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colorsunimaginable · 2 years ago

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the spare // chapter forty-five // death eater ! tom hiddleston oc x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary: While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist* *takes place in The Auction universe by Lovesbitca8*

words for this chapter: 3.8k warnings for this chapter: smut, p in v, anal teasing

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Chapter Forty-Five:

When I wake in the morning, my body feels stiff. I shift, my brain slowly reconnecting as if it were fucking dial-up internet. There’s an arm around me, a body pressed up against my back – a living, breathing warmth trapped underneath the duvet.

I open my eyes, taking in the bedside table. The Return of the King is split open page side own. The sun coming through the window above it glints the gold embossing of the letters. When I spy a glass of water, my mouth suddenly feels like a desert.

I try pushing myself up onto my elbow, my arm reaching for the glass, but Thomus’ grip around my middle tightens. He pulls me back, grumbling something about “just a little bit longer”.

“I’m thirsty,” I justify, loosening his hold by pulling on his wrist. He lets me go, sighing heavily and rolling away.

When I’ve downed nearly half the glass, he takes it from me to finish it off. I don’t bother to wait for him to finish, and duck back under the duvet, settling on my back. He sets the empty glass down on the other bedside table while I stretch, arms above my head, toes pointed. Thomus saddles up right next to me again, arm stretched across my stomach, hand drifting down my hip. His head is right next to mine, too, just over my shoulder. I can’t even turn my head without shoving my nose into his eye.

I keep my eyes on the ceiling, thinking about last night. I’d been so exhausted, but I hadn’t wanted to sleep. After he’d looked at me like that, I didn’t want it to end. I’d shoved my insecurities aside and let my monkey brain take over. I had wanted him to fuck me one more time, and after sucking his dick, he’d been ready to. I didn’t even have to beg. After fucking for the third time last night, we’d both barely made it under the covers before passing out.

I think I feel a little bit better after some sleep. I still feel on edge, nervous, waiting for the inevitable, but not on the verge of crying anymore.

His hand is travelling back and forth from my hip to where my breast has pooled down my side. For as big as my boobs are, I’m practically flat-chested when I lie down. Occasionally his thumb brushes my nipple as he caresses my side. My hands curl around his arm. After a few moments I find the courage to speak. I want answers more than I am afraid.

“So, what was that last night?” I ask, my voice soft.

He takes a deep breath. “What do you mean?” His voice sounds dry from disuse, sleepy, hot as fuck.

“The, um, all the sex.”

“Well, I had to give you what you wanted, didn’t I?” he says, his tone accusatory and annoyed.

“What I wanted?”

Thomus sighs heavily, and pushes away from me, turning onto his back. He throws his arm over his eyes. I turn towards him, duvet pulled up to my chin and held firmly in place by my hands.

“Goldman, I suppose is one thing, with him being American and all,” he fumes. “But frankly I’m appalled you let Lestrange touch you.”

At first I don’t know what to say. I feel guilty, but I know that I shouldn’t.

“I didn’t choose to be in that situation,” I calmly point out. Rodolphus had been thrilling initially, but everything he said didn’t fall on deaf ears. “Honestly, I’m glad you intervened when you did.”

He scoffs and shakes his head. He removes his arm from his eyes and rubs his hands down his face. “Right.”

“No, I mean it,” I press. “He hit me and – “ under the duvet, my fingers drift along the scars on my forearm “– said he wanted to give me scars, too.” I’m staring at his shoulder, recalling what else Rodolphus had said. It makes my breath come faster and my chest tighten. When I look up at Thomus, he’s looking right back at me. “Are you really going to put me in a dog house?”

His eyebrows come together as he frowns. “No,” he murmurs after a moment.

I close my eyes and sigh with relief, turning my face down to press my face against his shoulder. I can say a lot about Thomus, but he’s never hit me. And yes, I know the bar is on the fucking floor.

Thomus shifts onto his side, facing me. His fingers tip my chin up and his lips meet mine. His kiss feels familiar now, comforting. I pull away before I get too swept up in it and turn onto my back again. He follows, moving closer until he can press his cheek on the front of my shoulder. His hand drifts over my hip again.

I remain still, knowing my next line of questioning could turn into another argument. One that could ruin this.

“So, what’s the reason this time?” I ask, my voice wavering.

“Hm?” he hums, his palm caressing my tummy below my belly button.

“Must’ve been a hell of a lust potion if you fucked me three times yesterday and you’re still –“ I stop when his head pops up, his expression angry, but then I continue before he can. “I just want to know what’s changed.”

“It’s what you wanted,” he bites out. “You just wanted to get fucked so badly, didn’t you?” His hand comes up to press against my throat. His face is a mere breath away from mine. “If anyone’s going to fuck you, it’s going to be me, do you understand?”

Everything he said while fucking me against the wall comes rushing back to me. “But that doesn’t make sense –“

“None of this makes sense, Melisa,” Thomus seethes. “All I know is that the very thought of you with another man makes me want to –“

“Okay okay,” I breathe, my hands coming up to caress his face. “I’m sorry.”

The anger leaves his face, replaced by confusion. “For what?”

My thumb rubs circles over his cheeks, swiping under his eyes. He’s so handsome. “For making you jealous,” I whisper. “I wasn’t trying to, but that’s what happened.”

The hand on my throat, while never really tight, loosens. His eyebrows have come together, his eyes never leaving my face. “What were you trying to do?”

My breaths turn shallower, my heart beating wildly under his hand. I press my lips together and shake my head.

I’d been trying to forget him and all the pain he’s made me feel. It’s barely been two fucking weeks since we fucked for the first time. So much has happened. Too much has happened.

Fuck, George is still in the attic.

Sure, I could tell him how I feel, but what good is it going to do? He’s just going to use it against me. Just because he’s jealous doesn’t mean he’ll reciprocate. He feels possessive because I’m just an object to him. There’s no way he’ll… feel anything. I shouldn’t even be feeling what I do. It shouldn’t hurt so much.

Eyes closed, he turns his head to place kisses on my palm, lingering, languid kisses.

“I just want to know what’s changed,” I whisper again. “For… this to happen.”

His eyes flutter open, his lips still pressed into my palm. For a moment his gaze isn’t focused and I can’t read his expression.

“Nothing’s changed,” he murmurs against my skin.

Disappointment sits heavy in my chest. He removes my hands from his face, lying back down next to me. His lips meet mine and he kisses me until I’m breathless.

“Enough talk,” he says, his voice gruff. Then he kisses me again. “I wanna fuck you again before I have to go.”

My hands find their way into his hair and his hand travels to my legs. He pushes roughly at one, forcing my thighs apart. His hand immediately cups me, fingers pressing in, circling, teasing me. His fingers slip between my quickly dampening lips, toying with my entrance before finding my clit.

I release a high-pitched sigh, my hips rolling. My lips part from his and I shove my face into his neck, licking and lapping at him. My other hand travels down his body to find him already semi-hard. I grip him tightly and start gliding over his smooth, hot skin. It doesn’t take long for his full size to greet me, a drop of pre-cum leaking from his tip.

He slips two fingers inside and I moan, biting into his neck. He groans, his fingers working expertly over my g-spot, thumb pressing in on my throbbing clit. My hips start to rock and while I can still think clearly, I bite him again and pump my hand. His hips jolt, his cock twitching. His fingers slip ever deeper into my dripping pussy.

His head falls forward and he kisses up my collar to my neck. I turn my face up to give him access. He wastes no time finding a spot he wants to sink his teeth into. High up on my neck, right below my jaw. He sucks and licks at the spot until it’s sensitive. I whimper as his hand gets more aggressive. My feet plant on the bed to lift my hips, returning each thrust of his fingers. His mouth finds another suction point, barely parting from the other spot, and does the same thing.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” I gasp. My whole body is wonderfully tense, desperate for the moment he’ll drive me over the edge. His hips are pumping into the tight grip I have on his cock. My fingers twist in his soft beautiful hair.

The third spot he bites into is right over my pulse. My orgasm breaks right then, back arching, head thrown back against the pillows. My body freezes, awash in the waves of pleasure, before I melt.

I loosen the unintentional death grip I have on his cock and he releases my neck. Instantly I can feel how sore it already is, given how hard he bit me. He pulls back, a smug smile curling his pink lips.

“I think you enjoyed that,” Thomus murmurs. I’m panting, brainless, and all I can do is nod. He slides his fingers out of me and brings them to his mouth, making me watch as he thoroughly cleans off my cum. His eyes travel down the rest of my body and he hums, “Turn over.”

I untangle myself from him and roll onto my stomach. He’s gotten up onto his knees and he straddles my thighs. I feel his cock heavy on my ass as his hands explore my backside. They knead and prod, caressing the curves and width. When he grips my cheeks and pulls them apart, I shove my hips up.

“Fuck,” I hear him gasp. His fingers circle the entrance to my pussy, dipping inside to wet them. With this angle, just the two fingers are a tight fit.

I let out a gasp when I feel one of his wet fingers circle my asshole.

“Have you ever done anything here?” he inquires. “Would you want to?”

“Um,” I hesitate. The only time I’d ever experimented with that hole I’d consequently had the least sexy experience of my life. “I like it teased, but that’s about it.”

“Ah,” he hums again, not displeased thankfully. “I can work with that.” He continues massaging my ass for a few moments before sliding off my thighs. “On your knees.”

I push my ass up, getting my knees under me. He quickly slides behind me, legs over mine. I wait with baited breath, elbows bent beneath me, cheek pressed into the mattress. With a hand on my hip, he guides his tip to my entrance and pushes in. One slow thrust and he’s seated fully, bottoming out. I let out a tortured noise from deep in my throat.

“Fuck,” he groans. I circle my hips, begging for movement. It feels like the position against the wall, but deeper, far deeper.

Hands gripping my fleshy hips, he starts to pull out and thrust back in. Each stroke turns my brain into utter mush. No coherent thoughts. Only the need for his cock to keep doing what it’s doing to me.

I push back into him with every thrust, the force of our skin hitting sending waves across my back. If I wasn’t so far removed I’d feel self-conscious about it. I hear the sloppy wet noises my pussy is making and I forget all about it.

Eventually he gets the idea to just stay still, letting me rock back against him. Impaling myself with his cock over and over again. Balancing on one hand, I shove my other down between my legs, bending around the curve of my hanging body. I shift my hips to get my fingers on my clit, but he slips out. He pushes in again and my back arches down, and I can’t reach anymore.

Frustration burns in ears and I shove myself back onto my hands, pushing myself back against him with more force.

“Fuck me, Thomus,” I plead. The desperation makes me sound demanding, so I add, “Please.”

“Just what I was fucking waiting to hear,” he growls and starts fucking me again.

He thrusting harder than before, maybe a little faster, and it’s so good I forget about my frustrations. My body is tense like I’m on the brink of another orgasm, but this feels so different, so fucking good.

His thrusts become erratic and he groans, suddenly stilling. My pussy feels fuller than it did before and when he pulls out, all of our cum erupts down my thighs. His hands are on my ass cheeks, pulling them apart. I peak over my shoulder to see him staring at it.

When he releases me, he chuckles. “I’ve sure made a mess of you, haven’t I?”

I straighten my body out, feeling utterly exhausted. He collapses next to me, just as out of breath as I am. I saddle up closer, and he immediately raises his arm to drape it around my shoulders as I rest my head on his chest.

After a moment, he reaches down and squeezes an ass cheek again. “I’m definitely going to miss that,” he says. His hand glides up my back, fingers drifting through my hair.

“Well, I’ll be here when you get back tonight,” I murmur.

He sighs heavily. “I’m going to be gone longer than that I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” I say, trying not to sound disappointed. I put my arm around his waist, curling myself closer. “Can I ask where?”

He pauses, considering. “I suppose I can tell you. Em, Draco and I have to go to Italy.”

“Oh, that’s a lot farther than you usually go, right?”

“Yes, Nott convinced the Dark Lord to give me a break from hunting Weasley. There hasn’t been a sighting in a couple weeks.” He laughs once, humorless. “Rabastan tried convincing me that he’s dead.”

At the mention of George, I try to remain calm. Deep breaths. Pretend nothings amiss. Keep asking questions.

