ll be fun,” Declan pleaded, following his best friend into his living room, “it’ll be the perfect chance to get away from everything, from work, from the UK, from your ex.” He spoke the last part quietly, yet Mason still heard and shot his friend a glare as he sat on the couch.

“I’ll think about it.” Mason mumbled, reaching for his PlayStation controller and turning his console on. Declan was trying to get Mason to come to Mykonos with a few of the Chelsea boys, as a celebratory vacation after winning the Champions League. But he wasn’t budging.

“You say that, but you never do. Come on, if it doesn’t lift your mood, you can take the next flight home.” Declan was trying to reason with his friend, to do anything in order to get this man out of his sweatpants and into some swim shorts. This holiday was all Mason needed to get back into his rhythm, to realise you don’t need a girlfriend to be the best version of yourself, to realise he was Mason fucking Mount.

The look on Mason’s face was completely readable, a smile appearing on Declan’s face. Declan jumped onto his friend, cheering and shaking him vigorously. “You won’t regret this, we’re gonna have so much fun.”

Mason found himself in his plane seat, earphones on, and on the way to Mykonos. Greece had always been one of his dream destinations, it was one of the places he’d planned on going to with his ex. Shaking his thoughts from his head, he’d drowned himself in the music. Waiting for the next three hours to be over.

The villa was lovely, the view from his room was even better. He felt himself smile just a little, hopeful for this holiday. He’d spent the first day enjoying the food of Greece, visiting the beach, taking in the place he was staying. Every time the negative thoughts would try to push in, memories of his previous vacations with his ex, he shut it down. He forced a smile and laughed with his friends, hoping they didn’t see through this façade.

It was tiring. Getting back from a busy day and then being told there was a club in town. Having to force that smile back onto his face once more. He still dressed appropriately for the night ahead, pre-gaming with his friends before heading out to this club. It was only 8pm and it was packed, the place had an outside terrace, which didn’t seem so crowded.

Drink after drink, rounds of shots, drinking games with his friends and a few randomers. It was wild. Mason was finally beginning to let go of it all; his negative thoughts weren’t affecting him right now. It was pure bliss.

“Mase,” Declan called out, gesturing to him on the other side of the bar, “wanna play beer pong? These guys need another group.” Mason just nodded along, looking over to the group he was referring to. It was a group of four, just like them, but he’d locked eyes with you for the first time.

Throughout the game, you constantly had a smile stuck to your face, brighter than anything he’d seen before. It was the infectious type of smile, one that spread to his face too. The drinks had done a number on his movement, almost stumbling to the terrace, where only a few people sat. He took in the cool air, resting his head back onto the wall behind him.

“You good?” You questioned, sitting beside him and placing a hand on his shoulder. He quickly opened his eyes, turning his head to face you. There you were again.

“I’ve had a lot to drink,” Mason mumbled, breathing heavier than usual, “your twin looks so much like you.” You just laughed, understanding how much he’d had to drink. You had also had a lot to drink, but clearly Mason didn’t handle alcohol well.

“Here,” you instructed, holding his hand out for him and placing a cup into his hand, “it’s water, drink it.” You watched as he did so, downing it rather quickly and slamming it onto the table beside him. “Do you remember your name?”

“Yes, it’s Mount. Mason Mount.”

“Well, Mount, Mason Mount, do you remember where you’re staying? I think it might be an idea to get you home.” You spoke, the cool air sobering you up almost entirely. Mason’s head was getting droopy, you’d seen this all before, he was inches away from snoozing on your shoulder. You just giggled at him and stood up, grabbing both of his hands and pulling him up.

“We walked here from our villa, it’s a silly looking one. One with the pool shaped like a love heart.” You hummed, not knowing which one exactly, so his information rendered useless. He was leaning against you as you both walked back into the club, spotting his friends again.

“Hey, he’s had a lot to drink. I was going to walk him home but the only thing he said about the villa was that the pool was heart-shaped.” You laughed to his friend, who you’d learnt was called Ben. Mason was looking around the club, the multi-colored lights making his eyes squint in pain. This was the beginning of his hangover, he knew it was only going to get worse from here.

Ben had been kind enough to give you the villa address, and a key, so you made your way to the location. It was weird how trusting they were, for all they knew, you could be a psycho thief. You’d gotten to the villa, after an awful walk up the hill, and placed him on the couch. You didn’t even want to look at their stairs, let alone take Mason up them.

“I’ll stay here until your friends get back,” you spoke quietly, grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and laying it over the half-asleep Mason, “night, Mason.”

“You never said your name.” He stated, craning his head to look at you as you sat on the opposite couch.

“Y/N.”

Declan had gotten back, wanting to arrange another outing together, a bit less boozy than a club. And here you were, on your way to spend the day on a boat. You’d brought your polaroid camera with you, hoping to get some nice pictures with your friends before you go home in a few days.

“You’re back.” You spoke, sitting beside Mason as the boat started to move. He smiled at you, handing you a flute of a sparkly liquid, which you’d taken without complaining. “Having fun so far?”

“Yeah, I’m glad I’m seeing you again. I don’t really remember much from last night apart from your face.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. You blushed, hiding it with your hands and reaching for your camera.

“What do you say to a picture? To remember this moment.” You suggested, holding the camera up at the two of you. Mason’s arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you in closer with a smirk on his face. You just smiled your usual, bright smile, and let the photo develop.

The day was spent enjoying the view, jumping off the boat multiple times, finally making your way back to the docks when the sun began to set. Everyone was sitting on the front of the boat, taking in the last few hours of the sun on their skin, whilst you and Mason were at the back together. Away from the sun, completely alone. You laid beside him, your eyes shifting to look at him every few seconds.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He retorted, poking his tongue out at you as you laughed, shoving his leg slightly.

“Oh, I already have.” You replied wittily, holding the polaroid up to show him. It was quite a creative picture, actually. His skin was tanned, muscles perky, the sun hitting him in all the right places. He was very handsome, you could only imagine the job he had back home.

“Hey, give that,” Mason chuckled, reaching for the polaroid but you’d held it away from him. He leant over to you, hand out to grab it, but you’d both been focused on something else. How close your lips were. You could feel the other’s breathe, it was straight out of a movie the way Mason grabbed your waist and closed the gap between the two of you. He was pulling you down with him, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. This was an Oscar-worthy kiss.

You knew you wouldn’t see these boys again, as you didn’t have long before you returned back to the UK. So, as you were grabbing your things, you’d flicked through the polaroid's from today, finding the one of you and Mason.

“Here,” you spoke, holding the polaroid out for him to take, “I thought you’d like it. And it’s a way of remembering your time here, and the most gorgeous girl you’ve ever laid eyes on.” You joked, but Mason really felt that way. You were the most gorgeous girl he’d laid eyes on. He came on this holiday thinking it would depress him even more, but he found fun in you.

“Trust me, I won’t forget a face like that.” He replied, placing the polaroid into his wallet and smiling. “See you,” he whispered against your neck as you hugged, one last time, “someday.”

It had been two months since he’d returned from holiday, back to work, but more importantly, back to his old self. He enjoyed going to work, coming home, and spending time with his friends. He saw beauty in his mundane life again. But he missed you. He never thought he’d miss a two day fling with a random girl on holiday, it wasn’t even a fling, The pair of you hadn’t hooked up, only shared a kiss. But it was a good kiss, an unforgettable kiss.

“Have you searched her name up?” Declan asked, relaxing into the corner of Mason’s couch, rolling his eyes as Mason opened his wallet up for the fifteenth time that day. The boys were round for their frequent game day, a day Mason looked forward to.

Mason shook his head, slightly embarrassed to have forgotten your name, in his defense, he was out-of-this-world drunk. “I don’t remember it, I was hammered. Plus, I’m sure there’s at least a thousand people in this country who share her name.”

“Post the picture on Instagram, people always find people on there, it’s creepy.” Ben added, laughing at the end of his statement. It was a good idea, but was he ready to put it out there that he’d moved on, only for his ex to be mentioned in his comments again? Were you worth all of those nasty comments?

He’d posted the polaroid that evening, with the caption:

‘Instagram, do your thing.’

You had received a call from your brother, just as you were heading up to bed. Strange, you thought, your brother only called if he had some ridiculous news. You’d answered it, sitting on your stairs as he spoke.

“Did you meet anyone on holiday?” He questioned, your mind instantly flicking back to your memories with that man. The kiss on the boat, the horrible walk up the hill, the fighting over a polaroid.

“Why’s that your business?” You questioned, running up your stairs and grabbing the polaroid's from your bedside table and flicking through them.

“It’s my business when I’m scrolling through Instagram, only to find a Chelsea player has posted a picture of you and him.” He mentioned, voice raising in disbelief as he finished his sentence. You furrowed your brows, Chelsea player?

“Chelsea player? Chelsea, as in the football team you follow?” You wondered, opening Instagram to find this man’s account. You’d forgotten his name, curse your horrible memory. “What’s his name again?”

“Mason Mount,” he recalled, and you were kicking yourself for not remembering his silly James Bond introduction. Finding his account, you’d seen his recent post. It was your polaroid. The one you’d given him the last time you’d seen each other, he was looking for you. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest, scrolling the comments and seeing everyone compliment you. How did you manage to run into this man and not remember his face? Or his name? The amount of times your family had mentioned how A1 he was on the pitch, how happy they were when Chelsea had won the Champions League.

“That’s not me,” you lied to your brother, knowing there was no way of escaping this now, everyone you knew would be able to tell it was you.

“Don’t bullshit me, Y/N,” he laughed on the other end of the phone, as you were frantically shoving the polaroid's back into your drawer, “I don’t know anyone else who uses a polaroid camera.”

“Should I text him?”

“You’d be an idiot not to.”

After ending the call with your brother, you sat in Mason Mount’s inbox for over an hour, unable to send him a message. Was there a right thing to say? Was ‘hi’ not enough for the man you’d left a mark on? Throwing away all of your conflicting thoughts, you sighed and just sent the word, ‘hey’. It didn’t take long for him to get back to you, so over the moon that he’d found you.

Mason: I can’t believe it worked, I actually found you.

Turns out my brother follows you and saw the picture, small world?

Mason: Chelsea fan, huh?

Guess so.

Your conversation lasted until the early hours of the morning, you promising Mason a proper date when you were both free. He had training the next day, but how could he sleep when he now knew you. He now had your Instagram, so he could talk to you, instead of staring at the polaroid in his wallet a million times a day.

[snoopdoodle]

yellow! i've come from sunbee's blog :)) i just want to say that i love your writing! you're an amazing author and ill definitely request from you! right now actually! may i request a cc!karlnapity x reader where they're all meeting up and they're at the airport waiting for reader and when reader eventually does show up the boys are all over them and wind up squabbling over reader in the middle of the airport lmao :> thank you!

Y'ellow!! Hi, and of course i'll do this!! I love karlnapity, so this'll be fun! It might be short, so I appolgize, but please enjoy :] <3 (ALSO PLEASE TELL ME IF THIS WENT AGAINST THEIR BOUNDARIES, ILL CHANGE IT IF IT DID!!)

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Plane Rides

cc!Karl, cc!Quackity, cc!Sapnap x gn!reader

pronouns: they/them

summary: reader getting off their plane, the boys waiting for them.

