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nereidprinc3ss · 30 days

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do you believe me now? | 5

in which spencer reid and fem!reader are reunited, but the worst kind of sparks are flying. you meet a man named randall. derek morgan buys you a drink (sort of). it seems that some things can't be unsaid.

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this series is 18+ warnings/tags: r goes to a bar but doesn't drink alcohol, gets hit on by weird men, dramatic, angst, sorry in advance a/n: surprise! i'll see myself out. love you! lmk your thoughts on this bad boy! i KNOW you'll have some! i'm locking all my doors and the cops are on speed dial after posting this. stay tuned for part six tho

You don’t call Spencer for four days.

Spencer doesn’t call you for four days.

It’s scary.

There’s some texting—mostly him giving you updates on how things are going and when he expects to be back. Mostly you giving the messages a thumbs up and saying nothing else.

Finally, on Thursday afternoon, his ringtone (the Bill Nye theme) makes you jump as you’re sitting on your bed staring into space.

His caller ID photo—which is simply his passport photo, because you’d thought it was adorable—stares at you. You stare back. Contemplate not picking up.

But you’re not quite there yet.

And you cannot keep listening to Bill Nye the Science Guy.

The answer button is cold under your thumb, but not as cold as your greeting.

“Hi.”

You barely recognize your own voice.

It seems to send Spencer for a loop as well, because his reply is halting.

“Hey! Hi, um—how are you? I feel like we’ve barely talked this week.”

That would be because you told me my feelings for you are stronger than your feelings for me and I don’t know how to stop making every single word I say secretly mean I love you. We can’t have a conversation without me loving you. It will always be in the room or on the phone with us. To ignore the presence of it is impossible, and I don’t know if I can ignore the absence of yours, either.

“Uh… yeah. I’m fine. What’s up?”

There’s a pause.

“We wrapped up this morning. We’re getting on the jet here in a few minutes, and, um—I know it’s not ideal, but we missed Derek’s birthday and Penelope is insisting we all go to his favorite bar tonight. And he told me that for his birthday he wants to meet you. So… would you be up for that?”

“You want… to take me to a bar?”

“No. I mean—I know it’s not really your thing, but we missed Derek’s birthday three years in a row, and—and I understand if you don’t want to meet him tonight, but we wouldn’t have to stay very long and I really, really shouldn’t skip it. Derek has saved my life on more than one occasion.”

“You could go without me.”

More silence. Every second hurts, but you don’t understand why he wants you to come meet his best friend if he thinks the two of you are in different places emotionally.

But maybe he’s not going to break up with you just yet. Maybe he’s going to keep inviting you to bars and foreign film festivals and bookshops. Maybe he’s going to treat you exactly the same as he always has but with this new added layer of knowledge that the way he treats you isn’t actually love, and it never was, and you’re not sure if it has the potential to ever become love. Because if it did—wouldn’t it have already? What more do you have to offer than what you’ve already given him?

Breakup or no breakup, you feel sick.

When he speaks his tone is similarly chilly. It’s welcome. You want him mad. If he can’t reciprocate your adoration, then the very least he can do is have the decency to reciprocate your reproach.

“I could. Is that what you want?”

No. I don’t want any of this. I need you to know me well enough to know that. And if you can’t love me then at least get angry. At least show me you feel something other than passive contentment.

“Yeah. Sure. I don’t know.”

A pause stretches so long your heart pounds. You watch the elapsed time of the call tick by, second by second, and you wait for the anticipation to crack under the weight of silence, to give way to some terrible jump scare or to give way at all.

But the words that end the conversation (if you can even call it that) aren’t any great relief. They’re just sad, and chalk full of defeat.

“Alright. I’ll… I’ll call you later.”

You feel like you’ve swallowed an ice cube. All the words you’d like to say are frozen in your stinging throat.

“Okay. Um… I’ll let you board now.”

“The jet’s not…” but he trails off. When he speaks again he sounds just as hurt as you’d wanted—and it doesn’t make you feel better at all. “Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line goes dead, and your face is burning as tears fill your eyes for the hundredth time this week. That call was terrible and poisonous and you don’t feel like yourself.

Things have gone so wrong so quickly, and all you know how to do is ice him out so he can’t do it to you first. But it’s not going to make this better. No matter how mean you are to him, at the root of it all you feel unloved and scared and alone and Spencer knows things about love and relationships that you don’t. He’s confusing you with all this talk of feeling differently about each other and I’ll be home tomorrow I miss you and things get complicated when one person likes the other more and let’s talk in person and will you come meet my best friend tonight. All of it leaves you motion sick and ugly crying in the fetal position.

All you have to get through this is who you’ve always been, a little of the person you’ve become, and the love you harbor for Spencer which rattles around in your chest like a nail in an empty toolbox. At the moment it hardly seems helpful. It mocks you, pointing out the pathetic hilarity of your paradox. The only person who can comfort you, the person you want more than anything, is the reason you’re so upset in the first place. But you can’t help being drawn to him.

Maybe the love you have for Spencer is more like a magnet in a compass.

Even if he doesn’t feel it for you, you do love Spencer. And that goes beyond just loving the parts of him that like you. To hide from that love would be a gross disservice to yourself and all the work you’ve done to get here. It’s not as if you suddenly know exactly what the answer is—but you’re sure that hiding is the most childish, cowardly thing you could do and the furthest you could get from a resolution. Even if you can’t make him love you back, you refuse to allow yourself to fizzle quietly out of his life. This relationship deserves something more than that.

So maybe you don’t have a plan when you wipe your eyes and pick up your phone. Maybe there’s no strategy behind your actions as you text Garcia for the bar location. But if you keep running from everything you’ll never get anywhere. All you can do is show up. It seems like the next best step.

------

The pub isn’t too crowded—but for a Thursday night, you suppose it’s a bit busy.

Boot heels hooked onto the metal foot-beam of the stool you’re sitting on, elbows resting on the polished mahogany surface of the bar, you’re staring into an untouched mixed drink. Then you glance down the bar to your right, at the man who’d bought it for you.

Maybe your ensemble gave him the wrong idea.

Coming to this gathering had required bravery, and you came armored. Your ensemble projects significantly more confidence than you’re currently feeling. It was intentional, a form of self-protection—but now you’re wondering if it’s projecting a little too much confidence.

All done up, clearly still a little rough around the edges, and sitting alone at a bar was bound to draw the wrong pairs of eyes.

“Hey, darlin’,” the gruff man says, approaching when you inadvertently catch his gaze. “Are you gonna drink that, or should I? Otherwise I’m lookin’ at eleven dollars right down the drain.”

You avert your eyes, scanning the groups dotted here and there.

“I’m waiting for friends.”

“Does that make a free drink less appealing?”

He takes the stool next to you, off-gassing the scent of cigarettes and leather.

“I’m not drinking.”

“Really? I’ve never seen a girl who looks as sad as you do come sit at the bar to stay sober.”

You frown, looking back up at the man next to you. He seems like the Hell’s Angels type—tattooed knuckles, leather jacket, grey beard, and a weathered face that’s clearly spent decades with the sun. Fifties, maybe younger and just looks more rugged. What does it say about how I look tonight that this is the kind of man I’m attracting, you wonder. Maybe you look desperate and just as lonely as you feel. As he claims you do.

“I’m not sad.”

“Alright. I’ll take your word for it. But a happier girl wouldn’t be all alone.”

“I’m waiting for friends,” you repeat, letting the words drip like venom from your tongue.

“I’m Randall. See? Now we're friends.”

“I don’t need more friends. I like the ones I have.”

Something catches Randall’s attention long enough to catch yours. He raises his bottle vaguely, gesturing beyond your shoulder.

“Are those angry lookin’ guys in the suits marching right over here the friends you’re talking about?”

You turn your head, brows furrowed, and immediately see the gentlemen to whom your new pal is pointing out.

Spencer is storming across the bar looking close to furious (which for him, means an expression so placid it gives you chills) followed by Derek Morgan—a man who you’ve only seen pictures of and is even more impressive in person.

You hate how your breath catches, how your heart is already beating a little faster than usual at the sight of him even though you’re not exactly pleased with each other right now.

Suddenly the bubbles in your cocktail are once again fascinating.

“Those are the ones.”

“And why are they dressed for church?”

Church?

“They’re FBI.”

“Ah. My lucky fuckin’ day.”

You almost snort.

“Hey,” Spencer says sternly, hand settling on your back as he partially fills the small space between you and the strange man. “Who’s this?”