“Do you think he is?” I ask hesitantly.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” he sighs. “I think it’ll be good to get out of the country and focus on something other than tracking.”

“How did you get to be such a good tracker? Is it hard?”

“For some.” His fingers start tracing patterns onto my back. “It’s about finding and understanding the clues that people leave. Knowing how to follow from one clue to the next.”

“Is that why you like mystery novels?”

Thomus chuckles. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Is it like being an investigator for the Daily Prophet?”

“It’s a similar skillset, yes,” he answers. “It’s another reason why I’m going. They’ve just installed a new Prime Minister and the Dark Lord wants me to oversee a content transition of La Penna Di Venezia, the main Italian paper.”

“Hm,” I murmur. My hand comes up from his waist, fingers toying with his chest hair. “Need a photographer?”

I don’t know what made me offer, but it’s worth a shot.

“Do you speak Italian?” he asks after a moment.

I sigh heavily. “The only language class I took for high school and college was American Sign Language. So, no.” He laughs again and I huff, “Do you?”

“Devo paragonarti a un giorno d'estate?” he murmurs and I absolutely melt hearing his deep voice in my ear. “Tu sei più bella e più temperata. Finché gli uomini possono respirare, o gli occhi possono vedere, così a lungo vive questo, e questo dà vita a te.” He pauses. “Other than those few lines, I only know it conversationally.”

I snort. “Well, if it sounds like that I’m sure you’ll do just fine. What did you say?”

He doesn’t answer and I push myself up onto my elbow to look at him. He’s smirking.

“I think I’ll keep that to myself.”

Not really thinking about it, my lip juts out in a pout. “Oh, come on.”

His eyes have dropped to my mouth. “Not a chance.” He leans forward and kisses me, tongue sweeping through my mouth and tracing my lips. All too soon, he parts, sighing. “Come on, we have to go.”

I sit up. “We? You’re letting me go with you?”

He’s sat up, too, legs over the edge of the bed. He looks back at me sheepishly. “Not quite. I’m taking you to the Manor.”

I blink. “Wait, so how long will you be gone?”

“Two, probably three weeks,” he replies. “I know you have that cat, but I figured you didn’t want to be alone for all that time.”

“Um, yeah,” I say slowly, my brain whirring. I start moving towards the other side of the bed, closer to the bathroom. “I need to shower.”

Before I shed the duvet from myself, I turn back to him to see he’s stood up, naked, rummaging through his wardrobe. Fuck, fuck, fuck… he’s like a god.

“Wait, did you leaving have something to do with the sex magic you were trying to do last night?”

He bonks his head on the hanger rod inside the wardrobe as he spins to face me. “What?” he asks, rubbing the new sore spot. “Sex magic?”

A blush blooms across my face. “Yeah, last night. When – when you were rubbing our… stuff, and saying whatever it was. I couldn’t really hear you.”

Confusion on his face quickly shifts to realization, and I see red creep up his neck. “No, it wasn’t sex magic,” he snaps.

“Then what was it?”

Thomus sighs heavily, waving his hand vaguely towards the bathroom. “Oh, go on then, off with your shower.”

With his back turned once again, I dash into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

~*~

After my shower, he brought me a trunk. It’s black with silver embellishments. A silver snake is etched on top and initials that I assume are his, T.M., are bolded on the side.

I ponder the stack of vinyl leaning against the wall. The trunk might just be wide enough to fit the record player.

“I wouldn’t bother,” Thomus says to me from the bathroom. He’s standing in front of the mirror, running a damp comb through his hair. “There’s no electricity at the Manor.”

I sigh. “Good God… No wonder the Malfoy’s breed Death Eaters. Y’all aren’t living in the 21st Century.”

With nothing left to pack, I close the trunk, enjoying the feel of clicking the clocks into place.

My gaze flashes to the bedside table, remembering something in the drawers. I go and pull out the hook shaped rock he’d found for me. It feels like it’s been ages since the time we spent in the creek.

“Ready?” Thomus asks.

I quickly turn, shoving the rock into my pocket. “Yup.”

“The elves will get your trunk after we leave,” he says, turning to go down stairs. I follow him to the living room.

As Thomus preps the fireplace for the Floor, I glance towards the utility room where I’d left a note for Caelan and George, explaining where I was going and for how long. I’d also told them about Kyle Goldman, asking that they’d let him know, too. I’d explained I’d probably have similar, if not more, freedoms there than I do here. So with any luck, I’ll still be able to be contacted.

Thomus brings my attention back to him by grabbing my arm, saying the location, and pulling us through the mantle. The green flames flash at my vision and we come to a stop in the familiar Manor entrance hall.

Narcissa’s waiting for us. She smiles at me and brings my hands into hers. “Melisa, dear, it’s going to be lovely to have you staying with us.” She looks to Thomus, who’s still standing near the fireplace. “Draco’s at the gate waiting for you, Thomus. Please take care of yourself, and keep an eye on Draco.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, giving her a small smile.

When he doesn’t move, Narcissa picks up on something I hadn’t, her eyes jumping between the two of us. She drops my hands and starts backing away.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be right back,” she says, disappearing behind a corner.

The moment she’s gone, Thomus steps forward, slipping an arm around my waist. He pulls me close, dipping his chin to place a kiss to my crown. He smells good, which is strange after all the sex we had. He smells like his usual cedar and pine, but a undertone of… musk? Whatever it is, it reminds me of said sex, what he smelled like panting above me.

I can’t remember the last time I had a hug, so I slip my arms around his waist. His hands cradle my face, tilting it upward so he can place his lips on mine.

The kiss makes me fucking sad. Ugh. I hate goodbyes.

“Oh, um, here,” I say, pulling back from his kiss to dig into my pocket. I grab his hand and put the rock into his palm. “I don’t know if it’s any luck, but it’s cool, so that’s something.”

Realizing what it is, he starts shaking his head. “No, it’s yours, I –“

“I know,” I shrug awkwardly, not meeting his eyes. “All the more reason to bring it back. You can use it as a paper weight or something.”

My hands hold onto his closed fist, feeling reluctant to let go.

“Thank you,” he says. I still don’t want to look at him. It’s just going to make me cry. He leans forward, placing anther kiss on my temple. I let go of his hand and step back.

He turns and I watch him walk away.

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taetaespeaches · 4 years ago

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“We’re hiking at 5 am, what’s the problem?”

jungkook x reader (oc) genre: fluff word count: 2.7K

a/n: Oh to be Holly and have Jungkook’s entire heart and soul :(( he’s so in love, so is she, and this is just cute and playful Guk/Holly, as per usual. I hope you all enjoy and thanks so much for reading! :))

Huffing, you halted your steps, placing your hands to your hips as Jungkook turned around to look at you with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Why do you look so pissed?” He questioned knowingly, causing you to groan at him.

“Let’s go on vacation together, you said, it’ll be fun, you said,” you complained, Jungkook giggling as he stared at you fondly.

“Are you not having fun?” He asked, feigning surprise. “We’re hiking at 5 am, what’s the problem?” He continued teasingly.

Rolling your eyes, you looked into the forestry along the pathway, though you couldn’t see much as it was still mostly dark. “Since when are you a morning person anyway?” You criticized lightheartedly. “You know, most people go on vacation to relax, not start a new early morning workout regime.”

“Come on,” he chuckled, “you’re not even carrying anything.”

“I’m carrying myself,” you countered, Jungkook cackling boyishly. “You know working out is not my forte, Jeon,” you joked, the man shaking his head as he smirked.

“I think you’re doing great,” he told you with a soft smile. “But we are trying to get up there before six so if you could-”

“Kook,” you whined, dragging his name out. “Honestly, baby, what the hell are we doing?” You chuckled a bit.

“Dammit, Holly, can you just-” he paused for a moment, your eyes widening in impressed surprise at his slightly frustrated tone. You could tell he was already feeling slightly guilty for losing his patience with you, even if it was only for a split second. “I’m trying to be spontaneous, can you just cooperate for once?” He questioned, staring at you sternly, which was really quite rare. “I promise I will make it worth your while, we just need to make it to the top,” he added, you cocking your head at him with a smirk.

Realizing that he was feeling some pressure in regards to making sure this date worked out the way he had planned, you relented with your questions and complaints, instead choosing to follow him wherever he wanted to lead you.

“Ok, damn, Kookie, chill,” you teased, stepping toward him. “Lead the way,” you nodded down the trail with a giggle, Jungkook letting out a breathy laugh as he shook his head.

“I love you,” he told timidly, waiting for your response before returning to the hike.

Smiling at him, you nodded. “I love you too.” Jungkook let out a breath as he began to turn around to start up the incline once again. “Also, you’re hot when you’re mad.”

“I wasn’t mad,” he protested, you scoffing as you followed him along the path. “You’re just a brat.”

“Says the man who made his girlfriend go hiking at five in the morning while on vacation,” you playfully countered, Jungkook chuckling ahead of you.

“Whatever, you’re gonna regret being so difficult,” he mumbled, you scrunching your eyebrows together curiously, unsure of what he meant by that. Before you could respond, however, he added, “also, I’m always hot.”

Laughing loudly, you slapped the backpack he carried, not close enough to him to hit his arm like you normally would. “Stop,” you whined through your chuckles, dragging the word out. “I can’t walk and laugh this much at the same time,” you whined, Jungkook looking back at you.

“So I’m hot and funny,” he smirked proudly. “Good to know.”

“Shush,” you smiled, Jungkook letting out a short laugh as he turned back around and walked a little faster, you groaning to yourself. “But yes, you are,” you called out to him, smiling at his lack of response, knowing he was wearing a bashful giddy grin.

After at least a half hour more of hiking, Jungkook finally halted, looking around his surroundings. Sliding his backpack off his shoulders slightly, you sighed in relief. “We made it?” You asked, your boyfriend looking at you, his guilty smile beaming at you.

“Ok, that was my bad, I didn’t realize the incline was quite that steep,” he chuckled bashfully. “But yes, we made it.”

You simply laughed, making your way to him and wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. Kissing him softly, Jungkook’s arms easily draped around your waist as he graciously responded to the kiss.

“I hope you know you’re the only one I would go on a hike like this for,” you mumbled against his mouth, Jungkook giggling before stealing one more kiss.

“I’m very honored,” he joked, but something about the way he spoke the words expressed a sincerity that made your heart race.

Stepping across the plateau, you turned your attention toward the lookout in which a stunning view of the forest and faraway mountainscapes were visible under the rising golden rays. “Wow,” you awed, appreciating the view for a moment. “This is so pretty,” you nodded to the overlook just as Jungkook appeared behind you. Placing his chin against your shoulder, he peered at your face. “Did you want to get up here in time for the sunrise?” You asked in sudden realization, Jungkook smiling softly with a cute nod.

Pouting at him, your eyes scanned his features, their proximity allowing you to fully appreciate their beauty. “That’s so fucking sweet,” you told him, hoping he felt your gratitude for his spontaneous date plans. “I guess the hike could have been worse,” you teased, Jungkook chuckling as he kissed your cheek.

Turning to face him, you quickly placed a kiss to the tip of his nose, making him crinkle it cutely. “I really do love you,” he told you as he brought his mouth to yours. “So much.”

“Ditto, baby,” you joked, Jungkook laughing as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“You can sit over there,” he slightly nodded toward to his left. “You brat,” he added just before leaving one last peck to your lips. Smiling at him, you watched as he pulled away from you and stepped toward the spot he wanted you to sit.

“What did you bring up here anyway?” You asked curiously, watching him as he crouched down next to the backpack and unzipped it.

“Surprises,” he smirked, teasing you with anticipation as you sat down next to him.

Watching him curiously for a moment, you appreciated the way his fringe was hung in his eyes just slightly, the man’s handsome features radiating under the warm glow of the day’s new sun. He was gorgeous as he chewed on the inside of his cheek before swiping his tongue over his bottom lip.

Jungkook looked up at you to catch you staring, you smirking as you quickly set your attention back to the scenic view, though you preferred your previous view of Jungkook. Smiling at your antics, Jungkook shook his head before looking back down at the bag.

“You know I love you, baby,” you assured him, responding properly and sincerely to his earlier confession. “More than life itself.”