Quackity, or better known as Alex, paced around the small area he and his friends were in. “What if their flight is late?” He asked, worried that the 4 hour wait they’ve been sitting through would be worth nothing. Karl sighed, this was the 5th time he had heard that question. “Their flight wasn’t delayed, Alex.” Karl spoke, filling in for Nick’s words, as he had fallen asleep. “I know-” Alex started, but Karl had cut him off. “Do you? You asked that question 5 times already.” Karl had dragged. Alex sighed. A ping was heard from one of their phones.

Alex picked up his, but alas there was no message, so he shook his head and turned to Karl. Karl was looking at his phone, but shook his head no as well. The duo turned to Nick in sync and stared at the groggy man who had been woken up by the ping, which was filled by a buzz, in his back pocket. He opened his phone and his eyes grew wide. He quickly typed in his phone password, confusing the others for a second. Nick looked at the image, uttering a small “What the hell?”

Karl raised an eyebrow and Quackity pulled the phone down to his level on the floor. His eyes were wide and he quickly stood up, looking in the direction of where the photo was taken. “Y/N!” He yelled, stirring some people awake, but at this point, he didn’t care anymore. You gave a laugh, alerting the trio of your presence behind them. You were trying to go for a scare, but Alex’s scream caught you off guard. “AHHH!” Nick yelled as he ran to tackle you in a hug.

You laughed out in pain as your back hit the ground, but you were so happy, it didn’t matter. “Y/N!!” Karl and Alex yelled in sync, running to jump on the dog pile. You groaned out of pain, barely being able to breathe. “G-Gotta breathe…” You wheezed out. Karl had dragged himself and Alex off of you as Nick snuggled into your neck saying, “No you don’t.” You laughed a bit, shoving him off of yourself. He gave a fake cry of sadness, and you stuck your tongue out at him.

“So, we’re gonna have a boys night?” Alex asked as the 4 of you walked through the crowds to get to his car. You didn’t notice a fan stalking up behind you, until you felt a tap on your shoulder. You blinked and turned around to see a 5’2-5’3 kid behind you. “Hello, are you [Online Name]” He asked. You nodded and smiled. He looked at you and beamed. “Sorry to bother you, but I love your all’s content!” He smiled, his brownish hair waving around as he bounced up and down.You smiled and patted his head. “If you want, we could take a picture.” You offered.

He smiled, and you grabbed the boys in for it. “WOAH-” Nick yelled, not ready for the picture to be taken. You smiled as the kid grabbed his phone, but they stopped and looked up at you. “You sure? You all seemed pretty tired… besides, there’ll be other chances.” He spoke, making you grin even more. For once, a fan thought of you all over themself. He grabbed his phone and handed it to you to take a picture. You did, and when it was done you watched how he walked off. He paused and turned around, stopping himself from walking back to his mom. “I’ll catch your next stream!” He yelled at you.

Alex and Karl laughed as Nick tiredly chuckled. You nodded, watching as he turned back around and went to his mom. You four walked off and went to the car. If everyone was like this? You'd live here forever.

[warmblanketwhump]

flight plan: part 2

no planes in this one - just some good old-fashioned sickfic! But if you want the backstory, check out part 1 here.

“A, can you hand me my glass of water? Pleaaaase?” B sticks out their bottom lip in a pout, and A can’t help but laugh.

“Okay, you. It’s been four days and I know you’re getting better, because you’re getting pesky again.” A straightens the blankets and slides their hand up to feel B’s cheek. “Still a little warm, but I think you’re on your way out of the woods.”

“So I should milk this while I can?” B flutters their eyelashes and gives a pitifully fake cough, which slips into a real one, sharp and rattling. Concern flits across A’s eyes, and they help B take a few sips from the glass.

Despite the joking, A didn’t kid themselves about how sick B had been, or how awful they’d truly felt after getting off the plane. The first two days had been nightmarish - B barely conscious, shivering with chills and sweating through their sheets, alternating between terrifying fever dreams and inconsolable moaning and weeping.

A did their best to hold them through it, but they had been minutes away from hauling B to the hospital. Thankfully B’s fever had spiked just one final time before settling into general low-grade misery.

“As long as you need me, sweetheart, you’ve got me.” B gives a tired smile and pulls the blanket to their chin, huddling around the new stuffed animal A gave them at the airport.

“Did you call C?”

“Ah, not yet. Too busy with you, ya sick little bean.” A gently fluffs B’s hair. “You rest, and I’ll give them a call now.”

But C doesn’t pick up. Nor do they pick up an hour later, leaving A stuck with the unpleasant task of leaving a voicemail.

“Um, hi…this is A. I just wanted to call and let you know that B’s on the mend. They’re still pretty weak, but I think things are looking up. So…yeah. Thanks for everything you did for B - once they were feeling better, they told me all about what you did. And I…well, I care a lot about them. Obviously. So I appreciate it. I guess you can call back if you-”

The message cuts off, and A groans. Hopefully that was enough. Still, they couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of their stomach.

Later, they settle in with B to watch a movie, B’s head cradled in their lap as A combs their fingers soothingly through their hair, reveling in the sheer normalcy of it all. They both end up falling asleep, and when A blinks awake as the credits roll, they notice a missed call from C. B’s still out, so they click to listen to the voicemail.

“Hey, A….sorry I *coughs*…missed you earlier. Wasn’t able to *sniffs* make it to the phone. So glad to hear that B’s *cough cough* doing better. I think they did a little sharing.” C laughs weakly, but A can hear the sheer exhaustion in their voice. “Anyways, glad they had you. And if you’ve got any survival tips, feel free to pass them along…..I’m just kidding. *cough* I’ll be fine. Anyways, I’ll…see you around, I guess.” They pause briefly, like they want to say something more, but a coughing fit steals their breath away, and the message ends with a click cutting off the rough gasps.

The pit in A’s stomach comes back. C sounds sick.

“Who….who was that?” B mumbles from their spot on A’s lap.

“It was C. They called back and they….didn’t sound so good.”

B’s eyes snap to meet A’s, more alert than they have been in days. “Did they sound like me?”

C pauses. They hadn’t thought about not telling B, but in hindsight, maybe they should have. After all, it’d only flood B with guilt, and they needed all the energy they had to get well. But one look at B’s concern, and they knew they wouldn’t be able to lie.

“Yeah. They did.” Immediately B struggles to push themselves up, throwing their blanket off their shoulders and trying to stand.

“Whoa, hold it there. Where do you think you’re going?”

“To C. If they’re sick, it’s from me, and if any hints from the past four days of living with me are any indication, we gotta help them.”

A throws their hands up, pressing B back on the couch. “Hold up. We don’t know them, we don’t know if someone’s already taking care of them, and we don’t know where they live. I’m sure they’re-“

B frantically shakes their head. “You didn’t hear them. On the plane. From what they said…I don’t think they have anyone. I have to go.”

A chews their lip. “Well, let’s get things straight first. You’re in no shape to go help them. Which leaves me. A random stranger they don’t know. And you want me to check on them?”

The question was meant to be sarcastic, but B nods vigorously and fear fills their eyes with a fevered anxiety. “A, you saw how sick I was. You think anyone’s gonna be able to fight through that alone?”

A sighs wearily. They could blame it on the fact that arguing with a sick B was like arguing with a brick wall. But truthfully, what did their heart in was the thought of B alone on that plane, sick and shivering and miserable, if C hadn’t helped.

Fine. They’d send a text.

You okay? You sounded kinda rough on the phone. B was worried….

A few moments later, C responds.

Eh, I’ve felt better. But thank you for asking. And tell B not to feel bad. They were a better seatmate than most.

A smile tugs at A. At least this C was polite.

Is there anything you need? B said something about you being by yourself.

This pause was longer. The dots appeared and disappeared a few times, before a message came through.

I hate to take advantage, but is there ANY way you could bring over some cough medicine? I ran out a couple days ago. No worries if not - I can figure it out.

C’s heart sank. So they were alone. Sure, they didn’t say it - but any good friend or significant other worth their salt wouldn’t leave someone they loved without medicine for days.

I’ll bring some to you! Want to meet somewhere neutral, or just want me to drop it off?

In moments, C sends a response and an address.

Dropping off is fine. You are an actual lifesaver.

A settles B into bed with blankets, a cup of water, hot tea, and six types of medicine on the side table. “Now if you get worse, call me and I’ll turn around immediately. Nothing’s more important than you, okay?”

B shook their head. “I’ll be fine. They need someone.”

A heaves a sigh. “You’re too good, you.” They give B a quick forehead kiss, and head out into the night.

By the time they get to C’s apartment, their stomach is flip-flopping - C is a stranger. A lonely stranger, but a random stranger nonetheless. They come to C’s door and knock tentatively, gripping the paper bag of cough medicine (plus some cough drops and Tylenol for good measure), and hold their breath.

Nothing. A few minutes go by and A knocks again. They’re ready to break down the door if C doesn’t answer soon, but they realize what took so long right after they hear the click of the deadbolt.

A had seen corpses that looked more alive than C did right now. They lean heavily on the doorframe, sweat beaded on their forehead, a thick grey throw blanket clutched tightly around their shoulders. Their face is hollow and devoid of color, lips dry and cracked, their hair mussed and matted to their head. The cool night air hits their fevered body, triggering a round of chills that make them shudder. Despite their misery, a tiny light of gratitude flits across their eyes, and they stare incredulously at the paper bag in A’s hands.

“C….” A’s jaw drops to the ground.

“A, I seriously owe you one.” C tries to laugh, but it turns into a wheezing chest cough, high pitched and tense as they fight to catch their breath. Their eyes blink slowly, and they start to slide down the doorframe, but A grabs them and they both tumble inside.

Even through the blanket, A can feel C’s every bone. C weakly clings to A as they stumble toward the couch, and A deposits them on the cushions before tearing into the package of meds.

“What have you taken so far today?” A asks, trying to figure out the dosages.

“I….nothing…” C mumbles. A meets their eyes in disbelief before cracking open the blister packet and retrieving a proper dose. Grabbing an empty glass on the side table, they fill it before helping C choke the pills down. C greedily gulps the whole glass, breathing heavily once they’ve drained it.

“Water…water’s good.” C smiles blearily - they’re almost completely out of it. A presses a hand to the side of C’s neck, and C flinches at the cool touch. Their neck feels like a bank of hot coals, slick with sweat, lymph nodes sore and swollen. Their forehead isn’t much cooler either.

“C, when’s the last time you ate or drank anything?”

C cocks their head like A just asked them to recite the entire periodic table. “I….not sure? Days….kinda blurry.”

A’s seen enough. “C, you’ve got to go to the hospital. I haven’t even seen your temp, but you’re burning up even worse than B was.”

C frantically grasps at A’s wrists, sharp panic flooding their eyes. “Please…no…no hospital. I can’t. The meds….I’m fine here. Please.” A shiver wracks their body, and they hunch their shoulders, wrapping themselves back up and pulling the blanket over their nose. “Please. You can go now.”

“C, you need help-“

“I don’t.” Their voice breaks on the last word, cut off by a brief hiccuping sob.

Confusion rises through A - one minute C’s a grateful wreck, and the next moment they’re demanding they leave?

“C, I don’t understand-“

“You don’t get it. You think it feels all nice, having people care about you. Making you feel like you matter. And then they leave you. Get tired of you. Decide you’re not worth it. And it hurts worse than if they were never there at all.” C scrubs their eye with the corner of their blanket and sniffles as tears run down their cheeks. “I can’t let it happen again. I have to be alone. So just go. Please.”

