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fortheloveofwonderland · 11 months

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My Reply | S.R

This one was a request from the lovely @reidsaurora-replies for my milestone celebration which got wildly out of hand. I think I damn near used every lyric of the song in this one. Also, Maeve does not exist in this universe. I felt like his phone calls with her were too similar to the letters with reader and not needed

Summary - Spencer writes his deepest tragedies down on paper for his pen pal. After ten years of exchanging letters and some divine intervention from JJ, the two of you finally come face to face.

CW - this one covers most of Spencer’s canon storylines including Tobis Hankel and his drug addiction, his moms illness, his fathers abandonment, getting shot in the knee, his headaches, Emily’s “death”, prison arc, Mr Scratch and Emily’s kidnapping, angst, interfering friends, lots of literary quotes.

WC - 6.3k

Making friends was always something Spencer Reid had been inherently bad at. He was always too young or too smart which always seemed to put people off of forming friendships with him.

When he joined the BAU, his team called themselves his friends. But Spencer knew if he’d met any of them outside of work he would have nothing in common with them.

They were simply friends by proximity, which admittedly was better than having no friends at all. But he couldn’t talk to them about everything, afraid to scare them away with talk of his mothers illness or his fathers abandonment.

And sometimes he just needed to talk to someone.

It was Garcia’s idea that he sign up for a pen pal. When she found out about his mom during the course of the fisher king case, he’d confessed that he didn’t feel comfortable talking to the team about such things.

At first she’d actually suggested talking to someone online, she had many online friends who she talked to in various chat rooms. But after almost an hour of trying to explain that to the technophobe doctor and getting little more than a deep frown in response, she changed tact.

A pen pal appealed to Spencer greatly. He already wrote daily letters to his mom and found it somewhat cathartic, getting his thoughts down on the page, but he never bothered her with the darker stuff.

The idea of a faceless person he’d never meet reading his deepest, darkest thoughts was actually intriguing to him. And so with the help of Penelope he found himself a pen pal.

In his first letter he’d just introduced the basics, his name and age, what he did for a living and that he lived in DC.

He went on to explain how hard he found it to make friends and the difficulties of talking to his already established friends about the darker parts of his life. He ended the letter with a quote from To Kill a Mockingbird.

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view…until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” - Harper Lee.

He received a reply little over a week later.

Your name was Y/N and you were twenty two, three years younger than him and a grad student at Columbia University. You told him you would be happy to read whatever he sent you, that you were more than willing for him to write to you about the things he didn’t tell his friends.

You signed off with a quote of your own quote from the book Infinite Jest.

“You will become way less concerned with what other people think of you when you realise how seldom they do.” - David Foster Wallace.

And so he did just as you said and he wrote another letter.

His second letter to you was five pages long. He went into great detail about his mothers illness, how he’d been left to deal with it alone at ten years old. He wrote about how he’d made the decision at eighteen years old to have her committed to a sanitarium.

He told you about growing up as a child prodigy in Las Vegas and how hard that was. You were the first person he ever told about Alexa Lisbon and being tied naked to a flagpole.

He spoke about the events surrounding Elle leaving the team and how it didn’t feel complete without her.

He ended the letter by apologising profusely that he’d wasted your time with his long winded rambles and said he hoped to hear from you soon and scrawled a quote from The Great Gatsby.

“The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald.

He said he would understand if you didn’t reply. But you did.

The letter took two weeks to arrive and you explained that it was because you wanted to really process his words and give each and every one of them the time they deserved. He read the last few lines of your letter over and over again in a loop even though they were etched into his memory after only one glance.

I wish there was something I could say, to erase each and every page you've been through,

even though it's not my place to save you.

“When I get lonely these days, I think: so be lonely. Learn your way around loneliness. Make a map of it. Sit with it, for once in your life. Welcome to the human experience. But never again use another person’s body or emotions as a scratching post for your own unfulfilled yearnings.” - Elizabeth Gilbert - Eat, Pray, Love.

He wasn’t familiar with the book and so he’d gone out and brought it and read it cover to cover within an hour.

Reading your letter made Spencer feel understood for the first time in his young life. You didn’t pass judgement on him. Spencer found that between the pages of your letters he found a kindred spirit.

The letters continued back and forth for several months until one day you didn’t receive a reply. His last letter had been penned to you on route to a case in Atlanta, which you’d responded to the day you received it. But there was radio silence from Spencer.

You shouldn’t have been as worried as you were, but you couldn’t help yourself. His letters had become such a huge part of your world, often rereading them hundreds of times just to make sure you didn’t miss any little nuance on the page.

His handwriting was ingrained within you, his scrawly, sometimes barely legible penmanship danced behind your eyelids every time you closed your eyes. His letters had rapidly become the best part of any day. And for over a year you didn’t receive a reply.

After a while you’d stopped holding out hope every time you collected your mail. Eventually you gave up ever expecting to hear from him again. Maybe he didn’t need you anymore. Perhaps he’d made a real life friend, maybe even a girlfriend and you’d been rendered ineffective.

But then little over a year after you sent your last letter, you found an envelope in your mail slot with the familiar handwriting you adored so much and the DC postmark.

Y/N,

I don’t really have any excuses, all I can say is I’m sorry. I have written you fifty three letters over the course of the last year but never mailed a single one. They are piled up on my desk, addressed and even stamped, but I couldn’t bring myself to mail them.

I’ve been struggling, I can’t lie to you. I can’t even lie to you through a letter and tell you I’ve been fine because I haven’t. I think you would see through my prose, know that I wasn’t being truthful. And you’ve never given me a reason to be anything but honest with you.

The case in Atlanta was one of the hardest I’ve ever worked. I’m not going to beat around the bush, I’m just going to tell what happened and hopefully this letter will end up with you and not in the pile on my desk.

I was kidnapped by the man we were hunting down. I spent two days tied to a chair being beaten within an inch of my life but a man with multiple personalities. In fact, that’s not strictly true. I wasn’t beaten within an inch of my life; one of the personas killed me.

I’m not entirely sure how long I was technically dead before he revived me but obviously not long enough to cause permanent neurological damage. Irreversible brain damage occurs after four minutes without oxygen so it stands to reason it was less than four minutes.

But during that time, my life flashed before my eyes, including every single word of every single one of your letters.

One of the alter’s drugged me in his own way of trying to save me. Drugging me was supposed to help with the pain, both mental and physical. I fought it at first, desperate for him not to stick that needle in my vein. But after that first hit, I stopped resisting.

I think you can probably already see where this is going. You’re incredibly smart and you seem to know me so well. After I shot Tobias Hankel dead I took three vials of dilaudid from his corpse.

I should have prefaced this by saying I am now ten months sober, and offered up the good news first. But there were several months that I continued using the drug in secret, hoping it would aid in erasing the memories of it all.

It took a case in New Orleans in which I met up with an old friend Ethan and ended up almost destroying my career for me to decide to get sober. I’ve had a lot of difficulties in my life, as you know, but getting clean is the hardest thing I have ever done.

And now for the first time in months I’m craving again. Maybe that’s why I’m writing to you, determined to send this letter this time. I need to know that everything is going to be ok and you are the only one that I will believe it from.

My team tries. Now it's all out in the open, they try to help. But you don’t even need to try. Your help is so effortless, so easy and I’m in real need of that right now.

His letter went on in this vein for another six pages. He also included several pages of handwritten poetry which he had copied out of a book to send you. With each word you consumed you felt your heart breaking for him a piece at a time.

And he signed off with a surprising choice of quote from The Lorax.

“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.” - Dr Seuss.

You spent the next month or so trying to cultivate the perfect reply, but for the first time in your life, words failed you.

It was three days after Spencer received his one year sober chip that your letter arrived.

I got your letter and the poetry you sent me, postmarked in December of last year. I really hope you’re doing better, all your friends close by your side, one step closer to recovery.

I hope by the time you receive this you are close to one year sober, but if you didn’t make it you need to know that’s ok too. Life is full of ups and downs Spencer. If you didn’t make it this time you will the next time. Or the one after that.

If you relapsed I need you to not beat yourself up over it. You will be ok, Spencer Reid, for that I am certain.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.” Maya Angelou - I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.

***

When he got shot in the knee, he wrote to you from the hospital. He told you how hard it was for him to turn down pain medication when he was in so much agony. But he was over two years sober now and he wouldn’t do anything to risk a relapse.

Your reply spoke of how proud of him you were and how you knew it couldn’t have been easy for him but you hoped the fact you were proud went some way to aid him.

He told you it meant more to him than you would ever know.

Then he started having headaches and the letters became sporadic. When he did write he told you how painful it was for him to try to focus on the words in front of him.

I’ve seen so many doctors and no one can tell me what’s wrong with me. It’s like they think I’m making it up, like this pain isn’t real.

On my good days it’s a dull throb but on the bad days it’s nearly paralysing. I’m so scared that this is a precursor for schizophrenia. I'm still young enough for my first break, and it is a genetic illness.

I love my mom but I can’t turn out like her, Y/N, I just can’t. I'm so, so scared.

But your letters are the greatest comfort to me. I don’t think there are words to describe how much they mean - I will try to surmise it with a quote from Charlotte's Web -

"'Why did you do all this for me?' he asked. 'I don't deserve it. I've never done anything for you.' 'You have been my friend,' replied Charlotte. 'That in itself is a tremendous thing.'" - E.B White.

You could feel his fear through the pages. His handwriting was somehow even harder to read than usual and sentences often tapered off with no ending. There were whole passages scribbled out so violently his pen had ripped the paper in places. There were crude drawings of brains and dark rain clouds in the margins.

Spencer,

I am so sorry you are going through this and that no one can give you the answers you seek. But this isn’t the end for you, even if it is schizophrenia, you can still live a full and normal life.

If you'll just hold on for one more second, if you just hold on to what you have, you will wake up tomorrow. Behind every rain cloud lies the sun. As Victor Hugo said in Les Miserables -

“Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.”

In his next few letters he seemed to be getting better, his headaches slowly dissipating until they only hassled him every once in a while. Things seemed to be looking up for him.

But then one of his best friends died.

His detailed letter told you all about Ian Doyle and Emily’s history with him and went on to conclude how she died on the operating table.

I’ve been through a lot of trauma in my life, lost a lot of people close to me but never like this. I’ve never had to bury someone I love and honestly I don’t know how to move past this.

My initial reaction has been dilaudid. It's the only thing I can think of to take the pain away.

Tell me not to do it, Y/N, please. Please tell me that this grief will get better and that using drugs again is not the answer. Please help me stay clean.

"When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time — the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers.” John Irving - A Prayer for Owen Meany

It took you longer than it should have done to formulate a reply. You felt pressured, like his sobriety hung in your hands. You hated that his friend had died but you didn’t think it was fair of him to put this on you. And you told him such.

Spencer,

I am sorry to hear about Emily, I know how close the two of you were. I’m no expert on grief, I can’t tell you how to deal with this.

You know full well that using dilaudid again is a bad idea, you really don’t need me to tell you that. Honestly, I’m a little frustrated at you for putting this on my shoulders.

I am always here to help Spencer, in any way I can but sometimes I think you expect too much from me. We’ve been trading letters back and forth for the better part of five years and I don’t think you’ve ever really asked me about myself aside from those first initial letters.

And it’s fine, you needed this friendship more than I did. But over time this has started to feel so one sided and I don’t always look forward to your letters as much as I once did.

I realise this is not the best time for me to be saying these things but I can’t hold back any longer. I’m glad I can be someone you can turn to but I have my own life, my own issues and I have no one to talk to about them.

You put too much pressure on me Spencer and it’s a lot to take. I’ve tried to help shoulder your misery all these years but it’s starting to bring me down. All I can say is you need to wake up, you've gotta believe; you can't give up. Time keeps going on without us, long after we're dead and gone.

And you finished it with a simple quote from After You by Jojo Moyes.

“No journey out of grief was straightforward. There would be good days and bad days.”

It was no surprise to you that you didn’t receive a reply.

***

Y/N,

It’s been two years and I’m sorry for that. Two years, one month and eleven days. The truth is your last letter was hard for me to read as you can probably understand.

The hardest part of reading it was the fact that I knew you were right. I’ve been selfish all these years. I’ve treated you like a sounding board for my problems and never once asked how you were.

It's taken me time to write this because I wanted to get to a better place before I responded. I was angry at first, I felt like I was being abandoned again and my anger would not have been conducive.

Then I was hurt, hurt that the one person I thought would always be there for me had turned their back on me. I displaced my grief over Emily’s death onto you and anything I would have written in that time would have only been the rage fuelled epitaph of a grieving man.

And then once I dealt with those emotions, life simply got away from me. Emily was alive and well, her death was faked to get Doyle off of her back. Again I was angry about being lied to by my friends but eventually I was just happy she was alive.

Then I turned thirty and had a crisis of faith I suppose. I guess with my intellect I always assumed I would be doing something more with my life and turning thirty kind of threw me through a loop.

We had some changes to the team, new agents coming and going. All in all things have been somewhat hectic.

But that’s not why I’m writing.

I am writing because I really do want to know everything about you. I want you to be able to open up to me the way I always have to you. I want to be your shoulder, your repreve. I really hope I haven’t completely blown our friendship and I hope to be the kind of person who you can talk to.

These arms remain stretched out to you and maybe someday you'll accept them. Maybe it's too late to save a young girl's heart that's long stopped beating. But I hope that it isn’t.

