It’s been the longest month of her life and she has a million
things on the tip of her tongue she’s dying to say and confess, but not whilst
everyone is around. And not whilst Dan has the biggest smile on his lips as he
looks down at his phone a couple of minutes later.
“Who are you texting, Howell? We’re all right here!” someone
jokes, and Dan laughs and holds up his hands in surrender.
“Just Phil” he replies, the smile never once faltering.
Imagine keeping your favorite turtle warm in the winter. It’s incredibly cold out and the poor boys are suffering horribly!
Leonardo would need tea and you’re more then happy to make it for him. You stock up on all sorts of tea leaves and use your favorite cups; the one Master Splinter gave him and you’re bluebell one. He huddles under the blankets as the kettle boils, trying not to look quite so miserable.
“Here you are. Do you need another blanket?”
“No…well, maybe. Yes.”
You smile to yourself and rush off to find him another cozy quilt.
Speaking of quilts! You have mounds of them stored away, in bright and colorful patterns and themes. And it’s a good thing too, because Raphael really needs them!
So you pull them all out and pack them tight and warm, with the two of you snuggled in between it all. Raphael holds you close, embracing your warmth, and buries his face in your hair.
“Feeling warmer?” you ask.
He takes a breath, smelling your conditioner, and smiles.
You kiss his cheek, smiling as he holds you tighter. Perhaps the season wasn’t all bad…
Donatello has about twenty heaters and blankets and everything a turtle needs so you didn’t think he would need anything from you (which did actually make you feel a bit down).
So you’re surprised when he comes to visit. You had been in the middle of baking cookies and your apartment is toasty and smells of cinnamon. You see a shivering Donatello climbing in and nearly drop The tray you were holding.
“Donnie! What are you doing?! Get in here.”
You shut the window and Donnie climbs into your bed, stealing your favorite blanket.
“I-I miss-missed you, Y-Y/N.”
Oh. Oh! It was very sweet and very stupid. So you give him the biggest cookie and more blankets and a kiss, because you love him.
Michealangelo stays over by accident. It was snowing and he wanted to visit you and maybe build a snowman and the whole shebang ends with him being herded inside.
“Mikey, what were you thinking?! It’s six degrees out there.”
“I’m s-sorry, baby. I wa-wanted to s-see you…”
Who can resist such a sweetheart? So you pull out some extra blankets and pillows, just for him. You make some hot chocolate, grab some cookies, and put on Home Alone (his favorite).
And Mikey absolutely adores the attention and probably sends a few smug selfies to his brothers.
A/N~ I would first like to thank all of you patient people out there who read the first part and encouraged a second. This is dedicated to you guys! I also need to thank @faestae for being such a rad friend and helping me out with this. Part two wouldn’t exist without her! Surprisingly, I’m actually pretty proud of this piece of writing. It took a long time to get done but here it is and just in time for Star Wars day! I hope y'all enjoy it! (And yes. There will be a part 3)
When you were younger your mother used to tell you stories about her soulmate, your father. The best story, at least in your opinion, was the story of how they met. As you’d sit at her feet grasping onto each word she’s said, you liked to imagine what it would be like when you met your own soulmate. And this? This definitely wasn’t it.
You stood in the middle of the street as a rock in a stream. Unmoving as people flowed around you, some grumbling at the inconvenience of having to take a few extra steps. Everything swirled around you in a blur of indistinguishable shapes and colors. It had to be him, your soulmate.
“Are you alright dear?” The woman was frail and spoke softly. It’s the same old woman from the market. You looked down at her trying to focus on the words she’d said. “Are you alright?” She placed a hand on your arm this time.
Were you okay? You didn’t feel okay. Honestly you felt ready to throw up. “I’m fine, but-” you looked around at the passing faces, not one of them recognizable.
When your alarm woke you up the next morning Spencer was still sprawled over your chest. His grip on your pajama shirt had loosened during the night but his arm was still wrapped around you.
You moved to grab your phone, swiping the alarm off and Spencer stirred, sliding off you and back to his own side of the bed when he realised where his head was.
“You didn’t have to move you know, I tend to set my alarms super early so I can snooze on and off. How are you feeling?”
He looked like hell, his eyes were red rimmed and the shadows underneath more prominent than normal even though you both seemed to have slept for a good seven hours.
He made a ‘meh’ sound before rolling on to his side and facing away from you.
“Reid, come on. Talk to me.” You scooted closer, feeling him stiffen.
“Don’t snap at me, I’m trying to be your friend here.”
He sighed and coughed, clearing his throat.
“I’m sorry. I’m just…. not sure how to feel about this. I mean, he’s my father. But I hate him. And now he’s dying. I should feel sad. The look on his face when he asked for my forgiveness was so… pathetic. And I feel like the worlds worst person because of the satisfaction it gave me to tell him no.”
You reached out and placed your hand on his side, just above his hip bone.
“Do you really feel that strongly that you can’t at least tell him that you forgive him, you don’t have to mean it? He’s probably in a lot of pain right now already. I know he can’t make what he’s done right, but…. Spence, he’s dying. He’s probably sitting there in his hospital room, going through a list of regrets he has and you can bet that not being there for you will be number one.”