A’s speechless. They kneel down next to the couch, hand tentatively hovering above C.

“C, is it okay if I put my hand on you right now?” C’s still sniffling, but they nod and mumble a weak “yes”, and A gently lets their hand rest on this stranger’s shoulder.

“C, I want to respect what you want right now. But you should know that you’re very sick. And you’ve managed in your own way - how, I have no idea - but you need some help right now. Now I can either call the hospital and let them handle it, or take you home with me. It’s up to you. Otherwise, you need to look me in the eye and tell me honestly that you want to be left alone through this.”

They squeeze C’s shoulder, and it triggers a deep gasping sob from their broken, aching body, sending a fault line straight through A’s heart. The sob turns to weeping, and A can barely make out the words C whimpers: "I don't want to hurt anymore."

God, who broke this poor thing? A bites their lip. C’s losing it. They’re running out of options short of forcing C to come with them, and that’s the last thing they want to do to a delirious, love-starved person who’s known them all of 6 minutes.

“C, I’m not gonna hurt you. I want to help you. Heck, even B wants to help you. I had to practically pin them down to the bed before leaving, they were so hell bent on this rescue.”

C’s red, swollen eyes meet A’s. “You mean….they asked after me?”

“Yes. They did. They could hardly stop talking about you once they came to their senses.” A rubs C’s knee through the blankets. “And they’d never forgive me if I left you here alone - they were very adamant about that. So if you want to save me a lot of arguing with and consoling of a very sad B, you’d actually be doing me a favor coming back with me.”

C seems to be weighing their options, all while struggling to stay awake on the couch. “I mean…if it saves you the trouble….”

A’s the one nodding vigorously now. “Please. It would.” Please. Just come back with me. I can’t leave you here like this. But I don’t know what else to do.

C presses themselves up off the couch with a single shaking arm. “Well, if it’d help you, then I accept.” And then they promptly pass out into A’s waiting arms.

It’s late when A gets back home with a limp C, and B is knocked out in their room, light still on - they’d tried to wait up, but their body still craved rest.

A carries C over the threshold and into the house. They gently lay the bundle on the bed and feel their forehead - still too hot, but the medicine seemed to be working. They manage to wake C up enough to take a few sips of broth from a mug before they pass out again.

For the briefest moment, A lets their hand touch C's shoulder again, making a silent promise they barely know how to keep: I don't know who broke you, but I'm not gonna let you hurt any more. I won't allow it.

A wave of exhaustion floods their body as they feel the effects of several late nights and long days of caretaking. They'd be no good to anyone if they didn't get any rest. A drapes an extra blanket over C’s sleeping form and heads for the couch for the night - they’d check back in an hour or so.

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

B’s awakened by the sound of sniffling. And it’s not theirs. They blink tentatively in the lamplight, sleep clouding their thoughts. Snatching a blanket from the top of their bed, they wrap up, stuffed animal under one arm, and shuffle across the hall to see where the sound is coming from.

It’s C, swathed in two blankets, holding a wad of tissues and trembling like a leaf. B flicks on the bedside table lamp, and C winces at the light. B can see the tear stains on their cheeks.

“Cold,” C whimpers, coughing weakly. Pity floods B - it’s like looking at a picture of themselves just a few days ago. They reach out and put their hand on C’s head, and C leans into the touch.

“Yeah, this part sucks,” B says softly, guilt flooding their core. Sure, they didn’t mean to make C sick. But they did. And they felt a certain responsibility to make sure they made it through okay - just like C had cared for them on the plane.

“Can I get you anything? Another blanket, tea, medicine?”

“Throat hurts…water…please?” B nods and places the stuffed animal next to C before beginning the long, slow shuffle to the kitchen. A’s asleep on the couch, and they can’t bear to wake them up for something this small. But by the time they get to the kitchen, their legs are trembling with exertion. Easy there. You’re still sick, too.

They brace themselves against the sink as the glass fills, and will themselves to make the final journey back to C. By the time they’ve returned, the glass feels like a lead weight in their hand, and their entire body is chilled and shivery all over. They do their best to help C take a few sips, holding the glass with trembling hands, bracing themselves on the bed so they don’t tip over.

“Thank….thank you,” C’s grateful eyes meet theirs, and in a split second B knows the effort was worth it. But the validation is replaced with a bout of lightheadedness that nearly topples them onto C.

“Sorry,” B gasps. “Still not up to marathons yet. Just...need a minute.” They tug their blanket tighter, closing their eyes. “And this body forgot how to stay warm when I do stuff.” C’s eyes flood with concern - even in their fevered haze, they can see B struggling.

"Want to sit for a minute?" C asks softly, patting the open spot next to them on the bed. “I’m still cold, too.”

B wriggles into the spot, propping themselves up on pillows and pulling blankets over them both. "Just a minute - you need your sleep."

C's already dozing. "S'okay. I'll sleep just fine. 'Sides, you're warm." C's nestled themselves into B's side, head resting on their chest, and B wraps an arm around C's shoulder and holds them close. They’re warm, too. Just a minute....

Many minutes later, A pokes their head in to check in on C - and finds two sick peas in a pod curled up together, C's head still on B's chest, B's arm curled protectively around C, stuffed animal squished between them, both tangled in blankets and Kleenexes.

In spite of their own exhaustion, A smiles. After everything that had happened, they had a feeling C wouldn't ever be alone again.

[earliebirb]

Steve not noticing that he goes into Tony kisses withdrawals when Tony’s away, but the rest of the team do. Like a first if Tony is out for a day or two and Steve doesn’t get his morning kiss he’s grumpy until after lunch, so the team introduces secret “Tony is away” brunch protocols, to get it over faster. After 4 days he’s moping unless he’s training or out with friends so it’s bootcamp/friend fieldtrips time.

2 weeks where he’s not on a mission and Tony’s out of the country and so busy he can barely video chat? The rest of the team sequesters him to the couch with ice cream and tv shows that Steve would like but aren’t on the “only watch first with Tony” list.

(The list includes all Star Wars’ and Treks, LoTR, Ghibli movies, and Die Hards. Steve can watch Mike Schur shows and Game of Thrones. While Disney movies and Romcoms are allowed by Tony without him, they are banned by the team cuz Steve starts crying during them at this point in the withdrawal process)

Eventually the team just kidnaps and throws him into a Quinjet and has him surprise Tony in his hotel after 3 weeks of no Tony and no mission calls. He is intolerably whiny, has grown his depression beard, and keeps calling the president, Fury, and other country’s heads of state to see if there’s aliens attacking.

LOOK LISTEN THE FIRST TIME I RECEIVED THIS ASK I WAS LIKE WOW ARE WE THE SAME PERSON??? Because Steve-suffering-from-Tony-withdrawal is also a personal headcanon of mine that I've carried in my head for years. It's my Favorite. This ask is very fun and made me laugh a lot and I love it very, very much. Keep your brilliant ideas coming, Anon. I really love them. (I am very sorry for taking a century to go through all of them 😔) Also, since it's Steve's birthday (shhh I'm not late, what are you talking about, shhhhh), I decided to develop this lovely idea and turn it into a birthday fic! I hope you like it! 🤍

let the heart grow fonder

steve/tony, birthday fluff, established relationship, 1174 words

“Was the flight really worth it? A few more days and I would’ve been home anyway.”

“Yeah.” Steve noses the back of his ear and Tony shivers. “But I would’ve been all alone on my birthday.”

“You would hardly be alone. There’s the whole team, and besides— The entire country would practically be celebrating your birthday. Fireworks, barbecues, the whole nine yards.”

“Not the same,” Steve insists stubbornly. Tony sees Steve cupping his hands to gather some water from in front of Tony’s chest before dumping it on Tony’s head. Closing his eyes, Tony lets the warm water seep into his hair and trickle down his face, neck, and back.

He opens his eyes when he feels Steve’s fingers sweeping his hair away from his forehead. “I would trade all of it for a day of doing nothing with my fella.”

“Sweet talker.” Tony huffs. 

“‘S true.” Steve punctuates his statement with a kiss on Tony’s shoulder.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“‘S all your fault. You’re the one who was gone for a ridiculously long time.”

“Honey, trust me, if I had the choice I would much rather stay at home with you.”

Steve sighs, the sound echoing in the bathroom. “I know.”

This time, Tony cups his hands together, gathering a mountain of soapsuds. He blows on it, sending suds and bubbles flying.

“Nat told me all about it, you know.”

“About what?” Steve asks, his luscious beard tickling Tony’s temple.

“About the depression beard. All your sulking and moping. And whining.”

“I did no such things. The beard is me… trying out a new look.”

Tony snorts. “And crying.” 

“Natasha’s a lying liar,” Steve grumbles, hiding his face in Tony’s hair.

“Come on, which movie was it?”

Steve stays silent. With his movements hidden by the soapy water, Tony pokes Steve’s side stealthily.

“Ah!” Steve yelps.

“Which movie was it, baby?”

Steve huffs, resting his forehead against the back of Tony’s skull. 

And then, finally:

“Dumbo,” Steve mumbles in defeat. Tony snickers.

“Oh, honey. You’re such a softie.” Tony sighs fondly as he leans back, letting more of his weight rest against Steve’s body. He lets out a delighted hum when Steve welcomes the extra weight by snaking an arm around his waist.

“No judging,” Steve whines, and Tony grins when he can hear the pout in his voice. “You’d been gone for two weeks by then and I really missed you. Besides, you have no room to talk. Remember The Fox and the Hound?”

“Please. That’s totally different.” Tony rolls his eyes. “Anyone who doesn’t cry at The Fox and the Hound is a monster.”

Submerged up to his shoulders in warm water and pressed up against his naked husband, Tony feels well-rested and content in a way he hadn’t been for the past few weeks.

Still, they only have a few days left before they have to leave for New York, so they should probably make good use of what little time they have left in Milan. 

“I wanna take you to this really beautiful restaurant for your birthday dinner. Super romantic. We could get a private table. You’d love it.”

“Yeah?” Tony feels Steve’s hand stroking up and down his stomach.

“Mm-hm. We should probably get out soon. Get dressed. Look presentable,” Tony says, resting his head back on one of Steve’s shoulders and looking up at him.

Steve looks down at him, his unfairly long lashes wet and clumped together. For a moment, he simply stares back at Tony silently.

“What?” Tony eventually says, unable to withstand the silent scrutiny. He breaks eye contact and lifts one of his feet up and out of the water just because he can, just for something to do.

Tony watches his own foot hover above the surface of the water for a few seconds before another hairy leg breaks the surface of the water. The bigger foot settles on top of Tony’s hovering one until his leg buckles under the weight, sending the two left feet plunging back into the water.

“Rude,” Tony remarks with a frown, turning back to stare up at Steve again.

Steve is already looking at him, almost as if he never looked away in the first place.

“What?”

“Would you be mad at me,” Steve begins, one of his hands reaching up to bury itself in Tony’s damp hair, fingers lightly scratching his scalp, “if I said I’d much prefer it if we stayed in tonight and ordered room service?”

Tony leans back, incredulous. “Room service?”

Steve nods.

“For your birthday dinner?”

He nods again.

“Why?”