“You have been in every way all that anyone could be…if anybody could have saved me it would have been you.” Jennifer Niven - All the Bright Places.

You wanted to tell him it was too little too late, that after two years of silence you weren’t interested anymore.

You wanted to simply not reply, ignore him entirely like he’d done to you.

But you couldn’t. And so you replied.

It was your longest letter to date, depicting in great detail how he’d made you feel over the years and all the hardships you’d faced without having someone to vent to.

But getting to write it all down had been purifying, and by the time you were finished you weren’t mad anymore.

I am willing to give this another shot, but things have to be different. If we’re to continue this friendship then it has to be a two way street.

But I can’t pretend that I haven’t missed your letters because I have. I see pieces of you between the words, parts of yourself I’m not sure you realise you leave on the page.

I’ve painted a picture of you in my mind's eye and even after two years with no letters, I’ve carried that picture with me wherever I go.

I feel like I somehow know you better than I know myself and I hope going forward you can start to know me the same way. Charlotte Bronte once said -

“Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.” - Jane Eyre.

***

Spencer didn’t know how it happened, he only knew that it had happened. Over the course of all the years writing to you it was almost a surprise it hadn’t happened sooner. Or maybe it had and he just didn’t realise until now.

Spencer Reid had fallen in love with the woman who wrote her prose to him.

It had been ten years of letters, every single one of which he kept in their envelopes in date order in the bottom drawer of his desk at home.

Those letters were his lifelines on bad days, the one thing that kept him tethered. He didn’t even know what you looked like, even what you sounded like but he loved you. He loved you with every fibre of his being.

And he couldn’t stop himself from telling you exactly what you meant to him. Even if it inevitably destroyed what the two of you had, he couldn’t stop the words from flying across the page.

So that’s pretty much everything that’s happened these past few weeks. Mom’s doing ok but obviously it's a huge adjustment for her and I’m not entirely sure how long I can keep her living with me but for now it works.

How did the interview go? I have absolutely no doubts that you blew them all away with your presentation, you’re a hard person not to fall in love with.

Your presence in my life has brightened my every waking minute. You once told me that behind every rain cloud lies the sun; you are the sun behind my clouds. Your letters bring me back to life, your handwriting penned onto my soul.

Is it foolish of me to be in love with someone I have never laid eyes on? William Makepeace Thackery said in Vanity Fair -

“It is better to have loved wisely, no doubt: but to love foolishly is better than not to be able to love at all.”

I suppose that’s as good of an answer as any.

***

Five days after he penned his love confession, he was arrested in Mexico. Once all the drugs had left his system, only after he was extradited and arraigned and placed at Milburn was he able to dwell on the fact he never received your reply.

And being trapped in a cell gave him way too much time to think about that.

It was possible you had replied, maybe even just to tell him he was crazy to even think he could be in love with someone he had never met. But he was sure you wouldn’t have even bothered to respond, thinking him a lunatic you needed to cut ties with.

After a month in prison on one of JJ’s visits she brought a letter with her which she had found in his apartment. She recognised the handwriting on the envelope from several she’d seen him reading over the years.

She wasn’t allowed to give him the letter but she offered to read it to him. At first he’d declined because he had no idea what to expect from your reply but after several long minutes he’d decided to let JJ read it to him.

Spencer,

I am pleased to hear your mom is doing well but I do think you know that this solution won’t work in the long run. You say you live in a one bedroom apartment? You and I both know that you can’t sustain having your mother live there permanently. But I know you and I know you will figure out what’s best for you both.

The interview was amazing and they offered me the job on the spot. If it wasn’t for all your help with the presentation there is no way I would have gotten it, so thank you so much for that.

As for the other thing…

For some time now I have been wondering about feelings I didn’t understand. You’ve been such a large part of my life for so long and even though we’ve never met I feel like we have, if that makes sense? I feel like in my heart I know you. My heart knows your heart.

Falling for you was as inevitable as the sun rising each morning. Perhaps it is foolish but I believe Thackeray knew what he was talking about. And I also believe Emily Bronte was talking about me and you when she said, “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

Spencer had interrupted JJ then, when she was smiling from ear to ear as she read your words out loud.

“That’s enough.” He cut her off, burying his head in his hands.

“Wow, Spence, I had no idea you’d met someone.”

“I haven’t met anyone. She is simply a woman at the other end of a series of letters.”

“How long?” JJ placed the pages down in front of her.

Spencer looked up at her, a small blush on his cheeks. He didn't want to be talking about this, least of all on the other side of a plexiglass screen with his other inmates nearby but he responded all the same.

“Ten years.” He shrugged.

“Ten years?” JJ sounded incredulous. “Ten years of letters and you’ve never met? Why?”

“I, uh, it never really came up.” It wasn’t a lie, you’d never once discussed meeting in all those years.

“Is it like a distance thing? Does she live far away?”

“No,” He sighed with a shake of his head. “She’s in New York.”

“New York!” She huffed. “New York is a five hour train journey, Spence!”

“Jennifer, now is really not the time for this.” He lowered his voice as JJ’s had garnered eyes in their direction. “There is really no point in discussing this as we have no idea when or even if I’m going to get out of here.”

“Don’t say that.” She shook her head.

“It’s true.” He shrugged sadly. “I really can’t think about all this right now, ok? Just take the letter back to my apartment and pretend you didn’t see it. Please?”

If it weren’t for the desperation in his eyes she might have argued it. But she didn’t want to waste what little time she got to spend with Spencer fighting.

“Ok.” She relented with a small roll of her eyes.

“Thank you, JJ.” He offered a tight lipped smile. “How are the boys?”

JJ filled him in but she wasn’t really focused anymore. In her head, she was already penning a letter of her own…

Y/N,

My name is Jennifer Jareau, JJ, and I work with Spencer at the BAU. I’m not sure if he’s mentioned me to you or not. He hasn’t really told me too much about you if I’m honest. But I have learned that he has strong feelings for you and you for him. I’m wondering if I can make a suggestion…

***

When you received the strange letter from Spencer’s friend JJ in response to yours, you’d been initially extremely confused as to why he was letting his teammates read your secret correspondence.

But when she’d gone on to tell you that Spencer had been arrested along with all the details surrounding his incarceration and how she’d read your letter to him during their visitation, you started to understand.

But then a few days later, before you had a chance to reply to her, you received another letter from Spencer with a postmark from Milburn Correctional Facility.

Y/N,

Maybe Thackeray and Bronte were right or maybe they were wrong, I can’t say for sure. What I can say with certainty is that I can’t carry on like this a moment longer.

Something has happened to me, it won’t be hard for you to figure out what as soon as you see the postmark. I am not willing to get into it or explain how I ended up here. But I have no idea how long I am going to be inside and I don’t want the rest of our communication to be sent through a string of guards who will pick apart each tormented sentence.

I ask you not to write me back. This has to be the end of the road my dear. This letter has to be our last. I don’t know how much longer I will continue to be able to live like this. Each day my hope dies a little more and I’m sure I won’t make it out of here alive.

I am writing simply to say thank you. Thank you for all your years of listening, for all your patience and kind words and your hopeful prose. In my darkest hours you have shown me the light, dragged me out of the shadows of my own creation.

I love you for all that you are and all that you have done but even you can’t save me this time. This really might be the end for me and I don’t want you to blame yourself. You are the only reason I made it this far in this treacherous game we call life.

Take care of yourself, continue to live your absolute best life. And in time I pray that you forget me and are able to love someone far more tangible.

All that is left to say can be summed up by a quote from The Miniaturist -

“You are the sunlight through a window, which I stand in, warmed. My darling.” Jessie Burton.

You replied firstly to Spencer, his heartbreaking words more pressing than JJ’s letter. You kept it short and to the point, knowing that various other prison guards would read it before it even made it to his hands.

I appreciate but can't accept this thank you note that's sealed with your last breath and I won't stand aside and listen to you give up.

You are stronger than that Spencer Reid and if I know anything about your team from all the years of hearing you speak of them it’s that they are the best at what they do and they will prove your innocence.

Just remember what Ernest Hemmingway said in A Farewell to Arms -

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are stronger at the broken places.”

You will be stronger at those broken places, Spencer, I have no doubt about it.

And besides, if you don’t make it out of there, how do you propose to ever meet me?

Whilst on a role, you grabbed a clean sheet of paper and started scrawling again.

Jennifer,

Thank you for your letter. I have spent some time musing on your suggestion and I think you might be right.

I think it's time for me to take a trip to DC…

***

Spencer never opened your last letter because he had no intention of replying to it. If he didn’t read it, he could pretend you had never sent it and he wouldn’t be tempted to write a response.

Instead he stuffed it between the pages of his book and tried not to think about it.

After two and half months his team proved his innocence and he was released but he was thrown into the deep end of trying to find his mother.

And even once he found her unscathed, he was rapidly thrust right into Scratch’s web after he kidnapped Emily.

Taking the elevator back up to the BAU alongside JJ after they’d escorted Emily to the hospital it already felt like a lifetime had passed since he left prison. And all he wanted to do was chronicle all of it to you.

Maybe once the dust settled, once he’d wrapped his head around everything that happened he would open your letter and send you a reply.

But for the first time in ten years, Spencer didn’t want to drag you into his mess.

JJ was strangely quiet as the elevator made its ascent. He didn’t even want to be here, he’d planned on going straight home after leaving the hospital. He hadn’t slept in his own bed for two and a half months and he couldn’t wait to collapse into it.

But JJ had insisted that instead of him getting the metro home, if he popped back to the BAU with her to collect some paperwork, she would drive him home.

And honestly he was just too exhausted to decline.

JJ’s eyes were hyper focused on the digital floor numbers as they got higher. A few seconds after it displayed number five, one floor below the BAU, she turned and looked at him.

“Don’t hate me for this.” She blurted out.

“Excuse me?” Spencer frowned, too tired to try to understand what she meant.

“I couldn’t just let it go.” She shrugged, a guilty smile on her lips.

“Let what go?” His frown deepened.

Her eyes flicked back upwards as the number five rolled into the number six and the elevator started to judder as it prepared to stop.

“Just remember I love you and that’s the only reason I interfered.” She shrugged as the elevator stopped entirely and soon the doors were peeling open.

Spencer looked away from her and out of the open doors to where someone was standing just a few feet back.

Spencer’s eyes landed on the stranger only it wasn’t a stranger. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew exactly who this person was standing on the BAU floor.

He remembered the way JJ had read him your letter and how you’d told him your heart knows his heart.

Well his heart knew yours too. And he knew the heart beating a few feet away from him was yours.

“Y/N?” He croaked, slowly stepping out of the elevator but not too close to you.

“Spencer?” You smiled at him, the kind that reached all the way to your eyes.

Neither of you noticed JJ slipping quietly away, wanting to give you some privacy.

“What are you doing here?” His brows were furrowed and he was rolling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You’re friend JJ wrote to me. She told me everything that happened to you. And she made me realise that ten years is too long to wait for a first meeting.” Your voice was like honey to Spencer’s ears.

Your prose was beautiful, but hearing the words from your lips as you stood in front of him in all your ethereal glory was more than any letter could convey.

“I…I am actually speechless.” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

“You? Speechless?” You giggled and Spencer felt the sound all the way to his heart.

“You’ll come to learn I am much more of a wordsmith on paper. In person I am incredibly awkward and often trip over my words. I ramble when I’m nervous or clam up entirely, no in between. I spout facts and statistics rather than have a meaningful conversation. I am much more comfortable writing my words down on paper than speaking them out loud.” He let the words spill out of his mouth, proving his point entirely.

“I’ve waited ten years to hear your voice. Please never stop talking.” You smiled so brightly at him he felt like he was floating.

You were here in front of him, not just hidden between pages of letters. You were real, tangible; within his reach.

And suddenly the last thing Spencer wanted to do was talk.

He took a few tentative steps towards you and cautiously raised a hand to your cheek. You sighed in content when he cupped your face and nuzzled against his palm.

“I could talk to you about anything and everything all day long, my love.” He smiled, inching his face closer to yours. “But at this moment in time I have one slightly more pressing desire to do with my mouth rather than speak.”

“Oh yeah?” You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

The warmth of your body and your smile encompassed him. As he looked into your eyes, finally looked into your eyes, every bad thing that had ever happened to him slipped away.

“Love starts as a feeling, but to continue is a choice. And I find myself choosing you, more and more every day.” He quoted Justin Wetch’s Bending the Universe.

“Spence?”

“Yes Y/N?”

“As sweet as that is, I thought there were more pressing desires to use your mouth for?”

“If you insist.” He smiled and quickly closed the small space between you.

When his lips finally met yours it felt like all the pieces of the universe were falling into place.

For ten long years you’d communicated in the pages of letters, constructing replies to what felt like one sided conversations that were confined to only live on paper.

As the kiss deepened every single one of those words seemed to float in the air around you, spiralling like a tornado made of a decade worth of missives.

He swore he could hear each and every word whispered to him in the voice he’d longed to hear all these years as he kissed you like you were the most important being on the face of the earth.

And when he pulled back and mumbled I love you against your lips, it was the easiest reply you’d ever given.

#milestone celebration #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

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liliamoon · 1 year

Text

Chaotic Teacher Quotes

Because I just finished my degree, I compiled a list of some of my favorite things my professors have said this past semester:

“To shower or not to shower, that is the question.”