You shrug, sit up a little straighter, and take a shallow breath—not because you’re scared of this man but because Spencer is suddenly so close to you and you can feel his warmth and the air bending around him and the scent of him is genuinely dizzying to you.

“Randall,” you exhale unenthusiastically. But the odd thing is that you’re rather grateful for Randall’s presence. Because now Spencer is here and you have no idea what you’re going to say to him.

“Oh,” Randall says, sipping his beer unhurriedly before using it to gesture to Spencer. “You’re the boyfriend. You know, that’s funny, because she didn’t mention a boyfriend.”

“I didn’t mention anything. We weren’t having a real conversation.”

Randy holds his hands up defensively, fingers still wrapped around the neck of a sweating bottle.

“I’m just saying it’s in-ter-esting. Not trying to start anything.” He stands, pauses for another sip—Spencer obviously isn’t sure what to make of this man because he says nothing. “But listen, man to man—you better buy her some flowers or a real pretty fuckin’ necklace or somethin’ because a happy girl in a happy relationship does not come pout at the bar all by herself.”

“Get out of here, man,” Derek finally speaks up.

“Yeah, yeah.” He sets his empty bottle down and fishes in his pocket for a cigarette, sticking it between his lips. “But—just for the record—I have a wife. I wasn’t gonna do anything weird. Sometimes when you’re my age you just gotta live a little. Buy a pretty girl a drink. Piss off some Mormons, or whatever the fuck you are.”

This guy sounds like a bad Bruce Springsteen song. But part of you would almost rather hang out with Randall than be forced into a conversation you’re not prepared for with Spencer.

And whose fault is that, you remind yourself. You decided to come be mature. Suck it up.

“Goodnight,” Derek emphasizes.

Spencer doesn’t say a word. You can feel his eyes boring smoking holes into the side of your face, and you look anywhere else.

“I’ll be here next week after physical therapy like clockwork,” the stranger waves as he ambles away—but not before pointing at you. “You enjoy that drink, friend. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

What a weird man.

There’s silence for a moment—in which Spencer refuses to stop watching you and you refuse to acknowledge that.

“And here I was thinking Spencer made you up.” Derek has a beautiful smile and a warm, charming cadence as he holds out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Derek.”

You take the proffered hand and shake, offering him a shy smile and introducing yourself in kind.

“Happy birthday, by the way. Sorry for crashing your party.”

Really, he’s stunning.

“Thank you, sweetheart. And you’re not crashing anything. I told pretty boy here I wanted to meet you the second he started talking about a friend. But nah, he just wanted to talk and talk and talk about you—”

“Alright,” Spencer mumbles, blushing, eyes finally torn from your profile. You smile slightly, brows knitting as Derek magically melts some of the terrible tension.

“Pretty boy?”

Before either of them can explain, someone shrieks in your general direction. You startle backward in your seat, and Spencer steps closer, hand sliding up your back as Penelope, JJ, and Emily join your little huddle. For only a second you allow yourself to shrink into him—before you’re straightening your posture like your spine is a metal rod and his touch burns. It’s a knee-jerk defensive reaction for which you have no explanation. You can’t see him, but you don’t feel his hand on you again.

“Oh my god! Look at this beautiful person who I love!” Penelope exclaims, pushing past Derek to grab your face and kiss both of your cheeks. “Oh my god,” she says again, wiping sticky lipgloss away with her thumbs, “I totally meant to ask before I did that. But your face is just so kissable. I’m so glad you decided to come!”

“Hi, Penelope,” you smile half-heartedly, incapable of reciprocating her cheery mood. Fortunately, she’s cheery enough for a standard commercial flight’s worth of people, and probably thinks of Derek’s birthday as a national holiday—so she doesn’t pick up on this.

Emily and JJ offer you tamer although perfectly kind greetings.

“Ooh, what are you drinking?” Emily asks, leaning closer to examine the forgotten beverage in front of you.

“Not that,” Spencer mutters, grabbing the glass and sliding it away from you. You give him an affronted look—and immediately wish you hadn’t, since you’re meeting his eyes for the first time since he left. His words stall for just a moment as his eyes dart between yours before he’s saying, “you shouldn’t accept a drink if you didn’t watch someone make it.”

The audacity of him to be acting protective makes you scoff.

“That guy didn’t spike my drink. He was harmless.”

“People thought Ted Bundy was harmless, too.”

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that you don’t even have a response—your eyes simply narrow and you shake your head. A claustrophobic silence falls over the small group.

“Okay…” JJ murmurs. “Um, do you guys want to go check out the jukebox with me? We have to play all of the birthday boy’s favorites.”

Several enthusiastic yeses go around, but you’re too busy having a stand off with your boyfriend to take much notice.

Soon, it’s just the two of you.

“Controlling isn’t a good look for you,” you finally say, spinning to rest your elbows on the bar once more and studying the bottles of liquor on the shelves beyond.

“Evasive and avoidant isn’t particularly flattering, either. I was under the impression that you had no intention of coming after that phone call earlier.”

You scoff again as your blood heats. Already the conversation is going worse than you’d expected—and your expectations were not high.

“Do you think the cab driver was a serial killer, too? Or maybe the bartender?”

He’s still behind you and slightly to the side—but he leans down, resting his own fists on the bar right next to you and speaking lowly, directly over your shoulder.

“Why don’t you try speaking to me like we’re adults instead of starting meaningless arguments in order to get under my skin?”

From him, that hurts.

It’s a branch on the tree of your greatest insecurity—the fear that you’re too inexperienced with relationships and that makes you too immature and he’s been lying every time he says it’s not an issue. Because of course it’s an issue. It’s why you fell in love with him, it’s why you don’t know how to fix it, and it’s why you’re incapable of actually expressing any of your feelings to him.

“Why do you think I’m here right now?” you whisper—as sharp and stinging as a poison dart. “I’m trying to be a fucking adult. I don’t want to be here.”

Silence.

“Then why did you come?”

His voice is so calm it burns like dry ice.

“Because! Because you asked me to, because—”

You can’t bring yourself to say it aloud.

Because I’m obviously still in love with you and I can’t just turn that off. I tried to do the right thing.

Instead you bury your face in your hands and let it hang in the air, unspoken. You know he knows. You just don’t know why he’s acting like you’re so unreasonable for being upset.

“Let me make this very clear to you,” Spencer murmurs, brushing your hair away from your ear so tenderly, speaking so softly you could convince yourself that he’ll say something kind. It’s the closest he’s been in days and now that he’s here you feel how much you missed him in your bones. And even though you sense a trap, you can’t help but sit up straighter. You’ll be complicit in your own undoing if it means you can have him close. His breath shakes slightly as he inhales and you brace as best you can. “Nobody is forcing you to be here. You told me you weren’t coming and then you decided to show up. I was ready to give you the space that you were too scared to ask me for. But I can only take responsibility for so much of what is ultimately your bad behavior and your adolescent volatility. You can only blame so much of your bad behavior on inexperience before I run out of patience because I don’t find thoughtlessness and emotional immaturity compelling. I told you that if there is a disparity in the way we feel for each other, that was fine, and I meant it. But if you can’t cope with how I feel about you then don’t let me hold you back. I am not holding you hostage. You can leave whenever you want. So don’t waste your time punishing me because you don’t want to be here. And if you do want to be here, good. I want that too. But act like an adult and make a decision. My leniency has limits, even for you. I am asking that you do not push it any further than you already have.”

You don’t know how long it’s been since your last breath by the time he finishes his address.

Long enough that you’re dizzy when you push away from the bar and shoulder through the throng of patrons as quickly as you reasonably can without outright running.

Long enough that when you burst out the door into the biting-cold night air, and finally take a deep, gasping breath, it burns and stings and aches and so does your head and your eyes as they well with hot, furious, heartbroken tears.

You speed-walk to the end of the block, hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your cries and all the curse words you’d love to scream.

Part of you knows you walked away from the bar in case he decided to try and follow you—but when you look over your shoulder the sidewalk is empty. You should’ve known better than to think he’d follow you after that. But at least it means you can have your breakdown by the relative safety of the bar, leaning your back against the dirty brick facade next to the entrance alcove and sliding down until your butt hits the cold concrete and you don’t even care.

Who the fuck was that man in the bar who looked like Spencer and sounded like Spencer but spoke to you like this is all your fault, like it’s your fault you love him and he doesn’t love you back, like it’s ridiculous that you’d be upset, like you’re cruel and petty for having feelings about it, about him—for having any fucking feelings at all? And to think that was the man who you let know you more intimately than anyone ever has. Every insecurity you’d ever admitted to him was hurled back in your face like it was nothing. Hell—he even handed you the ones you’d never mentioned. He proved every terrible thought you’ve been having about yourself right.