Looking up at you to see you turning back to meet his gaze, he smiled appreciatively. Because as his fingers felt over the velvet ring box inside the bag, that assurance of your genuine love for him meant more than you could ever know in that moment.

When you turned back to watch the sun, he quickly slipped the ring box into his pants pocket before lifting out a bottle of wine with two plastic wine glasses from the bag.

“Ta-da!” He cheered, your eyes widening at him as you saw the alcohol.

“Wine at 6 am?” You questioned with a massive smile. “Scandalous.”

“We’re on vacation,” he reminded you with a grin.

Taking for one of the plastic glasses from him, you shrugged. “Points were made,” you smirked, holding the glass out to him, and nodding at it.

“Oh wait, wait, look at this,” he said excitedly before twisting the cap off the bottle with an exaggerated “ahhh”. “Twist off,” he nodded cockily at you. “I came prepared.”

“You’re such a dork,” you giggled happily as he began pouring the drink into your glass. “Impressive though,” you added. “Your preparedness is very sexy,” you flirted, watching as your boyfriend’s eyes sparkled as he poured his own glass.

“Is it?” He asked, flickering his gaze toward you in a sultry, attractive kind of way that had your abdomen twisting in excitement, the man staring at you through his fringe. Taking a sip of the wine, you prepared to flirt back, however, you got distracted by the way the sexy intensity in his orbs melted into a fond affection, dripping in tenderness as he took in your features as if it was the first time he’d ever seen you.

Biting your bottom lip, you held back a grin as you cocked your head to the side just slightly. “You’re really amazing, do you know that?” You spoke softly, your tone coated with warmth and so much fucking love.

“I try to be for you,” he whispered back, your lips quirking upward as you gently shook your head.

“I know that, baby, but that’s not what I mean. You just are amazing, all the time. It’s who you are,” you assured him.

Licking his lips, he smiled bashfully. “Thank you,” he appreciated quietly. Setting his glass down, he sat down next to you and unraveled your crossed legs, draping them over his lap. “You know, I’m supposed to be the one making you swoon,” he pointed out, you giggling as you brought your hand to his face, pushing his fringe off his forehead slightly.

“Am I making you swoon right now?” You asked him, brushing your fingers through his strands.

Nodding, he confirmed. “You’re kind of stealing my thunder,” he cutely complained.

“Aw,” you cooed teasingly. “I’m sorry baby, I can’t help it.” The man watched you closely for a moment as you continued to run your fingers through his hair gently. “I love your hair this length, by the way,” you told him with a small smile.

“Thank you,” he chuckled, “stop flattering me,” he complained cutely. Giggling at him, he shook his head, feigning annoyance. “I’ll just have to out-romance you,” he joked, leaning forward and pressing his lips to your cheek. Laughing at the silly comment, you wrapped your arm around the back of his neck.

“You’ve already made me hike a mountain in the early morning just to feed me wine before breakfast,” you raised your glass to him, “and watch this beautiful sunrise together,” you nodded to the lookout. “How could you possible make this any more romantic?” You questioned with a smile.

Jungkook suddenly took the glass from you gently, making you pull your eyebrows together in question. “Hey,” you complained, Jungkook chuckling as he set it on the ground next to his.

“I have something to ask you,” he informed you, your eyebrows raising in response, your expression changing immediately as you studied his features.

“Is everything ok?” You asked nervously, exhaling as he nodded in assurance. You curiously watched him as he dug inside his pocket, but before you could question him further, he pulled out the ring box and looked into your eyes.

Slowly coming to realization of what he was holding and what was happening, your eyes bounced back and forth between his own orbs and the small object in his hands.

“Wait,” you smiled, still wrapping your mind around the current situation. “Really?” You asked stunned, Jungkook smiling at you in amusement. “Wait really?!” You blurted out again. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, this is why we- oh my god, Jeongguk.”

Your boyfriend chuckled fondly as he called out, your name, trying to get your focus.

“You should have told me to shut the fuck up earlier when I was complaining, oh my god,” you squealed, causing Jungkook to laugh further.

“Baby,” he called to you as you directed your eyes on the still unopened box.

“Baby, if that’s not what I think it is then you need to tell me right now because I am making an absolute fool out of myself,” you warned him, Jungkook opening the box in response to confirm that it was indeed an engagement ring.

“Holy fuck,” you breathed out, “shit I’m still talking, do you want me to shut up now?”

“I mean I don’t want you to shut up but like, I do want to propose to you,” he giggled, a shy smile appearing on your face just before you covered your mouth with your hand to show him you were being quiet.

“Proceed,” you mumbled through your palm, Jungkook laughing again at your antics.

“I had a whole speech prepared and now I hardly remember a fucking thing,” he scoffed at himself as he shook his head, you giggling at him, ducking your head to catch his gaze.

“Take all the time you need,” you told him softly with a small nod, your boyfriend, soon to be fiancé, exhaling slowly. As Jungkook prepared to speak, tears gathered in his eyes making butterflies flutter throughout your frame because of course your sweet, loving, sensitive Jungkook would cry when proposing.

“You make me want to be a better man every single day,” he told you, your own eyes becoming misty as you focused on his face intently. “And you inspire me every day, and you fill every day with so much love,” he continued, your heart racing at his words, and the sincerity in which he spoke them. “Life moves so fast sometimes, but you slow it all down and make me feel it,” he confessed, a tear spilling over your lash line, you quickly wiping it away as you and Jungkook both smiled. “I just want you forever and ever,” he told you sincerely as one of his own tears dropped onto his cheek. Before he could wipe it away himself, you reached for his cheek and swiped your thumb over the damp spot.

Leaving your hand to softly hold his face, you both grinned. “Will you marry me?” He asked you, you giggling instantly.

“Of course I will,” you told him, gently soothing your thumb overtop his cheek. Jungkook leaned toward your hand, pressing his lips to the inside of your wrist, letting his lips linger there for a moment. Pulling the ring out of the box, he wrapped his hand around your wrist and pulled your hand from his face so he could slide the ring onto your finger. As you looked down at the jewelry, Jungkook was staring at you. “It’s beautiful,” you complimented his ring choice. “I love it,” you smiled, looking up to meet his gaze full of relief, and anticipation, and excitement.

You both leaned into a kiss, your hands intertwined, the metal of the ring pressed up against Jungkook’s hands that always carried the weight of the world for you. As you smiled into the kiss, Jungkook did too, both of you losing your composures as you fell into giggles.

“Is this real?” You squealed in excitement, Jungkook dropping his forehead to your shoulder as he yelled out in relief.

“You’re scary to propose to,” he admitted, you scoffing. “No really, that was the scariest thing I’ve ever done in my life,” he looked up at you to see you gawking at him.

“That’s so ridiculous, in what world would I ever turn you down?” You questioned, shaking your head.

Appearing bashful, he sighed. “I wasn’t worried about you turning me down, I just, I wanted it to be perfect.”

Watching him fondly, your heart filled with all that affection you had felt for him for the several years you had known him. That deep consideration for you, the love he made sure you felt daily, the way he always prioritized your wants and needs above everything else were all the reasons why marrying him was the most obvious and easy thing to do.

“It was absolute perfection, Baby,” you assured him truthfully. “I can’t wait to hubby you up,” you told him with an adoring smile, watching as his eyes crinkled in the corners in the cutest way.

Bringing his lips to yours again, you both lost yourselves in each other, the sunrise becoming nothing but a backdrop to the perfect scene you and Jungkook were.

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years ago

Text

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.36}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 3.4k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

"And that is?" Robin raised her eyebrows at him in question and curiosity alike, immediately catching onto the spark of hope that came with the prospect of an advantage indeed.

"Me." He replied as simply as that, with an entirely, if not too straight face, and Robin couldn't help her snort in return

"How very humble of you…" She said smoothly, but with a smirk on her lips nonetheless. He was right though, they did stand two against one after all, and they always would. The thought, as always, served to calm Robin more than any piece of saving history or weapon could.

"I am entirely serious about it." Snape added however when Robin's humoured expression didn't cease even after a few seconds, and thus her smile vanished to make way for her utmost attention to his words again. "Since there have always been mutual affections between the Morgan and the Bennett heir up to this point, as well as going by the few accounts of various incarnations of the prophecy, it is safe to say that there has never before been such a disturbance. Both heirs have as of yet always opposed each other alone, because neither was free in their choice to seek out a different partner."

"And you think that whatever anomaly it was that made me not have any curse-inflicted positive or negative emotions for Morgan is the reason why the prophecy will end differently this time?"

"I believe you are the best chance to end the prophecy once and for all that the Bennett line has had in over five hundred years." He replied in open sincerity, and Robin's heart skipped a beat before it was captured by both hope and adoration. "And I can state the facts as they are: I was never meant to be part of this prophecy, nor am I part of it now. I am the anomaly in this scenario, and as we both know, anomalies tend to lead to a different outcome than the predicted one, even in any controlled environment."

"Did you just use potions logic to explain why we will win against Morgan?" Robin couldn't help the affectionate smile that took over her features once more; phrased like he had just now, it really did sound like she had a chance. She couldn't put into words how much she loved him for always cheering her up. For giving her hope, and every strength she could possibly need.

"It appears so." He mused in return, quirking an eyebrow up along with his words as he studied Robin in the flickering light of the flames. "Yet the fortunate preconditions will not change one of the core problems of the entire prophecy: in order for you to live, we will have to kill Morgan instead."

Robin's heart fell in an instant, as did her smile, and even her stomach picked up the all too familiar churning once again. For a few seconds she avoided Snape's eyes by staring into the flames, before at last her gaze returned to him in all the unfathomable sadness it brought along. "I can't kill him, Sev. I had every possibility and reason to today, and yet I… I can't."

"I know. And we will see to it that you won't have to." He replied quietly, then seemed to be lost in his own thoughts for a moment until he spoke on. "Though I admit I do not entirely understand how the prophecy treats the subject. From what I understand, Morgan will have to die at your hand and only yours, even though or especially because I am not part of the prophecy. Otherwise I would gladly have volunteered to end him myself in this very instant."

A huff, both bitterly humoured and indignant, escaped Robin's lips, and she found herself rolling her eyes at this stupid prophecy. Of course it had to be her… everything else just would've been too easy, wouldn't it? But then again… "I wouldn't have wanted you to do it either way." She said. "I will gladly spare your soul that torture at any cost."

"Morgan's death is inevitable if we want to keep you alive, you know that."

"Nothing is truly inevitable. It can't be." Robin shrugged with another sigh, then finally gathered her wits to speak up about another thought that had fostered in her mind ever since this afternoon. "You know, I looked at him while he was at my mercy today, and I realized something that only now makes sense to me. At last."

"Enlighten me."

"Do you remember what my boggart turned into, in my third year?"

"How could I forget… It was a deeply concerning and unsettling occurrence." Snape scoffed, but then sighed and motioned for her to continue.

"I think it was the prophecy that made the boggart change into that dark version of myself which we both saw. And it's also what turned my nightmares in my fourth year into such a horror show. Remember Morgan's words, at the ball: he sees in me the hollow darkness of inevitable death." Robin took a deep breath, then finally got to the point. "The boggart and my nightmares showed me precisely what will become of me if I kill Morgan like I am obviously meant to. It was my destiny in the prophecy that the boggart and the curse found in my being, not my deepest fear. Even though it might as well be one and the same thing at this point."

"That-..." Was his only reply for a few long seconds, until surprise was followed up by understanding in his expression. "I believe you might just be right about that."

"I don't want to become that thing we saw back then, Sev." Her voice took on an almost pleading tone, low and far too breathy for Robin's liking, but it was the price for keeping it from breaking entirely. "But I would, if I kill Morgan. Perhaps it's part of the curse… or perhaps it's just my own stupid weakness. But we both have seen what will become of me, and I don't want to be that person. I can't be. I can't kill him."

"Then we will find another way to end the prophecy. Without anyone dying."

"What other way could there possibly be? You said Morgan's death at my hands is inevitable, it's always gonna be either him or I. No third option. I kill him, or I die."