“My parents were baby boomers, which means they were on drugs and had sex and that’s how I happened.” “I’m not kidding. That’s true.”

“Ok, how does everyone feel about nostrils?”

“I like to remind my wife that she’s older than me. Every year on my birthday I’m like, oh my god, I’m almost as old as you!”

“That’s the best way to learn: forget and then remember. The only better way is to learn it drunk and then learn it sober. …Grad school is a lot of fun.”

“Is Dungeons & Dragons legit as a religious institution? Let’s discuss.”

“Punxsutawney Phil, the little beaver— not a beaver, the, you know, the marmot, HE DIED. I mean, what does that mean for our weather?? If he sees his shadow it’s six more weeks of winter but WHAT IF HE DIES??”

“We can’t have negative time— if it’s negative, you’re dead. Just like the groundhog.”

“Are we ultimately born of divine incest?”

“This whole thing is complex, very convoluted. But so is my sister, and I still love her.”

“You might ask yourself, what do I do with a big chunk of text? In many cases, the first step is to burn it with fire.”

“This is good information for those of you thinking of starting a cult.”

“I drive a stick-shift, you can’t steal my car. If you look at the thing, you wouldn’t want to, but the point is, you CAN’T.” “It’s got nothing, I almost literally have to go out with a lighter and turn on the headlights myself.”

“Do you think we could rewrite The Lord of the Rings in limerick meter? Potentially a good idea for your finals.”

“Does that freak anyone out? If it doesn’t, you might not be paying attention!!!”

“Here we read that Tiamat and Apsu had ‘mixed their waters together’— I guess that’s what the kids call it these days.”

“You know how in America we’re very vulnerable to British accents?”

“If you know what you’re doing, it’ll take about thirty minutes; if you don’t know what you’re doing, maybe forty; and if you really don’t know what you’re doing, it’ll take five.”

“Cockroaches gonna cockroach, everybody with me?”

“Right now I’m being a pain-in-the-ass materialist.” “You feel? Hold the phone.” “Conscience? What do we do with people who don’t have that? Like me.”

“Who here is familiar with the term ‘shitification’?”

“Academia is like a hospital: if you don’t work there, don’t stick around.”

“I always want you all to walk out of this classroom with a little bit more of the weight of despair on your shoulders.” “Are you feeling it?”

#school #jokes #memes #quotes #teacher quote #out of context quotes #funny #science #science teacher #mythology #classical mythology #literature #teaching quote #philosophy #gen z #high school #College #dark academia #chaotic academia

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morgana-larkin · 14 days

Note

hi, I think I have a crazy and [loooong] prompt baskdjskkaka. From Melissa's line 'no women? nobody else?ever?'

The staff is reminiscing the little bickering a year ago or two about Janine's love life, only then the staff realize what has Mel said, that she's like into women too. Barb knows tho and Mr. J because ofc he knows everything what has happened in those hallways. So Ava, Janine and Jacob being themselves + Greg surprisingly, began to interrogate Mel about it and in some point she got tired of the constant questioning so she just admitted that she had a relationship with a woman before, particularly a teacher too at Abbott few years before the new teaching staff and principal arrived at the said school. She goes to describe the woman with a little smile on her face without realizing it, did not mention what happened saying they should take what she offers about her private life,the truth is, she still feel guilty of what has happened realizing she's wrong and it's too late. At that, she thought the staff will finally leave her alone but no, since she's single again after the failed proposal, they're like encouraging her to date and maybe try again with a woman. Ofc she declines, then one day Ava burst into the break room grinning, saying a new member of the district is around to help the school, but the top of the icing, as she quote, is she had finally found a match for Melissa not knowing who's r really is, then introduces r to the crew. And man, best believe Melissa almost threw herself out of the window when she sees the very woman she had a relationship before and apparently who she had managed to hurt that still haunts her at night, r is no different from the redhead as she is aslo shocked to see the woman, still there and stunning as ever, because last time they saw each other, the woman cursed that she doesn't think she can stay in a place where she knows r had lingered or stepped a foot with. So basically it's the queue for r to left Philly and never go back, but she's God's favorite and he decided to send her back to the very place she avoids the most. [The breakup is ugly, as it is a big misunderstanding, the redhead saw the other woman kissing, or rather being kissed by a man, against her will which she doesn't know since she became real irrational that point and didn't even listen to the plea of the other woman]

And bc of the weird and awkward reactions + interactions from the two women when they're in a room together, the staff slowly put 2 and 2 together that the new district member that has been sent to the school is the very woman who Mel had a past with.

That is so long I'm so sorry, I just need to let it all out or else I'm gonna combust

Anon it’s perfectly alright, let it all out. This took me so much longer to write and it’s just under 5,000 words😅. There’s so much fucking angst and as someone who hates seeing Melissa upset, I was literally glaring at myself for writing that Melissa is going through it. So I hope you enjoy it! As always not edited in the slightest!

As a side note I wanted to thank @janeyseymour for helping me out, I had no idea what former teachers do at all and she let me know a bunch of them!

Want You Back

Warnings: swearing, Melissa crying, smut

Words: 4.95k

“No women? Nobody else? Ever?” Melissa said 2 years ago.

“Wait, what did Melissa mean by that?” Janine asked Gregory and Jacob one day when they were walking into work and talking about the conversation they had in the library a couple years ago.

“I don’t know, but it is weird that her first instinct was to immediately ask about women first instead of men.” Jacob says, contributing to the conversation.

“Do I even want to know what you nerds are talking about?” Ava asked them.

“It’s about Melissa, from something she said 2 years ago.” Gregory said and Ava looked at them.

“Melissa has said a lot of things 2 years ago.” Ava said.

“It’s when we were in the library and I said that I’ve been dating my boyfriend since 8th grade and you all questioned it and Melissa said ‘no women’.” Janine explained to Ava and this caught her interest.

“Oh ya, I remember that. I say we question her.” Ava said but the trio stopped her.

“No, this is Melissa we’re talking about. She won’t tell us something about her life so easily.” Janine says.

“Good point, we could annoy her until she gives in.” Ava suggested.

“Maybe another plan where we don’t put our lives at risk.” Jacob says.

“Oh come on. Melissa likes us too much now to kill us.” Ava says proudly and they all look at her like she hit her head. “I did say now, 2 years ago she definitely would have killed us.”

“That’s true, but we can’t ask her multiple times in one go, it’ll have to be a couple to a few times a day.” Jacob says.

“Ok let’s start now.” Ava says, excited about this plan and heads towards the break room. Ava enters, drawing attention as usual with the trio in tow behind her. “Melissa, question.” Ava asks as she pours some coffee in a mug. Melissa glances up at her from her phone.

“What do you want Coleman?” Melissa asks and looks back to her phone, typing something.

Ava smiles at her as she pours an unnecessary amount of sugar in her coffee. “Have you ever dated a woman?” Ava asks and Melissa freezes.

She looks up from her phone, “what?” She asks.

“Have you ever dated a woman?” Ava repeats. Melissa looks at her and sees the trio looking at her waiting for a reply.

“It’s none of youse business who I have or haven’t dated.” She says and goes back to her phone.

The trio and Ava look at each other and smile a little. They have a feeling that Melissa actually might have dated a woman due to her freezing.

*At lunch*

“So you have dated a woman haven’t you?” Janine asks her at her table.

“I thought I told you this morning it’s none of your business.” She glares at her. Janine gets the hint and goes to her own table.

*after school*

“Melissa, we just want to know if you’ve dated a woman before.” Jacob tells her as they all leave the building together.

“Why do you want to know so badly?” Melissa asks them, annoyed.

“Because you never tell us anything about you.” Janine says.

“Ya we just want to get to know you better.” Gregory says.

Melissa rolls her eyes. “What brought this up all of a sudden?” She asks them.

“Well remember when Janine made us play that annoying game and write something about ourselves on a card and then we guess who it was.” Ava asks, earning a ‘heeeey’ from Janine for calling her game annoying.

“Vaguely.” Melissa says, very short with them right now.

“Well, after Janine said he’s only ever dated one guy since grade 8, your immediate response was ‘no women?’.” Ava says and Melissa looks at them.

Melissa then proceeds to walk to her car. “Like I said , none of youse business.” She says and reaches her car and turns to look at them. “So stop asking.” She says and gets in her car.

*the next morning*

The trio keep glancing over at Melissa. They want to ask but wondering if it’ll be dangerous to ask her.

“I feel you guys looking at me.” Melissa says looking at her phone, unimpressed by them. And at that Ava comes in.

“We just want to know the answer.” Jacob tells her.

Melissa sighs and turns around and glares at them. “Ok fine. Yes, I’ve dated a woman before, last one was a few years ago before youse started working here.” She told them and they all beam.

“Omg this is so exciting!” Janine squeals.

“I can’t believe you never told us you were bisexual.” Jacob says.

“What was she like?” Gregory says, and they all look at him then back to Melissa.

Melissa immediately starts thinking about you and she smiles. “She was a teacher here, she taught 3rd grade and left 4 years before you guys started.” She says pointing to Janine, Jacob and Ava. “She was beautiful and smart and brave. She was funny and sarcastic as well and able to keep up with my wit.” Melissa continues. And they all listen as Melissa describes you. And unknown to Melissa, she was smiling the entire time. The only thing Melissa refused to say was your name and why you broke up.

“Why don’t you want to say her name or why you broke up?” Ava says.

“How about youse people take what I give about my life and shut it.” Melissa says and turns back around to go on her phone. Barb looks at her concerned. Of course she knows what happened since she was there and knows how guilty Melissa feels about how it ended.

“Have you ever thought about dating again, specifically a woman?” Jacob says.

Melissa turns to look at him. “No, I’m not going through it again.” She says with a slight voice crack.

Of course none of them listen to her and keep on the lookout for a woman that’s Melissa’s type. And then one day, Ava does. She bursts into the break room, full grin on her face and immediately looks at Melissa then back to the full group, she thinks she found a match for Melissa. Melissa gets up to get herself a coffee and pours it into her mug.

“Hey nerds listen up! The school district sent us a vice principal to help out around the school and they’re paying for it.”

“Really?” Janine says.

“Yep, oh here she comes.” Ava says “and her name is y/n y/l/n.” She says as you enter.

Before anyone can say anything, the sound of a mug breaking is heard near the coffee machine. They all turn to see Melissa with her hand out, as she just dropped her favourite coffee mug full of coffee and it broke on the floor. She’s standing there looking at the new woman who entered in complete shock, completely unaware that she just dropped her mug. They all look towards you who’s looking at Melissa with an expression that can mirror Melissa’s.

“Melissa, r u ok?” Jacob says, and Melissa glances at him briefly before looking down at the floor.

“Uh, u-um y-ya ya, I’m fine, I’m just gonna let Mr Johnson know about the mess.” Melissa says and books it out of the room. A minute later Mr. Johnson appears and sees you , then shakes his head, muttering ‘this will be interesting’.

They all introduce themselves to you , except for Barb. Once the trio and Ava leave, you look at Barb then at your feet, not knowing what to say to her.

“It’s nice to see you again dear.” Barb says and you look up at her.

“I had no idea that Melissa was still working here. I also didn’t really have a choice, the district sent me saying this school needs a vice principal and I needed a job.” You tell her.

“It’s alright, I understand.” Is all she says.

“I-I’ll avoid Melissa as much as possible while I’m here, to avoid any drama as I’m sure she’ll do with me. So you don’t have to worry about that.” You tell her then leave.

After that Barb leaves the break room and goes to check on Melissa. And sure enough, just like she thought, Melissa is having a full on crisis in her classroom. Melissa is at her desk writing something harshly, then gets angry at her pen for not working properly then throws it across the room.

“You’re handling it better than I thought.” Barb says after she sees Melissa throw the pen. Melissa whips her head at Barb and looks at her with anger in her eyes that quickly turns to tears. Barb immediately goes and comforts her the best she could.

“I can’t believe after all these years, she’s here again.” Melissa says, crying into Barb’s shoulder during a hug.

“I know dear, I know.” Barb says, patting her back.

“I thought I’d never see her again, after 6 years I still feel guilty about what happened.” Melissa says, still crying.

*6 years ago*

You and Melissa were at a club, drinking. Celebrating the end of another school year.

“Hey Amore, can you go get us some more drinks?” Melissa asks you, as she got the previous ones.

“Of course beautiful.” You tell her and give her a quick kiss on the lips with a smile. You then get up and go to the bar to get some drinks. You order a drink for you and Melissa’s favourite drink, then a man comes up next to you as you're waiting, and starts chatting you up.

“Hey there pretty lady.” He says and you glance at him and sigh, you just ignore him.

After your drinks are done, the guy is still trying to talk to you. Before you can reach for your drinks, he gets up and goes behind you and kisses you, blocking any possible exit. The guy is twice your side, you try pushing him off but he wouldn’t budge.

Melissa is wondering what’s taking you so long as it’s been 5 minutes. She gets up and goes to the bar and sees you with a man’s tongue down your throat, pressed up against the bar and Melissa sees red. As soon as the guy gets away from you, you see Melissa standing there about 10 feet away, looking pissed. Melissa stomps over to you, grabs your wrist and drags you out of the club.

“WHAT THE HELL Y/N!!! WHY WERE YOU KISSING HIM!” She yells at you and you’re taken aback.

“Did you think I wanted him to kiss me?” You ask.

“Well it sure as hell didn’t look like you weren’t enjoying it!!!” She yells at you.