How could he be so unabashedly mean to you?

Spencer doesn’t have to love you. It seems clearer now than ever that he doesn’t. But part of you wonders if he suffered some sort of traumatic brain injury because that’s the only explanation for why he could go from treating you how he did before to treating you like he doesn’t even like you.

You feel like you might throw up.

“Called it,” a rasping, grumbling voice says from a few feet away.

You look up, and spot fucking Randall standing under a street light ten feet away, still smoking.

You go back to studying the tar spots on the sidewalk through bleary eyes. Pebbles sting as they press into your palms. Another one of the universe’s terrible jokes, you suppose. Just earlier you’d thought that you’d rather talk to Randall than Spencer and now here you are and here he is.

“That kid as much of a dipshit punk as I thought he was?”

Hearing Spencer described as a kid and a dipshit punk is so jarring you almost stop crying.

“He’s not a dipshit,” you sniff, voice thick with tears as you find yourself explaining Spencer Reid to this stranger for no reason at all. “He has an IQ of 187. He’s a genius.”

“Ah,” he scoffs dismissively, flicking ash from his cigarette. “Dipshit-ism don’t discriminate. Anyone can be one. Even your genius punk boyfriend. As a recovering dipshit myself I know what the work of a fellow dipshit looks like. And this has dipshit written all over it.”

You sob harder.

Randall speaks calmly around his cigarette.

“You know, I’m sorry for whatever you got goin’ on. But I’ve never not been the asshole when I got a hysterical woman in front of me. It’s nice that I can confidently say this time it is not my fault.”

The bar door opens, letting a warm burst of jovial music and chatter into the otherwise still night. Steps that are too heavy to be Spencer’s hit the concrete next to you—you look to your left and see Derek Morgan before he looks down and sees you.

“Hey—you okay out here?”

“Why don’t you go ask your Jehovah’s Witness buddy? He did this.”

Derek makes a face, locating the source of this interjection.

“Sir, I asked you to leave her alone once and I don’t appreciate being made to repeat myself. Are we clear?”

“Yeah, whatever. Fuck me for making friendly conversation, I guess. Gonna have to call my wife and tell her to pick me up down the street. I don’t want her on the damn phone while she’s driving.”

Randall wanders away again, still muttering to himself and smoking. Derek watches him go, staring daggers into his back until he turns his gaze to you.

Goodbye, Randall, you think. Great. Now I have neither of them.

“Hey,” he softens, crouching down to your level. “You okay?”

You sniff, wiping your cheeks and attempting not to smudge your makeup. It’s impossible not to feel awkward—you just met this guy and now he’s here trying to do emotional labor for you on his birthday.

“Yeah, I’m fine. This is embarrassing.”

“You don’t look fine. Can I do anything for you? Do you want some food? A drink?”

“You really don’t have to—”

“I know, I know. But look—Reid is always talking about you. You’re important to him, and he’s important to me. I’ve never seen him this happy and I’ve known that kid a long time. It is in my best interest that someone maintain you, and if it’s not him, it’ll be me. Call it a favor to him, if that makes you feel better.” Derek is sporting a slightly more modest Cheshire grin again by the end of his sentence. Listening to him speak that way about Spencer speaking about you, it’s impossible not to feel a teeny bit lighter. Even if you’re not entirely sure where you stand on all things Spencer related at the moment. “So I’ll ask you again. Is there anything I can do for you?”

You sniff again.

“Sure. A ginger ale or something might be good.”

“Got it. I’ll be back. And come inside if Randall tries to run up on you again, okay?”

Despite yourself you manage a laugh at the way he says the name. His warm smile flickers warmer at this.

“Will do.”

When Derek returns a few minutes later, the plastic cup he’s holding looks decidedly not like ginger ale.

“Penelope insisted that this is what you would want. I don’t even know.”

You smile slightly as you take the cup, full to the brim with bubbles and thick red syrup. A cherry bobs underneath the layer of cubed ice.

“Shirley temple,” you chuckle. “I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he says, flashing that brilliant smile again, and you look into your cup as you drink. Maybe your face warms just a bit. You’re still shy around men, you realize. Especially attractive ones. And Derek Morgan definitely qualifies as attractive.

“So,” he begins, and to your surprise, crouches down in front of you. “I have to be honest—I came out here in the first place because Reid sent me to check on you. But now I’m wondering what the hell he did.”

Spencer sent him. A considerate action that would theoretically signal his care for your feelings. You take another sip, staring into space and trying to digest this information, but it only jumbles with the rest to confuse you more.

Of course, you don’t know how to convey this to Derek in a way that’s not overly-familiar for just having met the man, so you go with an old standby.

“I’m probably just overreacting.”

“Uh-huh. I have sisters. I know what an overreaction looks like and if you were overreacting you wouldn’t be out here hiding. What’d he do?”

You can only keep up the facade of emotional stability for so long. Your chin wobbles in a horribly embarrassing way and you look down again.

“I’m not sure—I’m not sure if he really did anything or if I’m just being dramatic and I don’t want to make him seem—”

“Why don’t you stop defending him and just tell me what he did?” Derek urges. “Trust me—I love that kid to death. But I also know he can be a dick sometimes. You don’t need to worry about making him look bad in front of me.”

Part of you is glad Spencer has such a good friend on his side. And Derek is right—Spencer is an adult. You don’t need to worry about besmirching his reputation. So you take a shuddering sigh, staring into the red of your drink.

“He just doesn’t like me as much as I like him. Which isn’t his fault, like I said, but—he’s being such an asshole about it.”

Derek pulls a face, strong eyebrows making an impression as they knit.

“Did he tell you that?”

“Over the phone,” you nod emphatically. “And just now he gave me this whole fucking speech about how immature and horrible I am for not being 100% happy about it. And maybe he’s partially right, I mean—I know people feel things differently and maybe he just was asking for more time. I worry I fucked it up so bad because I couldn’t handle that—but at the same time he didn’t say he wanted more time. He was really fucking unclear and vague about what he wanted, and he asked me to come to this bar like it was nothing when I’ve been worried he was going to break up with me all week. So yeah, I guess he’s right and I have been a bitch about it because I was upset that he didn’t… like me as much. And I wanted him to feel bad because I was so embarrassed, and I also didn’t want to act like everything was normal if he was just going to dump me, I…” you realize you’ve been hardcore rambling and your face heats. “I don’t know.”

There’s a pause, and you worry you’ve done exactly the thing you didn’t want to, which was overshare to this man who seems like he’s significantly more normal and well-adjusted than you. You drink deeply, swallowing sugar and the rest of your words.

“That’s… bizarre. I don’t mean to invalidate your feelings, but… that just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, projecting annoyance so you won’t start crying again. “I was confused too. I thought he really liked me.”

“No, sweetheart, I’m saying—that doesn’t make sense because he does really like you. Really, really likes you, more than I’ve ever seen him like someone before. I mean, last week I finally finished that Tesla biography he’s been on my ass about for months and when I told him, all he wanted to do was talk about your thoughts on it. And then it wasn’t even about the book anymore. I have never, ever seen Reid pass up an opportunity to talk about Nikola Tesla. I’m talking never in my life. He finds a way to make every conversation about you. I can’t even follow the connections sometimes but he always finds a way.”

Your nose wrinkles.

“Sorry you’ve had to hear so much about me,” you mumble. Though you’re not really sorry. It feels good. A twinge of joy in all the murk.

“I’m not. Like I said, I’ve known Spencer for a long time and I’ve never seen him this happy. I’m not about to let him fuck it up.”

“If I make him so happy then why did he tell me we don’t feel the same?” you whisper, reaching into the puddle of syrup and ice at the bottom of your now empty cup.

“Is that exactly what he said?” Derek asks, after a long pause. You bite the maraschino cherry off the stem and nod morosely, grinding a long-gone stranger’s cigarette butt with your boot just to crush something. There’s another beat of silence. “Alright. You know what I think?”

You raise your head to meet his gaze, your own wide-eyed and expectant.

“I think you two need to have an honest conversation. You’re both confused and hurting—I promise Spencer is feeling it too. If you talk to him he won’t be unkind to you.”

“He already was,” you admit.