"Just as you said before, nothing is truly inevitable." He returned, as calmly serious as ever. "While I would not hesitate to end Morgan in a blink, I will also not hesitate to spare you from doing so yourself. We will find a different way, because we always do. Because we have to."

"Alright." And again, as always, Robin couldn't help believing him in the end. A half smile tugged on her lips as she looked up at him once again, in the knowledge that they would be alright somehow. "We will find a way, before it's too late."

"That we will." He sighed under his breath, then placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and yet held onto her a little more tightly in return. They weren't optimists, no… but they had as of yet gotten out of even more impossible situations than this, every single time.

Robin's smile brightened ineffably as she allowed herself to be tugged closer against his chest, his head coming to rest on top of her own, and for a moment they simply enjoyed the silence of the night. It was terribly late, and there was no doubt that they both were beyond exhausted. Perhaps detention and almost dying weren't quite comparable in what they did to one's body and mind, but it was safe to say that this day ought to come to an end for both of them nevertheless. It had been too much… Hogsmeade, the room of hidden things, Morgan's office, dinner, their office, Morgan's rooms, the astronomy tower, and finally the entire struggle with the prophecy right here and now. Good gods, Robin's head felt like bursting with all the things she had just learned. They had uncovered so many horrible truths today… but they finally had gotten a step further in understanding the big picture. A step further to bringing it all to an end.

"Is there any more we can do now?" She asked after a while. "I feel like we forgot something crucial, but I can't grasp what that might be."

"We should rest, for now. Everything else can wait until tomorrow."

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as I can be." He replied with a subtle sigh, and finally pulled away just enough to look at Robin once more. "Perhaps we should see the bright side of things, too, for once."

"And that would be?"

"I can keep you here with me all night without any remorse."

A loud snort escaped Robin as they both got up from the ground to get ready for bed at last, and she couldn't help the smirk that just then tugged at her lips. "As if you've ever felt any ounce of guilt over that before…"

"Officially, I have."

"Officially, I shouldn't even be here in the first place for you to feel guilty over."

"Good thing we make our own rules then."

"Indeed."

… … …

Falling asleep that night, surprisingly, turned out to be less troublesome than Robin had anticipated. Once they both were curled up under the soft covers, wrapped tightly into each other's arms in the fierce comfort of utmost protectiveness, they were both out like a light within seconds. While it still hadn't been often that they'd gotten to spend the night like this, it currently was the reassurance of each other's presence that made it possible to find sleep in the first place, and while Robin would've found more excitement in it under different circumstances, it was the calmness that gifted her a dreamless sleep for what was left of the night to rest.

The morning, however, was everything but calm in return. It was Sunday, sure, but when they woke up five minutes after breakfast had started, the world came crashing down on them rather abruptly. In all due haste, it took them only a few minutes to get ready and hide the box of parchments in one of the shelves before they quickly made their way towards the great hall. Together, for once, since Snape had absolutely refused to let Robin wander through the empty hallways alone, and Robin had given up her protests before she had even gotten properly started. When Snape had set his mind to something, there was little to nothing she could do about it. And honestly, she found herself rather glad about that.

As always, they did go separate ways once they reached the doors to the great hall though, and Robin didn't hesitate to make her way inside and towards the Slytherin table already, while trying to catch her breath after almost having to run to keep up with Snape. At some point, when there wasn't such a pressing reason to hurry, she would have to remind him that his legs were about double as long as hers, which made it nigh impossible to keep up sometimes. Or at least it felt like that; she would have to remember to bring it up at some point. Unfortunately, it was only when Robin spotted Gideon and Michael that she remembered something else, namely the thing she had forgotten about last night. Their challenge, which really hadn't been one in the first place. Oh bloody hell… she had forgotten to take a proper look into her memories to check the stupid order of the stupid items on Morgan's stupid desk. But seriously, there had been so much more urgent matters at hand! Bloody fucking hell though, for she still couldn't tell them that. She still had to put on a smile and joke as if there wasn't some ridiculous life changing prophecy at work. Great.

"Got up on the wrong foot, eh?" Gideon greeted her with a smirk right when Robin reached their little group in the middle of the long table. "You look like someone's turned your shower cold while you were still under it."

"Something like that, yeah." She sighed in return, then dropped down into the seat between Jorien and Simon that had been saved for her. "Anyway, good morning to you, too."

Granted, her friends did try to cheer her up during breakfast, and Robin found herself sighing inwardly more than once while she put on a fake smile and, sometimes, could even muster up a real one. Her occasional glances towards the head table were kindly ignored like always, her 'hmm's for an answer as well, and at last she almost believed that the boys had forgotten about the challenge for good when after twenty minutes still nobody had asked about it. But of course, fate or whatever entity was currently messing with her wasn't as kind as to let her off the hook that easily.

"So, when are we finally going to talk about yesterday's evening activities?" Cas asked with a beaming and giddy smile that made Robin want to strangle her in an instant. Honestly, she loved Cas, but the girl had the most awful timing known to human history.

"Oh yes, right!" Gideon jumped right onto the train of thought, and even dropped his toast while his gaze flew over to Robin. "Where's that proof you promised, huh?"

Under different circumstances, Robin would've straight up snarled at the boy's smug expression and quieted his every inquiry with a single glare. But she had more or less promised them proof, and she had most definitely promised herself to keep her friends out of this mess. So she had to live with the consequences now, even if they majorly annoyed her. Sighing inwardly, she tried to recall the details about Morgan's desk, what it had looked like, what items he kept on there… Perhaps a rough description would have to do. Or, perhaps indeed, it would only take one single detail, a detail that almost nobody could know of. Well, unless they had carefully searched through his desk like she had, of course. Yes, that certainly would do to serve as proof for the boys! Why on earth hadn't she thought of that before?! With a mostly feigned mischievous smile, Robin leaned onto her lower arms and over the table, closer to Gideon and Michael. Unsurprisingly, every single one of her friends followed suit and leaned in closer to her as well. The fact that they were already so used to her antics rendered her smile a little more real, and a little less bitter.

"Alright, but don't judge me before you've checked the facts yourself." She started, once she was sure that all five of her friends were listening. Even Jorien and Simon, who had shown absolutely no interest in the entire endeavour last night, were intently paying attention now. "In the locked drawer in his desk, Morgan keeps a book on beautifying spells 'for the modern gentleman'."

It took a second, but then Michael and Gideon burst into laughter, while Simon and the girls simply gaped at Robin as if she'd told them that a spaceship had crashed in Hogsmeade. Admittedly, both reactions amused Robin quite a bit in return, which served as a most welcome distraction from the morning's hasty gloom. The book had indeed been an amusing discovery, now that she thought of it. One that she had previously simply ignored in order to focus on the greater good, the bigger plan, the more important matters. Well, perhaps it did her some good now to remember that there were other things in life than the big problems. That Morgan was also just a human being, with flaws and secrets and weird mannerisms. It certainly made breathing a little easier for now.

"That is absolutely hilarious." Gideon snorted a moment later, after he had finally managed to catch his breath. "I honestly hope it's true."

"Of course it's true!" Cas snapped back at him, even though the fact still seemed to irritate her at the same time. "Robin doesn't lie…"

"Thank you." Robin gave the girl a half smile and a nod, then turned back towards the boys across from her. "I consider this inane challenge completed now, but you are of course free to verify my claim."

"I believe you." Michael shrugged with another humoured huff. "Would explain why the guy's always so…"

"Pretty?" Gideon suggested with raised eyebrows, and Michael nodded in agreement. "Pretty is a good way to describe it."

"Petty would be even more like it." Robin sighed under her breath, but her own thought made her snort a second later nonetheless. Arrogance wouldn't help her, but if she was stuck in a limbo between confidence and fear already, she might as well enjoy the highs for now before the lows came back to haunt her.

"Speaking of petty, you won't believe what that pillock Justin did last night!" Gideon said, and Michael just groaned in return before shoving his friend and rolling his eyes.

"Who the frick is Justin?" Jorien asked with an indignant frown in return, which almost made Robin snort again, for the girl, as so often, displayed a copycat version of Robin's own thoughts.

"Some guy in their house." Cas answered with a roll of her eyes, but more at the subject than because of her friend's question. "He should be in Robin's year, actually, but knowing her, she probably has no idea who he is either."

"Caught me. I still don't care about the people in my year." Robin shrugged with one shoulder and kept her eyes on her toast, but she didn't cease to listen curiously to the elaborations around her at the same time.

"Anyway, Justin was helping us with our charms essays last night. Or rather, he was supposed to help us, but ended up being a stupid pillock about it." Gideon went on to explain.

"Yeah, he is really good at charms." Michael continued in a sigh where Gideon had stopped. "But he didn't even try to help us! Properly, I mean. He could've just answered our bloody questions, or pointed us to books that would have helped, but no, he had to make it all even more difficult by giving us even more questions! Questions and problems and… ugh! He honestly just made it more difficult for us to get the bloody essay done."

"I bet he didn't even want to help us." Gideon made a face, and Micheal nodded once again in agreement. "He probably just wanted to make himself look clever in front of the girls in the common room. Honestly, next time we'll just do it by ourselves."

"Or ask Robin."

"Right."

Robin nodded; of course she would help them with their stupid essays if they asked, she always did, but that was entirely besides the point right now. Her thoughts were already drifting off into another direction entirely, to something they hadn't even said, and that yet their rambling had triggered in Robin's mind. A thought, an idea… a perspective! A rush of adrenaline started burning down her veins, and her eyes just as her thoughts inevitably moved away from her breakfast and her friends, towards the head table, then towards Snape. It took but a few more seconds for his eyes to meet hers, and another for his mind to reach out to her.

'That look on your face is not about the dunderhead gang, is it?' He asked, straight to the point, which Robin was as always grateful for.

'No. We need to talk. With words. Now.' Her reply was a mere staccato, phrased like that in order for her request to even come out clear over the mess her thoughts had become once more. Going by the look on his face, he had understood her nonetheless.

'Astronomy tower. In five minutes.'

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ukulelecal · 4 years ago

Text

Bloom - Part One

The story of flowers.

Pairing: Poet!Luke Hemmings x Female!OC

Warnings: angst!!!! implied smut. perhaps a swear or two. mostly angst

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: can yall believe that this video sent me so feral that i wrote this whole lil mini series in like five days?? i'm not surprised tbh. ANYWAY omg i really am excited for y'all to read this!!! i hope you love it!!! i would love your feedback, and please please remember that reblogs mean the absolute world to creators!

series masterlist

masterlist // posted on ao3

Devon would never forget the first poem Luke wrote for her.

He was a blushing mess as he handed her the folded piece of paper, insisting she read it later because he didn’t want to see her reaction. He had a lip ring then, blond hair spiked up and a wardrobe full of band t-shirts and black skinny jeans. He certainly didn’t look like how anyone would imagine a poet, but one look at his work would tell anyone that he had the mind for the craft.

Luke’s way with words was unmatched. Devon always called it a superpower; the way he was able to capture readers with words strung together so beautifully and paint a picture in the brain. He made people feel something. He had a gift, no doubt.

All of his poems were breathtaking, and he wrote many for her. The first would always be her favorite.

It was called The Orchids. The poem compared a woman to a field of orchids, delicate and lush. It was simple but sweet. Devon vividly remembered the rush of giddiness she felt as she read it, knowing it was written just for her. She remembered calling Luke after reading it over and over again, gushing about how much she loved it. He explained to her later that he chose orchids because the color of the shirt she was wearing the day they met reminded him of them.

They were only freshmen in college then. First time away from home, getting their first taste of real independence. Of adulthood. They met in a seminar class that every first year student had to take. One that everyone else hated but Luke and Devon loved, just because they got to see each other. A couple of coffee dates lead to The Orchids, which lead to a loving relationship and many, many more poems.

College was just about to come to an end now. Graduation was coming up fast, and that brought the simultaneously exciting and dreadful question: what next?

The future was something that used to delight Luke and Devon. Countless nights, they talked about marriage, a house, a dog, children. Luke would be a renowned poet, Devon a respected social worker. They had it all planned out. Even if their white picket fence dreams fell through, they would be happy so long as they had each other.

With graduation creeping closer and closer, Devon wasn’t so sure about their plans.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want it anymore. She still loved Luke with all of her heart. She wanted everything they had talked about, a future with him. Some deeper thinking into her career led her heart elsewhere.