“Melissa I didn’t…” You try to explain what happened but she cuts you off.

“I don’t fucking care what lame ass excuse you’re about to give!!! I want you and your shit out of my house and nowhere near me again!!! In fact!! Why don’t you leave the fucking city! I don’t want to see you and your cheating face ever again!!!” She yells at you and then turns around to go to her car. You run up and grab her arm to try and get her to listen to you. She shoves your hand off of her and you try again. “Let go of my y/n!” She tries to shove your hand off of her again but you hold on.

“Please Melissa! Just listen to me!” You tell her with tears in your eyes. “He kissed me! I didn’t…” she doesn’t want to listen to you anymore and pushes you off of her and you stumble and fall back on the ground. You look at her full of hurt and tears. She just turns back around and walks to her car and drives away.

You end up staying at a friend's house for a few weeks. You end up telling the principal of Abbott Elementary that you quit and won’t be coming back, you get all your stuff from Melissa’s house when she told you she won’t be there so you can come pick it up. And after 2 months, you end up finding a place out of Philly and get a job at the school district. You feel hurt and abandoned by Melissa. Your friend told you to forget about her if she wasn’t willing to listen to what happened and fight for you. You left a note at her place, explaining what happened at the bar as she blocked your number after telling you when she won’t be there for a whole weekend to come get your stuff. You left her place with your things, completely heartbroken, you thought Melissa would be it for you but you guess you were wrong

Melissa on the other end wasn’t any better, when she got back from her weekend trip, she saw your note and read it. Full of tears in her eyes as she realised her mistake. She immediately unblocks your number and a bunch of messages you tried to send her appear. She read them all, she wanted to send you a message, saying she got your note and wanted to talk, and then she saw your last message.

You: I know you won’t get this Melissa but I’m really sorry about what happened. I’ll be changing my number today and moving out of Philly soon so you won’t see or hear from me again. Love, y/n.

She saw that the message was sent yesterday, she was too late. She has no idea where you are and no way of contacting you.

*back to present day*

“Melissa, what if this is your chance to fix that mistake?” Barb says. “You told me that if you got a chance to apologise then you would take it.”

“It’s been 6 years Barb, she’s probably moved on and doesn’t care about me anymore.” She tells her. Barb doesn’t push her anymore, knowing she needs time and space right now.

At lunch time, you finish talking to Janine in the break room and go to leave. At the same time Melissa is coming in and you walk into each other. You both stare at each other for a few seconds, not knowing what to do or say. You then walk around her and leave the break room. Melissa stands there for a few more seconds in shock. She then looks over at everyone and they’re staring at her confused about what just happened. Melissa doesn’t say anything, she just gets her lunch and eats in silence.

The second period after lunch, Melissa has a prep period as her kids are in art class. She’s marking some tests when you knock on her door. Melissa doesn’t look up as she’s finishing up marking a question.

“Just a sec.” She says.

“That’s fine, I can wait.” You say and Melissa freezes and looks up. “I’ll just sit in one of the students' chairs. I’m sure they won’t mind.” You say with a chuckle.

Melissa quickly finishes marking the question and then looks up at you. “Hi y/n” she says and you look at her.

“Hi Melissa, long time no see.” You tell her.

“Ya, 6 years.” She says, embarrassed.

“Barb told me what happened with the vending machine guy, sorry about that.” You tell her and she nods.

“Y/n was there something you wanted?” She says.

“I wanted to make sure that me being the vice principal here won’t cause any…conflicts.” You tell her.

Melissa freezes, she’s caught in between, she wants to say yes so that you’ll leave and she won’t have to feel guilty every time she sees you but a bigger part of her wants to say no, she missed you and it was nice seeing your face and smile again. Melissa knows what she has to do, she can’t be selfish but she can be careful.

“No I don’t see why it would.” And you look at her and Melissa feels the need to get it over with. “I mean I moved on and you moved on, the past is the past right?” She says and if she’s honest, it hurt her to say that to you.

You were in a similar spot. It hurt to hear her say that she’s moved on from you but what would you expect. It’s been 6 years and you guys ended badly and you assumed that more than likely she didn’t read your note, probably threw it out.

“Ya, we’ll keep it professional.”

“Ya professional, exactly.” She agreed and you got up.

“Oh I’m supposed to introduce myself to all the teachers and ask if there’s anything they need.” You tell. “I got to know the principal more and while she’s nicer than the one that was here when I was a teacher, this one also doesn’t do anything.” You say and she chuckles.

“Ya I have a feeling you’ll be doing most of the principal duties as well.” She says.

“Yep, more than likely. So was there anything you need? Paper? Glue sticks? Pens?” You ask her.

“No no, I think I’m good for now but I’ll let you know if that changes.” She says and you nod.

“Alright.” You say and go to leave then turn back around. “Btw love the rugs. Am I correct to assume you had something to do with that?”

Melissa smiles and puts her index finger over her lips “shh” she says and you smile and mime zipping your mouth. After you leave , Melissa looks at the doorway and sighs. “What I need is you.” She says quietly.

Over the next month, the trio and Ava slowly start to figure it out. You and Melissa barely are in the same room together, barely speak to each other, and when you do, it’s very awkward and uncomfortable. Then they see Melissa’s face when she sees you, full of guilt and sadness. And when you see Melissa, your face is full of hurt.

“Melissa, how do you know y/n?” Janine asks Melissa after a month of watching the awkwardness.

“She’s the vice principal, so we all know her.” Melissa says to them, the trio not convinced for a second and she doesn’t even believe it herself.

“Come on Melissa, it’s obvious you knew her before she got here.” Jacob says. “I mean you’re interactions with her are awkward and tense. And when she first got here you dropped your favourite mug. I mean the only reason I would act that way is if…’’ Jacob doesn’t finish it as he put it all together and he gasps. “Omg y/n is the woman you dated!” He squeals out and Melissa whips her head around in shock since he figured it out.

“How the hell did you figure it out!” Melissa says and immediately her eyes go wide and covers her mouth with her hand for accidentally confirming what he said.

“So wait he’s right? She’s the one you told us about?” Janine says and Melissa rubs her temple with her hands.

“Ok fine, yes he’s right. Y/n is the woman I dated 6 years ago. But it ended badly and I don’t want to talk about it any further.” Melissa says and then walks out of the break room.

“What’s the matter with Melissa?” Ava says as she enters. “She seems grumpier than usual, I just said hi to her and she told me to go to hell.”

“Y/n is the woman that Melissa dated 6 years ago.” Jacob says and Ava has a shocked expression.

“Omg really?” She says. “Barb, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because Ava, it’s not my secret to tell, it’s Melissa and y/n’s.” Barb says to her. “What I will tell you is Melissa feels guilty and is too afraid to apologise and y/n is too busy thinking that Melissa hates her. I’ve been trying to tell each of them to talk to each other but they’re both so stubborn.”

“Maybe we can trap them somewhere together and force them to talk to each other.” Ava suggests and they all agree, including Barb, that it’s not a bad idea.

“Ok but that requires a door that can lock from the outside and you can’t unlock it without a key from the inside.” Gregory says.

“I know just the place.” Mr Johnson says and they all turn to look at him on the other side of the room, not knowing he was there.

“You’re willing to help us with this?” Janine asks him.

“I was rooting for them 6 years ago when y/n was a teacher here.” He says and they look at him. Of course he knew, they honestly are not surprised at this point.

They put their plan into play, the next day during lunch they were gonna lock you two in the janitorial closet and Janine was gonna take Melissa’s kids with hers and go to the gym and then do a big art project in her classroom.

So when Melissa was going to get her kids, Janine asks Melissa if she could help her reach something from the Janitor closet and Mr Johnson went to ask you if you could help him with something in the closet. Melissa was grabbing the item when you walked in and then the door shut. You ran to it and tried to open it but it was locked.

“Did they just lock us in here?” You ask her. Melissa was too stunned to see you that she didn’t even realise what happened until you spoke.

“Ya I think they did.” She said.

“Why would they do that?” You ask her, annoyed.

“Probably for us to talk.” She says and you look at her.

“What is there for us to talk about? There’s absolutely nothing for us to talk about” You say and cross your arms.

“Actually there’s something. ” Melissa says and sits on one of the chairs that’s in there, while you sit on the other.

“What is it then?” You ask her and she takes a deep breath.

“6 years ago.” Is all she says but you understood.

“There’s nothing for us to talk about. You said it yourself, it’s in the past and we’ve both moved on.” You said and you look at her and she looks hurt. “What?”

“Have you really moved on?” She asked and you look at her.

“It doesn't matter, I know you moved on though. ”

“Ya a failed proposal is definitely not moving on.” she says.

“But you were in a serious enough relationship with him for him to propose.” You tell her and she looks down.

“Ya I guess so.” She gets her phone out to text Barb to come let them out and gets a reply back.

Barb: not until you talk to her.

Melissa: no, it’s too painful, please let us out.

Barb: I’m sorry Melissa but I know this was hurting you. Seeing her everyday is hurting you.

“They’re not gonna let us out anytime soon are they?” You ask her.

“I don’t think so.” She says and then looks at you. “I’m sorry.” She says.

“It’s not your fault, you didn’t lock us in here.” You say, totally missing what she was apologising for.

“That’s not what I’m apologising for.” She says and you look at her.

“Then what are you apologising for?”

“For 6 years ago, making a big mistake.”

“Wha-”

“I read your note.” She says, cutting you off. “I should have listened to you but I was just so angry that I couldn’t think.” She tells you and looks at you with guilt. “The real reason I said no to Gary is because I didn’t want to be with him because I still have feelings for you. And I felt so guilty about how I reacted and I unblocked your number when I got home after reading your note and read all the texts and I wanted to find you or contact you but I had no way of doing that.” And a few tears slip down her cheeks.

“I haven’t moved on, you know. I’ve forgiven you for that night but I haven’t gotten over you.” You say and Melissa is looking at you with wide puffy eyes. “I tried, I ended up living with a girlfriend for a year. But then she broke up with me when she wanted more and I didn’t. Said I was emotionally unavailable. Which I guess is true, you can’t develop big feelings for someone if your heart belongs to someone else.” You said and the look on Melissa’s face said it all.

“Who does your heart belong too?”

“You.” Melissa sucked in a breath. “When I saw you standing there in the break room after 6 years, I couldn’t believe it, and you still look beautiful and stunning.” She let out an airy laugh.

“You as well, you still look so damn beautiful. My heart belongs to you too.” Melissa then gets up and walks over to you and crouches next to you and holds your hand and you look down at her. “I want to be with you again, if you’ll have me.” She says and you tuck a lock of hair behind her ear and smile at her.

“Of course, I want to be with you again too.” You said and Melissa beams. Then she gets up and leans in and kisses you. After 6 years Melissa finally felt back home again, like her lips are supposed to be on yours and no one else’s. You pull back after needing to breathe and you look at Melissa who’s smiling at you.

“You know I don’t think they’ll let us out until it’s the end of the day. So we still got… 2 and a half hours.” Melissa says, looking at her phone. You then get up and make her walk backwards and get her to sit on her chair and then straddle her lap.

“I think I want to know how to spend that time.” You tell her with a smile then go to kiss her again.

Melissa kisses you back passionately with her hands in your hair and yours are on her hips. Melissa’s hands travel down your body and land on your chest. She then puts her hands under your shirt and cups your boobs and you moan into the kiss. She then moves her lips down to your neck and starts sucking on it and you gasp before placing your mouth on her shoulder to muffle your sounds. Melissa giggles at your actions before unclipping your bra and lifts your shirt so she can put her lips around your nipples. You try to move your body so you can grind her leg but Melissa keeps you where you are and you whine.

“Patience, I don’t want to waste you on my leg.” She tells you and flips you both so you’re the one on the chair and removes your pants and underwear. She then immediately dives down and licks your pussy and you cover your mouth with your arm to muffle your moan. Melissa then puts her tongue in your entrance and begins tongue fucking you and you bite down on your arm as it feels so good.

Melissa tastes you again after years and thinks of how you still taste so good. She moans and it vibrates on your entrance and you gasp. She moves her tongue out of your entrance and goes for your clit and sucks on it. You’re moaning into your arm like crazy right now as Melissa is fucking magical with her tongue.

Melissa looks at you trying your best to muffle your sounds and gets up and kisses you. While kissing you, she slips a finger into your entrance and a thumb to your clit and you clutch her hair. She slips another finger in and pushes them in and out of you quickly while rubbing your clit. It doesn’t take long until you’re shaking and Melissa knows you’re about to come.

“Go on Tesoro, come for me.” Melissa whispers into your ear and then goes right back to kissing you just in time for you to come. “As soon as they let us out of this closet, I’m taking you to my place. I’ll cook us something and then it’s to my bed. How does that sound?” Melissa asks you after removing her fingers out of you.

“I like the sound of that.” You tell her, trying to catch your breath. “I honestly miss your cooking, and your body.” You say and she smiles as she kisses you again. She helps you get dressed after kissing you and then she sits down on the floor with you curled up on her.

And that’s how the Abbott crew finds them after they go to unlock the door after the students leave. They unlock it and see you on Melissa with her hands wrapped protectively around you and they all have their mouths open in shock.

“Oh finally.” Melissa says and you get off of her and help her up. “Come on.” She tells you and grabs your hand and begins sprinting out of there and you’re both giggling.