Reid rolled back over so he was flat again, and shook the hair out of his eyes.
“He said that. That not seeing me grow up was his biggest regret. That, and hurting my mom by leaving.”
“There you go then.”
He closed his eyes, rubbing them with the heels of his hands.
“I don’t want to see him again.”
“So write him a letter and send it to the hospice. You don’t have to mean it but it will give a dying man some peace. He may not have played a huge part in your life Spencer, but he helped bring you into this world.”
He didn’t speak for so long after that that you worried he’d gone back to sleep.
You grabbed your phone again checking the clock. Still plenty of time to get ready and get to work.
“Y/N?” his voice was small and defeated.
“Thanks for being you. For knowing that I needed a friend last night, when I didn’t want to ask.”
“Spence, we may have a slightly unconventional friendship right now but we are that, friends. Pretty good ones too. I’m here for you, whenever and wherever. I mean that. You want another hug? Then we have to get up, we both need to shower and that takes time.”
“We could always shower together, that would save time.”
You punched him lightly on the arm, glad to hear he was able to joke again. “No more hugs for you. Perv…..”
Spencer had been only mildly subdued at work, not enough for the others to notice though and luckily the week had passed quickly.
The team didn’t have a case, so the time was spent updating and reviewing old files and sorting through the never ending pile of cold cases that always got shipped up to the BAU.
Spencer and Rossi were lecturing in a neighbouring town, whilst Morgan was helping out at the Academy, speaking with new recruits.
As much as you enjoyed the chase and catching the “bad guys”, you also enjoyed spending time in the office, catching up on the gossip and bantering with your co workers. It also gave you all chance to catch up with mounds of filing that always accumulated.
By the time Friday rolled around and you still didn’t have a case, you were looking forward to the weekend.
“So, are you seeing Dan this weekend?”
You and Emily were seated at the tables in front of the break out area, her eating an apple and you working your way through a bag of Reeses Miniature Peanut Butter Cups. You only had an hour before clocking off time, you all praying that a case didn’t come in at the last minute.
Spencer was stood at the coffee machine refuelling, and you saw his ears prick up at the name Dan, him turning his body oh so slightly.
“Erm… Yes. I think. Providing we don’t get called away.”
“So what are you doing together? Is he taking you anywhere fancy?”
“Erm….. I don’t actually know. He mentioned maybe a play or something?”
Spencer had told you to think about what you wanted to try next but you hadn’t. Your evenings had been spent clocking some long overdue gym hours and spending time with friends. You really hadn’t spent much time thinking about your weekend plans, you almost didn’t want to let yourself, knowing that as soon as you started thinking about it, you wouldn’t be able to stop.
“Well don’t leave it too late if you’re wanting to catch a show, all of the good seats will be sold out.”
“I guess.” Hmmmm.
“Have you banged him yet?”
“Em!” You choked on a piece of chocolate coated peanut butter, reaching for your water bottle to rinse it down. You could see Spencer smirking out of the corner of your eye, stirring his coffee very slowly.
She shrugged and grinned. “Oh come on, don’t start acting all coy now. I remember you texting me after Sam and telling me how he was so big you wanted to take photos and frame them because you didn’t think anyone would believe you.”
Shit. Damn it… You’d been going through a dry spell at that time and had spent the evening flirting with a sandy haired bartender that worked at a bar you and Emily used to visit.
“He was pretty big. So much so that the actual sex wasn’t even that great. It hurt to walk the next day, and not in a good way. He may have been big, but he definitely didn’t know what to do with it.”
“So does Dan know what to do with his then? Is he good?”
You saw Spencer turn around, now leaning against the counter with his coffee cup pressed to his lips. Emily followed your gaze, seeing him stood there.
“Don’t mind him…. It’s just Reid. Spill.”
Just Reid. Oh if only she fucking knew.
“Fine. Yes we have. And yes. It was very good.”
His faced twitched, dimples starting to form where he was grinning.
“Marks out of ten?”
You thought about it very carefully.
His smile dropped, turning into a frown.
“Only an eight?”
“Yup. He was good, but I’d have liked to come a few more times. One orgasm per encounter isn’t acceptable.”
“Hey, it’s more than some girls get.”
She tossed her core into the bin and walked back to her desk, you finally making eye contact with Reid.
He took Emily’s seat and leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You know, some ‘people’…. ” The air quotations signifying he was referring to people in the scene. “Would consider an eight to be an insult, and would double and then triple the amount of strikes that ‘someone’ else, might already have against them.”
“Then it’s a good job we’re at work and not playing in your apartment isn’t it?”
“A very good job, Snow.”
“Do you consider an eight to be an insult then…… Dan?”
“Nope. Because we were only just beginning. It’ll be a ten by the end of the weekend. Trust me. I don’t need a huge cock to take away your ability to walk.”
“I didn’t mean….. ”
“Oh hush, I’m not in the least bit insecure about that. I’m above the male average, and there’s plenty of ways to get you off with out that anyway. Plenty.”
With that, he stood and strutted back to his own desk.