Steve shrugs, disturbing the water slightly with the movement. “I mean, I didn’t exactly fly all the way to Italy for the food.”

Tony softens and tries in vain to hold back his smile.

“Yeah?”

An answering smile blooms on Steve’s face. He leans in to nudge Tony’s nose affectionately with his own. “Uh-huh.”

“What did you come here for then?” Tony asks, voice dangerously low and eyes never leaving Steve’s.

“Oh.” Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Keep looking at me like that and I may just skip the room service and go straight for dessert.”

Tony smirks devilishly. “What’s stopping you?”

Blinking rapidly, Steve swallows. “Yeah?”

“I mean, you are the birthday boy.” Tony strokes the line of Steve’s throat with the back of his fingertips and watches in glee as the man shivers.

Eyes wide and cheeks flushed, Steve leans in close and—

“Actually, it’s me. I’m stopping you. I’m really craving some lasagna right now.”

Initially headed for Tony’s lips, Steve changes course and buries his face in Tony’s neck with a guttural groan. 

“Sweetheart. You’re not making things easy for me.”

Tony chuckles. “Nothing about me is easy, honey. I’m a challenge.”

“But it’s my birthday,” Steve complains, voice muffled.

“You got off an eight-hour flight, got to the hotel, and immediately napped for four hours. You haven’t had a proper meal.”

“I ate on the plane.”

“No, we need to get you some proper Italian food. Hearty, heartwarming, fulfilling.”

“Food is just food. I just wanna have you.”

“Um, excuse me? That is deeply insulting. Authentic Italian food is not just food, it’s an experience.”

“I wanna have the Tony experience.”

“You’ll get the Tony experience after you have a proper meal. Look, we can order room service, but we can’t skip dinner.” 

“Fine,” Steve grumbles, face finally emerging from its hiding place. “But can we stay like this for another fifteen minutes?”

Tony settles back against Steve’s chest and lets Steve pull him close. “Of course, birthday boy.”

Steve hums contentedly, resting his chin on the crown of Tony’s head. “You make me really happy, sweetheart. I love you.”

Tony feels Steve’s fingers interlocking on top of his stomach. He looks down, spotting the wedding ring worn on Steve’s ring finger, one that he knows is engraved with his own handwriting. 

The image of the ring is distorted by the water, but still, it glints golden. Tony smiles to himself.

“I love you, too, honey. Happy birthday.”

[reidyoulikeabook]

Sometimes You Just Don’t Know the Answer

4 times you don’t know the answer, and the 1 time you do

This is the 2nd part to Personal Google! (You don’t have to read it to understand this, but it exists if you want to).

Ship: BAU!reader x Spencer Reid

Summary: You’d call yourself a pretty educated individual, and most people wouldn’t argue with that, given that you’re a member of the BAU at Quantico. There’s just something about your best friend Spencer Reid that gets you all tongue tied.

Warnings: Mentions of cases and case-typical violence, mentions of alcohol, Spencer and Reader being idiots again.

Word count: 3k

A/N: The feedback (in asks and the tag reblogs) for Personal Google was so lovely and encouraging and I am very grateful for it! I only made this account a few days ago and I’m already so glad I did :) I hope this is a satisfactory second part and, requests are open!

(This is the Reid I’m imagining here)

“What is up with you and Reid?” Emily’s volume is unmoderated at the best of times but right now it’s like she’s trying to alert the entirety of Virginia to your dating woes.

Dating woes might be a stretch, actually. Somehow, just her implication that something is happening between you and Spencer (even though it isn’t, unless you count two exhausted idiots falling asleep on each other and being too bashful to ever mention it again), is enough to get you feeling uncharacteristically shy.

“Nothing,” you shrug, “Well. I don’t know, honestly, nothing I guess? We haven’t spoken about that night.”

Emily’s eyes rake over you, and you can tell she’s waiting for you to continue.

“There’s nothing!” you object, “We just, it was accidental, we fell asleep because we were watching a documentary and we were tired and neither of us fell asleep on purpose.”

She laughs, dry and amused, “At this rate, you’ll be lucky to have sorted things out before you’re 50.”

You scowl, but it’s only because you know she’s right.

***

You don’t have much time to think about your situation with Spencer for a few weeks, considering the rate at which the cases come rolling in. This newest one arrives within about two days of the last one you’d just wrapped up. It’s actually kind of rude, you’ve decided, that the serial killers of America have decided to deny you two weekends in a row.

You’re briefed on the case quickly: four women have gone missing over the past 7 months from a small town in Ohio. There’s no distinct pattern that can be discerned among the victims, the oldest is 60 and white, the youngest is 23 and Asian-American. However, the first three have been found dead in the past two weeks, all within a mile of each other and all killed with the same MO: ligature strangulation.

“So we have no idea how he’s choosing them,” you say.

“No,” Hotch replies, with a sigh.

Meaning that this is probably going to take a while. Spencer senses the way you tense up a little as you absorb that fact. So he goes out of his way to sit next to you on the plane. Once the discussion about the case is done, he nudges you gently, “Did you bring a book?”

You shake your head, “I finished the one in my go-bag. Didn’t have a chance to replace it.”

“Would you like to read this with me?”

You place your hand on his wrist, gently turning it so you can see the cover, “Spencer this is written in Greek.”

“I can translate,” he says.

You move closer to him then, your head resting just against his plane seat and your chin almost jutting against his shoulder.

“Is this okay?”

He nods. The remaining 45 minutes of the flight are spent with him reading to you softly, adding in his own thoughts as he translates and sometimes going off on little tangents. By the time you land you’ve entirely forgotten about your ire with the case. You’re focused only on the characters he introduces you to, who are clearly in love even if they’re too stupid to see it, and the way his nose crinkles a little when he reaches a word with no direct English translation.

Whhat you don’t realise, is that you end up folding into him: head pressed against his chest. Somehow, neither of you notice how you naturally gravitate towards each other. Some pair of profilers.

--

Hotch sends you in different cars to the precinct, and you’re soon reminded of your frustration as you’re caught up in the hub-a-bub of the case. It’s not until you’re leaving the station, after a long and relatively fruitless briefing with the medical examiners and local PD, that you even have time to acknowledge Spencer properly again.

And even then, it’s only when Hotch says.

"You'll be sharing a room with Reid, alright?"

He’s only really asking as a formality. Nobody questions Hotch’s assignments for them. So why, then, do you feel yourself flush a little.

Why then, do you feel so embarassed replying, “Alright.”

***

There was nothing much to be nervous about with sharing a room, as it so happened. The past day and a half had been a whirlwind since the unsub had snatched a fifth victim. You’d been sleeping in shifts, making sure that some of you were awake at all times to keep working.

You were working on the geographical profile with Spencer, and had taken to driving around to look for landmarks at night, when there was nothing much else to do. There were maps but sometimes it helped just to get things embedded in your brain. And now, at 4am, you’re bursting into the conference room occupied by Spencer and Rossi, because you might just have got something.

"I have an idea,” you say, and before anybody can even respond you’re scribbling hurriedly on the whiteboard.

“Slow down kiddo,” Rossi laughs.

“Sorry I’m just,” you cut yourself off, slightly flustered and tapping your foot with frustration as you try to put the last pieces of it together, “Diana Matthews.”

“Yeah?” Spencer responds.

“She was the one who lived on Lakefield right?” Rossi asks.

Annoyingly, you can’t remember off rote. Spencer sees the pinch of frustration in your brow. He senses that you’re heading for the case file.

So, he answers, “Yeah 38 Lakefield Drive.”

Smiling gratefully at him, you breathe a sigh of relief, “There’s three different stores in the area for this local electronic repair company, Gladston Digital, in this area. Two of them aren’t accounted for on the maps because these are from last year, and one of the ones on Google is pinned to the wrong street, there are two Minister Avenues and one’s on the complete opposite side of town.”

Denoting the map with annotations as you go, you continue, “All of the victims had residences within a mile of one of the three stores. And we interviewed the area manager, Paul something, he manages all three stores. He came to speak to me and Hotch while we were scoping the area.”

“Inserting himself into the investigation,” Rossi notes, “Fits the profile. A stalker like that would want to remain an illusion of control.”

“I just need to get Garcia on the phone to see if it checks out.”

Spencer just watches, slightly in awe, as you make the phone call to Garcia. She manages to cross-reference bank statements and emails, showing that all five of the victims had taken something of theirs in for repair sometime in the year before their disappearance. And he feels something in his gut. Pride? Maybe. That’s certainly a part of it.

But there’s something else in there too. Your eyes meet his, with a flicker of recognition. He realises what it is then: marvel. Your brain works so fast, and that’s not novel to him, he knows you’re intelligent but there’s just something about how fast you manage to put it all together. You conjure something out of nothing, a link that he’d missed. And he’s reminded, again, that he has to try and keep up with you sometimes. He wonders if you know that.

Probably not, he thinks. You’re rambling down the phone and gesturing with your hands, in a way you may or may not have picked up from him, and all he can think is how you look so in your element. And beautiful.

He’s a little embarassed about how normal it feels for that last observation to pop into his head.

***

“To _____!” Prentiss cheers.

8pm has rolled around. Since your revelation 16 hours earlier, you managed to confirm your thinking, apprehend Paul Bader, and save the fifth victim. All in all, a pretty good days work. It’s not just down to you, but everyone’s singing your praises so loudly it’s making you a little embarassed.

Even Hotch sets a drink down in front of you, squeezing your shoulder, “Really good work today ____.”

Fair to say you’ve probably peaked there.

Spencer is sat to your left, sipping at a Mai Tai that you know is going to have him giggly in about an hours time.

“I wasn’t trying to keep you out before,” you tell him, “I was going to come and wake you up when I got back but you were in the conference room.”

He smiles, “I know. It was my shift to sleep.”

“Bet you’re paying for that now.”

“A little,” he chuckles, “It’s worth it.”

"I just didn’t want you to think I was hanging you out to dry. You know, to make myself look good,” you decide to press further: mostly just because the team has sung your praises and that kind of attention makes you shirk at the best of times. Let alone when you’re sat with the guy responsible for creating half the damn profile.

His eyebrows furrow. You worry for a minute about what he’s going to say, but then, “I would never think that about you. We’re a team.”

He squeezes your hand. Maybe that’s your favourite thing about Spencer, really. More than the fact he remembers to get your caffeine just how you like it, more than how gentle he is with just about everybody he encounters, more than his relentless enthusiasm for your questions about whatever pops into your mind. No, it’s his modesty. The way he doesn’t even think for a moment to be prideful or arrogant about his intelligence. He genuinely roots for you in every moment, you think.

“Are you okay?” he asks, “You seem a little..quiet.”

It wasn’t until he mentioned it that you realise you’d let your thoughts run away with you, “No. I’m good. Just thinking about how good of a teacher you are.”

“You think so?”

“Of course I think so. You’ve taught me. I didn’t know the first thing about geographical profiling when I got here two years ago. I could barely read a map,” you laugh, keeping your tone sincere, “You’re a really good teacher Spence. I feel like I learn so much from just being around you.”

“I often don’t give you much choice.”

You smile, “I wouldn’t want you to. Really. I’m always interested in everything you have to say. I think you know that. But I wanted to tell you anyway. So you’re sure.”

He’s incredibly grateful you get pulled into a conversation by Morgan, giving him a moment to process.