“Was that a hickey on y/n’s neck?” Janine says and they all look at her then back at you two running out of the building.

And when the two of you get to her place, Melissa keeps her word of making a meal then spending the rest of the evening in her bed.

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta

@imaginesmultifandoms

@idonothingalldays-blog

@sexysapphicshopowner

@dvrkhcld

If you want to be added then let me know!

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x oc #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti #x reader #fanfic

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nancy-reads · 7 months

Text

you belong with me

pairing: fred weasley x reader

summary: fred wakes up after a wild night with his team to his phone buzzing nonstop after his latest tweet. Turns out he accidentally invited his old chemistry partner (and long-time crush) to the second game of the season. pining and fluff ensue.

warnings: a tiny little bit of spice at the end (it's really not that much i just want to warn you guys)

authors note: i promise the sequal to am i the one you think about will come out, i just got a bunch of inspiration to write this all of the sudden and wanted to share it with you guys!!

CROSSPOSTED TO AO3

As soon as Fred woke up, he regretted everything. His head was pounding, his throat was dry, and his muscles ached. Every part of him wanted to lie back down and never get up again.

His memories of last night were fuzzy at best. He was hanging with some of the boys from his team, celebrating after their first game of the season. Many beers were passed around, and for some reason, Fred had a vague memory of the team shouting at him over and over to do it.

Strange. They probably wanted him to take a bunch of shots or something. Usually, he’d be down, but not during football season. He had games to win, and Superbowls to play at.

Fred opened his eyes and blinked sleepily. As the world came into focus, he realized that his phone was buzzing, and had been for a while. He rolled over, chugged a glass of water, and grabbed his phone.

His jaw dropped as he saw the flood of notifications.

Fred Weasley’s Secret Crush?

Fred Weasley Invites Mystery Girl to Sunday’s Game Over Twitter

Football Hearthrobb Fred Weasley Has a Girlfriend?!

Holy shit.

There was only one person this could be about, and he might just die from embarrassment if he was right. You had probably completely forgotten about him, while he still liked all of your Instagram photos on his private account.

Fred scrolled through his notifications to see what looked like a million from Twitter alone, and a text from nearly everyone he knew.

Taking a deep breath, he tapped the Twitter app and clicked on his profile.

Fred Weasley @thebetterweasley

never would have gotten to the nfl without my college chem partner @ynln… tickets to the next game on me?

Fred’s eyes widened as he reread his tweet over and over again. He could feel his entire body heating up as he fought the urge to bury his head in his hands.

He just blew it. Entirely. You would never be interested in him now. You’d just think he wanted the attention, or worse, just for a quick fling.

Fred couldn’t imagine ever only wanting a fling from you. You and your gorgeous hair, beautiful eyes, and the way you talk way just mesmerizing. He could never focus during Intro To Chemistry because you’d be sat right next to him, eyes sparkling and pen flying as you took notes.

And he saw your grades. You were basically a genius, acing every test and perfecting every project. You were probably in grad school right now or in some sort of job for brilliant people who are saving the world.

You probably had no idea who he was.

After an embarrassingly long time spent moping, Fred got out of bed and reluctantly headed to the gym to work out. In between reps, he responded to the thousands of texts that he received, either congratulating him or calling him an idiot.

He definitely knew which ones were right.

His tweet had millions of likes by now, so there was no chance that you’d missed it. He’d been contacted by loads of news outlets, asking for a quote or an interview or anything about you, and he’d denied all of them. The passive-aggressive text from his manager, Alicia, was enough to make him want to delete every social media account he owned.

Fred had just finished his last stretch routine and was headed toward the showers when he got a notification.

Y/N L/N @ynln

maybe i’ll swing by…see if we still have chemistry

Fred could feel the heat spread from his neck all the way to his hairline. He wanted to giggle and kick his feet like a lovesick teenager. Maybe he didn’t ruin everything after all?

You tweeted it a minute ago..would it be weird for him to like it immediately?

Yes. Yes, it would.

That didn’t make him want to do it any less.

As Fred headed to the shower, a massive smile adorning his face, he immediately hit the call button because he had to tell someone about this. You responded to his tweet. He wanted to jump around and squeal like a kid with a crush.

Which was pretty accurate, to be quite honest.

“George,”

“Freddie, I just finished my workout, is this really that imp-”

“She responded to my tweet!!” Fred nearly shouted. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes shining with excitement. He didn’t recognize himself as he looked in the mirror. His smile was too big for his face, and his ears were bright red.

“It did have more than a million likes, Fred. I think she kind of had to.”

“Don’t ruin this for me George. I’ve liked her for so long, what do I even do now?”

Fred could hear George’s exasperated smile from miles away. “First, you are going to take a deep breath. You are a cool NFL football player, not a horny teenager. “

“Right. Yes.”

He took a deep breath, but his heart was still racing and the butterflies in his stomach would not go away. Come on Fred, you are gonna be normal about this. You can do it.

“You got that Fred?” George asked. Fred murmured an affirmative. “Okay, now you are gonna get tickets to the VIP booth, four of them.”

“Four? Why-”

“Because one of them is for Mum, as you know she will get there somehow if you’ve invited a girl.”

“That’s fair, actually.”

“Also, the public loves her so I assume that your girl will want to meet her too.” Fred pointedly ignored how his heart raced at the words “your girl.” George continued, “You’re also not going to be the asshole who makes her go alone, so give her a couple tickets for her friends.”

“When did you get so smart with girls?”

George chuckled. “Oh this is all Angelina. I don’t know anything.”

“Yeah, that makes a lot more sense, Georgie.”

“Hey!”

Fred hung up as he orders four VIP tickets for the game. He immediately sends one to his mum, but he pauses before sending it to you.

see you at the game! you better be wearing red and gold…

Fred added a winky face, then immediately deleted it. He didn’t want to seem too juvenile or worse, weird. His thumb hovered over the blue send button, rereading the DM over and over. At last, he admitted defeat and sent a screenshot to Geoge.

F: does this sound okay?

G: yes. stop worrying.

F: you act as if you were not the same way when you asked angelica to the yule ball

G: shut up

Fred snorted as he switched back to Twitter. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and pressed send.

For the rest of the week, Fred practiced harder than ever. All eyes were gonna be on him this week, and he needed a win. More importantly, you were gonna be at this game, and he knew who he wanted to dedicate his touchdown to.

He’d been thinking about it since that freshman year chemistry class when he was nothing but a rookie tight end, and the NFL was nothing but a dream. The crowd goes wild, but the only person he’s looking at is you.

Christ, when did he become such a romantic?

He felt a smile split across his face when his phone buzzed during a break.

Y: i looked through my closet and i don’t know if i have any red and gold…might have to steal something of yours

F: stay after the game and maybe we’ll see

The two of you didn’t text often, maybe a couple of times a day, but it was always a highlight. Locker room talk had devolved into just making fun of Fred’s puppy dog eyes and lovesick smile whenever he opened his phone.

Someone from the press got a picture of him smiling at his phone, and the internet exploded even more.

Fred Weasley Caught Blushing At His Phone During Practice

Fred Weasley’s Smile Has the Internet Swooning

Fred Weasley’s Mystery Girl: Who Is She?

Part of him wanted to feel embarrassed with all the attention, but he was too grateful that you had finally given him the time of day to really think about it. He was laser-focused on every play and worked extra hard at the gym. They would win the game this week, even if it was purely by his will.

Fred had never been this nervous for a game before. Every single playoff game, championship, or even the Superbowl hadn’t prepared him for this feeling.

His girl was up there, and he had to impress you today.

The crowd screamed louder than ever as he ran onto the field with his team. There were signs everywhere, asking if you were here and making jokes about Fred being a loverboy. He couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face as he looked around the stadium, taking it all in.

There was nothing he loved more than football, and having other people love him for it was even more special.

Still, Fred tried to catch your eye in the VIP booth, and his smile widened when he saw you talking to his mum. Embarrassing as it was, everyone loved her, so she was probably the quickest way to your heart. Eventually, though, his mum took pity on him and pointed him out to you.

And shit, your smile when Fred finally looked into your eyes. The two of you were far away, so it was hard to tell, but he already knew it was beautiful. He stared at you, probably for longer than was considered normal until the whistle blew and he was forced to follow his team.

This was probably the best game his team had ever played. Everyone was in sync, and the plays they’d worked on all summer were gaining them yards across the field. Everyone could feel the energy in the stadium as people cheered his name.

The only problem, Fred hadn’t yet scored a touchdown. Halftime had just ended, and the team was up thirty-one points. He could feel the coaches wanting to pull him out and let the best people rest while they had such a great lead, however, he silently begged them to let him stay in.

Just one good play and I’ve got this.

And his chance finally came halfway through the third quarter. They were only a few yards away from the endzone, and Fred knew that this was his chance as Oliver called the play.

The whistle blew, and Fred didn’t even see the other players as he sprinted into the endzone, dodging anyone who attempted to get in his way. He and Oliver were in perfect sync as he threw the ball straight into Fred’s hands, securing another six points for the team.

The crowd screamed as the touchdown was announced, and Fred couldn’t stop himself from doing a little victory dance. His eyes found your booth as he headed to the sideline, and he blushed from head to toe at your reaction. You were jumping around and screaming with joy (he hoped) and you looked adorable.

In a moment of confidence, he caught your eye, placed his hand on his chest, and held out half a heart, mouthing “This one is for you.”

Part of him wondered if he was coming on too strong, but the other part was enamored with you as you clasped your hand over your beautiful smile and held half a heart back.

The crowd let out an “aww” as you showed up on the screen beside him, and he couldn’t stop himself from beaming at the nearby camera. He could feel people tapping away at their phones to post on social media, but he didn’t care. You were cheering for him.

The game continued, and Fred was mostly put on the sidelines to give some of the rookies a chance to play, as it was looking pretty good for his team. He couldn’t stop himself from stealing glances at your booth, so much so that the team was beginning to notice.

“Fred, loverboy, the game is this way,” Lee Jordan teased.

“Staring at your mom, Weasley?” Andrew Sloper asked.

Even Oliver, who usually had a stick up his ass, joined in on the fun. “God, Fred, you’d think Taylor Swift was here or something.”

Fred was happy to laugh with them. He hadn’t remembered feeling this giddy in a long time, and he couldn’t push the smile from his face. Part of him was eager for the game to be over, so he could go see you.

Still, his hands shook and butterflies erupted from his stomach when he thought about heading up to your booth. Would conversation flow? Would you even like him in person after all these years? Did you only come for free tickets or for internet clout?

That wasn’t it, he knew. You were too kind, too good to do that when it was obvious how head over heels he was for you. Still, part of him worried.

Fred was sure his team was sick of him by now. He’d been agonizing over his hair for the past thirty minutes as he prepared to leave the locker room and finally see you. He’d blown you a kiss as he left the field, and he was wondering if he’d come on too strong, and clearly if his hair was wrong it would ruin everything.

Maybe he was panicking a little bit. He’d texted you a few minutes ago, giving you instructions on how to get to the family and friends area outside the locker room. He hoped his mum would guide you there, as the last thing he wanted was for you to get lost and attacked by rabid football fans. You didn’t deserve that.

After a few more minutes, he realized that his hair was hopeless (it looked fine) and decided he would rather not leave you waiting. With a last look in the mirror and a deep breath, he headed out of the locker room.

The area was crowded; full of girlfriends, wives, children, and all sorts of family and friends of the team. There was a buzz in the room of people talking, laughing, and generally celebrating the win. The sounds got even louder as he entered, and Fred could see people acting like they weren’t staring at him.

Still, he wasn’t paying attention to anything but you as you locked eyes across the room. You gave him a shy smile, and he couldn’t stop himself from beaming as he headed straight for you.

“Hey,” you said. Your eyes were piercing, and very distracting. He couldn’t seem to form a thought as he stared into them.

“Hey,” he said back, stupidly. He hesitated for a moment as the butterflies felt more like stampeding wildebeest in his stomach. “Did you enjoy the game?”

There was a teasing lilt to your voice as you responded. “I don’t know. It was alright, I suppose.”

“Alright?” Fred asked in mock annoyance. He placed a light hand on your back as he guided you out of the family area. “I guess next time I’ll give my free VIP tickets to someone else.”

You snorted. “As if you have someone else to give them to.”

“Hey! I have plenty of people to give tickets to.”

“Like who?” you asked. “Your mom?”

Fred smiled and placed a dramatic hand on his chest. “You dare insult Mother Weasley?”

You smiled and stared at the ground as you shook your head. “Never. We had a great time hanging out tonight.”

He gave you a soft smile. “I’m glad. I have a feeling that you’re going to be her new favorite.”

As the two of you neared the press area, Fred straightened and pressed his hand slightly closer to your back. He didn’t want to be too forward, however, he knew how aggressive the press could be. “For this next part, just be careful of the reporters. Our security is really good, and honestly,” he chuckled a bit, “I could take most of them, but I don’t want anyone making you uncomfortable.”

You nodded and pressed a bit closer to him, making him blush even harder.

It was a small hallway, and the press was kept behind some silver barriers that allowed the two of you some space to walk. Cameras flashed and videos recorded Fred and you walking past. You had the prettiest smile in the world, and Fred couldn’t stop looking at you as you gave an especially beautiful one to the cameras.

He’d have to find that photo later.

Fred was desperate to grab your hand as the two of you walked toward his convertible, but his hands were sweaty and shook at the thought. You looked gorgeous in the moonlight, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from dropping to your lips.