“I apologize if I’m out of line here, but you just told me you’ve been icing him out all week because you want him to feel bad. I’m willing to bet you don’t realize how sharp these claws are.” Derek grabs your hand as he says it and you marvel at how much he is the opposite of you. Everything he does and says seems so natural and reasonable and charming even if it would piss you off from anyone else—and you just met the guy. You can see why Spencer and Penelope speak so highly of him. “I think you’ve probably both had your moments these past few days. But that doesn’t mean neither of you deserve any more chances.”

He puts your hand back on your knee and pats it.

“Besides, Spencer‘s not good at mean. I bet he’s inside worrying himself sick over whatever dumb shit he said to you. He’s probably hyperventilating as we speak.”

“It was really out of character for him,” you concede.

“Yeah. He’ll be apologizing for a long while. It will get annoying. But he sure as hell won’t be doing it again, I can tell you that much. If he does, let me know. Emily and I will whoop his ass and call it a fitness evaluation.”

“I think that’ll be unnecessary,” you laugh thickly, pulling your sleeve over your hand and wiping away the few tears that haven’t quite dried. “But thank you.”

“Anytime. Now, it’s my birthday, and as a grown man I should not be getting involved in someone else’s relationship drama. I was supposed to be on the dance floor a while ago.” His tone is so warm and sugary by the time he finishes it could rot his perfect grin. It’s futile to hide the way your mouth twists into a reluctant smile as you look down and fix your hair—praying he can’t tell how fazed you are by his kindness. “You’re going to talk to him, right?”

“I’ll—yeah. Right,” you say quietly. But the sinking feeling in your stomach knows it’s a thing easier said than done.

“Good,” Derek grunts, taking your empty cup before pushing himself back up to his feet and offering you a hand. “Do you want me to send him out here or do you want to come find him inside?”

You balk.

“Like—right now? I have to talk to him now?”

Before he can give you an answer you think you’d rather not have, the bar door is opening. From your spot you can’t see who it is right away, but Derek turns over his shoulder and does a double take before looking back at you.

Spencer steps out onto the sidewalk, eyes scanning for until he realizes you’re a few feet shorter than usual. Sitting on a filthy public walkway is probably his worst nightmare, you realize, as you scramble to your feet and dust the crumbs of concrete from your palms against the back of your cold jeans. He begins to say your name, and it sounds like relief and regret, but you stop him.

“I have to go wash my hands.”

It’s monotonous and mumbled and comes out too quickly but you don’t have time to worry about that as you brush past both of the men on your way back into the bar, making an immediate beeline for the bathroom.

Your face burns with anxiety as you shut the door behind you, immediately drowning in the yellowish lighting which is so harsh but seems to illuminate almost nothing. Who paints a bathroom red? It’s suffocating. You feel like you’re inside an aorta.

Water runs cool over your hands as you sniffle, rinsing the bits of dirt from red indents made by pebbles and things, and the soap is too floral and powdery but you wash twice anyway. Maybe you’ll just stay in here and wash your hands forever.

There’s a light knock on the shiny wooden door and it makes you jump. Your name is muffled from the other side.

“You in there?”

Quickly you wipe under your reddened eyes in the mirror, trying to fix the slightly smudged makeup.

The door opens when you don’t respond, and there’s Spencer, looking weary and tense all at once. Is that your fault?

“Hey,” you sniff, trying to effect casualness, but it comes out too quickly and your posture is too stiff. Under his all-seeing gaze you cross and uncross your arms, look at him and look away. Your hands end up in your pockets. He’d say crossed arms are a sign of self-soothing.

“Hey.” His is more measured, and of course makes you feel embarrassed in comparison. The door swings shut behind him as he enters the small room and makes it feel that much smaller. “Are you… hiding from me in here?”

Yes.

The graffitied toilet stalls to your left suddenly look fascinating.

“Nope. Just washing my hands.”

This is not what Derek told you to do, you scold yourself internally. Stop being so scared. Be honest with him.

Silence rings. All the brutally honest things you’d like to say choke you until your throat hurts and your eyes get hot. Yet again you feel like a stupid little girl who’s too emotional to communicate.

You cross your arms. It’s an indulgence you feel you’re owed.

Spencer says your name again and it’s too much. He never says it this often. When he does it feels good but now it’s too formal, makes you too aware of your own inadequacy, and how he must be seeing you—a wraith of a girl in a dingy bar bathroom with clammy hands and smudged eyeliner, practically shaking with fear under an unforgiving light. Someone who is too scared and much too sensitive.

Spencer attempts to speak again.

“What I said before, it was—”

“Can you just take me home?”

It comes out on one exhalation and seems to stall him with all the effectiveness of a slap to the face.

You don’t know where it comes from, either.

Easier said than done, you’d thought a few moments ago. All the bravery Derek had tried to instill in you is gone, swallowed down the drain like soap scum. And now you’re choosing to let your fear win—because at least that’s a known quantity. The fear will never reject you. It will always be waiting with open arms.

Too scared.

The end feels imminent. You try to press yourself back together, fingernails biting into palms, trying to make something feel more tangible than the terrible knowingness that you’re careening toward an end which was supposed to be a beginning. It’s stifling and you wonder if Spencer is breathing it too.

You can’t look at his face, but you watch him pocket his hands in his pants and there is so much impossible space between you in such a tiny room.

“Yeah. I can.”

Something breaks. It’s small, and without fanfare. But it feels final.

It’s just a ride home. Just a ride home.

That’s all you have left, and you don’t know how you know it but you do.

Something so important is being left in this stupid, dingy bathroom. Something that was at one point beautiful and shiny and so arrogant in its newness that it seemed it would never become ugly. And now you’re abandoning it without dignity on the chipped tile floor and in the cobwebs on the walls. It was bigger than you, it was you—and now it’s going to be nothing.

A vehicle honks on the street. A boisterous group laugh explodes somewhere beyond the door. Water drips from a faucet.

“I’ll… I’ll bring my car around.”

“Okay.”

But he just stands there for another moment. Like he can’t get himself to move.

If only time would freeze before he could walk away.

But it doesn’t.

He sucks in a decisive breath.

“Okay,” he murmurs.

It’s that fucking phone call all over again.

Then he spins on his heels and leaves you there.

Your time is up.

part 5.5

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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masqueradeoftheguilty · 2 years

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i cant believe im going to have to tell my own parents and sister that actually, trying to use my passport to get into a festival that bans under-18s is a) a horrendous idea and b) pretty fucking illegal

like. theyre going to try and paste a picture of my sister over a picture of my passport to pass it off as her own. im so angry. like if their idea backfires which i have a horrible feeling it will, it’ll be on my head

not only that, theyre using a shady ‘verification app’ so theyre also giving my fucking details to some company without my consent im so.

#god. god.#im so angry i hate this so much #i dont care that my sister wants to get into the festival bcs its rules are kinda stupid about letting in teenagers but i want no part of it #and im so angry theyre taking my passport for it and didnt fucking ask me despite me turning 20 in less than a month #step right up! || 🪄.txt

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waywardangel-wilds · 5 days

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I’m in the middle of cooking, but I had to do some passport related stuff today which meant digging through my ‘family’ box and here’s a list of random things I think would be in Katniss’s initially‘Peeta’ box that eventually becomes her ‘family’ box:

The button from Peeta’s old coat - this is an old fanfic thing I made up, but I got it in my head that Peeta fidgets a lot with the 3rd button of his coat — so much so that it fell off. Katniss kept it.

A lock of hair from each toastbaby -from their first haircut.

A ticket from one of the new fair booths at the harvest festival - This is from the first ever date she went on, Peeta took her to harvest post-war.

A maple leaf - Peeta said the maples looked really nice on the first day she ever took him to the lake, so she kept one.

A ‘friend’ - one of the toast babies had a ‘toy’ rock - just a random rock with a happy face on it.

Buttercups bell - buttercup started wearing a bell because it was just easier to find him that way. Katniss puts it in the box after he dies.

Every single handmade card Peeta’s ever given her - this includes birthdays, Mother’s Day, and one cheeky ‘mockingjay day.’

The newspaper from the day the bakery opened - there’s a picture of both of them on the front cover looking happy.

Every single elementary school handmade gift from the toastbabies- honorable mentions: foam magnets in the shapes of fruit from the food pyramid unit, Mother’s Day macaroni cards, one homemade gum-ball machine from woodworking, and miscellaneous ‘family and me’ drawings in which everyone’s head is a comically strange size.

Peeta’s first and now expired drivers license- he just looked cute.

And I could come up with more if you’d like haha.