A lifetime of being insecure. Of feeling like nobody was interested in what he had to say but not being able to really control whether he said it anyway. All this time being insecure in himself, and you liked it. Complimented him on it, even. Considered him a teacher. He doesn’t think he could articulate, in any of the languages he speaks, the sense of peace that brings him.

-----

The Mai Tai’s do make him sleepy. Buzzed, but sleepy. After being bought rounds by Hotch, Morgan, and Spencer, you’re feeling exactly the same. It’s only 10:30pm by the time you decide to make your departure for the night. This is much to the chagrin of Emily, who lolls against Rossi’s side demanding that you stay.

“Some of us have been up since 4 this morning, breaking their backs to keep this country safe,” You tease, putting on a melodramatic air just for affect, “Besides, you’re going to regret this when you have to be up and back on the jet in the morning.”

“You will, especially since you still owe me that report,” Hotch teases, with a smile.

Emily rolls her eyes, “You two are no fun.”

She’s joking, goading you, but unfortunately for her you have a sleepy Spencer nuzzling against you which is a far more pressing matter to deal with.

“Come on Spence, let’s get you to bed,” You say, gently wiggling out from under him and offering him your hand.

He pouts at the momentary loss of contact. It’s subtle. You catch it though. He links his fingers through your own, holding your hand properly, and you try not to read into it too much. He’s tipsy. He’s tired.

Ignoring the deliberately obvious eyebrow-wiggling from Morgan, you make for the lift.

“You didn’t have to come to bed just for me,” Spencer says, “I feel bad for taking you away from the others. I’m not that drunk, I could get myself to bed.”

You shake your head, “I wanted to go to bed with you.”

His eyes snap to you, a grin playing on his lips.

“I mean, I wanted to go to bed. And we’re sharing a room. So I’m going to bed with you. As in we’re going to the place where bed is, together.”

He’s just enough tipsy to be confident enough to jest, “Sure.”

You roll your eyes, “You sound like Morgan.”

“What did Morgan say?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what Morgan always says whenever anybody goes off together.”

“That they’re having sex,” He giggles, tipsiness shining through again.

“Yes, Spence, that they’re having sex.”

“But we’re not.”

The elevator dings as you arrive at your floor, saving your brain from delving into the implications of what he’s just said. And whether that was a disappointed or netural tone.

He hasn’t let go of your hand. He walks to the door with you, still keeping your hand in his. It’s hard not to let yourself read into it now. How holding hands with him could be such a casual thing. Hard not to imagine walking through bookshops with him, one hand in yours and the other picking books off the shelf he thought you’d like. The domesticity of it sickens you.

Then he lets go to cross to the bed.

“Aren’t you gonna put your pyjama’s on?” You ask.

“I wasn’t gonna sleep yet,” he says, “I was gonna...”

He looks bashful, suddenly, self-consciously licking his lower lip, “I was gonna ask if maybe you wanted to watch something with me. You can pick. I always pick.”

“This an excuse to get me in bed with you again, Spence?” You tease, just past tipsy enough not to care that this is the first time you’ve even acknowledged that night.

"Yeah, the Pearl Harbour ruse doesn’t work twice,” he jokes.

You wish you could find the courage to tease him more. Unfortunately, the liquid courage seems to have run out, and the topic somehow feels too delicate to touch.. Instead, you change quickly into your pyjama’s. Together, you pick something to watch, settling down. You’re suddenly thankful for the single bed, the necessity to be cozied up against him as you watch. To feel his chest, every beat of his heart. You swear it’s beating fast. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

***

Just like last time, you wake up huddled against Spencer. Unlike last time, there’s no Emily banging the door down to drag you to the police station. No, it’s quiet.

You can’t see what time it is because there’s a Spencer between you and the clock. Your phone is in your back pocket but it’s hard to find any motivation whatsoever to move when you’re like this: face pressed into his chest, his head resting atop of yours so a single curl of his hair tickles your nose, his hand on your hip holding you against him.  

His eyelashes flutter, “Are you awake?”

“Yeah. I just woke up.”

He smiles, “Me too.”

“Looks like we did it again.”

“Looks like we did,” his voice is quiet.

“Do you want me to move? If I’m...I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

His free hand comes up to your chin, tipping it so you’re looking him directly in the eyes. His pupils are dilated. In the dim light it’s hard to place the look on his face exactly. But it’s soft.

"C-Can I kiss you?” the question spills quickly from his lips, like he’s afraid he’ll change his mind if he doesn’t get it out fast, “I just. I don’t know if that’s what you want too, I’ve just really-”

"Kiss me, Spence. Please kiss me.”

The smile on his face would have made you fall in love with him, if you weren’t already. And then he kisses you. Barely. Your lips are just grazing against one anothers. You tilt yourself upwards, towards him, giving him a better angle. Then he really kisses you, capturing your lips in his. It’s sweet, it’s soft, it’s...it’s everything. It’s everything, how his hands tangle themselves tentatively in your hair, how he kisses you so deeply, drinking you in.

His hand cups your cheek, then he’s pulling back, just a tiny bit, to mumble against your lips, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

The only appropriate way you can think to verbalise your agreement, is closing the gap between your lips again. There’s an urgency to it this time. Your lips move quickly, passionately. He swipes his tongue across your lower lip and you let him in, your tongues delicately dancing together. He’s good. He’s good and you don’t even notice the morning breath or faint taste of rum, it’s just Spencer.

When you finally come apart, you’re out of breath.

“I didn’t think you’d ever do that,” you say, “I was worried I was reading this whole thing wrong.”

He frowns then, that little nose crinkle appearing again, “I thought I was too obvious.”

“So did I. Maybe it’s best if we don’t tell Hotch how bad we are at profiling each other. He might rethink his decision to take us on.”

He laughs, “Not being able to profile when somebody’s in love with you might be a cause for concern. There are several obvious phyical signs of love, including dilation of pupils when looking at the object of your affection, heart rate synchronisation.”

“How am I supposed to know if our heart rates have synchronised?”

He smiles. Pressing a finger to your lips, he dips his head in the small chasm between your two chests. In the silence, in the early morning quiet, in the absence of all distraction you can hear it. The steady thrum of your hearts, pounding away at identical paces. The sound that told you that some part of you had always known.

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

Tagslist: @takeyourleap-of-faith​​ @sassiest-politician​​ (let me know if you’d like to be added/removed from this list)

[mercurial-madhouse]

Trigger Warning: Healing is painful, but there’s so much light on the other side if we’re strong enough to walk through the dark.

My hope in sharing my story is to help anyone who reads it find peace or healing, just as I always aim with my fiction. If it feels right to you to do so, I encourage you to reblog this. It is highly personal, but I choose to share it publicly.

************

This past Sunday, I received an email responding to my desire to withdraw from a fic fest. Instead of the simple “You have been removed from the fest” that I’d been expecting through an official channel from mods to a participant, this is the response I received. Please be aware, the following is painful.

***

We've removed you from the fest and will mark you down as not being welcome to participate in future fests. We show a great deal of compassion toward our writers, which is why we send reminders, answer any and all questions, and provide extensions when requested. There's a reason why our fest has one of the highest numbers of fics of any fest/challenge in the fandom - it's because we support our participating writers and do everything possible to assist them as they complete their fics.

However, once a writer has repeatedly failed to communicate and missed both a deadline and an extended deadline, it's clear that they do not have any respect for the fest, the mods, our time, or our own unique situations, as we don't have endless extra hours to track down participants in a fic fest. Several reminders on three different platforms, an extension, and requests for writers to simply let us know if they need more time does not demonstrate a lack of compassion in any capacity. We also showed a great deal of compassion by welcoming you with open arms into the [redacted] after you insulted the fest, insulted [redacted] fics, and made writers uncomfortable last year after signing up to beta their fics, all while pretending to support and uplift writers in the fandom just as you did in your email here.

Have a great week!

- [redacted] Mods

***

This email arrived right at the end of the night, just as I was lying down to sleep. I couldn’t read it all the way through. It elicited a trauma response in me. My heart started racing, my palms were sweaty, I was shaking, I felt sick to my stomach.

I went into fight/flight/freeze/fawn mode. My first response was to freeze. In order to escape the barrage of pain bombarding me, I simply dissociated and disconnected from my body. It allowed me to sleep, but barely. I deleted the email in a desperate attempt to pretend it didn’t exist.

The pain caught up with me twenty-four hours later. I couldn’t breathe, my lungs shrunk in around my heart. My whole body locked up. I couldn’t move. I knew that if I spoke, even to say ‘hello’ to someone, I’d start crying.

The moment I was alone in my room the tears came. The pain came, bursting through me. I sobbed uncontrollably, curled into myself on my bed, begging for the pain to stop, begging for a miracle, screaming internally for relief and to understand what I’d done to deserve this because I didn’t have the air for more than broken whispers.

I fell asleep whispering ‘I need a miracle’ over and over. The mantra blocked out all the disgusting thoughts that wanted to keep swirling through my head. This is it. This is the final proof that you don’t belong here. You never have. You never will. Run away, M. It’s over. You tried, you failed. You always do. You always will.

I fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

Grief is intense. These are the moments where we don’t think we’ll survive what we’re feeling. My love, whoever you are, if you are reading this, hear from me. The agony passed. I needed to feel that agony, to allow it to move through me and to give myself the space to feel it. Without diving off the deep end into what hurts, I wouldn’t have been able to find the inner peace to keep healing, to start to understand.

The residual pain is still there, even as I write this post. But it no longer overwhelms my senses. And by Tuesday morning, I’d been given insight into what was happening.

I experienced a trauma response because it mirrored mistreatment I first received in childhood from family and classmates alike and continued into my adult life. In full view of others, it was acknowledged as cruel even by my mother, who struggles with her own guilt because she never stood up for me. No one did.

So I internalized the mistreatment. I must deserve it if everyone else around me is ok with me being singled out like this? At first I spoke up for myself. But in the end I stopped speaking up for myself too. I had never healed this pain and here it was, coming back around again, forcing me to face it, to heal it once and for all.

I still do not know what exactly I may have said to cause these accusations that you see in the email. **I do not and will not deny them.** Even if my words were taken in a way I did not consciously intend, to deny that I said anything that caused someone else pain is to deny my own power AND to deny that everyone’s emotions are valid and worth digging into.

I have the power to inflict pain, just as I have the power to spread and share love and joy.

Whatever I said came from a place of pain, of believing I did not belong in this community. That I am not good enough or worthy enough to be here. A series of unfortunate but necessary events when I first entered this fandom completely disintegrated my core beliefs in my abilities as a writer, something I have always kept so close to my heart, and my belief that I had a place in this fandom.

I expect, as I look into my past patterns, that what I did was try to logic why I wasn’t allowed to belong. At the time, this fest was the only subset of the fandom I knew, I was so brand new. So I looked through all the prompts in the fest. I brought a scientific method view to answering the question: “What is it about the fics people write in this fandom am I unable/incapable of doing?”

This process allowed me to generalize everything I saw that I perceived as ‘I can’t do that, this is why I don’t belong here’. Consumed in my own doubt that I could measure up and write something worth reading, I dropped from the fest last year too. If I can’t contribute writing that’s worth reading, I could at least stick with what I do best, which is helping others be their best selves. I had signed up to beta, and I chose to cling to the only grasp of belonging I had, which was through beta’ing. I ended up beta’ing four fics last year for the fest. And, of course, each of them were (and still are) incredible fics. At the time, it was further proof to me of exactly what I can’t accomplish.