As the two of you sped off, you looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “I believe I was promised a jersey after the game.”

He smirked. “I’m pretty sure I said we’ll see.”

“So you don’t want to see me in your jersey next game?”

“Who said you were getting invited to my next game?”

“Seemed like someone enjoyed having me there tonight,” you said, looking away from him, a teasing smile on your face.

Fred smiled. “When did you get so confident? I remember it took forever for us to actually talk when we met.”

“I know it may surprise you Freddie, but some of us grew up a bit after college.”

“Really?” he gasped, dropping his jaw. “That's crazy.”

“And,” you added, “some of us have learned how to tell when someone is flirting with us.”

That's when Fred’s jaw dropped for real, and red spread all the way to his ears. He turned back to the road, focusing on driving as hard as he could. Letting you see the giddy beam on his face was not an option. Your hand moved toward the center console, right next to his, and every part of him itched to hold it.

He cleared his throat. “So, uh…how have you been?”

He listened to you describe your life and your job as if he had not been stalking you on Instagram since he met you. It seemed like you had thrived since college, and Fred felt his heart soar when he heard how happy you were. You deserved everything, and Fred silently hoped he would be there to see you get it.

As the two of you pulled into the parking lot, Fred caught you staring at him, biting your lip as he backed into the spot. He smiled to himself as he got out of the car and opened the door for you.

“Dinner?”

Dinner was perfect. Fred couldn’t stop laughing and smiling in your presence, and it seemed like you were having a great time as well. Every so often the conversation would lull, and he would catch you staring at him as the two of you enjoyed your meal.

He did his share of staring as well, but he hoped that he was less obvious about it.

(He wasn’t.)

Fred finally found the courage to grab your hand as the two of you were leaving the restaurant, with your head thrown back in a laugh that rocked his world. You just looked so adorable that he had to hold you, even if it was just your hand.

He knew it was the right choice when you immediately squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, which caused you to do it again, beginning an all-out hand-squeezing war that only ended when the two of you were laughing too hard to continue.

Christ, your laugh was just so beautiful. You looked so free and so happy when you simply threw your head back and laughed, letting your joy overtake your entire body. Fred could feel himself staring, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to be a part of your sunshine.

Too soon, you stopped laughing and just stared back at him. He held your gaze for a moment, letting his eyes flick to your lips every so often. He stepped closer to you. Close enough to touch you. Close enough to lean in…

Close enough to kiss you.

You’re eyes slid shut as Fred leaned in and placed a hand under your chin to tilt your face up to meet his. Slowly, so terribly slowly, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

Your lips were soft, and they seemed to meld with his perfectly. Fred could feel his pulse racing as you tugged on the lapels of his jacket to get closer. Christ, he just wanted to be closer to you, closer, and closer.

You opened your mouth slightly, and Fred took that opportunity to part your lips and deepen the kiss. He felt you inhale sharply and panicked for a moment until he heard your small moan at the movements of his tongue. All Fred knew was that he wanted to hear that sound again, and again, and again until you couldn’t make it anymore, until you were tired and sick with pleasure-

You gasped as you pulled away from him. Your lips were raw and red, matching the blush that colored your cheeks. It was silent for a moment as the two of you gazed at each other.

Fred smirked. “So…do you think we still have chemistry?”

#this isn't inspired by recent events at all #nope #not me #fred weasley x reader #fred weasely x yn #fred weasley #harry potter #fanfic #xreader #writing #sports romance

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alovesongtheywrote · 5 months

Text

Nightmare Academia P.16 | Spencer Reid x Reader

♥ Summary: In this chapter of Nightmare Academia, a ghost encourages promiscuity. [Prof!Spencer Reid x GN-Prof!Reader]

♥ Warnings: ghosts again. also, maeve again.

♥ A/N: ghost subplot my beloved

♥ Word Count: 2252

Series Masterlist

♥♥♥

The following night, you and Reid were sitting on the floor of your office. The book lay between you, open to the handwritten quote. Your desk was covered with lit candles. Reid had protested the idea of open flame, but you insisted on it- for the “ambiance.”

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Spencer asked, glaring at you as you fiddled with a little device, “This feels like pseudoscience.”

“You feel like pseudoscience.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know. Shut up, I’m fiddling.”

Reid shut his mouth, nodding at you, and watching as you switched the spirit box on. Immediately, a loud blast of radio static filled the room. You and Spencer both short back from your positions, exclaiming in surprise and mild agony.

“Jesus, shit!” You yelled, frantically turning the volume down until you couldn’t hear anything.

“I’ll take this as a sign that you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Fuck off, Reid. I know how this works- the box flips through radio stations at a pace too rapid for humans to interfere with.”

“But ghosts can. Oooo, spooky.”

“And here I thought you’d be a skeptic, Doctor Reid.”

“I am a man of science… I’ve also seen some strange things.”

“Oh yeah?”

He nodded at you, keeping his eyes on the open book.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Apparently you’ve died before, so…”

He nodded again, “Are we doing this, or?”

You brought a finger to the volume switch, but before you turned it up, you paused. You looked back up at Reid. He wouldn’t meet your eye.

“You… You can’t keep dropping these things on me. You investigated a case involving rabies. You’ve been shot three times, once in the neck. You’ve died before-”

“Is that not… typical conversation?”

A smile crossed your face as he finally looked at you, “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Ah. My mistake.”

“Okay, but seriously, Reid. You can’t keep dropping these bombs on me- I know you said MIT grads have a history of going nuclear, but oh my god.”

He laughed a little, “So what is it that you want?”

“I want you to elaborate! It’s getting ridiculous. I know how to piss you off, and I know your favourite colour is purple, but I don’t know much else about you.”

He paused, “How did you figure out my favourite colour?”

You shrugged, leaning towards him and wrapping your fingers around his purple tie. You gently pulled him to you, but he fell as if you’d yanked him forward.

“You didn’t make it hard to figure out, Reid.”

He shrugged, sitting up from his odd position on the floor, “Then maybe you can figure out everything else.”

“Okay,” you released his tie, “You don’t want to tell me. Maybe I’ll just ask the ghosts.”

As you turned the volume up, Spencer’s smile faded. You cleared your throat.

“Hey there demons, it’s me, ya boi.”

There was no response. Spencer gave you a look, raising an eyebrow skeptically. You shook your head at him, waving a hand at him to make him stay quiet.

“Hello?” you started again, “Ghosts? Ghouls? Inhabitants of Reid’s book?”

Again, there was no response.

Reid sat up, getting onto his knees and leaning towards the spirit box, “Hello?”

As the word fell from his lips, the box let out a wretched high-pitched screech. Spencer fell backwards, and you nearly threw the box out the door and into the hallway.

“Jesus- I can’t tell if the ghosts like you, or if they want you dead more than I do.”

“Or maybe your box is just broken.”

“No, that’s impossible, it can’t be that,” you lied, knowing full well that you purchased your spirit box second-hand on eBay, “The ghosts just hate you, Reid.”

“Wrong.”

A woman’s voice cut through the static, sounding crystal clear and slightly sarcastic. You looked down at the box, eyes wide with shock and amazement. Reid also looked at the box, eyes wide with shock and horror.

“Okay then,” you said, smiling as you, too, got to your knees, “I guess the ghosts love you.”

“Better.”

“That confirms it! The ghosts love you,” you passed him the spirit box, “Here, you do the talking.”

Spencer took it tentatively, “Hi? Uh, to whatever spirit is haunting my book, could you please… not do that?”

“Mmm… nope.”

“Oh shit,” you giggled, “Sassy ghost.”

“Oh, okay,” Spencer’s fingers tapped against the box, “So… a-about the afterlife, is it- are you okay?”

“Fine… You… Aren’t.”

“Oh shit! Sassy ghost!” you leaned forward, “Stop bullying him, ghost! That’s my job!”

“It is.”

“Oh!” You pulled yourself closer to Reid and the book, “She knows me! Hey, ghost? Can I ask you a question?”

The ghost didn’t answer. You took that as a yes.

“Why The Narrative of John Smith? I mean, it’s an alright book! A perfectly fine choice! But was it like, a choice? Or was it-”

“Choice. He… Knows.”

You looked up, raising an eyebrow, “Oh? Does he now?”

Spencer looked at you with wide eyes, holding his hands up in surrender, “I don’t- at least, I don’t think I do.”

“Oh, you don’t think you do. Well, that makes me sure you know it.”

“How?”

“Spencer, is there anything you don’t know?”

“Your favourite colour.”

You scoffed, opening your mouth to answer him when the spirit box cut you off.

“Green.”

Reid looked at you for confirmation. You just shrugged.

“Okay ghost,” you reached over, taking the box from Reid. Your fingers brushed against his. His skin was cold against yours. As your hands touched, the box beeped- almost as if the ghost was happy, “Why are you haunting this book?”

“Spencer.”

“Oh,” the colour drained from your cheeks, “Oh, shit.”

Spencer went quiet. You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. He jumped a little, but placed one of his hands over yours.

“Are you okay?” you asked, whispering as if that would keep the ghost from hearing you.

“I’m fine. It’s just- it’s nothing.”

“I wouldn’t call it nothing. She said your name, that’s freaky.”

“Was it not freaky before?”

“Before I could chalk this up to random coincidence- it would be a stretch, but I could do it. Now I know she knows your name.”

“It could still be a coincidence.”

You narrowed your eyes at Spencer, tilting your head to the side, “Yeah. Sure, Spencer. The ghost has just coincidentally answered all our questions and said your name. Normal shit. Average Wednesday!”

“(Y/N)... don’t tell me you’re scared,” he asked with a smirk on his face.

“Spencer,” you growled, “Don’t bully me about this. And don’t act like you’re not scared.”

“Are you profiling me?” he asked, still smirking.

“Maybe,” you placed the box on the floor beside the book. Then you turned to face Spencer. You rolled up his sleeve with your free hand and ran a finger across the veins in his arm. You tried not to enjoy the act too much.

“Look at all these goosebumps,” you continued, “And you’re paler than any ghost I’ve ever seen.”

“Y’know, I’ve heard that one before, that might just be how I look.”

“Maybe so, but you’re really pale now. Almost like you’re scared.”

“I promise you, I’m not scared.”

“Are you sure? You look scared, pretty boy.”

“I- Is this helping you feel better, or something?”

“... Yes.”

Spencer paused for a second. He removed his arm from your grasp and took one of your hands into one of his own.

“Keep doing it, then.”

Before you could even begin to form a response, the spirit box beeped again.

“Yes!”

You laughed, pulling away from Reid slightly, but leaving your hand in his, “She’s excited.”

“Why-?” Spencer whispered.

“I don’t know, but I’ll take it. Hey, ghost,” you asked, “If you won’t stop haunting the book, is there anything we can do to… I don’t know, make haunting comfortable for you? Make you… less likely to throw things at us?”

There was a pause, a few moments of static and then: “Fuck!”

You and Spencer let each other go. You both got to your knees, hovering over the spirit box with concern- humans man, they’ll pack bond with anything.

“Ghost! Are you okay!?” You asked, genuinely concerned about the ghost’s wellbeing.

“No!”

“What’s wrong? Maeve? Maeve?”

You paused, drawing back and looking at Spencer, “Maeve?”

“No!” The spirit box yelled again- but the ghost didn’t sound too upset. Honestly, she sounded more stressed than anything else.

“What can we do, ghost?” You asked, “What can we do to help?”

“You… can…” The candles flickered violently before going out in a puff of smoke, “Fuck!”

“What- what’s wrong?” Spencer asked, his voice growing more desperate. As he reached out for the spirit box, a loud creak rang out from one of the walls. Your eyes widened as you noticed- one of your bookshelves was leaning away from the wall.

“Reid, look out!” you snatched the book in one hand and tackled Reid with literally every other part of your body. The two of you rolled out of the way just as the bookshelf collapsed, shattering the spirit box beneath it.

When the dust settled, you were on top of Spencer.

You didn’t even have it in you to be embarrassed about straddling his lap- at least, not at first. No, your initial concern was his stab wound. You shifted slightly, drawing a shaky gasp from the man beneath you. You didn’t even notice. You had a mission.

Your hands shifted to the edge of his sweater, pushing it up slightly to find the wound beneath. It took you a second (the man wears a lot of layers) but you were quickly met with the sight of a pristine white bandage surrounded by slightly irritated skin.

Once you were sure Spencer wasn’t going to bleed to death, you let yourself collapse forward on his chest, letting out a sound of pure relief as you did.

“(Y/N)- “

“Are you okay? I-it didn’t look like you tore your stitches, but if something’s wrong, I can drive you to the hospital-”

“Hey, I’m fine-” he said, cautiously wrapping his arms around your back, “I promise, I’m fine.”

“You swear you’re okay?” you asked, propping yourself up with one arm so you could see his face, “You’re not just saying it to get me to calm down?”

“I swear. I’m fine. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just fucking terrified right now. Is the book okay? I’m scared to look.”

“The- the book?” Spencer sat up with you, looking at The Narrative of John Smith, still clutched in your shaking hand, “You saved the book?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I’m not a profiler, but I know that it means something to you,” you placed your free hand on his chest, keeping yourself steady as you held up the book, “I wasn’t gonna risk hurting it.”

“I- You-”

“What?” you tilted your head and put the book down safely, “I might be a bitch, but I’m not evil.”