It came out at dinner one evening, sat at the table of Devon and Luke’s shared apartment that they had moved into junior year.

“I’ve been thinking about going to grad school,” she blurted out. She twisted her spaghetti on her fork to distract herself. His face lit up, but Devon didn’t quite share his excitement. She knew this was something she wanted, but she was about to make a huge sacrifice that she had been trying to convince herself that she was ready for.

“Yeah? That’s great, Dev!” Luke cheered. “Here?”

The proud smile on his face quickly dropped when he saw the look of dread on hers. Graduate school was certainly a good thing, but if she wasn’t thrilled, Luke knew there must be a catch.

“Not here?” Devon shook her head. “Then where?”

The name of the school that she mumbled under her breath made Luke’s heart sink. It was far away. Very far.

“Oh.”

Luke wanted to kick himself for being disappointed. It was selfish, so selfish. He should have been proud that Devon wanted to further her education, and he was. He couldn’t fathom trying to take that away from her, but the thought of his girl being so far away was gut wrenching.

He wiped the frown off his face as quickly as it came. He reminded himself that he needed to be supportive, even if it hurt.

“That’s awesome, baby. I’m really proud of you.”

Devon knew he wasn’t lying when he said he was proud of her, but she could tell he wasn’t as excited as he was trying to seem.

“You don’t have to act happy about this, Lu,” she murmured, still pushing her pasta around. “I know what you’re thinking.”

He sighed and dropped his fork on his plate. Of course she saw through him. She always did. After four years of being together, Devon knew Luke better than anyone.

“I really am proud of you for doing this, honey. Don’t think that I’m not. It’s just…” he trailed off, unable to think of a way to put what he wanted to say without sounding selfish. “It’s so far away.”

Devon swallowed the lump in her throat. She was headstrong, and she knew that she needed to put her career and her own desires first. That didn’t mean it hurt any less to move so far away from the love of her life.

“I know, bubs,” she whispered. “But this is something I really want for myself. For my future.”

“Oh, honey, I know,” Luke sighed, not wanting her to feel bad. “I want you to do this. But the distance...I know it’s selfish of me-”

“It’s not selfish, Luke,” she interrupted, shaking her head softly. “It’s not easy for me either. But this school has the best graduate program for social work. Besides, I haven’t finished my application yet and I’m applying to some other places too. I might not even get in.”

Perhaps the most selfish thing of all was that a tiny part of him hoped she wouldn’t get in. It would break her heart if she didn’t, but maybe she wouldn’t be so far. Luke hated himself for the thought even crossing his mind for a split second.

Devon could see how this was affecting him. She understood; she knew he was planning on proposing shortly after graduation, though they were in no hurry to actually get married until they both had secure jobs. Moving hundreds of miles away for two years undoubtedly threw a wrench in the plans.

She had gone back and forth for a while as she searched for grad schools. As much as she wanted to stay close, her future career was something that she valued greatly. Devon was a first generation college student, and she wanted nothing more than to make her family proud. However, Luke was important too. The distance wouldn’t be easy, but she tried to be optimistic. She could only hope that he would want to try too.

“Don’t think like that, Dev,” Luke mumbled. He let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. His desire for Devon to succeed and his desire to keep her close were battling each other, and it only frustrated him.

He thought about his words for a few moments, but couldn’t find the right thing to say.

“We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

Devon gave a silent nod. She needed to let him feel this out, and honestly, she needed to do the same. Thinking about it was one thing, but actually telling Luke was another. She had been stressing over it for a while, and now that it was finally out, her and Luke had to actually deal with it together.

The couple finished their dinner in silence, the only sounds to be heard being the slight scraping of forks against plates and the occasional sighs.

Devon couldn’t help but feel guilty. Over the years, she had conditioned herself to put her own aspirations first. She had sacrificed a lot for others in her lifetime, but many people had made sacrifices for her as well. She felt she had found a balance between taking care of herself and taking care of the people around her. She knew that moving away for a while for her own benefit would have an effect on her relationship, but she didn’t feel as if she had to choose one or the other. If Luke was willing to try to make things work, then so was she.

Luke took his last bite of spaghetti and stood up from the table. He silently made his way to the sink to wash his plate before turning back to Devon.

“I’m going to write for a bit, okay?” He mumbled, slowly making his way towards the spare bedroom that doubled as his workspace. No doubt a poem was going to come out of everything he was feeling at the moment. Devon nodded and her brown eyes watched as Luke turned on his heel to walk away.

“Luke?” She called out before he got too far. He turned around with a hum of acknowledgement. “I love you.”

Despite the anxiety and dread he was feeling, he smiled.

He walked back over to where Devon still sat at the table. With her face cradled lovingly in his hands, he bent down to press a soft yet meaningful kiss to her lips. The kiss said that even if things were uncertain, this wasn’t over.

“I love you too.”

…

Devon’s breath caught in her throat when an email from her top choice grad school came through.

She had poured over her personal statement and fretted over her interview. No matter how much everyone assured her, she couldn’t help the anxiety that ate her away.

With a deep breath, she opened the email.

Accepted with a scholarship.

“Luke! Bubs, I got in! I got in!”

She ran into the spare bedroom where Luke was hunched over one of his many poetry notebooks. His head whipped up at his girlfriend’s yells, his brain taking a moment to process her words after being in the writing zone.

For a moment, neither of them were thinking about the distance. All that mattered was Devon’s amazing achievement.

Luke stood up to meet her. Devon practically tackled him in a hug and he easily held her close.

“Congratulations, honey,” he mumbled into her hair. “Fuck, I’m so proud of you.”

He held her for a few minutes, neither of them able to wipe the smiles off their faces. This meant a lot to Devon, and Luke knew it. He knew from the moment he met her that she was going to do great things in life. She was motivated, intelligent, passionate. Anyone could see it. It was one of the many things he loved about her.

Luke pulled away in favor of cupping her cheeks in his hands. Devon flushed under his adoring gaze, eyes falling downwards.

“You’re incredible, Devon Murphy.”

She kissed him as a form of thanks, melting into each other’s touch. Their eyes met when they pulled away, bright blue and warm brown. Devon wasn’t the wordsmith that Luke was, but she didn’t have to be. Her eyes and her actions told him and everyone else everything that they needed to know. Devon was in love with him, and Luke, her.

Even with Luke’s way with words, Devon could read his eyes too. They were just as expressive as his poetry. As they gazed at each other, she could see the flash of sorrow as his mind travelled elsewhere. She didn’t need to ask to know what he was thinking about.

“Luke…” she whispered with a softened gaze. The guilt was returning, although she knew she had nothing to feel guilty about. She had always struggled with her determination to put herself first. It wasn’t Luke’s fault either, however; his feelings about her leaving were completely valid.

“No. None of that right now,” he stated, shaking his head. “This is a huge accomplishment, Dev. We’re not going to be sad tonight.”

A grin tugged at the corner of Devon’s lips as Luke pulled away, grabbing his phone from the desk and sticking it in his pocket. He placed a hand on the small of her back and led her to the door of the bedroom.

“I think you deserve a celebratory dinner, honey, yeah?” He offered, handing trailing to the side to hold her waist. She chuckled and leaned into him.

“You could throw in a frozen pizza and I’d be happy, bubs.”

“Hell no,” he scoffed as if it was the most ridiculous suggestion in the world. “You just got into grad school! I’m taking you out for dinner. If you want pizza, we can get pizza, but not a frozen one.”

Devon couldn’t help but throw her arms around him again, burying her face into his chest. He tilted his head down to press a kiss to the top of her head. She knew this wasn’t easy, and she was beyond grateful that he was being supportive.

“Thank you, bubs. I love you.”

“I love you too, honey. So are we getting pizza, or do you want to go somewhere else? It’s up to you.”

“Pizza sounds good. Can we go to the place with the good garlic knots?”

Luke laughed as he slipped on his shoes.

“Of course we can.”

Devon slipped on her own shoes and grabbed her denim jacket from the hook by the door before the couple made their way downstairs. Luke’s beat up Prius came into view as they stepped into the parking lot. Devon had named the car Bertha; she was old and a little rusty, but she got the job done.

Luke drove to the small pizzeria not far from their apartment complex. Once inside, they were seated quickly and ordered garlic knots and a pizza to share.

“We haven’t talked much about your writing lately,” Devon said once the waitress walked away. “What have you been working on?”

Luke shrugged and sipped his water.

“Not much. I haven’t really gotten anything good out.”

Truthfully, he had written a lot of poems about Devon leaving. He wasn’t going to tell her that at their celebratory dinner, though.

“In a slump?” She queried sincerely.

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Maybe next weekend we can go out, go to the park. You always get inspired there.”

Luke grinned and reached across the table for her hand.

“I’d love that, Dev.”

The rest of dinner flew by, conversation getting lost in buttery garlic knots and savory pizza. Luke offered dessert, but Devon was too full to even think about it. A sly joke about having her for dessert at home had the giggling couple paying the check and driving home at record speed where Luke certainly made good on his promise.

Devon and Luke laid in bed that night where whispered I love you’s and gentle kisses put them to sleep. Not a negative thought in either of their minds. They were content, but the future still loomed menacingly ahead.

…

The apartment was once a place of solace. It was a place where Luke and Devon could get away from the stress of college life and simply be together. It was safe and comforting. A place they knew they were always welcome.

As time went on, the apartment slowly shifted from a place of joy to a place of dread.

Graduation day was coming up, and both Devon and Luke knew what that meant.

They busied themselves with assignments and exams, Devon simultaneously preparing herself for grad school. She didn’t say much about it to Luke; whenever it came up, the tension between them only got stronger. It led to them bickering about other things to avoid the conversation.

Before they knew it, graduation had come and passed. Devon and Luke officially had their bachelor’s degrees, Luke in creative writing and Devon in social work. The days leading up to it were a good distraction, celebrations with friends and family taking their minds off the move. But it was over. Devon needed to get to her new city soon to set up her new apartment and get her bearings before school started. It was time to face the music.

“Luke?” Devon mumbled as he came out of the spare bedroom. She had been waiting for him to finish so they could talk.

He sighed and sat down next to her on the couch, knowing exactly what this was about. They both had been dreading the conversation, but he knew just as well as her that they needed to discuss it before it was too late.

“Are you ready for this?” She whispered, glancing at him with sad eyes. He didn’t return her gaze.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to be away from you for this long, honey.”

Luke could feel his guard coming down. He wanted this for Devon, but he was struggling to keep his want for her to stay close suppressed.

“I don’t want you to think I’m not considering you in this,” she began, reaching for his hand in his lap. “Leaving won’t be easy for me either.”

“I know.”

He was too scared to say much else.

The couple was silent for a moment. They racked their brains for something to say that would make the situation easier on either of them.

“Maybe you could come with.”

Devon regretted it as soon as it came out of her mouth.

Luke huffed and sent her a look.

“You know I can’t do that.”

She did know. If he could do that, he would have jumped on the opportunity immediately. Luke couldn’t afford to move. He was working on fulfilling his lifelong dream of releasing a poetry book. He was getting so close. Publishers were starting to take interest in him, and he nearly had enough money saved to cover the costs. It was difficult to save money when his part time job at a local bookstore didn’t pay much in the first place and he still needed to pay for school as well as his share of the rent and groceries, among other necessary things. Devon was a little luckier. Neither of their families had much to contribute, and she needed to pay for the same things as him, but her part time job paid better than his and she had money saved from when she managed to land a paid internship first semester. It was covering the costs of her move and grad school.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She watched him for another moment, trying to fight back the tears that were welling in her eyes.

“Please say something, Luke,” she whimpered. All she wanted was for him to affirm what she so desperately wanted; for them to be okay.

He finally looked at her, both sets of eyes red rimmed. Devon squeezed his hand.

“Do you really have to go, Dev?”

The break in his voice sent the first tear gliding down Devon’s cheek.

“You know how much this means to me, Lu. I really think we can make this work.”

“Can we? Can we really?” Luke’s tone turned frustrated. Devon’s mouth dropped open slightly. Did he not believe they could last?

“What are you saying?” She whispered, voice shaking.