In all likelihood, these generalizations, stemming from a place of pain and jealousy because I wanted to write good fics too, came out in a personal conversation with someone, which they translated as a personal attack. It is valid. Whoever you are, your emotions are valid. It does not matter how I meant whatever I said, pain is what you felt. This person did not feel comfortable sharing that pain with me, so instead they turned to others and shared. My moment of vulnerability and pain then spread more pain.

Pain only comes from pain.

The response was to shadow ban me. In fact, I was never meant to find out about any of this. The pain this person shared was simply taken at face value and that was that.

So on my end, this decision showed up in the physical world this way: Suddenly all my asks went unanswered, people I tagged to share snippets and last lines and get to know more through ‘about me’ posts or who had once talked to me through DMs simply stopped speaking to me in a way that is only noticeable to the person being ignored. I thought I was going crazy. But there it was, right in front of me: absolute proof that I wasn’t good enough to be a part of this fandom.

Is anyone else beginning to see the cycle of pain?

I expect I continued this cycle right back, because the pain turned to bitterness. I’d been doing everything I could to support every author the best way I knew how, and this was what I got? The exact opposite?

I found out about this shadow ban and actual blocking around June of this year. An ask sent in by a friend for me, inquiring why I couldn’t reblog a post that’d been sent to me by someone else, finally gave me the answer that I’d been banned for the accusations you saw above.

Horrified, hurt, and unable to comprehend any of this except to know that I support every author no matter what they write, I sent an apology to the mods, trying to end this cycle the best I could without knowing any of the details of what had happened. There was nothing more I could do.

They thanked me for the apology, though as you can see from the email, it was never accepted. I do not say that as a judgement call, but simply as a statement of what happened. Everyone is entitled to accept or not accept in their own time and their own ways.

I have been healing so much since everything that occurred last year. And the more I dig in to this cycle, the more my heart goes out to the drafters of this email, to the person I hurt with my words who then turned to share it out of context with others, and to the people who shadow banned me in connection with this situation.

We attract to us what resonates with us. Like attracts like. Which means just as I’ve attracted the greatest friends to me, I have also attracted this pain, and conversely, these mods and that person attracted me to them.

Deep down, on some level we share the same core wounds. And the person who can really understand just how painful those wounds can be is someone who feels them too.

So this is my message to the mods of the above email, to those who have shadow banned me and want nothing to do with me, and to the original person I hurt with my words:

I am sorry for my part in this pain. I am sorry for causing pain and I apologize for it. You are loved. You are enough. You are doing a fantastic job. Your feelings are valid. Your hurt is valid. I don’t know what occurred that hurt you before I entered the fandom, but after finding out from others that an email like the one you sent above is ‘Oh that’s just how they are’ tells me something else happened to hurt you before I even arrived.

Your hurt then is valid too. Allow yourself to feel it and process it. Don’t let it consume you. Don’t let that hurt and fear of it happening again or believing that that’s how everyone is push away from you people who in fact love just what you love. If someone has a different belief from yours, don’t let it invalidate what is true for you. Believing internalized lies about myself only caused me pain. And we spread and create what we believe to be true, whether we consciously realize it or not.

So here, now, is my truth:

I choose to perpetuate love. I choose to spread love. I choose to understand my pain and the pain of others, to transmute it, and to heal it, instead of passing that pain on.

I choose compassion. Compassion for myself in making these mistakes, and compassion for those who have hurt me. I do not condone the email that was sent to me. No one deserves to be treated that way. I choose to focus beneath the visceral anger and lashing out, to focus on the agony beneath the words, and stop this cycle of pain.

I choose to belong in this fandom. I choose to support every author in this fandom and ensure no one ever feels not good enough. I choose to own my past mistakes and learn from them.

I choose trust. To trust that those who I truly hope will see this, will see it. I have no expectations of responses or outcomes or reactions. My only hope is that whoever will benefit from seeing this post will see it.

This is not a matter of right or wrong, bad or good, just or unjust. It is a situation of two parties in pain, triggered by the same triggers.

Looking back on that email, I’ve come to realize that half of the pain I felt when I received it was not my own. I felt the pain of the attack, sure, but I also felt the immense pain beneath those words. And I wish I could hug you. I acknowledge your pain and I acknowledge how painful it is because I know that pain myself. I also know that this pain isn’t you and it isn’t who you are.

So I choose to remember the mods I first met around this same time last year in this same email chain. Mods who were so kind and offered advice to a brand new writer even when she sent an email that had nothing to do with the fest and was still struggling to find her place in the fandom. I choose to remember how beautiful that kindness felt. I choose to remember how I was so grateful for that kindness that I shared my gratitude for these same mods in an email with with another fandom friend at the time. I am still grateful for you.

You are so loved. You are loved for being exactly who you are. This fandom is built upon love. A shared love of five incredibly talented lads who have brought so much joy and light when each and every one of us has needed it the most. Shine your light through the dark and believe with all your heart that you are not alone. You have support. I support you. Shine on. Don’t let anyone dim it.

[n00dl3gal]

Like Old Times (Father-Son Bonding AU)

A direct sequel to the “Expiration Date” fic, which I’ll link in a reblog. I’ve also posted all my fics in this AU to AO3!! Thanks again to @thetriggeredhappy for their help and just generally being a cool dude, and the Scoutsune Discord server for indulging my brainrot

No warnings beyond family schmoop!

Less than an hour after the bread monster incident, the Administrator called for a ceasefire. “Only while your base is repaired,” she said over the TV screen. “BLU is quite disappointed in this negligence- as am I. Regardless, you may use these three days as you see fit. Go home, stay here- whatever you do, no more bread monsters.” The screen turned off with a click. 

Scout exhaled through his nose. He was thankful there was no mention of him or Miss Pauling’s woodchipper. 

Spy decloaked behind him. “Less time than I wanted, but c’est la vie.” Scout looked at him over his shoulder. “I’m meeting with an old contact during our break,” Spy said in Italian. “Would you like to come along? It’ll be like old times.” 

Scout’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. At least this way, he’d get out of helping Engie and Heavy with repairs. And possibly meeting Miss Pauling’s woodchipper. 

“Excellent. Our flight is at 7 AM tomorrow.” 

“We’re flying commercial?” Scout asked, also in (more hesitant) Italian. 

“Our destination is continental. We’ll leave the base by 5:30.” Scout groaned as Spy started to leave. But- wait, he hadn’t- 

“Oi, where are we going, anyway?” he called back in English. 

Spy paused to look at him and smile. “Boston.” 

“Why do we always get the ass-crack-of-dawn flights?” Jeremy asked groggily, reclining his seat.

“They are the ones with first-class seats available,” Raphael replied. He took a sip from his mimosa. 

“Yeah, cuz God forbid you fly coach for once.” Jeremy shifted, trying to get comfortable. “Hey. Have I ever been to Boston before?”

Raphael didn’t answer immediately. His lip sucked in, as if in thought. “Yes. When you were very, very young. You wouldn’t remember.” 

Jeremy nodded. He wanted to ask more, there was something Raphael wasn’t saying but… well, he was never a morning person. He fell asleep before the plane even took off. 

. . .

It was mid-afternoon by the time they landed in Boston. Jeremy was never fond of long flights; having his legs cramped like that for extended periods of time was murder. He was half tempted to take a jog around Logan International. Raphael, on the other hand, was ushering them both to the car rental. “Can’t even get a stretch in, huh?”

“Unfortunately, we are expected by 4, and I would hate to keep my contact waiting,” Raphael explained in French, accepting the keys from the girl at the counter. “She’s not a very patient woman, in some regards.” 

Jeremy huffed but didn’t argue. He just followed his father to the rental, tossing his suitcase in the backseat. “Y’know, the girl at the counter-” 

“We will not have time for you to go out on a date, Jeremy.” 

“No! No, it was- her accent’s kinda like mine, it’s weird,” Jeremy said. Raphael started the car. “Cuz I’ve only been here as a baby, and I got mine from TV and shit. It’s just… really strange, is all.” 

Raphael made a quiet noise of agreement. “Some of the shows you watched as a child were filmed here. It’s not as complex as you think it is.” 

“Yeah, probably not…” 

The pair lapsed into silence as Raphael drove. Storefronts and high rises morphed into houses. It had been a while since they were in a residential area. RED, for understandable reasons, kept away from civilians. 

Raphael took the roads with practiced experience. Sure, it had been implied he knew the area. If he had a contact here- one with a house, presumably- he must’ve spent time here. But this- this was far too familiar. A bit suspicious, actually. 

Eventually, Raphael slowed in front of a more rundown Brownstone. Still quite nice, just needed a little work. It felt… welcoming, in a way Jeremy couldn’t name.

“Lotta cars,” he observed as Raphael parallel parked. “Must be a party going on somewhere.” 

“Hmm, perhaps,” Raphael said, turning the car off. “Would you mind ringing the doorbell for me? I need to grab something from the trunk. Ask for Sara Jane.” 

OK, now Jeremy knew something was up. He was never the one to make the first contact, that was always Dad’s job. Jeremy might be a full-grown adult, but there were some things that didn’t change. This was one of them. 

Still, he nodded. He climbed up the front steps and ringed the doorbell. He heard- multiple voices from inside, predominantly male, but they quickly silenced themselves. A TV, perhaps? They really ought to get that flower box on the second story window fixed- 

The woman who opened the door was a bit shorter than him, though not by much. She was wearing a simple dress, hoop earrings, and flats. Her hair was dark, curved to her chin. But her nose and earlobes felt… achingly familiar. Like Jeremy saw them all the time. 

“Um, hi, I’m looking for Sara Jane? My name’s-” The rest of his speech was knocked out of him as the woman launched herself at him. Jeremy braced for an attack, but quickly realized she was… hugging him. 

She was hugging him, sobbing, and choked out the word “Jeremy.” 

Wait. He knew that voice. He had only heard it a few times in his life, few enough he could count them on one hand, but he knew it. “M-Ma?” he whispered. 

The woman- Sara Jane- Ma looked up at him, still crying. Her hands found his face as she observed him. “Y-yeah, sweetie, it’s me, it’s-it’s your ma,” she said. 

“Ma!” he laughed, tears of his own dancing down his cheeks. He hugged her back, practically lifting her off her feet. “Oh my God, Ma! I-I never thought I’d-” 

“Oh Jeremy, sweetie, look how tall you’ve gotten! Last I saw you, you fit in my arms! My baby, my handsome baby,” she spoke over him. She rubbed circles into his back as they embraced. It felt so, so right. 

Jeremy laughed even harder. “Are you kiddin’? I got it from you, you’re beautiful, Ma!” He stared at her, trying to commit every mole and wrinkle and perfect flaw to memory. “I can’t believe- oh my God, I’m actually meeting you!” 

“It was long overdue,” another voice said, as Raphael joined them on the front stoop. “I had put it off for safety reasons, but considering our current, ah, situation… I felt it was worth the risk.” 

Sara Jane squealed, pulling Raphael into the hug as well. “You’ve been taking good care of my boy, you promise me, Raphael?” 

“Don’t worry Ma, he’s the best dad I could ask for, considering,” Jeremy teased. 