You let your spare hand drift to the book’s cover. Your fingers ran the title. You were so focused on your little task that you didn’t see Spencer looking at you as if you’d hung the moon and stars in the sky.

He opened his mouth to say something, to thank you, or confess his undying love, or whatever, but you cut him off.

“I’m not stupid, either. You worked for the FBI. You know how to hide a body. And they’d never suspect you- not only are you a genius, you’re former FBI. You have friends, they’d cover for you, so if I ever piss you off too much-”

You didn’t get another word out. Spencer pulled you close to him and wrapped his arms around you. You hesitated for a split second before you embraced him back. You buried your face in his chest, wrapping yourself around him as tightly as you dared to. You could feel his heart racing in his chest. The sound was a comfort to you.

Spencer was okay, uncrushed, and not bleeding. He hadn’t died in your office. He was alive, and in your arms, and you were both safe.

After a minute, you pulled apart, finally moving to stand. You turned, slightly, taking in the damage to your office.

“Honestly? It’s not too bad. I didn’t have any glass on that shelf. Just books. It’ll be a bitch to clean up, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhmm. It’ll be fi-”

Before you could finish, the lights in your office began to flicker. Violently. You stepped back towards Spencer just as he reached out and pulled you towards him. The two of you stood in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around each other, watching the lights turn on and off.

“So. I think my office is haunted.”

“Do you want to work out of mine?”

“Sorry?”

“While you deal with the ghost problem-” Spencer pulled you out of the way as a book flew off the shelf towards you. The momentum spun you around, making you face him, “Do you want to work out of my office?”

The lights turned off for a final time. Your hands stretched into the dark, stopping when they found Reid’s shoulders. You held on for dear life, waiting for your eyes to adjust.

“Even if I didn’t want to, I think the ghost just said ‘Yes.’”

♥ Tags: @icarusignite, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @maraudersforlife2005, @fictionalcomforts, @morgthemagpie, @iiheartbowie, @digitalhearts, @corpsebridenightamare, @ghostatrixx, @reiding-writing, @mywellspringoflife, @80katie, @ms-ks-world, if you asked to be tagged and i forgot, pls let me know!! if you would like to be tagged and aren't, also let me know :D

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #x reader #nightmare academia

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opens-up-4-nobody · 3 months

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...

#tfw youre hanging out with friends and u throw out controversial take after controversial take #like its me hi im the hater its me #u wanna hear them? i mean thrm in in like the silliest way possible. its not that serious lol #i hated h4n solo growing up and still do. i dont think i like the writing of ne1l gaim4n and only liked the 1st season of g0od 0mens #i thought the 1st season of 0ur flag was fine and didnt really like the 2nd. i dont think anyone in l0rd of the rings is hot. especially #not 4aragon. leg0las is like whatever. sam is my favorite character. i also didnt like l0rd of the rings when i 1st watched it #the gathering was a watch party for that 1st movie and i like it way more now lol. also i dont like overt romance. i like the implication #of romance. if u kiss onscreen im like 99% of thr time not interested. also while im being a hater. i dont thibk steven king is a good #writer and domt like his books. i like the idea of them. wish they were written by anyone else lol. also im too dyslex1c to read physical #books :-( which no one vibes with bc everyone's a grad student overachiever lol. and back to back it all sounds like im trying to b #contrary but i promise its maybe just that i have weird standards. like i also hated movies about animals growing up. it made me mad that #those movies were trying to manipulate my feelings. like jesus child chill tf out. i would also randomly decide i hated lots of things and #characters. some of which i stand by today but most of which im like lol chill #so idk maybe i just have bad opinions. i also wander the earth wearing outfits that i pick out bc it feels like im playing dressup #and i have unhinged options abt narut0. sas and naru fall into the 1% of kisses i care abt lmao #and unhinged options abt bleach the show. idk maybe im just kinda weird. i also study organisms that most ppl look at as globs of goo #and i used to study bits of dirt. my brain was just build ever so slightly weird. not too weird. just enough that i have quote unquote #controversial takes ans im not afraid to say them in a room full of ppl who disagree with me bc its really not that serious lol #i dunno i just think its kinda funny i guess #im just slightly weird in the least interesting way possible #unrelated #also i don't yuvk other ppls yum im just like ay not for me i guess

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centrally-unplanned · 1 month

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I was listening to this cast by The Weeb Crew, with SteveM as a guest, going through some other Evangelion video and dissecting the mythical memetic tropes it buys into. Which was a lot of fun, I recommend the cast, and the video they are critiquing is a bit of a grad-bag of zombie memes about Evangelion from the 2000's, which yeah have aged poorly.

One of the ones they get into is the idea that Evangelion's TV ending was "intensely unpopular", and Anno & crew were getting like bombarded with death threats and stuff. Which happened at some level sure, but certainly wasn't the median response. The video actually sites the "emails" shown on screen in End of Evangelion as evidence:

And like, bro those emails are fake! The staff wrote them for the movie, they didn't use real death threats or fan mail, that would be a huge legal liability. Not saying they are analytically useless or anything but, you know, you need to know that.

Anyway, SteveM mentions that of course there was pushback against Eva's ending, but actually the big wave wasn't interior to the fandom - instead it was sparked by Eva "going mainstream" discourse-wise. In particular a review essay by social critic Eiji Otuska (who is also a former lolicon creator ding ding ding) that was published after the finale aired sparked a widespread discussion in the media by other critics. He links to the essay in their discussion....except he doesn't. He thinks he did, and then when they look, its just someone else mentioning it in an article in 2003:

Bitter disputes broke out on online bulletin boards, with some critical of the producers for failing to provide a clear-cut end to the story, and others who praised the finish for being "typically Evangelion-like." But when commentator Eiji Otsuka sent a letter to the Yomiuri Shimbun, complaining about the end of the Evangelion series, the debate went nationwide. "The debate that erupted over the ending went way beyond our calculations," Gainax's Sato chuckles. "Anno probably knew what was going on. He realized that media other than anime had taken notice of Evangelion."

Which triggered in me the thought - why doesn't he have it? He references it in his own work after all. As you can guess, after some searching I am pretty sure I know why; no one has it. Its never been scanned or reprinted in an accessible format! It definitely is important in the history of Evangelion - I have seen this claim in other contexts, the essay that sparked a discourse, and you can find many works about Evangelion citing Otsuki (generally later works, like an article published in September of 1996 which you can buy) But what the article article said is only discernable via the clues dropped from second-hand accounts.

So can we find it?

First of all I need to figure out what is even being referenced. Searching through contemporary Japanese sources, I dug up an extremely handy find:

A somehow-still-existing 1997 fan page by a Japanese otaku (I'm giving you this stuff auto-translated btw, what would you do with a wall of kanji?) who extensively catalogued every media mention of Evangelion. I am sure they missed some, but they didn't miss a big one like the Otsuki letter - which we know from the above interview appeared in gigantic newspaper Yoimiuri Shimbun:

This gives us three candidates; given that we know it was written after the finale aired, and that was March 27th, 1996, our most likely candidate is the April 1st essay; I was able to find a secondary source mentioning the review was "immediately" after the finale, so I think that nails it.

Which alas does not bring up anything! Try as I might I cannot find any extant blog post, or scanned image, or long quoted form. But after trying the usual methods I did realize something - unlike my average document hunt, this is Yoimiuri Shimbum, a newspaper, a big newspaper. Which means they probably have their own archive, which I might be able to access. and low and behold, they do! And my university research services actually have an account!!

Incredibly blessed by this stroke of luck, I went digging for everything containing "Evangelion" and "Eiji Otsuka" in 1996, and found it:

And it's fucking blank. If the article is scanned or anything it will have that "Japanese Text" you see on the first result, or "Scanned Image" tag or something. I swear its like the only ones not scanned, all the random ads and list of best sellers are all there, but the entire cultural essays section is just an archival void. Shot in the skull right at the finish line.

Alas I am out of ideas of this one - its a newspaper, no one is selling this on Yahoo Auctions. Though hey, at least now we know the title:

"オウム」を超えるはずが... / It should surpass Aum...", 876 characters long.

"Aum" by the way is Aum Shinrikyo, the cult terrorist group that conducted the 1995 Tokyo subway sarin gas attack. Which you can imagine really took the chattering classes by storm; it was the culmination of a series of "extremist" actions that began in the 1980's that built up a narrative of societal decay and alarm. It really isn't surprising that Otsuka linked Evangelion to Aum Shinrikyo; the apocalyptic connections were obvious, there was even an episode of the show that had to be changed due to the attacks as the production team thought the events were too similar. And additionally, if this essay was gonna spark a "societal backlash", it has to say something controversial right? I have definitely seen other critics like Hiroki Azuma discussing Eva in relation to Aum as a "social phenomenon" - I am betting Otsuka is the source of that comparison being so ubiquitous.

From other sources like people on twitter and other articles, I can pick up a few other details on what it contained; apparently he referred to Evangelion's finale as a "self-help seminar" for otaku and lambasted the idea of airing one of those on TV. And from his other writings I think you can certainly piece it together - essentially seeing Evangelion's self-involvement and hyper-introspection as a product of the same societal malaise that birthed Aum Shinrikyo, while failing to deliver a solution that could "go beyond" that. Which, the shit you said about media in the 90's, I want a hit of what he's having! But while today its quite obvious that groups like Aum were, sure, saying something about society but turned out overwhelmingly to be fringe weirdos as opposed to canaries in the mental institute coal mine, at the time this was very much the zeitgeist.

Still, I don't really care all that much what it says - its an important artifact! It started the "Eva discourse boom" that broke out of otaku circles and launched Evangelion into a cross-societal phenomenon! We should have a record of it, it should be preserved. I will ruminate on it, and see if any other ideas pop up. And meanwhile if anyone out there happens to see what I missed definitely let me know.

#evangelion history #Ash anime deep dive bullshit #mini-essay

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ceilidhtransing · 5 months

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This isn't the kind of stuff I usually post about, and I have zero interest in Drama, but I want to talk about a tangential element that the whole James Somerton Debacle has rather highlighted. I saw someone say something along the lines of “who would expect a business grad to have the skill of reading from a variety of sources and synthesising their ideas into good original media analysis content” and like... yeah.

It's such a common refrain to shit on arts and humanities degrees by going “what's that actually teaching you? What skills do you even get from that? It's all useless, it's not relevant to anything, you come out of that sort of degree with nothing but pointless facts on obscure literature or some pish like that”. But no, the distinct skill of learning from a variety of sources and developing the information and perspectives into new unique work of your own is the bread and butter of such degrees, and it is not a skill everyone has.

I feel like those of us who have been trained to do this (or who have developed the skill through their own independent learning outside of an academic institution) have a tendency to devalue it, to forget that it's an actual skill, to assume everyone just does this on the reg. And the idea of simply copying and pasting excerpts from other people's work, without credit, into your work and calling it a day wouldn't even cross our minds as a thing to do, because it's so obvious that the end result would be absolutely terrible, full of points that don't connect, ideas that don't go anywhere, sections that seem to lightly contradict, writing styles that don't cohere. I'm still stunned that anyone would have the audacity to do that, not just on an ethical level, but also on a quality level - is it not obvious that what you would produce by that method won't be very good?

I don't know this person, and I don't want to speculate too much - I don't know whether he genuinely lacks this skill, or if he has the skill and is too lazy to utilise it (though given the standard of his videos, I would hazard a guess at the first, because surely if this was a thing you were good at, your every instinct would be screaming at you to spend a short amount of time just tidying everything up, making it cohere, linking ideas together, doing something to make it better than a load of quotes haphazardly chucked together). What I do know is that this whole incident shows up perhaps better than anything before the very skill that a humanities background gives you, precisely by demonstrating what humanities-style content done without that skill looks like.

Hbomberguy does make the point in his video that creatives often don't value their skills because to them, they're just second-nature; they don't register as skills anymore. And a very similar thing goes on with people with humanities backgrounds. Artistic, creative, literary, intellectual skills get devalued by society all the time. But this stuff is valuable, something that evidently not everyone has or bothers with, and ideally I'd like to see a whole lot less of “but what does a degree like that even teach you”.

#hbomberguy #youtube #humanities #my posts

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atinylittlepain · 22 days

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Atlantic City

college!steve harrington x f!oc

part of the girl boy universe

wordcount | 3.2K

content info | 18+ smut, WASPy parental trauma, misogynistic father boooooo, little angst, New Jersey, mostly fluff though

a/n | special thanks to orange anon who isn't anon anymore - apologies this one took a while :')

.........................................................

He can’t sleep. He’s in the plaid room again, close and quiet and suddenly he’s small, young, swallowed up by the thin pall of the past. And if he’s being honest, he’s not sure if this was such a good idea, but Andy’s not even here for him to tell her that. Down the hall in the guestroom because his mother hadn’t even given them the chance to protest that no, both adults, no, same room is fine. She had already dropped Andy’s bag in the guest room and his bag in the plaid room and given him a pointed look about the whole thing that meant silence, he knows it well.

And he’s considering it, he is, padding down the hallway and slipping in under the covers with her, breathing her in and breathing the detergent his mother has used since he was little out. But something is stopping him, keeping him tangled and curled up in the plaid room, that smalling, that suddenly twelve again thing.

They had flipped a coin before spring break. Which set of parents would be met first, and nobody was winning, really, in this situation. Andy took it in stride when it became clear they’d be paying a visit to Chip and Diane Harrington, shrugging, dramatic warbling of that John Mellencamp song, a little ditty about Chip and Diane, two American kids causing parental trauma in the Heartland. He had laughed at the time. He’s not really laughing now.