#the hunger games #everlark #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #fanfic #?#my silly headcannon

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acourtofswiftiesandshadowdaddies · 4 months

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The Lucky One

Percy Jackson cast x reader, Charlie Bushnell x reader (established relationship), Aryan Simhadri x older sister!reader

Warnings: fluff, smau

Summary: The life of Y/N Simhadri

a/n this is for all my fellow brown girls love you 🫶🏻 legit could not find any brown girls in vogue so and context ur rlly famous (NOT SEXUALISING)

liked by leahsavajeffries, dior.n.goodjohn and 34789 more ynsimhadri looking a bit goofy rn tagged: aryansimhadri, iamcharliebushnell view comments

aryansimhadri looking absolute dashing you mean ➔ iamcharliebushnell fr ➔ ynsimhadri keep telling yourselves that walkerscobell going into my blackmail folder ➔ ynsimhadri BAHAHAHA (send me the folder) user04 why does charlie look so fine

liked by ynsimhadri, iamcharliebushnell and 9,645,398 more vogue we loved having you! tagged: ynsimhadri comments are limited

ynsimhadri thank you for this opportunity 🫶🏻 liked by creator and 1,569,743 more

liked by ynsimhadri, leahsavajeffries and 789,476 more iamcharliebushnell waiting for y/n to stop fussing over walker and aryan view comments

aryansimhadri i was waiting for that too ➔ walkerscobell yeah why didn’t u do that to leah ➔ ynsimhadri because leah didn’t forget her passport at home liked by creator

liked by taylorswift, sadiesink and 8,574,392 more ynsimhadri we’ll move to india forever view comments

aryansimhadri hopefully not forever ➔ ynsimhadri dude don’t diss india like that leahsavajeffries im so excited to see where you were born ➔ ynsimhadri im so excited to show you all iamcharliebushnell should i be scared of ur grandmother ➔ ynsimhadri dw babe she’ll love u user01 not charlie being scared of y/n’s grandma liked by creator

liked by dior.n.goodjohn, walkerscobell and 9,863,201 more ynsimhadri dior is the best at speaking hindi, walker you need to practice a bit more tagged: dior.n.goodjohn, walkerscobell view comments

aryansimhadri walker trying to speak to our grandma was so funny ➔ walkerscobell she understood i’m percy jackson ➔ iamcharliebushnell she called u the guy who liked drowning liked by creator

liked by avantika, iamcharliebushnell and 8,794,320 more ynsimhadri in the car to get some things for diwali 🪔 tagged: dior.n.goodjohn view comments

avantika GORGE ➔ ynsimhadri ALL YOU BABES

liked by ynsimhadri, walkerscobell and 5,089,453 more aryansimhadri charlie trying to seduce my sister view comments

ynsimhadri it’s working 🤭

liked by aryansimhadri, aliabhatt and 11,769,401 more ynsimhadri getting ready for diwali tagged: leahsavajeffries, dior.n.goodjohn view comments

leahsavajeffries the dresses are so beautiful liked by creator dior.n.goodjohn can’t believe we’re leaving tmrrw 🥺 ➔ ynsimhadri same 😭 aryansimhadri grandma shouldn’t have let walker light the diyas ➔ ynsimhadri fr ➔ walkerscobell hey i’m responsible ➔ leahsavajeffries ok buddy liked by creator

liked by ynsimhadri, momonotamada and 10,968,301 more iamcharliebushnell my star looking at the moon view comments

aryansimhadri whipped ➔ iamcharliebushnell proudly liked by ynsimhadri and 2,013,890 more ynsimhadri i love you 🫶🏻 ➔ iamcharliebushnell i love you too, darling

liked by ynsimhadri, aryansimhadri and 8,043,720 more leahsavajeffries diwali is one of the most prettiest festivals ever view comments

ynsimhadri i second that ➔ iamcharliebushnell i third that ➔ walkerscobell i fourth that ➔ aryansimhadri i fifth that ➔ dior.n.goodjohn i sixth that

liked by ynsimhadri, iamcharliebushnell and 8,903,482 more dior.n.goodjohn sleepy heads comments are closed

liked by momonotamada, xochitlgomez and 15,942,604 more leahsavajeffries when they all got jet lag except me comments are closed

liked by iamcharliebushnell, walkerscobell and 17,809,411 more ynsimhadri they say love’s for show but i would die for you in secret tagged: iamcharliebushnell view comments

zendaya cuties taylorswift favourite couple ➔ ynsimhadri like mother like daughter liked by taylorswift and 9067 others avantika when’s the wedding aryansimhadri i know karate @iamcharliebushnell ➔ iamcharliebushnell you won’t need it killatrav elliotte misses you ➔ ynsimhadri i’ll visit soon!

liked by ynsimhadri, leahsavajeffries and 9,087,476 more iamcharliebushnell i like your american smile tagged: ynsimhadri view comments

ynsimhadri i like yours too 🤭 liked by creator user08 theyre why i believe in love walkerscobell did charlie just quote taylor swift dior.n.goodjohn charlie got lucky user11 they better be endgame leahsavajeffries cutest smile ever aryansimhadri charlie quoting taylor swift is so real

a/n this was all over the place. i only made this out of pjo au bcos they’re no indians that i know of in the show

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kiiwiigii · 9 months

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Abandoned

Demetri x Fem!Reader

Summary: Going to Italy over spring break was not what you had in mind, but Bella said she needed you. Until she didn't anymore, leaving you in the hands of a handsome vampire, who happens to be your mate.

Warnings:

Angst

Bella and the Cullens suck. (Ha ha. I'm so funny.)

Word Count: 1500+

Requested?: Yes!

heya thanks for answering my earlier ask about requests! Could I please request a demetri x reader angsty with fluff where they meet in new moon as reader tags along with bella to help and demtri is drawn to her cause theyre mates and volturi agree to let bella go and be turned later if the reader stays and reader is hurt that edward, bella and even alice agree to it so quickly so she feels abandoned and demetri works to earn her trust and comforts her about it at a later date? (If its too much or you end up tweaking it thats okay!!) <3

A/N: What kind of Volturi fic writer would I didn't do this trope? And for once it's not Alec-centric. I love it! Also, this is gonna be a two-parter.

I hated flying with a burning passion. But Bella insisted that I go with her for emotional support. I almost snapped at her to take Jacob instead. Emotional support animals were free after all. She just needed the paperwork.

Unfortunately, I don't think a big-ass werewolf-slash-shapeshifter would go over well if they were to accidentally transform. Bella was lucky that I even had a passport. In the end, it was Alice who convinced me, definitely playing the loyalty card pretty heavily. If only I had known that loyalty was not extended to me.

Italy was beautiful, but between the sweet relief of landing, Alice stealing a car, and getting caught up in the whirlwind that was the St. Marcus festival, I had barely any time to take it all in. The city was awash with hundreds of people, their red cloaks swirling about as they danced and celebrated.

Bella was diving out the car, screaming Edward's name. I dove into the crowds to follow her, making my way through the throngs of red cloaks to find her. It didn't take long before I was hopelessly lost. What had Alice said? Edward was going to reveal himself. What exactly would happen if he did? That was one thing I had never managed to get out of Bella.

Would he just… spontaneously combust?

No. That made no sense, he never would have come to the Volturi for death if that happened.

But where was the best place to do it?

I looked around desperately before my eyes landed on the clock tower in the center of the square. There. That was the prefect place. I pushed through the crowds, yelling Bella's name at the top of my lungs.

Demetri

"BELLA!"

He turned at the sound, and his dead heart seemed to beat for just a moment. Her voice sounded like heaven. Demetri scanned the square, eyes searching, desperate with hope that maybe, just maybe, she might be who he thought she was.

"Bella!'

It was closer this time, and through a break in the crowds he saw her. Time seemed to slow down as he took in the sight of her. She was by the clock tower, her chest rising and falling with the effort to breathe, as if she had just run a long distance. And given the beads of sweat along her brow and the trickles that dripped down her tantalizing neck, she had.

She was stunning. Beautiful. And more than everything that he had ever hoped for.

The other girl in front of him, Bella, turned around in both alarm and relief.

"Bella," Edward said softly. "Relax. He won't harm her."

"Demetri?" Felix asked, voice heavy with confusion.

"Stay with our… guests, Felix."

Demetri was next to the girl in the blink of an eye, stepping into her line of sight a moment later. She jerked back in alarm before making eye contact with him. And it happened. His whole world seemed to turn upside down. He grinned. She was his.

"Hello, principessa." He lifted her warm hands to his cold lips, enjoying the subtle taste of her skin. "I am Demetri. I will escort you to your friends. If you will follow me."