He sighed and roughly stood up, dropping Devon’s hand in the process.

“We’ll never talk. We’ll both be so busy. You’ll have school, I’ll be working. And you know neither of us have the money to be visiting each other often. There will hardly be anything,” he rambled, pacing around the living room. Maybe his selfish side was coming out, but he felt he was just being realistic.

Luke always aimed for realism, particularly in his poetry. He wrote largely about real life experiences and channeled his emotions into beautiful, flowing rhymes. His best work came from personal connection.

Sometimes, he couldn’t help but write about what he wished he had.

His idealistic poems were never about Devon; his relationship with her was practically perfect. But this was something that no idealistic poem could fix. No words could change what was happening to them.

“I’ll make time for you, Luke. Won’t you do the same?” She questioned, growing frustrated as well. She had wanted him to share her optimism, but clearly he didn’t. A part of her knew he was right, but she wasn’t going to back down.

“Of course I’ll make time. But will it be enough? No matter how much we try, will it be enough to keep what we have going? Look at what it’s doing to us now! You haven’t even left yet and we can barely keep it together.”

“Do you really have that little faith in us, Luke?” Her voice was calm, despite how she felt on the inside. She narrowed her eyes at him. “No one said it would be easy. But we’ve been together for four years. I believe in us.”

Luke took another breath, trying his best to keep his emotions and tears at bay.

“I want to believe in us, Devon. I really do.” He turned to look at her. Her cheeks were stained with tears, and it only made his heart ache more. “I still want a future with you. I want the house and the dog and the kids we’ve always talked about. But I have a bad feeling. We’ve never been away from each other for more than a few weeks. I just...the distance is going to break us.”

Luke’s own words cut him like a knife. As much as he wanted to believe they could last, his own insecurities caused him doubt. He wasn’t sure if he truly believed that or if he just wanted to save himself the heartbreak of being away from Devon for so long.

Devon let his words sink in. Even if it did break them before she finished her degree, she was willing to try until they couldn’t anymore. Maybe he was right. Maybe the distance would break them eventually. But it hurt her that he didn’t have any faith at all. Still, she understood where he was coming from.

There was no winner in this situation.

She thought for a moment, and finally came to the conclusion that they were both thinking about.

“Fine.” She slowly stood up from the couch and looked him in the eye. They were both shattered. Hearts were breaking into a million pieces simultaneously. Devon put on the most stoic face she could muster with tears still leaking from her eyes. “We obviously want different things right now. I have school, you have your book, and clearly we can’t handle both at the same time. Maybe there shouldn’t be an us.”

Although he had essentially been the one to suggest it, her words felt like a punch in the gut.

This wasn’t what either of them wanted. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But the truth was becoming more and more apparent. They couldn’t do this. Not now.

However, Luke mimicked Devon’s actions and put on a blank face.

“Maybe there shouldn’t.”

They stared at each other for another few moments. Reality was setting in. This was the end of Luke and Devon. All of the coffee dates, the love poems, living off Ramen and questionable dining hall food together, walks in the park, kisses, I love you’s, the late night talks of the future, everything gone down the drain.

Devon shut herself in the bedroom before Luke could see her break.

…

The next month before Devon moved was painful. Her and Luke hardly said a word to each other. They ate their meals separately, not bothering to cook together like they used to or order food to share. They both spent time with friends before everyone went off to their new adult lives. When they weren’t out, Devon locked herself in the bedroom while Luke did the same in the spare. They hadn’t slept in the same bed since before their fight.

Devon spent a lot of free time packing. She went through all of her belongings, creating piles of things to keep, things to donate, and things to throw away.

She soon came across something that made all of her emotions about the breakup resurface.

It was the shoebox that she kept all of the poems Luke had written for her in. She kept every single one.

With a quivering lip, she opened the box and gazed at its contents. Piles of folded papers were neatly tucked inside, his declarations of love all written out in one place. They were her most prized possessions. She went back and reread them often, and the feeling of having someone love her like Luke did was the best feeling in the world.

Devon choked out a sob, burying her face into her hands in hopes that he wouldn’t hear her through the thin walls. The fact that he was right next door hurt her even more. The caring, gentle boy that made her swoon with his charming smile and romantic poetry. He made her fall in love with him all over again every day. He was everything, and she lost him.

She slowly read through each poem. Instead of joy and adoration, all she felt was anguish and heartache. She never thought she would feel this way about Luke.

When she got to the bottom, she pulled out the last poem, and her heart completely broke in her chest.

The Orchids.

Devon couldn’t keep her sobs at bay. She clutched the paper to her chest, every bit of pain coming out in tears.

Luke could hear her through the wall.

His heart told him to run in and comfort her. His brain told him it would only make things worse for both of them.

He plugged his ears, trying to block out the dreadful sound. He was in just as much pain as her, but the sound of the love of his life’s sorrow only made his own worse.

Glancing down at the open notebook in front of him, he reread the poem he was writing, and soon he found himself joining Devon in tears.

It was called Wilted. Their relationship that had once been a beautiful flower, an orchid, lost its sunlight and its water, and now it had wilted. Dead, grey, dried up.

Luke dropped his pen and folded his arms on the desk, burying his head into them. He cried.

The broken couple, only separated by a thin wall, might as well have already been miles apart. They cried together, but there was no sense of unity between them. Their pain was past what any poem could portray.

104 notes · View notes

puddygeeks · 3 years ago

Text

𝑾𝒂𝒓 𝑶𝒇 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 - 𝑪𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔, 𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓 𝑹𝒆𝒊𝒅 𝒙 𝑶𝑪 - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 8: 𝑮𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝑶𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚

Masterlist

Rating: Mature

Summary: 𝐴𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠. 𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐵𝐴𝑈 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦, 𝑚𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑡.

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OC

Status: Ongoing

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑑𝑢𝑙𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡, 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤. 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑢𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑏𝑑𝑢𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 & 𝑠𝑒𝑥𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑏𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐵𝐴𝑈'𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘. 𝐼𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑑, 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤.

Eᴘɪsᴏᴅᴇ: Pʀᴇ Sᴇᴀsᴏɴ 1

Chapter Eight

“You know, it’s remarkably similar to Brighton Pier here.” I commented, fanning myself in desperation under the scolding sun and Ricky pushed his large sunglasses down to allow me to feel the full force of his judgement. “Well, except that it’s unmistakably hotter, obviously.”

“How dare you compare this beautiful sandy bliss to your pebble filled nightmare?” He remarked with a sweeping hand gesture at the beach, before sipping out of his straw with offence and I rolled my eyes at him.

Ricky has always been a force to be reckoned with, but as he got older, he only grew more confident and I was constantly inspired by how comfortable he was in himself. His thick brunette hair reached his collarbones now, but he currently had it pushed back out of his face with a colourful bandana so that he could tan. In order for him to worship the sun to his full capacity, he was wearing a worryingly small pair of shorts and had stretched himself across a lounger like the diva that he absolutely was.

“Hmm. Your actual beach is better, I’ll give you that one. But you’re seriously lacking on drag queens, quirky cafes and fancy boutiques to shop in.” I pointed out, fondly recalling the whirlwind weekend that we’d spent in the British city the last time that he’d visited me and he shrugged in defeat.

“Touché. You win this round.” He admitted, laying back to bask himself again, whilst I shuffled my sensitive skin further under the sun umbrella that he’d reluctantly agreed to allow me to bring over on the condition that it didn’t cause a single shred of shade over him.

It was a beautiful day, only improved by the quality of my company and I had to admit that I was endlessly pleased to have decided to extend my stay for another few days. Despite the years that had passed since we had last been in each other's physical company, Ricky was still able to put me at ease in a way that no one else had ever been able to emulate and I cherished the opportunity to simply relax with him at the Virginia Boardwalk.

“So, what’s it like being an FBI agent?” Ricky asked, turning his attention back to me with a smug expression. “Is it wonderful knowing that you have the power to stop anyone in their tracks? I would absolutely abuse my power for evil, but I know you’re too pure for that.” He muttered with delight and I chuckled at him knowingly. The things that he would use an FBI badge to accomplish didn’t even bear thinking about.

“Darling. I already told you. I’m not an FBI agent. I’m still a technical analyst for Interpol. I’m just on loan.” I repeated, already losing count of how many times I had made this distinction, but he still seemed as unconvinced by this as he was the first time that I told him.

“Oh, semantics! Sounds to me like you’re working for them and considering that you saved a girl from a burning building like a freaking hero, I’m just going to treat you like one.” He argued, seeming amused as if I were simply downplaying things, when realistically, it was a case of him dramatising the arrangement, as he did with most things. “We have an FBI agent in the family. That’s pretty cool.”

“There is absolutely no reasoning with you.” I groaned, shaking my head in embarrassment and he shrugged dismissively, as if this were an obvious fact that I should have accepted already. “How’s university going? Have you sorted your accommodation for your second year yet?”

“College is going fine. I’ve done a fantastic job being the life of the party, so I have plenty of offers for people to live with. My only struggle is choosing people who aren’t completely filthy as housemates. I can’t live in a grubbly little student hovel.” He explained, seeming repulsed by the very idea and I raised a brow at his diva attitude. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not being dramatic. My first year in dorms, I shared a bathroom with straight men. You don’t understand the trauma that I’ve lived through.”

“Does your mother know that you haven’t arranged housing yet?” I interrogated, already sensing a hint of dishonesty in him and his features quickly contorted into a guilty look. “Rituparan! I understand being picky, but you’ll end up with no choice other than to live with the grimy jocks if you don’t hurry up. You need to get organised.” I scolded, earning an eye roll so severe that I worried his face might never recover from the strain.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Alley Cat. I’ll get it sorted. Now, drink your mocktail before it gets too diluted.” He ordered, sipping down the last of his drink and placing the little umbrella from the top in his hair with a flourish. The moment that he faced me, I knew that he had mischief in mind.

“Okay. Are you ready? Who am I?” He pouted so dramatically that his cheeks all but disappeared and I almost choked on my drink.

“Oh, too easy! That is the unforgettable Lola, the only woman on the planet who considers a cocktail umbrella the perfect hair accessory for any occasion.” I answered, earning a cheer and wicked laugh of satisfaction from him. “You know, I love having someone else to mock dad’s exes with. You’d think the fact that he only dates women my age would mean we’d have something in common, but alas, apparently a sense of humour isn’t shared by age group.”

“Of course they’re not funny! The only thing those girls come with is a price tag.” He sassed, flipping his hair back out of his face in a ridiculously bitchy gesture and I was immediately reminded of just how much I loved him. “At least you don’t have to pretend to like Tanya anymore. Honestly, if she had a second brain cell, she’d be dangerous.”

“Oh, no! They broke up?” I gasped, almost sounding convincing with my upset and he whipped his head around with drastic confusion. “I guess she had to bleed my dad dry of pocket money eventually.” I drawled, prompting a small yelp of surprise and a quick high five from Ricky.

Tanya had been dating my dad for just over six months now, so I knew that she was likely to be approaching her expiration date soon. His routine was well known amongst the entire family now and in an effort to counter the embarrassment that it caused for my mother and I, it had become a running joke for us all to share.

“Didn’t you hear the details?” Ricky crooned, turning to face me fully on his lounger with a devious expression and I shrugged nonchalantly. “According to Maji, she tried to charge her lip fillers to his business credit card. Caused all sorts of uproar at the office. I guess she’ll be making that duck face at someone else’s wallet now.” He divulged, pouting into an exaggerated model face for effect and I struggled not to splutter my drink everywhere in response.

Ricky’s mother always seemed to know everything that was happening in our family and I’d long believed that this was where he’d learned to dig information out of people. She was abnormally gifted in guilt tripping the truth out of even the most hardened family members and yet, she doted on Ricky as if he was the very thing that made her world turn. If I ever wanted to know what was going on in my dad’s life, I knew that I could rely on her to be up to date with events.

Before I could manage to recover enough to speak, my mobile rang with it’s sharp tone and I had to clamber around in my bag to find it. As soon as I saw the private number, my eyes grew wide in dread.

“Oh, no! The bat phone?” Ricky asked, seeming genuinely horrified that I might be called into work and I quickly nodded, before holding a finger to my lips to shush him.