“Oh, don’t I know it. Called me up last night and told me to get the whole motley crew together. Even managed to get Melvin to bring his twin daughters, bless his wife’s heart,” she explained. 

Jeremy blinked. “Uh- Melvin? Daughters?”

Sara Jane laughed. It sounded so much like Jeremy’s it practically hurt. This was his mother. Lord, he’s finally seeing her. “Melvin’s your older brother, sweetie. Eh, sixth oldest. Bobby’s the oldest.” 

“I have a brother?”

“Oh honey, you’re the youngest of eight,” Sara Jane said plainly. 

“...fuck,” Jeremy whispered. 

. . .

He didn’t just have seven brothers. He had seven brothers, four of which brought their wives, one who brought his boyfriend, and three who brought their kids. And the kids totaled to an additional six, counting the babies. 

It was… an admittedly tight squeeze in the living room. 

Sara Jane introduced Jeremy. Jeremy had been expecting to be treated like a stranger. He had vanished when he was a baby, after all, and his younger-older brothers probably wouldn’t remember him at all. 

And yet, it was like he knew them all his life. 

They teased him and punched him playfully and acted so friendly, so familial it nearly made Jeremy break down. He was still crying from meeting Ma, but being dogpiled with so much affection was suffocating. In a good way. He had seen on sitcoms the intrinsic bond between family, and while he felt it with Dad, they also risked their lives nearly daily. But it was real, it was here, and it was wrapping him in a warm blanket. 

Despite the chaos and the sheer number of people, Jeremy didn’t feel overwhelmed. He laughed and played along with their jokes, cracking some back when he could get a word in. Scott ragged on his dog tags, he countered by pointing out the hole in his pants. Michael told him he was still a shortass, he replied with “it takes one to know one.” Elliot and Ricky were the closest to actually getting hurt, and that was only because Jeremy elbowed them both so hard they nearly fell over. 

For the first time in 25 years, Jeremy understood what “home” meant. 

The kids were especially curious, eager to meet their uncle and step-grandfather. Within seconds, young Rebecca- only four years old- was challenging Jeremy to a race around the house. “I’m the fastest kid in the world,” she bragged, puffing out her chest. 

“Oh yeah?” Jeremy asked. “That a fact?”

“You wanna test me? I beat Johnny Three-Legs at running, and he’s got three legs!” Jeremy laughed and stood from the couch, letting her lead him outside. “On the count of three, OK?”

“You’re on, pipsqueak,” Jeremy teased.

“Onetwothree GO!” Rebecca yelled, taking off in a sprint. Jeremy knew that, by all accounts, he should beat her. His legs were longer, she didn’t have the proper running stance, and it was his job to be fast. That’s what he got paid to do. But some small voice was telling him to let her win, so he did. “Ha! I told ya!” 

“Ya sure did,” he replied, mock panting. “Look at you, a freaking blur on the green. You’re goin’ to the Olympics, kid.” 

Rebecca beamed and hugged his leg. “Promise, Uncle Jeremy?” He nodded because, after that display, there was no way he could speak without squeaking like a chew toy. 

Rebecca skipped back inside, past Raphael, who was watching on the stoop. “You’re a natural with children,” he observed. “I used to do the same thing when you were that age.” 

“Wait- wait, really? You sure fooled me,” Jeremy said. 

Raphael rolled his eyes. “What’s my job again, mon lapin?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Jeremy leaned against the railing, watching Raphael’s cigarette smoke in the wind. “Hey. Uh… thanks for arranging all of this. You really didn’t need to.”

“But I did. I meant it when I said this was overdue. I’ve been wanting to introduce you to the rest of the family for a while, but have been unable. Then that whole ordeal with the supposed tumors, and-” Raphael exhaled slowly. “It wouldn’t have been fair to you if you died without knowing them. I would’ve never forgiven myself.” 

Jeremy punched his shoulder lightly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, pops. It all worked out, we’re still kicking, and that roast chicken Ma’s making smells incredible. Everything’s perfect.” 

Raphael finished his cigarette and smiled. “Oui. It is.” 

. . .

While Sara Jane had been able to get the rest of the family here, it was a school night. Kids needed to be tucked in by 9:30, so most of Jeremy’s brothers were gone by 8. Elliot was staying overnight, as was his boyfriend. Otherwise, the house quickly went from bustling to barren. 

It gave Jeremy a chance to explore his would-be childhood home.

He made his way upstairs, pushing open one of the doors. It led- to little surprise- to a bedroom. It was set up like a nursery, with a crib in one corner and a toddler bed in the other. Toys were scattered about across the floor. 

He heard Sara Jane sigh behind him. “This was your room, you know.” Jeremy turned to look at her as she flipped the light switch. “That crib… I had put you to bed the night your father planned to fake his death. I was in on the whole plan, naturally. He wanted to hold you one last time, so I said OK. When I woke up the next morning… you were both gone.” She exhaled slowly, grabbing onto his shoulder. “I wrote both of you off as dead, but I knew what had happened. Honestly, should’ve figured it out before then. You hadn’t woken me up crying,” she joked. Her eyes were watering. 

Jeremy hugged her, pulling her close. “You never took the crib down?” 

“By the time I was ready, Bobby’s wife was pregnant, so I kept it up for my grandbabies. I knew- I knew you were out there, sweetie. Both of you.” She kissed his cheek, squeezing him.

“I-I never got to be a normal kid, really,” he confessed. “I mean, Dad did his best, gave me comic books and board games and stuff, but-but I never went to school or made friends or anything like that. I-I didn’t even know I had a family. It took me forever to even realize I had a Ma. An-and everything I did-” The tears were flowing again, more freely than earlier. “Ya missed me losing my first tooth, and potty trainin’, and all that stuff parents should know about. I-I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

Sara Jane wiped his cheek dry. “Don’t apologize for what your father did, Jeremy. And definitely don’t apologize for me not potty training another kid. Besides… hold on, I’ll be right back.” She made her way down the hallway. Jeremy didn’t follow, instead deciding to examine the crib. This was where he grew up. It was a simple crib, obviously well-used. Not worn-down, mind, just… used. It had a history. A history that Jeremy wanted to decode, but unlike his dad’s ciphers, he didn’t have the key. 

“Took me a second to find it,” Sara Jane said. She handed him what appeared to be a scrapbook. “Raphael- he wrote when he can. Taught me some basic codes, would send out letters whenever you’d leave a town. Never left a return address, but…” Jeremy flipped through the pages, moving to sit on the small bed. The letters were all coded but appeared to be about how much Raphael missed Sara Jane. Updates on Jeremy’s growth. Letters from a father to his lover and son’s mother. 

One page jumped out to him, though. “I remember this,” he said, running his fingers against the paper. It was a simple drawing of a young boy, holding a catcher’s mitt, and a taller man next to him. “I drew this after Dad took me to my first baseball game, for my eighth birthday. I thought I lost the drawing after we skipped town, but- he sent them to you?”

Sara Jane nodded. “And I kept them all. Oh, honey, the day I first heard your voice on the phone- Mikey can tell you, I damn near fell over. You sounded so happy, and even if I couldn’t see you, that’s all a mother wants.” Jeremy leaned against her and she shut the book. “That’s all a mother wants, sweetie. To see her kids be safe and happy.” 

“I am, Ma,” he assured her. “I promise.” 

They sat like that for a while, with Sara Jane commenting on various letters and drawings in the scrapbook. Apparently, Raphael sent her money when he could- more frequently now that Mann Co. paid so well. She also had a rough idea of their current occupations. “I figure, if you and your father are working for the same company- with his skills, there’s gotta be a whole lot of nonsense going on out in that desert.” Jeremy laughed at that because she wasn’t wrong. “But I also figure since he raised you right, he’ll keep the both of you safe.” 

“I keep him safe too, don’t worry,” Jeremy added. “Uh- listen, it’s touching and all you kept the crib, but I don’t have to sleep in it, right?” 

They both had a good chuckle over that. Their laughs were in perfect harmony. 

. . .

The next two days were a mix of learning the family history and exploring Boston. It was the offseason, so there weren’t any games going on at Fenway, but Jeremy still got a picture in front of the park. Sara Jane took the pair to a restaurant that served “the best damn clam chowder in the contiguous United States.” Which, incidentally, led them to discover Jeremy was allergic to clams. Thankfully they didn’t have to go to the hospital- he just sort of immediately got sick before it passed- but it did suck.

It was damn good chowder, though. 

They went down to the harbor where the Boston Tea Party happened. It was crowded with people, resulting in them not staying long. Jeremy was a bit better with crowds than Raphael, but neither was great with them. Came with the job. Getting overpriced memorabilia from a nearby gift shop, though, went over much more smoothly. 

When not out on the town, Sara Jane dug out more scrapbooks and photo albums, catching Raphael up on what his stepsons had been up to. She showed Jeremy pictures from Ricky’s first school play to Scott opening up his butcher shop. Graduation pictures, wedding pictures, baby pictures- it was all there, and Jeremy devoured it. He wanted to know these people. He wanted to know his family. And he did. He learned about Michael’s stint in the Navy, Melvin meeting his wife, how Bobby’s son could dribble a basketball for twenty minutes straight. He learned about how his parents met. How Raphael loved each of Sara Jane’s children, even if they weren’t biologically his. How Jeremy wasn’t planned- few of the kids were - but they were both so, so happy to realize he was coming. 

He also learned that, while diner food would remain the undisputed king, homemade meatloaf came pretty close. 

. . .

The only problem came when it was time to leave. It wasn’t that Jeremy didn’t want to return to work, or leave his Ma behind. Sara Jane wasn’t even torn up over losing her son and lover again. It just felt like there was so much left to say, to do. There was uncertainty as to when they’d be able to return. “We get time off for Smissmas, I know that’s months away but I’ll be here, I promise,” Jeremy swore, hugging Sara Jane for the eighth time. 

“You better,” she said, squeezing him tightly. “You have 25 years worth of gifts to catch up on, not to mention birthday gifts-”

“Ma, you don’t have to go that far,” he whined. He was touched, sure, but the thought of that much luggage was truly frightening. Oh God, he was going to have to get gifts for everybody, wasn’t he? What do kids even want for Smissmas? 

“Hush, let me spoil my baby,” Sara Jane told him, kissing his cheek. “Oh, Jeremy…” 

Jeremy nodded. “I know, but I’ll call. I’ll write, too. Send pictures if I can.” 

“I’ll make sure he does,” Raphael assured her. Sara Jane stood to kiss his lips, with Jeremy looking away pointedly. “You have my word, ma petite chou-fleur.” 

“Alright, alright- now get going, I don’t want you two missing your flight. That boss of yours sounds like she’ll tear you both a new one if you’re late,” Sara Jane said, shooing them away. “Love you boys!” 

“I love you too, Ma!” Jeremy shouted back, for the very first time. 

The drive back to the airport was quiet. Jeremy stared out the window, watching his hometown- he had a hometown- pass by. “Hey, dad?” he asked, still looking outside. Raphael grunted to acknowledge he was listening. “One of these days, our contracts with Mann Co. are gonna expire. We’re gonna have to find new jobs.” 

“Yes, that’s correct,” Raphael said. He tapped a rhythm against the steering wheel. 

“And-and I was thinking when that time comes… maybe we could come back to Boston. Find some gigs out here,” Jeremy suggested. 