She raised a disbelieving brow at him, taking him in before landing on his eyes. She gulped a little and nodded her head. He held out his arm for her to take, and after a moments hesitation, she did so.

Upon arriving at the alleyway in which the others stood, his mate let go and hugged Bella tightly.

"You're alright." She breathed, her perfect voice hushed.

"I'm alright, Y/N."

"Good to have you back." It was Jane. "Aro has been wondering what has been taking so long. Let us continue."

He put a hand on his mates back, urging her forward silently.

Demetri found that he no longer cared what would happen with Cullen and his human, not so long as his mate stayed.

I was a moron.

Despite the seriously fucked up and dangerous situation that Bella had somehow pulled me into, I couldn’t help but blush as I felt this stranger's hand on my lower back.

'Demetri. His name is Demetri, Y/N.'

The gesture felt oddly warm and comforting. He felt oddly warm and comforting.

And I liked it. But also I didn't like it. He was making me feel all funny and I honestly didn't know what to do about it.

I glanced back at him, only to find him already looking at me, something akin to wonder in his eyes. He gave me a small smile and I turned back around, blushing harder. I liked that smile. A lot. I shook my head, following behind Edward and Bella, doing my best to not trip.

I had bigger things to worry about. Such as getting out of this situation alive. Alice had neglected to tell me much of anything, and I had only caught snippets of her conversation with Bella on the plane. All I knew was that the Volturi laid down the law, and they were not to be fucked with. I suddenly wished I had paid more attention instead of worrying about the death trap that was called a plane.

I grabbed Alice's hand, my anxiety spiking. She gave my hand a small squeeze, sending me another smile. But something was off. She wouldn't look me in the eye. In fact I couldn't recall her looking me in the eye since we had boarded the plane to Italy. And outside of his initial surprise to see me, neither had Edward. I frowned at the sudden realization, slowing down a moment and pulling my hand from hers. Demetri slowed down as well, gently pressing on my back for me to continue, but I stayed rooted in the spot.

"What are you hiding?" My voice cracked. "What did you see?"

Alice looked back at me, surprised.

"Now is not the time, Y/N." Demetri's lips brushed against my ear.

I really liked the way he said my name.

"Indeed." Jane turned around, her face blank.

Demetri tensed, angling himself so that I was out of Jane's eyesight.

"Do not worry, Demetri. I have no intent to harm your mate... As long as she keeps up."

She was so blasé about the whole thing that it took a minute for me to register what she said. Mate? I had a mate? Mates were a thing?

Demetri hissed at her and everyone edged away from the two of them, looking at Demetri as if he were a dead man. Jane just smiled.

"Let us continue. Demetri, do keep your human in line."

I wondered if my brain had just stopped working at that point because I would have normally said something back, but I couldn't bring myself to do much of anything. Demetri turned back around, looking at me as one would a spooked animal. And I was pretty close to a spooked animal. I was starting to hyperventilate, and I definitely wanted to run, but I couldn't get my legs to work.

"Y/N." He reached out, clasping both of my arms lightly. "I'm sorry. I didn't want you to find out this way, but we really must keep going."

I nodded, numb. Alice knew. How long had she known? And Edward hadn't bothered to say a damn thing to me either. Why? They couldn't bother to prepare me for this? I have a fucking mate. That's not something you can just shove under the rug. And Jane. Fucking Jane-

Demetri's hand slid into my own, the coolness of his skin breaking me out of my haze just enough to keep moving forward. I could feel myself beginning to shut down and disassociate, auto-pilot taking over. I could feel his thumb rubbing circles softly on the palm of my hand and decided to focus on that instead.

Jane pushed the heavy double doors in front of us open.

My brain refused to shut off, memories of the last 24 hours replaying repeatedly in my head.

Bella had been released under two conditions:

She was to be turned within the year.

I was to stay here, to be with my mate.

I didn't have a choice, not that it really mattered, because I would have given myself up in a heartbeat for Bella. But they had taken the deal with barely a thought. Even Bella. That's when I realized that she knew. She had known the whole time. And Alice. I kept thinking about how she had worked so hard to convince me to come. To be Bella's emotional support. I wasn't there to be her emotional support. I was there to be traded, like some dog. And it hurt.

I had lost everything.

My friends. My home. My family.

I would never see my mother again. My father had passed a little over a year ago to cancer, so my mother and I were already in the practice of mourning. But my mom, not only had she lost my dad, but now she would think I was dead too. How would she cope?

How was I going to cope? How could I ever trust anyone again? Bella and the Cullens had taken advantage of me. Of my love. My loyalty.

I wouldn't let it happen again. Never.

{Masterlist} // {Request Guidelines}

Taglist: @alecvolturi @lack-lust-3r @pawspurpaw @pooka167 @rosedpetal

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#demetri volturi x reader #demetri volturi #volturi #fanfic #reader insert #twilight

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matan4il · 4 months

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Daily update post:

If you remember the Bibas family, they were all kidnapped to Gaza on Oct 7, the father Yarden who left their house first, to protect his family, and then the mother Shiri, 4 years old Ariel, and the baby, 9 months old Kfir.

It is now confirmed that they were not kidnapped by Hamas, but rather by one of 26 terrorist organizations in Gaza, each one so small that they're usually referred to as terrorist factions, rather than terrorist organization. This one specifically has adopted a pattern of always cooperating with one of the bigger terrorist organizations (like Hamas or Palestinian Islamic Jihad), so we can assume that's what they did on Oct 7 as well. The first 45 seconds or so from the following vid is what it looked like when Shiri, Ariel and Kfir were being kidnapped, you can see how terrified she is...

youtube

Below is new CCTV footage that the IDF has uncovered from a street in Khan Younis, so now we know which city in Gaza the three (Shiri, Ariel and Kfir) were kidnapped to. Shiri is seen barefoot, Ariel's head is sort of visible, Kfir isn't, but it's assumed he's under the blanket, and Shiri holding him close to her body. Because this footage is from Oct 2023, there's so much we still don't know. Are they still there? What's their current state? Nobody knows, but the IDF spokesman has confirmed that there is grave concern for their lives.

youtube

Yesterday, a Hezbollah attack drone crashed into Arbel, the mountain on which Tiberias (one of the 4 holy cities in Judaism) is built. For some reason, the siren didn't go off. The drone crashed not too far from a kindergarten, but thankfully no one was hurt. In response, Israel has struck Hezbollah's weapon warehouses in Lebanon. To the best of my knowledge, they're still checking why the siren warning failed, and which country was the drone launched from, Lebanon, Syria or Iraq.

A French report says that the terror tunnels Hezbollah has been digging for years on Israel's northern border are more complex and dangerous than the system Hamas has dug under Gaza. That's what Israeli soldiers will have to tackle if the northern front goes to a full scale war. The terror tunnels Hamas has dug since 2007 under Gaza are so much more developed, extensive, complex and dangerous than Israel has realized, and the IDF has had to develop new ways of fighting in and around them, which we did not have when the war in Gaza started. Hamas' terror tunnels were estimated to be bigger than the London Tube (underground train system) back in Dec 2023, and there have been more tunnels located since. Just to put things in perspective, London's size is 1572 square kilometers (607 square miles), more than 4 times bigger than Gaza, at 363 square kilometers (140 square miles), and has a smaller underground tunnel system, according to what we knew about Gaza two months ago. But people want Israel to sit back, and let these threats to the lives of Israeli civilians continue to grow freely... Just a reminder, on Oct 7, the way the terrorists got to the border fence, to destroy the cameras there, without being spotted on the way was thanks to their terror tunnels, and those tunnels allow them to hold Israeli hostages captives, and it allows Hamas terrorists a place to hide and strike from, and it's where some Israeli hostages were murdered.

Today in our corner, "Suuuure, it's anti-Zionism, not antisemitism, but somehow it keeps targeting Jews and Jewish identity," we got two stories from the UK. One is of a Jewish family sending their baby girl's birth certificate to issue her a passport got the document back torn and defaced, with the word "Israel" under "father's place of birth" scribbled over.

The second story is of how the Amy Winehouse statue, which has stood in Camden Market for essentially 10 years, has also been defaced, specifically the Star of David was covered with a Palestinian flag sticker.

This is Elyakim Libman.