“Agent Hawthorne.” I answered, feeling utterly ridiculous referring to myself this way in my current company. This insecurity was only made worse by Ricky sliding his shades back on in a judgemental manner and I gestured to him to stop distracting me.

“Alice. This is Hotch. Are you still in Virginia?”

The voice on the other end of the phone was as serious as ever and though I was enormously relieved to find that it wasn’t anyone from Interpol trying to order me home, I felt nerves building in my chest already.

“Yes, Sir. I am.” I reported, noticing Ricky raising his brows at me in interest and I knew that he was dying to know what was being said.

“I realise that you’re spending time with family, but would you be able to come into the office for a meeting? I have a matter that I would like to discuss with you in person, if possible.” Hotch requested, allowing me absolutely no hint of the cause for this meeting and I felt my face change into one of alarm.

My mind had already begun racing with all of the possible complications that I could be facing for my actions at the base now that all of the documentation for the case had been submitted and I was terrified that if any further charges were brought against me, they could contradict the deal that I made with Interpol to avoid imprisonment.

“Yes, Sir. I’ll come in right away.” I stuttered, attempting to fight down my terror. My hands shook with nerves as I hung up on the call and Ricky looked positively thrilled to have been given the opportunity to witness this conversation, as if he’d just been personally included in a matter of national security.

“It’s a good thing that you went for virgin cocktails, my dear. I have to get back to Quantico.” I confessed, quickly burying my nerves so that he wouldn’t sense trouble.

“Oh my god! This is so exciting!” He announced, hopping straight to his feet and flustering to grab his belongings that were spread across every surface around him. “One cab for Agent Hawthorne, coming right up!”

--⥈--

Outfit: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/460070918191621506/

Standing in the lift of the Quantico building, I was overwhelmed with anxiety. I had been in such a rush to get here that it hadn’t even crossed my mind to change clothes, or to do anything to prepare my appearance at all. Though I knew that I didn’t have any more office clothes with me anyway, I acknowledged that I could at least have found something that provided a little more coverage and didn’t leave me feeling so exposed.

The idea of walking through an office where everyone was dressed smartly, wearing a white floral mini dress was an absolute nightmare and I realised that I only had a few minutes to make any changes. All I could think to do was to untie my waist length hair, shaking it out to at least cover some of my arms and attempting to make it look styled.

The doors opened to reveal a full office, with most of the team present at their desks and I gulped nervously. My dress felt as if it had actually shrunk in size since the beach now that I would be seen in it by people that I had worked with and I had to remind myself that I had bigger things to worry about with being called to come here than my attire.

JJ’s heels clicked on the polished floor as she entered the reception, her professional appearance clashing horribly with the casual style of my low top converses and I tried not to feel intimidated.

“Alice! I know that I said we wanted to see you again soon, but this is a little crazy.” She breezed as she approached me with a warm smile and I tried to force myself to relax. “Hotch is just finishing a call and he’ll be out to meet you.” She explained, before her gaze fell onto my outfit and I felt myself physically become stiff under her scrutiny. “You look pretty!”

“Oh, thanks. I was just on the beach. I’ve already worn all of my work clothes so, um, this is all I have?” I offered, shifting awkwardly and she smiled sympathetically at me.

“We’ve all been called in at unexpected times. I was literally collected from home in my pajamas once. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” She soothed, leaning closer to me as she spoke so that no one would overhear my concern and I let out a long breath in relief.

“Besides, I know that Hotch is just going to appreciate you being able to come in at such short notice. I hope you got to enjoy at least a little bit of your time off before we intruded?” She asked with an honest concern in her eyes and just as I opened my mouth to see if she could give me even the slightest hint of what to expect, Hotch stepped into the room.

“Alice. Thank you for coming so quickly.” He stated in his usual serious manner, reaching straight to shake my hand and I complied immediately, forcing a smile through my nerves. “I’ll try not to take up too much of your time. Let’s talk in my office.” He offered, opening the glass doors to the main office for me and I stepped through hesitantly.

Within approximately two steps of entering the space, I could already feel eyes on me and tried not to allow myself to be unnerved by the attention. The anxious voice in the back of my mind screamed that I was the most inappropriate looking member of staff to ever enter this office, but I forced myself to keep my head held high as Ricky had always preached.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Spencer was watching me from his desk as if he’d been stopped in his tracks and I waved subtly at him, prompting him to hurriedly do the same back in a fluster. Morgan passed Hotch distractedly, before he noticed that I was following him with obvious surprise.

“Looking good, Poppins. Welcome back.” He muttered as he squeezed beside me, sneaking a charming smile and thanks to the combined warmth of the two men, once again I felt my nerves beginning to settle slightly.

Hotch encouraged me to take a seat in his office, before closing the door behind us and I felt as if I couldn’t think straight in the silence that followed. He settled into the seat opposite me, knitting his hands together on the desk between us and despite feeling before that I had reached the point where I could understand his expressions, his face at this moment was completely unreadable.

“For a start, I want to discuss what happened at the Twenty Nine Palms base.” He opened, his stern eyes studying my face for every minute reaction and though my heart sank at the suggested topic, I nodded back calmly.

“Whilst it can’t be denied that your actions resulted in saving a young girl's life, they were also unacceptably reckless. You demonstrated absolutely no regard for your own safety and jeopardised the reputation of the whole team. You are aware that we appreciate your support, but I’m not convinced that you realise we are legally and morally responsible for your wellbeing whilst you are under our service and that I would be personally held accountable for your death as a result of your irresponsible actions.” He lectured, his voice sounding even more severe than it had when I was in the ambulance and I felt my confidence crumbling with every word that he spoke.

It became clear that he had paused his speech to allow me the chance to explain myself and I cleared my throat to speak with a feeling of terror.

“I’m truly sorry for my actions, Sir. You are entirely right. I was reckless and selfish, and I didn’t consider how my behaviour would reflect on your team, and especially on you. I’m not going to make excuses. I just want you to know that I accept any and all consequences that you feel are appropriate.” I answered calmly, ensuring that I kept my tone calm and respectful, and he sighed as he studied me.

“I didn’t call you in here to punish you, Alice. This is a conversation, not a lecture. What I aim to understand is why an agent with no field experience, or any personal stake in the case, felt that they had no choice other than to risk their own life to save a child who they’d never met?” He clarified, his entire demeanour remaining unchanged even as he moved to a gentler tactic of questioning and I chewed on my lip.

It took a few moments for me to consider how best to answer this, but eventually I decided that I respected this team as a whole too much to lie. I prepared myself for a conversation that I knew would likely change his opinion of me permanently, but assured myself that honesty was a necessity at this point.

“When I was fifteen years old, my mother was abducted.” I began, glancing down at my hands as I spoke to avoid the intensity of his gaze. “It took four months for her to be found and when she came home, she was a different person. I never saw the mother that went missing again.” I paused, clearing my throat to keep the emotion from my voice before continuing.

“Three years later, a girl at my university went missing. She wasn’t the first, but the stakes were high as all of the others had been found murdered. I obsessed over everything that my mother had survived to come home and I couldn’t imagine how awful it would be to endure that at just eighteen years old. So, I began looking into the case and after a while of digging, I compiled enough information to anonymously assist law enforcement in safely recovering the missing girl. I realised then that I had the skills to make a difference to the world and I kept going, one missing person at a time, until Interpol found me.”

“You were given a choice between conviction, or working for them?” Hotch asked knowingly, as if he’d seen this very situation many times before and I recalled the recent conversation that I’d had with Penelope about hackers frequently being recruited through their questionable activities. I nodded slowly in response, deciding that this wasn’t the time to divulge any further information about the circumstances of my hiring.

“I didn’t join this field by choice. It was never the plan for my life. Don’t get me wrong, I always wanted to help people. I actually trained to become a psychiatrist, like my dad, but a job like this had never even been on my radar. Yet, here I am.” I explained, shrugging awkwardly as I realised that this sounded like I was ungrateful for the mercy that I was shown and I tried to be more careful with my wording when I spoke again.

“When I was standing in front of that building, watching the smoke pour out of it, all I could think about was how my mother told me that she spent every minute of every day that she was in captivity praying to come home. I could just imagine Amanda doing the same thing, hoping with everything she had that someone would save her and I was right there.” I stopped as frustration seeped into my voice, allowing myself to regain control so that I could resume my explanation.

“I knew that there was a chance that she was still alive and I felt like everything that had happened, all of the crazy unplanned situations that had led me to being there at that exact time were so that I could save her. It sounds insane, but it was like my legs moved before I had even decided what I was going to do. For the first time in my career, I trusted my team, this team to have my back and with all due respect, Sir, it was the right thing to do.” I finally finished my rant, forcing myself to meet his eyes to allow him to see my sincerity and I was shocked to find that his face was filled with understanding, causing me to realise that he was already filling in the blanks between my words.

“You said that this was the first time that you felt this way about your team. You shouldn’t be working with people that you can’t rely on. In our line of work, we are forced to face horrors that most people can’t even begin to imagine. The people around you should be your anchor in the storm.” Hotch advised, causing my eyes to become watery and I sniffed back my emotions, desperate not to cry in front of him. “You have options, Alice.”

“What options? Prison?” I scoffed, recalling my conversation with Shepard with a flinch.

Though I had thought in detail about leaving Interpol many times since my recruitment, I knew in a serious light that it was merely a fantasy and nothing more. Without my employment to them, I was considered as nothing more than a threat to security and returning to normal civilian life was no longer something that I could consider.

“Join our team.” Hotch offered, causing my mouth to drop open in shock and I noticed the corners of his lips twitch slightly upward at my reaction.

“It’s clear that you are neither happy, nor valued at Interpol. You have already proven the difference that you could make across multiple cases and the entire team have agreed that you make an excellent addition.” He elaborated, listing reasons that I struggled to even associate with myself and I couldn’t seem to form a response, as I stuttered in the silence.

“But, I-Sir, we just discussed how I jeopardised this team. I don’t mean to seem rude, or ungrateful because I absolutely am not, but I fail to see how I’ve given you the impression that I would make a suitable field agent. You already have Penelope for technical support, so I’m not sure what else you could need me for here.” I pointed out, hardly able to wrap my head around the sudden detour that this conversation had taken and found myself baffled at the very concept of him offering to employ me.

“When your team brought you for the Valeno case, you showed potential that they were purposefully dismissive of. After you left, Gideon suggested that I speak to you about a position within the BAU. Unfortunately, at the time we didn’t have the available resources to do this. Due to the recent successes of this team, we’ve been granted the budget to expand and I would be foolish to ignore a candidate who has already contributed to that success. You are a good fit and the first choice of every member in this unit.” He presented, completely disregarding my concerns and when I looked at him with confusion, he sighed.

“I have discussed the recent incident with Gideon and we share the opinion that with the correct mentoring and the support of a team that believes in your worth, you could be an exceptional field agent.” He divulged, causing me to raise my brows impossibly higher in surprise.

It was bizarre enough that Hotch wanted me to join the team, but finding out that Gideon had been the instigator for this offer blew what remained of my psyche to pieces and Hotch cleared his throat to regain my attention from my inner turmoil.

“The offer would, of course, be conditional. It would be based on your own commitment to overcoming your experiences. None of us are immune to personal biases and each of us have elements of our pasts that make certain cases more challenging for us than the others. However, we rely on each other to hold us accountable, and have all learned to be objective and to know our limits. If you think this is something that you can also undertake, then there is a place here for you. As long as you want it.” Hotch clarified, causing me to stare back at him in blatant disbelief.

“I-I honestly don’t know what to say.” I stuttered, fiddling with my hair anxiously and Hotch cracked a rare smile at me. “It isn’t as simple for me as just changing state. My life is in France now. I’ve already left my mum behind once in England. I’d also have to renounce my dual nationality and become an American citizen.” I thought aloud, considering the enormity of the decision before me and Hotch nodded in understanding.

“Can I have some time to think about it?” I asked nervously, unsure of what else to say and Hotch seemed completely unsurprised by my reaction, as if he’d actually been expecting it.

“Of course. It’s a serious decision that you aren’t expected to make right away. Take all of the time that you need.”