Raphael sighed. “Unfortunately, being a spy means that you don’t have the option of retiring, Jeremy. Not until you’re unable to complete your job. At that point, though, you’ve probably died a dozen times over,” he explained. “Even if I could retire, settling down somewhere so close to people I care about- I would still have enemies.” 

“Right. ‘Course,” Jeremy said. “It’s OK.” 

“That being said,” Raphael continued, “you have the luxury of youth and not being tied down to such a career. If you want to find a job in Boston after we finish with RED, there’s nothing stopping you.” 

“But people will still be after me, since I’m your son. And you wouldn’t be around.”

“Every child leaves their parents someday. And you’re strong, Jeremy. You can protect yourself and your family.” Raphael smiled. “I don’t believe Sara Jane needs much protecting, but I do worry.” 

Jeremy laughed. “I mean, did ya see the muscles on Scott and Michael? Guys can probably bench press a tractor!” 

They both chuckled before settling into quietude. Eventually, though, Jeremy had to break the silence. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, mon lapin.”

“...so your nickname for Ma is fucking ‘little cauliflower?’ What the hell, Dad?” 

[magalidragon]

paris is always a good idea | a Jonerys Drabble

Thank you @youwerenevermine​ for my wonderful birthday gift, I love it so much and I love Paris so much and Jonerys and you for making this for me so I felt inspired and wrote a quick little drabble thing, lol. It’s only the fourth time I’ve written Jonerys in a modern, non-Westeros world, but it was fun!  And I wanna’ go back so much!  Paris, je t’aime!

They met while in university, oddly enough, as fate would have it, on her birthday.

She had been there to study art, for a year abroad, savoring every last second wandering the wide, arched hallways of the Louvre, staring at grand masters for hours on end, burning the vibrant colors and mesmerizing brushstrokes into her memory, wishing she could be as good as them one day.  One day, someone would have her art in their house, and proudly boast they'd gotten it back when she was but a nobody, painting on the streets or in the grassy parks.  

Since it was her birthday, she decided to treat herself, and instead of heading straight to the university to get some time in the studio, she decided to get an ice cream at Berthillon, heading to the Ile-St-Louis instead of to the metro, taking her time to admire, as she often did, the glory of Notre Dame, it’s gargoyles and buttresses.

At the glacier she took her time selecting a flavor, did not even mind paying the exorbitant price and shouldered through tourists taking refuge from a cold rain that had begun to fall. She savored it, the clean water bouncing off her peat coat and the beanie she’d tugged over her silver hair.

She was about to set off, to eat her ice cream and wander into the Marais, perhaps drop down into the Latin Quarter— maybe take a trip to Chanel or Dior or Celine to admire the creations she couldn’t afford— when her ice cream went flying, straight onto the wet sidewalk. Where a mass of pidgins attacked it with gusto.

“Merde! Faites attention!” she shouted, stomping her Doc Marten on the ground in petulant annoyance.

The man who had bumped her because he’d been roughhousing with another friend had been apologetic.  He bought her another and said his name was Robb Stark. He was from Scotland, was on spring break with his buddies, which she didn’t care about. To apologize he invited her for a drink, especially when the worker who she’d told it was her birthday had commented on it again when she got another ice cream.

She figured why not?  He was attractive, sorry, and nice enough so she agreed, although she had commented his French was terrible best to speak English. “You’re English?” he had teased.

“Half and half,” she answered. English father, French mother.

At the comptoir where she suggested they meet, in Montmartre, she brought her roommate Missandei and Missandei’s boyfriend Grey. It was just a drink and they’d leave and go to the dinner Missandei planned to take her to anyway.

Except that’s where she met him.

The dark, brooding figure at the tiny table in the corner, ignoring Robb and Robb’s friend Theon, and a couple others, favoring silence and his drink. He was in all black, barely acknowledging her and slipped out for a smoke when Robb began to shamelessly flirt. She didn’t care about Robb, she cared about him.

Jon.

She exited, saw him lighting a cigarette against a lap post. She flicked her coat collar up and sidled towards him. “Puis-j’en avoir un?”

“Sorry I don’t speak,” he began, and his eyes— black in the orange lamplight glow— flicking to her. He smiled gently “French.”

She smiled and repeated her question in English.  “Can I have one?  A smoke  that is?”

He stuck the cigarette between his pouty, sinful lips, framed with a cropped dark beard, and reached into his coat pocket, removing a pack. She took one delicately and he lit it, cupping his hands around the tip so the wind didn’t blow it out.

A stream of smoke escaped her nostrils when she puffed and she smiled up at him, hoping he got the hint. “Do you like Paris?”

“Not especially.”

“Aw come on,” she teased. She hummed, closing her eyes and taking in the cold night. The electric buzz is people on the street and at the cafes and bars around them. “Paris is always a good idea.”

“Someone famous said that.”

“Audrey Hepburn.”

He sucked on the cigarette and smiled, a tiny one, the curve of his lip sly rather than shy.  “You aren’t in there with the rest of them.”

“Because it’s my birthday and I want to do what I want to do.”  She stubbed the cigarette out on the post and turned, disposing it in the bin by the door.  A quick text to Missandei: I’m going to skip dinner, I think I have a date, she turned and studied him.  “I’m…”

“Dany,” he said. He shrugged, finishing his smoke. “I remember.”  

Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t think you were listening when Robb introduced me.”

“I was.”  He pulled the tartan scarf around his neck tighter.  He glanced towards Sacré-Cœur, illuminated white in the lights around its base. He smirked at her.  “You going back in?”

She shook her head. “No,” she drawled. She followed his gaze to Sacré-Cœur. “Have you been up there?”

“No.”

“You should. Some of the best views of Paris.”

He chuckled, voice tight. “You should invite Robb.”

“I think he might be a third wheel.”

It took him a second, the gears in his mind turning, understanding what she was saying. He cocked his head. His black curls were in a mess around his face. A few scattered rain drops landed on them, and he shook it free like a dog. Or a wolf, she thought, noting the animal embroidered on the edge of his scarf.

He narrowed his eyes again. “I told you I don’t really like Paris.”

“Why?”

“It’s loud. Busy. Dirty.”

She laughed. “Every city is like that but in Paris it’s different.”

“Why?”

Her bravado got the better of her and she stepped towards him, linking her arm through his. If he didn’t get it now, he was a stupid fool who deserved it when she kicked him into the gutter. “Because,” she murmured, rising to her toes, trying to gaze as directly as she could into his eyes, which she now saw were actually gray. His breathing quickened. “You’re with me.”

The wolf got the point with that comment. He allowed her to keep her arm around his and lead him towards the cathedral.  They spoke of nothing and anything on the long walk through Montmartre to the highest point in the city.  

He was in Paris for a research trip.  He was studying medieval weapons and was going out to Bayeux to study some relics. His cousin Robb and friends came along for the free trip.  They spoke about being starving artists in their field-- her literally an artist as it were.  They talked about Paris-- how much he disliked it, how much she adored it.  The top of Sacre-Coeur might have changed his mind, but he pretended he still didn’t get the appeal, so she dragged him back down to the streets, to her favorite all-night boulangerie, into the metro and across town to the Eiffel Tower, spinning in circles on the Champs du Mars.  They ran across the Pont-de-la-Concorde and across the Tullieries.  They wandered down the Seine, smoked cigarettes in the doorsteps of old buildings in the Latin Quarter, and drank cheap wine in one of the tourist-cafes near the Jardin du Luxembourg.  

They meandered back through the streets, the city oddly quiet, the rain stopping, and she brought him to her garret studio in the Bastille, up the six flights of stairs to the top of the building, where she shed her coat and boots adn scratched her fat cat Drogon’s ears, leading him to the wrought-iron bars in one of the four windows she had, pushing the window open and crawling out, up onto the roof where she wanted to show him something.  

“Look,” she directed, when he climbed up next to her-- less gracefully-- pointing to the lit-up Eiffel Tower.  

He cursed under his breath.  “It’s gorgeous.”

“It’s my favorite place in Paris.  The rent is steep, but it’s worth it for this.”  She chuckled.  “And it has the best view.”

He whispered.  “Yes, it does.”  

And to her surprise, since she didn’t realize the time, the tower began to twinkle, the 20,000 lights across its metal beams flickering and she glanced sideways; he wasn’t watching the tower, but her face.  She arched her brows.  “You know, the lights twinkle for five minutes every hour, on the hour.”  She smiled and shrugged, whispering.  “It’s a sign that you’re supposed to return to Paris.”

Instead of saying anything, like how silly that was, he leaned in and cupped her face in his wide palm, callused and warm, bringing her face to meet his, kissing gently, in the twinkly glow of the lights.  He pulled back a moment later, breathing, “I think I like Paris.  And you’er right...this place has the best view.”  His eyes were wide on hers, focused.  She chuckled, nodding in agreement, and pulled him back to her for another kiss.

That night she savored every moment with him, as they pulled each other’s clothes off slowly, kissing and touching, every smooth curve and muscle of each other, each hard ridge and plane of his strong, muscular body or her soft, lean one.  He touched her and kissed her and stroked her in ways she’d never experienced, bringing her to heights she’d only dreamed about.  It was intense, the lights behind her closed eyelids when she came, over and over, gripping his shoulders, hair, the bedframe behind her.  He rose up and over her, in and out, their bodies moving as one, thrusting and arching.  

She didn’t know if she’d see him again; if this was a one-time, romantic Parisian adventure, but in the morning when she woke, she found him coming back inside from getting pastries and coffees, the faintest scent of cigarettes and her toothpaste on his lips when he kissed her good morning.  

They exchanged their information, vowing to speak daily, and he would see her when he got back from Bayeux.  She couldn’t believe when he did call and he kept his word.  “When you lie, words lose their meaning,” he’d explained, obviously reading her surprise.  

And when her year ended in Paris, she found herself in London, back at university, dreaming of their magical time there, even when they made time for each other, going back and forth from London to Edinburgh; and he from Edinburgh to Paris during the last couple of months of her year there.  

They made it a priority; every single year they spent time in Paris, like they were students again, on that magical night.  

They grew older, no longer needing to find the cheapest drinks and cigarettes, or staying in studio garrets, eventually able to experience some of the best hotels and restaurants the city had to offer, as he sold books and became a well-known author and professor, and her dream of becoming a famous artist came true, when sure enough, someone bought one of her paintings on the side of the Seine, someone who happened to be an art dealer in New York.  

It was their city, where they met, and where they could remember.  

After they married, about fifteen years after that fateful birthday, they visited again, and spun together on the Pont-Neuf, kissing and murmuring how they loved each other and always would, and he took her back to the tiny studio garret, which was now theirs, and sat on the rooftop and watched the Eiffel Tower sparkle.  

“Paris is always a good idea,” she murmured, head in the crook of his neck, her back to his front, wrapped in a warm blanket, and his arms tight around her middle.  She tilted her face up to his, sated, and still hopelessly in love with him.  “Take me to Paris, Jon.”

He nuzzled his nose into her cheek, whispering.  “You are Paris, Dany.”

As it was the city where they’d met, fallen in love, and found true happiness, she grinned, because that was his way of saying how much he loved her.  She brushed her lips over his, sighing, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”  

And they kissed, as the Eiffel Tower lit up, and she curled up into him, falling asleep in the city of love and lights.