Dinner had been as tense and tight as a closed fist. At first, his parents had behaved like Andy wasn’t even there, directing all their questions, all their scrutiny onto him, the usual rundown of yes, decent grades, and yes, how great, the post-grad job he has lined up, yes, mom, yes, dad. And when their attention turned to Andy, never one to back down, ever, the conversation had curdled from a question about her thesis to her asking Diane about her multiple admissions to the state hospital for “exhaustion,” air quotes necessary to connote the dose of skepticism Andy parceled around the word while Chip glared at her and Diane grew skittish, smiling nervous and talking in that high, airy voice of hers.

Steve had managed to steer far enough away from that with a tact that can only be found in the children of parents like Chip and Diane, always on the defense in that way. But when they had gone up to bed, his father had stopped him, hand curled, clawed, on his shoulder and I’m not sure about this one, champ. Not sure about this one, right, and got a mouth, doesn’t she? Something else was said about a firm hand and a tight leash while his stomach started to swirl and sicken. He didn’t say anything, just nodded, the smallest okay, dad, goodnight, dad, and he hates himself for that, tossing and turning in his twin bed because he hates that he didn’t, what? Defend her? Snap and snarl back against the closing hand, closing jaw of his dad? Not that Andy needs anyone to defend her, not that it matters what Chip thinks, not really, but still, but still.

He’s not sure how long he’s been lying there when his door cracks open, the muffled sound of footsteps, a hand curling on his hip, skating up to his ribs and he doesn’t even look over his shoulder, just inches to the very edge of his bed to make as much room as he can for her to slip in behind him, her palm coming to rest splayed over the center of his chest, her lips pressed to the nape of his neck as she settles around him.

“I’m sorry, I think I was a dick to your mom.”

“It’s okay, she’s so heavily medicated I don’t think she’ll remember it in the morning.” She hums, her legs tangling up close with his, perfectly curled into and around each other and barely fitting on this stupid twin bed, but it’s the greatest relief to have her here with him, like the walls aren’t closing in, like his ribs aren’t pinching and pulling taut, her palm over his heart reminding him to pump blood like this, breathe like this. And when she presses a kiss to the shell of his ear, for whatever reason, that’s the thing that finally breaks the thick heat swelling and stuck behind his eyes, water starting to pool and spill, turning his vision into stained glass.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He tries to speak, but a strange sound breaks in his throat instead, a little like a sob, but softer, her hands holding him through the shake.

“I always forget how much I hate being here.” And that is but isn’t all of it. Yes, he forgets how much he hates being here, but he also forgets how small he feels being here, how young. He forgets the fights, and the silence that was somehow worse. He forgets the seemingly constant alternation in those last few years of sleeping in Eddie’s or Robin’s bed simply because he didn’t like being small and alone in this big house. And it’s a good thing, he thinks, that he can forget about these things in the new life he has. But it’s difficult to remember that the plaid room and the silence isn’t his life any more when he’s back in it like he is now.

“Am I making it better or worse being here right now?”

“Better, please stay.” She holds him a little tighter, little closer, her other hand brushing his hair back from his face and of course, baby, of course I’ll stay, and he can’t even feel all that foolish for crying in front of her because she’s not like that about these things, and it plainly feels too good to be held by her for him to think about much else than her hands and the warmth of her body against his.

“Do you want to leave?”

“Right now?”

“Well, I was thinking in the morning. Don’t want those two thinking I kidnapped you and like, ritually sacrificed you to Courtney Love or something. But I’m also not opposed to leaving now if you really want to.” He turns over just enough that he can look at her, the soft curve of her smile, nothing but care, no judgment, no recoil when she sees his bleary eyes, the pull of his frown. She cups his face in her hand, thumb stroking at stray salt beneath his eye, and he knows that she would do it, if he said he wanted to leave right now, she would do it, pack both of their bags and toss them in the car and get them the hell out of here before his parents even woke up. How lovely, how devastating, to be loved like this, to be loved by her.

“My mom said she wanted to take you shopping tomorrow.”

“Steve, to be frank, I don’t really give a fuck about what your mom wants right now.”

“Where would we go, back to your place?”

“We could, but Robin and her girlfriend are watching Sylvia until the end of the week so really, we could go wherever we want to. Anywhere else you want to go?”

“Anywhere?”

“Yeah, I’m paying for gas, dream big, we’ve got a whole week to kill.” And by some strange unfurling in his mind, the first place he thinks of is Cape May, New Jersey, an errant memory of a family vacation, a good memory, young memory, warm and rare memory. Small town and candy-coated storefronts and the beach, of course, the beach. He remembers spending most of that week blowing his allowance on ice pops and roaming the pier alone, sticky hands and sugar-sour stomach, threading through throngs of too tall and too tan legs. He remembers pure, unfettered joy. And if Andy has any qualms about New Jersey she does a good job of hiding it, smiling and alright, baby, we ride at dawn. They don’t really sleep, just curl up close and plot out their grand escape until the light is starting to turn pale and thin, and the plaid room becomes something other than a cage.

She takes care of it in the morning, takes no prisoners and leaves no room for questions, breezes into the kitchen on a long sigh and Robin called, something’s wrong with Sylvia, and he does his best not to laugh as he oh no, should we go back? and Andy’s gosh, I feel terrible, but yeah, we probably should, a veritable production right under the rims of Chip and Diane’s coffee mugs. They get their bags into the trunk of his car in record time while Andy coddles and coos oooh, I’m really sorry, Chip, Diane, but it was lovely to meet you, Chip, Diane, oooh in June? Hmm, I think we’ll both be a little too busy, but thank you, Chip, Diane, let’s not and say we didn’t. That last part, muttered under a quick breath as she ducks down into the passenger seat. He makes a mental note to thank Robin for calling his parents’ house, after he called her and asked her to do exactly that earlier in the morning.

They don’t look at each other until they’re back on the highway heading east, grins splitting into laughter, Andy leaning over the console to press a smacking kiss to his cheek.

“To Jersey, baby.”

“You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Well, I try. Let’s switch off when we reach Cincinnati, alright?”

And, well, the truth is they didn’t think this through, at least not as well as they thought they had. They stop more times than they should, don’t even make it to Cincinnati before breakfast beckons. A crueler for him, coffee with cream, and a maple bar for her, her coffee black, perfect shards of sugar sifting and snowing over the dash of his car, a little sick and a little giddy kick in their stomachs. A handful of stops in Ohio too, gas stations and rest stops and an admitted music shop because they’ve run out of fresh cassettes by the time they pass through Akron. And Pennsylvania, forget it. A delirious afternoon haze, a strange conversation about the Amish, the lingering smell of pickles from the burgers they shared for a late lunch. But after their third or fourth driver seat switch, Andy starting to nod off on the passenger’s side, he realizes a bit idly that he hasn’t really stopped smiling since they left Indiana.

For the record, they never make it to Cape May. The sun has already set, leaving a vivid wash of orange bruising into blue by the time they’re driving through Atlantic City, and they both seem to have the same thought at the same time. Yeah, like the Springsteen song. So they scrap Cape May and car crawl down to the beach, and it’s cold, March, wind bitten and bitter, and dark, and they cling to each other, hands tucked in close against ribs and chin tucked toward chin as they flirt closer to the water. And because it’s cold, and because it’s dark, they’re the only ones out here on this gray-blue stretch of beach, the slow thrum of the water breathing in and out. Andy grins at him and he feels young in a new way, and when she wordlessly starts shrugging out of her shoes and popping the button of her jeans, of course, he follows suit.

It’s cold, bracingly so, all the air shuttering up still in his lungs, up to his shins, then his thighs, then his hips, Andy holding his hand and it doesn’t count if you don’t get your hair wet before she’s dipping under the dark ink of water, resurfacing with a burst and break of laughter, her hair slicked back and the pooling water on her skin shimmering and shining in the distant light of the city. He does it too, with a yelp, a yawp, coming back up for air to the sound of her laugh and then they’re sprinting out just as fast as they dared and daunted in, teeth chattering as they pull their clothes on over damp skin.

“We’re probably gonna catch some kind of flesh-eating disease from that water.” Shivering words that are almost drowned out by the wheezing roar of the heat turned all the way up in his car, he has to laugh, a little bleary eyed while she winds and weaves through the city streets, eyes peeled for a hotel.

“At least we’ll go out together.”

“Knew you were gonna say something like that. So romantic, we can put ointment on each other’s matching rashes.”

“Well when you put it that way.” Matching grins, turned giddy and bold, and they smell like the sea, and that’s less lovely than it sounds. They smell like brine, like snapping cold, his nose burning a little with it, eyes red-rimmed and weary, but still smiling, her hand in his over the console.

They end up getting a room at a motel with so many lights burned out in its vacant rooms sign that all that’s left is the red neon glow of CAN. It’ll do. A shower for both of them, because when she starts pressing kisses to the soft hook of his jaw, she laughs, you’re salty, Jesus Christ. And she wasn’t wrong, boyish and a little brash when he licks a stripe up the side of her neck, smacking his lips in a barely contained grin while she squawks and squirms. So, a shower, skin tacky and warm, and he feels like something perfect, something preening, is unfurling in his chest as he watches her lay out on the coarse sheets of the bed, bare, the soft spread of her hips, shadows bending and breaking in warm lamplight. She smiles at him, her chin tucked down and shoulder hiked, chipped purple nail polish trailing a line of want from her navel up and up between her breasts, along her clavicle. It becomes more clear to him every time he sees her like this that yes, he’s a goner.

“Hi.”

“Hi, baby, you feeling good?”

“Yeah, you?” She hums, mmhmm, rolling her lips back to hide the stretch of her smile, palms splaying along his ribs when he settles between her thighs, breathing in the close heat of each other. And there are words he would like to say, though they fail him, this feeling too big and buoyant to wrap language around. Good love, giddy love, turning to fizz and foam, and he thanks her, thank you for today, with his mouth pressed into her sternum, nose grazing up along line and ligament, the catch of breath in her throat, her smile.

They move with a patience that’s new to them both. In the early days, the beginning, when they were both still skirting around the edges of this being something serious, there was also a tinge of something a little frantic, a little fear and frenzy laced into their fingertips because, no, never sure if that time, or that time, or that time, would be the last. But neither of them are worried about that any more, whispered promises and easy comforts, staying, and certain in it. For the long haul, for it all. So now, now, they can take their time.

And this is different too, at least for him. He had gotten used to, and good at, the performance of things like this, the putting on of things like this, move like this, moan like this, bodies fitted with bodies for particular outcomes. Andy had seen right through that early on, turning the tables, quick spin and her hands on his chest and an easy grin, and he was no longer thinking about the aesthetics of it, of what should follow what, wrapped up in the sense and sate, and now he blushes when she tells him he makes the prettiest sounds for her, pretty, pretty, pretty, my pretty boy.

Her palms soothe presence into his spine, here, like this, be here, like this, and there’s a beat every time his hips settle against hers, a hiccup, a breath, how nice it feels to be with her, to be feeling this with her, both of them sighing, little keening cries that flicker into breathless laughter because how absurd, how obscene for them to have something as good as this. And he knows that they are the same in this way, two people convinced that no, never anything good like this, not for them, and now getting away with something good like this, good for them, and only them, and only theirs.

The soft inside of her knee pressed against his hip makes easy movement out of turning them in the sheets, languid limbs and him on his back and her draped over him, the curve of her spine and the taut line of her neck when her head tips back, pooling light like flecks of gold and he puts his hand there, there, curled close at the front of her throat, not taking anything, but in fact asking, and accepting. Her hips roll, liquid and lovely, dark hair curled damp between her thighs, and it’s something better than art, he thinks. She sighs his name when his hand slips heavy down to cup the weight of her breast, just because he can, pleasure because he can. Like that, like that, they unravel for each other in the close stillness of the night, and stitch back together in the hazy aftermath, her cheek pressed over the battering ache of his heart, all hers.

“Can I ask you something about your parents?” Her chin propped on her forearm, voice barely above a whisper. He nods, his palm stopping its circuit in the dip of her spine.

“How did they meet?”

“High school, I’m pretty sure.”

“I didn’t think that actually happened.”

“I don’t think it does any more, it probably shouldn’t have between those two.”

“Hmm, made a good kid, at least. Though I think that has more to do with you than it does with them.” And then, an afterthought, agonizingly sweet, her knuckles brushing along his cheek, you made it out, you know, and he does, presses a kiss to the pads of her fingers, making that knowing real.

“What about yours?” Roll of her eyes and sigh, the same, but different.

“Two big Boston families, one marriage of sensibility. Add in a little catholic guilt and you end up with five kids and no hope of divorce any time soon.” She says it with half of a smile, a weak laugh that sounds like something else, something tired and trying. He doesn’t push though, doesn’t ask any more. She’ll tell him when she’s ready, he knows. Instead he nods and says a few simple words that sound a lot like what she told him. Getting out, both of them, making something new for themselves, together.

“You think they’ll like me?”

“I don’t know, I don’t care. I’m not even gonna ask if you think yours liked me.”

“It doesn’t matter.” His words crackle and curl with his smile, relief in those words, in believing them. She smiles and something warm splits open in his chest, her palm pressed there like she knows.

“No, baby, it doesn’t.”

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