Five o'clock came and Hotch dismissed you all, with the reminder that an easy week, probably meant for double the work the next.
The ride home with Spencer was quiet, you almost scared to ask what the plans were, making idle chitchat instead.
When you pulled up outside his building, he turned to you.
“Go home and pack. Do not shower. I want you back here no later than seven pm. Bring clothes for going out in the day time and something respectable looking for the evening. Bring the matching underwear set with the ties, the purple peek a boo bra with the crotchless panties and bring the stockings. Pack your tight black pencil skirt you were wearing two Mondays ago, with a white shirt. And bring your glasses.”
“The classic sexy secretary look? Bit clichéd don’t you think?”
“If I’m thinking correctly, I’d have guessed it was that film that spurred your interest in this in the first place, and given the little twitch you just showed then, I know I’m right. Not a terrible portrayal of BDSM in a functioning relationship actually. And it’s not a given that you’ll be wearing them, but I want options.”
“Red and yellow at any time alright, Snow?”
“And on Monday, I’ll be overhearing a conversation between you and Emily where you tell her that Dan, has been bumped up to a ten.”
“Sure thing….. Dan.”
He unbuckled his seat belt and slid out of the car. “Hurry along now, Snow. I’ll be waiting.”
they told me at the beginning of it all that there wasn’t enough room in their empty vodka bottle for me to squeeze myself into, but I tried anyways. they told me ‘the only way you’re getting in there is if you leave something behind.’ so I did, no questions asked. took out the cutting board and played operation with my heart. threw out my teeth so that I couldn’t bite my tongue anymore. drew a bullseye on my back and made darts out of my bones because everyone knows that you know best the ways in which to hurt yourself. and after all of that, the time and the idle conversations, being smaller wasn’t what I expected it to be. what I needed it to be. although to be left on a shelf once my mannerisms became familiar, left to grow dusty and immobile, isn’t what I was expecting either. this is not a metaphor for anything. sometimes it just hurts.
mansion: spacious, new, never been lived in
so, I thought that this time was going to be different. nobody would be packed into a space so tight that their limbs would become permanently fused together, ears pressed to knees for longer than the average shower. but what I didn’t think about was how easy it is to get lost when you only have one head and two cold feet and a compass that seems to think ‘north’ is synonymous with ‘the last room you cried in.’ so we played hansel and gretel, leaving bread crumbs on the bedroom floor to mark the places where we shattered and clumsily reassembled ourselves before the lights turned on. it wasn’t until a game of hide and seek that I found the door I’d entered through, somehow larger and more daunting than before. struck by the realization that the person I am now wouldn’t have bothered knocking, I left. I don’t know if anybody ever stopped looking for me, but I’d assume that they did.
body: functional, heart is so big it’s become taxing for residents
for eight months I burrowed, solitary, into my skin and tried to remember what my mother smelled like before I learned how to say goodbye to her. I let the bruises on my legs fade away, watching the colors as they disappeared like paint down the drain. I was shocked by the amount of vacant rooms in my chest but vacancy isn’t a permanent state of being so it’s likely that somebody loved this wallpaper at some point. there were cobwebs near my corneas and broken lamps in my thighs and I never thought the term ‘fixer-upper’ could be used to describe anything other than buildings until I studied myself in the mirror. here, the raw materials present themselves in their rawness and their durability. here is where I begin to rebuild.
Shiro’s known the Force for as long as he can remember.
Even if this isn’t the first first, it’s certainly one of the most defining.
“It is too late,” the Pashoni leader says. Her face is ashen but firm, her beetle-like eyes and the green markings of her crown of office stoic and unyielding. “I am sorry, young Jedi. There is no way we will reach them in time.”
“But my Master’s down there,” Shiro cries.
The training bond in the back of his mind has been silent for six terrifying minutes, stretching on to seven. Eight. Shiro’s tried again and again, but there’s no response. There’s nothing, nothing but the horrified whispers from the Pashonians gathering with Shiro at the top of the hill and the dust rising from the rockslide at the bottom.
Stay here, Master Ulaz had said. The cart down into the mines had only been big enough for one person to join the workers heading below.
Stay here, Master Ulaz had said, laying his large hand on top of Shiro’s head, thumb pressing gently against the center of Shiro’s forehead. It is a calming gesture for the Galra people, with their sagittal crest; Shiro’s used to it. At the tender age of thirteen he still barely comes up to Master Ulaz’s waist.
Here, staring down at the settling remnants of the rockslide neatly blocking the only access to the caves.
Why is Keith the only one who gets flack for his fashion sense. I mean:
Shiro’s aesthetic is similar to Keith’s: fingerless gloves, double fanny packs, rly tight black pants.
Hunk has pointless kneepads and a weird ass muted green vest and feels the need to wear an orange headband 24/7 for no reason.
Pidge has the audacity to combine short pants with a long sleeved shirt, not to mention said shirt is just fucking weird looking. I can’t even tell if it’s supposed to BE a shirt or some weird futuristic hoodie or what. What the fuck is it.
Lance is literally the only paladin with decent, normal looking casual wear. Just a normal shirt, jacket and jeans.