On Oct 7, he worked at the Nova music festival as a guard. Survivors of the massacre there say he helped save quite a few people. At a certain point, he went back to retrieve the body of a murdered young woman, so it wouldn't be taken hostage by the terrorists, and that's when he ended up being kidnapped himself. He's been in Gaza for over 4 months, including during his birthday. The other day, he became an uncle. He was supposed to be his nephew's godfather, but didn't get to. His family said explicitly they want no terrorists to be released in order to free him, and that if Elyakim could weigh in, he would say the same.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #antisemitism #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #terrorism #anti terrorism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #israelunderattack #Youtube

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livwritesstuff · 5 months

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‘tis my birthday today (it’s gotta be one of the worst birthdays to have, we don’t need to talk about it) anyways that’s where this is coming from

(also i’m not trying to imply that jan 1 is eddie’s bday. i wouldn’t wish that on anybody. besides, he is def a weirdo february aquarius)

The second half of the calendar year is nothing short of pandemonium for Eddie and Steve and their three daughters.

Moe’s birthday in late July kicks it off, almost immediately followed by Steve’s birthday in early August, then Hazel’s in September. Robbie’s birthday comes mere days after Halloween, and from there they dive headfirst into the bedlam of the holiday season.

Much to Eddie's relief, they all made it to yet another New Year's Day, and while the girls are definitely feeling the end-of-winter-break blues, Eddie welcomes the reprieve in festivities, brief as it may be.

His own birthday is up next – though not for another month.

He’s really not a birthday kind of guy. Never had been.

He loves making birthdays exciting for Steve and their daughters (they have a whole slew of traditions and everything – there’s names spelled out in pancakes involved; it's a very big deal), but his own…not so much.

It managed to fly under the radar for the past few years, but since this year is the big Five-Oh, he knows Steve won’t let him get away with that again.

Eddie has a complicated relationship with his birthday. When he was younger and the weight of Birthday Importance was at its peak, he never really celebrated the way other kids got to, and now, as an adult, he doesn’t know how to feel the things you’re supposed to feel about your birthday.

Steve does a good job, despite Eddie’s weirdness.

His favorite, Eddie thinks, was the year Moe was born, when Steve had managed to catch him off guard by renting a tiny cottage up in Maine for a few days.

“Moe or no Moe,” Steve had asked, “I’ve got Rob and Nance on standby.”

(They’d taken Moe. She saw snow for the first time. It was amazing, and people who don't want to involve their kids in stuff are a bunch of fucking weirdos).

Steve gives him a letter every year – handwritten on notebook paper and folded into whatever cheesy card he picks out.

Eddie keeps most of the letters in a fireproof lockbox along with all their passports and social security cards and birth certificates (look – Eddie doesn’t fuck around with priceless shit), but he keeps the most recent one – the one Steve gave him for his forty-ninth birthday nearly a year ago – in the top drawer of his bedside table.

He has it pretty much memorized at this point.

It says:

Ed! (with an exclamation point and everything – god, does Eddie love him)

49.

Holy shit we’re getting old.

Writing this is making me think about all the ones from the beginning, when I’d write about our future together even though we didn’t have a damn clue what we were working towards for a while.

I think we’re in it, man. Crazy, right?

(The ink color suddenly switches from blue to purple)

Sorry for the color change. Hazy decided she needed a blue pen immediately. Hope your vision hasn’t gone totally to shit and you can still read the purple.

Anyways, since I have you hostage reading this, I’m gonna take the opportunity to discuss you, because you don’t let me in real life most of the time.

You are gorgeous. Best looking face I’ve ever seen. I wonder how much time I’ve lost off my day just staring at you (actually, not a loss. I take that back)

You suck at puzzles – I know that sounds bad, but it’s great for me. I need that to rub off on Moe because she’s getting pretty good and that’s gonna be a problem for me.

You make me laugh so fucking hard every day. I’m praying the girls get your sense of “elevated” humor or whatever you like to call it

You’re so fucking smart, Eddie. I count myself lucky for it endlessly

You are completely 100% you all the time. I’m still working on that I think but I’m getting there because of you. I’m glad all that shit we went through didn’t take that away from you.

the BEST dad. Can’t believe I didn’t say that sooner. Not to brag but our kids are turning out pretty awesome (can’t go around saying that too much though it’ll go right to their heads and then any power we have left goes out the window)

You’re probably the best person I’ve ever known. Don’t think I’ll be forgetting what a catch you are any time soon, because I won't.

Thank you for loving me even all these years later. My life is better every day that I’m with you.

We’ll keep things quiet this year. Don’t get used to it though. Next year’s gonna be a rager.

Love you always!

- Steve :) ♡ ☆

#over-the-moon in love steve absolutely writes a mean love letter #to those who get steve's sign-off -> ilysm that's an old post #shoutout to the partners of birthday-haters #y’all are doing the most and it is appreciated #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

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nattinatalia · 1 year

Text

JACK HARLOW X READER : ANNIVERSARIES & SIXTY-NINES

A/N : This is a second collaboration with my buttercup @harlowcomehome 💚 if you haven’t read our very first collab, here’s where you can find it, part 1 2 & 3 always fun and an honor working with you babes. Ilyyyyy for life 💚🤞🏼

“But, wait. Listen to me, you’re not listening to me” Jack was shouting, something he rarely ever did especially so early in the morning.

“Can’t you back out? They can’t find another opener? It’s not about the money. I don’t care, I want to make sure I’m here.” He was sitting on the couch, his elbows pressed against his thighs.

You walked out of the bedroom, keeping your eyes on him. It was clear that he was very upset. You had only made out a few words in the conversation.

“Fuck it. Okay,” he said, throwing his phone to the side as he prematurely hung up on whoever he was talking to.

“Everything okay?” You walked over to him, rubbing his back as he tried to regain his composure.

He shakes his head, “I- Chris booked me for a last-minute festival.”

“Okay?” You don’t know what’s the issue with that since Jack loves to perform every chance he gets. “And you’re upset?”

He turns to look at you, “Babe, it’s this weekend.”

“Oh,” You realize what that meant immediately. “Baby, I knew our schedules would eventually clash with important dates. It’s okay.” You reassure him, pushing back his curls.

“No, it’s not, it’s our first wedding anniversary and I’m supposed to be here with you. We’re supposed to celebrate together. I had things planned for us and now they’re ruined.”

“We can always celebrate when you get back, I promise you I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Baby, when we got married I made you a promise that I would never miss important moments involving our relationship. I promised you that I would be here.” He leans back on the couch, his hands covering his eyes.

“Jack.” You quickly straddle him, both of your legs on each side of him and you pull his hands away from his face. “Please listen to me.”

He stares at you, you can see his eyes getting watery, signs that he’s annoyed and upset. “You have nothing to worry about. I know you wouldn’t miss celebrating our anniversary on purpose. You’re an amazing husband, who always goes above and beyond. Don’t beat yourself up about it. I’m sure you’ll be here on time and if you’re not, I can always fly out to you baby.”

You rocked back and forth in his lap, he covered his face again with his hands. You heard sniffling coming from underneath them.

“Jack, my love, don’t cry” You lean forward to hug him, his head resting on your shoulder.

“I’m just frustrated,” he whimpered. “ I feel like a bad husband. Chris assured me I’d be back the night before but it just feels like I’m cutting it too close” he was still talking from behind his hands.

You pried his fingers away from his face, “ I love you, let’s make the most out of today. When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning” he mumbled as he wiped his face. It broke your heart to see him cry.

“Let’s make the most of today then? I don’t have anything planned” You smiled and he nodded.

The next day Jack had to leave early in the morning to catch his flight, granted he was flying in the private jet but he just wanted to get the weekend over with.

You woke up to drawers being slammed and grunts coming from Jack. “Baby?”

“Shit, sorry I woke you up.” He’s throwing clothes into his suitcase, not even bothering to fold them, which is weird to you since he’s such a control freak about that.

“I was going to wake up soon anyway.” The alarm you had set last night goes off and you quickly stop it.

“Where’s my passport?” He asks, looking around the room.

You quickly get off the bed and head to him. “It’s in your hands baby.” You reach out for it. “I need you to relax, papi.”

“I’m sorry.” He lets out a deep sigh “I just can’t believe I’m missing out on our anniversary.”

“Hey, no more of that. Let me help you pack” You start taking everything out. “Then we can have breakfast so I can drop you off at the airport.”

He shakes his head “I think it’s best you stay here, I’ll have Urban pick me up.”

You stop folding his clothes, “Wait, why?”

“I’m already having a hard time with this, you dropping me off will make me not want to go at all.”

“Bubs, I need you to be okay. I don’t want to be worried when you’re gone. I need you to be one hundred percent fine. You’ll get there and it’ll go by quickly and then you’ll come back home to me.”

“I know.” He nods, “I know I’m overreacting but I just wanted this weekend to be perfect.”

You smile at that. “And it will be.” You close up his suitcase. “Now come on, let's have breakfast and cuddle on the couch before it’s time for you to leave.”

You made Jack breakfast, rubbing his shoulders as you made sure he ate. He was always grumpy when he didn’t, and he had a long flight. You wanted to spare the others.

When he was done eating the two of you cuddled on the couch like you asked, you could tell his spirit was still sad.

“Baby, you’ll be back in time and we will have a nice dinner, and then maybe…” you giggled which peaked his attention.

“And what?” His brown furrowed, and before you could answer you heard a honk outside.

“Looks like Urb is here” You stood up to give him a hug and kiss goodbye.

“Baby” he whined followed by a chuckle. “That’s not fair.”

“Have a safe flight!! Don’t keep Urban waiting” you giggled before slapping his butt as he left out of the door.

The next two days dragged for both of you but mainly for Jack. He didn’t leave you second-guessing for a bit, and he let you know how much he missed you as often as he could.

He even sent you over your daily flower arrangement and that would always make you smile.

After his festival performance, he made sure he was ready to go so all he had to do was head to the airport and board the jet. His friends understood why he was in such a hurry, so they just followed behind him without saying a word.

“Dude come on we’ve been waiting for the pilot for thirty minutes.” Jack is tapping on his knee desperately, impatient as ever.

“Relax Jack, we’ll get there on time.” Neelam tries to get him to calm down, but she knows it’s a failed attempt.

“The dinner reservation I made is in two hours, I should’ve been back home by now. Fucking Chris needs to stop booking things without coming to me first.” Before the show started, he was informed that he had a few radio interviews he had to do, this caused him to be late to the show and he was now running late to go back home.

After waiting thirsty more minutes the pilot finally arrived and they were up in the air in no time. He was texting you back and forth, making sure you were awake and ready to go. All he had to do was take a quick shower and you’d be out the door.

Once he landed back in Louisville, his driver was already waiting for him there so he made it home in no time.

He noticed the lights were off which confused him. “Y/N?” He yelled out as soon as he walked in.

“Hi, baby.” You walk out of the kitchen, heading to him.

“Why aren’t you ready? I’ll just shower real fast and then we can head out to the restaurant.”

“Hmm about that.” You place your hands on his waist. “I canceled the reservation.”

“What?”

“Okay let me rephrase that.” You chuckle lightly. “I rescheduled for tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Papi, I knew you’d be tired. I can tell you’ve barely slept and I need you to eat something.” You get on your tippy toes and give him a few kisses on his neck.

“I had things planned, baby.”

“I know, I spoke to Neelam and I made sure that everything you had planned for tonight, you could do tomorrow. Tonight is all about you.”

“We’re supposed to be celebrating us ” he reminded you.

“We are, and we will tomorrow. Right now I need you to undress and get into the tub, I have a bath ready for you, then we’ll eat and who knows, I’ll probably spoil you with a massage and some baby-making.” You wink at him.

“Baby making, did you say baby making?” He chuckles as he starts to undress right there in the living room, dropping his bags to the side.

“Mhm,” you smile as he grabs your hand and leads you to the bathroom. “Join me?”

“I can’t, I need to make sure I get the food out of the oven but I’ll sit there with you.” You pointed to the tub that was full of stress-relief eucalyptus bubbles.

“Smells good” he sniffed the air before getting into the warm water. “This feels good,” he breathed out.

“I put some bath salts in there for body aching, I know how you feel after a show.”

“Baby you’re spoiling me.”

“You deserve it” You grabbed a headband off the bathroom counter, putting it underneath his curls to make sure they were out of his face.

You pulled up a bar stool next to the tub, making sure you had a good angle. You started to massage his shoulder blades.

“Mmmm baby, that feels good” he sighed, leaning back in the tub.

You continue to rub at his shoulders and give him little kisses here and there where his freckles are at. “Damn, have you been working out babe?”

“I hit the gym over the weekend, needed to clear my mind”

“My grumpy baby.” You give him a last squeeze and stand up.

He groans “Where are you going?” He reached for you, tugging at the ends of your little lavender silk pajama dress.

“I have to check on dinner, you finish up here and meet me in the kitchen.”

He stands up. “I’m done, I just want to spend time with you.”

“Hmm.” You can’t help but stare below his waist.

“Y/N.” Jack chuckles.

“Sorry, umm yeah meet me in the kitchen.” You quickly head out of the bathroom and make your way to the kitchen to check on the food.

You take out the pan with food and place it on the counter and start setting up the table. You light up some candles and spread some rose petals around the little setup you have.

“What is all this?” You look up and see him smiling with a little tint of red on his cheeks, signs of him blushing.

“Just a little dinner for us.” You light up the last candle. “Come, sit baby so I can fix your plate.”

“Are we having wine or champagne?”

“Since when do you drink?” You chuckle, as you’re putting the food on two separate plates.

“Tonight’s a special night, so why not?” He shrugs, unscrewing the bottle and pouring it into some champagne flutes.

You two are finally seated and eating, you cooked a steak alongside mashed potatoes and some green beans. For dessert, you had made a tres leches cake that you were now sharing.

“Mhmm, this is by far my favorite cake that you’ve baked.” He moans after taking a bite of the cake.

“You say that to all the cakes I make.”

He nods, “Yeah because they’re that good.”

“Do you want more whipped cream?” You got up from your chair and went to the refrigerator to grab the whipped cream.

“Yes please.” As soon as you hand it to him, he quickly pulls you to his lap.

“JACK!” You giggle, placing your palm on his chest.

He pushes back your hair and smears some whipped cream on your neck. “JACKMAN.”

He quickly goes to lick it off you, sucking on your neck as he goes. “Hmm, bab-baby” you squirm on his lap. “That’s going to be sticky.”

“You’re going to be sticky either way.” He stands up, and you’re still very much wrapped up around his body. “You took care of me enough tonight, it’s my turn now.”

He continued to suck and kiss your neck, his hand slowly migrating between your legs.

You stood up as you felt the core of your stomach grow tighter. “I need you in that bedroom, now.”

“Bossy hmm? I like it” he picked you up, carrying you to the bedroom bridal style. He plopped you down on the bed and before he could start to kiss you, you stopped him.

“Baby, you had such a long day, let me take care of you first” the two of you got undressed. You watched as his dick sprung free. You got in a position for him to eat you out while you sucked him off.

“We’re doing this tonight?” He smirked, he gripped your thighs with both hands, ready to position you over his mouth.

“Let’s see who cums first” you challenged, you massage his balls as you took him into your mouth.

He pulled you down to him, his mouth sloppily licking and sucking at your folds, he took your clit into his mouth and started to hum, a trick he knew always worked.

Your legs started to tremble, and you felt close, you decided to focus on the tip, knowing that usually drove him to orgasm too.

“Baby, baby, babe” his voice was panicked underneath you. “I’m going to- I need to” and he did.

You felt him release against your tongue, and that was enough to make you orgasm on his face, not that he was complaining.

You got off of him, bringing him a wet towel to wipe his face and other body parts down with.

“That was amazing” he rasped, as you waddled to the bathroom. He hadn’t even been inside you yet and you were tingly all over.

You went to the bathroom to wipe yourself clean, when you walked out of the bathroom you found your husband still naked and asleep in bed, loud snores coming from him.

You shake your head, chuckling to yourself. “I knew he was tired,” You say to yourself.

You walk toward him and cover him with the blankets, turn off the lights, and get into bed next to him.

You can’t help but stare at him while he sleeps for a bit. The room was dark but you could still make out his face. You knew he was stressed and tired, so it was a matter of time before he fell asleep.

After a few more glances at him, you lay your head on his chest and try to sleep. His snoring never kept you awake, if anything it calmed you.

You finally fell asleep after about ten minutes of repositioning, and before you knew it you were being woken up by kisses going up and down your neck and his beard scratching you as he continued.

“Mmhmm, baby?” You rasp out.

“Sorry baby” he paused to kiss you “I fell asleep on you.” He placed another kiss on your temple “But now the real celebration starts.”

He was quick to remove the blankets and you knew he had been awake for a while before he started to kiss you, he never woke up with this much energy.

“What did you have in mind?” You yawned as you sat up to get a better view of him. You realized he had never got dressed.

“Well, it is our anniversary so what if we practice making a baby” he wiggled his eyebrow before bending down to kiss you.

“I’d like that” you smiled “happy anniversary baby.”

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

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