--⥈--

“Girl. Your life is crazy!” Ricky gasped, studying me with a fascinated expression and I had to laugh at his dramatic reaction, despite mostly agreeing with the sentiment. “You’re gonna say yes, right?”

I sighed deeply as I considered this question and the way that he considered me now revealed exactly how insane he thought I was for even needing to think about it. In order to avoid his prying eyes, I stood to start clearing away the takeaway boxes that littered my hotel room bed, but Ricky refused to be silenced.

“Alice. Honey. What are you doing?! Life at Interpol has been miserable for you since day one. You said it yourself. I can’t imagine anything there that could be worth turning this offer down for!” He scolded, staring at me in complete disbelief and I shook my head at his youthful attitude to things.

“It’s more complicated than that. I never planned to work in this sector at all, much less as an FBI agent!” I explained, still struggling to process the fact that this was even an option that was open to me. It felt as if it had come from nowhere and I was already overwhelmed with the mere concept of making such a serious life decision.

“This isn’t just a job that we’re talking about here. It’s a completely different life. I need to be sure that I can handle it, before I move away from everything that I know. I’d hardly ever get to see mum and Roger.” I clarified, struggling to make him understand the severity of the situation.

“You never visit your mama anyway! I should know. I overhear Maji talking to her about it enough.” He groaned, only causing me to feel even worse about the idea of moving even further away from her.

“Besides, if you took it then you’d be living right near me and there isn’t any better benefit than that!” He added, posing across the bed as if he were the most important factor in the proposal and I chuckled at him with fondness. He sighed at my lack of enthusiasm, before dropping to a more serious tone.

“The most important thing for all of us is your happiness. You’d be crazy to stay somewhere that is making your whole existence taste like bad Aloo Gobi. And you deserve better than that! You deserve for your life to always be like Maji’s cooking, full of love and happiness.” He described, seeming as if he’d distracted himself along the way and he glanced back down at his plastic container of curry with disdain.

“You realise that you have a gift for being able to relate literally anything to food, right?” I remarked playfully, observing him with amazement and he shrugged carelessly.

“Food is one of the most enjoyable things that sustains us. It’s important.” He argued passionately and I couldn’t think of a single point to dispute his statement with, having to allow him the pleasure of being correct. “Fortunately, Mumbai Gardens is able to provide an almost authentic experience, right here in the heart of Virginia. A good meal can heal many things, you know. Even the stress of your biggest ever life decision.”

“That’s high praise coming from you. Could it pass the home test though, do you think?” I queried with curiosity as I disposed of the remaining trash with the Mumbai Gardens logo on it and he scoffed as if I’d asked something utterly ridiculous.

“Not a chance! Even Mama would be able to tell you that it wasn’t completely correct. You know, she’s actually been with Maji long enough now to have better cooking taste than some of my other actual Indian friends.” He revealed, showing his love for his step mom, who happened to be my paternal aunt Heather, clear in his voice.

I couldn’t withhold a wide grin as I thought of my aunts, both filled with a warmth that radiated even in my memories. Heather and Ricky’s mum, Nabhitha, had been married for almost ten years now and were the main reason that I still had any faith in true love. They had done an admirable job of raising Ricky together, with Heather always treating him as if he was her biological son and I was endlessly proud of them. Thanks to them, Ricky had grown into the confident, funny teenager that I loved. Their blissful blended family gave me hope for my own future.

“I just had an idea.” Ricky breezed, sitting up particularly straight as if he could barely contain his enthusiasm and I turned back to face him with interest. “If you take this job, we could totally rent a place together! I could be your stylist extraordinaire, in-house councillor and professional Indian chef.” He suggested, his eyes gleaming with excitement and I scoffed loudly at the idea.

“Absolutely not. I’ve already got enough on my plate, without considering parenting you, Ricky.” I laughed, wincing at even the thought of dealing with his dramatics on a daily basis and he gasped at my refusal, seeming as if he could never have expected me to refuse his generous offer. “You can be as offended as you like, but I still don’t have the energy to deal with a college kid in my space. I’m not gonna be your easy way out of student housing. Pick some other teenagers to live with already.”

“Fine. I was offering you a lifestyle of sheer luxury, but I guess I’ll just have to take my fabulous self somewhere that I’ll be better appreciated.” He announced, acting as if he were hurt by my denial, before quickly softening back into a smile barely a few seconds later. “You should definitely think some more about taking the job though, queen. You deserve a fresh start.”

“We’ll see.” I conceded with a chuckle, desperate to simply end the conversation. “Now, which film do you want to rent?”

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littlelovelyspiderling · 4 years ago

Text

Unmasked

Spider-Man is forced to fight the Sinister Six while he’s sick, which leads to his enemies making unexpected discoveries about their arch nemesis.

Chapter 2

Doc Oc’s notoriously dull and empty lab was filled with bodies and excitement that evening. The Sinister Six piled eagerly into the large room as Octavius dumped a bloody, unconscious Spider-Man onto one of the examination tables. An uproar of cheers and laughter followed.

“The spider is finally squashed!”

“Is he still alive? No way he’s still alive.”

“Heart’s still beating, according to the computer.”

“Who cares? The little bitch finally got what was coming to him.”

“I wanna break his other leg. Can I break his other leg?”

“Now, now, listen, my comrades.” Octavius rose above the group on his metal limbs, tapping a glass against a bottle of champagne until the room fell quiet. “Before we continue, I think a win this spectacular deserves to be celebrated accordingly.”

Using the prehensile pincers at the ends of each tentacle, Otto poured and distributed the alcohol with ease, and everyone raised their glasses.

“A toast to us, the greatest super villains to ever grace history!”

“Here, here!”

“And a toast to Spider-Man! The biggest, most obnoxious pain in all our asses—vanquished at last!”

Laughs and shouts preceded the communion. After downing his drink, Otto wiped his lips with a grin.

“And as the leader of this great and glorious team, I am nothing if not giving to my loyal followers. Since you all deserve personal retribution for the many, many grievances this wretch has inflicted upon us, I promise each of you at least two minutes of reparation time to do to Spider-Man whatever you feel he deserves. Once we wring his throat dry of whatever information he possesses, he’s all yours. So long as I get to deal the final blow.” He chuckled. “Well, if he survives that long, anyway.”

“I’ll snap off all his fingers!”

“I’ll gag him with his own webbing!”

“I’ll pop his head like a grape!”

“I’ll zap him ’til his heart stops, then zap it back to life, then zap him dead again!”

“Revenge is sweet,” Octavius concurred, walking around the table to stand behind Spider-Man’s head. The rest of the Sinister Six went silent and gathered on either side of the fallen hero, with Rhino at his feet. “But first,” Doc continued, reaching forward with one of his mechanical tentacles. The tips of the metal prongs pinched the fabric at the top of Spider-Man’s mask.

“Let’s have a look at our arch enemy’s face.”

In one quick yank, the mask peeled off the hero’s head. Six pairs of eyes absorbed the bruised, pale face lying lifelessly before them—the face of their sworn nemesis. A face none of them were anticipating. Gradually, the grins and snickers faded away, replaced by furrowed brows and puzzled glances.

“Wait…” Electro said, breaking the long stretch of silence.

“I’m…confused,” Scorpion added.

“Is he—does he look—?”

“Like…a kid?”

Everyone’s gazes rose to Octavius. The brilliant scientist looked between them and Spider-Man bewilderedly, his mouth hanging agape.

“I…” he began, rolling the hero’s head to the side. An ugly gash marred his left cheek; dried blood was smeared all the way to his hairline. “I don’t…understand.”

Spider-Man had the soft, innocent face of a child. It was the kind of face grandmas couldn’t resist pinching and puppies just had to lick. His hair was a wild mess of brown curls that was sticking up all funny because of how long he’d been wearing his mask. He severely lacked the sharp, signature features that defined man from boy. Hell, he even had acne: tiny constellations of it dotted across his chin and forehead. No way was he considered a legal adult by the state of New York yet.

Spider-Man was no man at all. Spider-Man was, in fact, a Spider-Kid.

Otto lifted his eyes to the others. He didn’t know what to say.

“It’s not him,” Scorpion suggested.

Sandman scoffed. “What do you mean, ‘it’s not him’?”

“Maybe this isn’t Spider-Man,” he said. “Maybe the real Spider-Man sent a double. Someone to stand in his place while he’s busy or whatever to keep us at bay.”

“Spider-Man’s despicable if he’s sending some kid to fight his battles for him. Doesn’t sound like his style.”

“I don’t know! I’m just brainstorming here! I mean, you saw how pathetic he was today. Spider-Man normally puts up a better fight than that.”

“Yeah,” Electro said nervously. “Maybe it’s not him.”

“He was sticking to things and shooting webs and mouthing off just like the real Spider-Man always does,” Shocker retorted. “I’m pretty sure this is him.”

“Silence!” Octavius shouted, holding up his fist. He turned to the large screen on his right. “Computer, run biological and forensic diagnostics on Spider-Man.”

A series of beams and lasers scanned across the hero, gathering and analyzing information. About a minute later, a robotic voice spoke up.

“Facial and DNA match confirmed,” the A.I. replied. “Subject is Peter Benjamin Parker. Born to parents Richard and Mary Parker on August 10th, 2001. Age: fifteen. Address: 42-42 80th St, Queens, NY 11373. Current occupation: Intern at Stark Industries and sophomore high school student at Midtown School of Science and Technology.”

Stinging disbelief pricked all of them. Rhino’s jaw fell.

“Fifteen?”

“Sophomore?”

“High school?”

It was strange to finally be able to put a name and face to someone they had all known only as a masked caricature for so long. Peter Parker. Peter. And yet, the face still had everyone reeling to the point that the name hardly registered. Otto slammed a metal arm against the table.

“Shut up, all of you!” he spat. “Computer, relay back all the biological data you’ve gathered on Spider-Man.”

“Confirmed,” the A.I. said. “Subject’s current heart rate is 52 bpm. Subject’s current blood pressure is the 79mmHg. Subject’s current temperature is 105.8 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“None of those sound normal,” Sandman said with a snort.

“Relay DNA findings,” Doc Oc barked impatiently.

“Confirmed. Subject’s DNA is mutated and abnormal. Subject’s blood emits low levels of gamma radiation. Subject’s genome is human combined with an unidentifiable species of arachnid.”

Everyone’s eyes snapped up at once. The realization drizzled over them like baleful mist.

“Oh my god,” Sandman breathed. “It’s him.”

“You mean he’s actually part spider? Gag!”

With a scoff, Electro stepped away from the table, cupping his hands against the back of his neck. “You’re kidding me. You’re shitting me. You’re telling me this is the person I’ve been trying to kill this whole time? This is the guy I’ve been frying like a mozzarella stick?” He kicked a trash bin across the room. “Dammit! I do a lot of bad things, but I’d never knowingly hurt a child!”

“Spider-Man is just some fifteen-year-old high school brat?” Rhino said, pouting his lip. “Geez. I can’t believe we just beat the shit out of some kid.”

“Spider-Man is not just some kid!” Otto roared. “Who cares about his age! Have you all suddenly forgotten how much this bastard has antagonized every last one of us? How he’s foiled our plans and ruined our lives again and again for the past two years?”

Sandman pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. “Oh my god. Does that mean I’ve been beating him up since he was fourteen? My niece is three years older than him, and I can’t imagine putting her through what I’ve done to him!” He squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head. “What kind of monster am I...?”

“I broke his damn leg,” Shocker said distraughtly. “And I enjoyed it.”

“Hell, guys…this is so messed up…”

Five members of the Sinister Six stewed in a sauna of shame and guilt. Octavius refused to join them.

“You spineless morons! All of you! Our enemy lays defeated in front of us, yet you choose to wallow in remorse! We should be celebrating! Nothing has changed! He’s young—so what? That doesn’t undermine all the frustration he’s caused us, or our glorious victory over him! Come on, now! Raise your glasses with me! To the Sinister Six! Guys...?”

Nothing he said could wipe the queasy looks off all their faces, or the guilty stickiness he felt in his own gut. Everything—all of this—it just felt wrong.

Sandman stood over Spider-Man and gingerly placed his hand against his forehead. It was startlingly hot and damp with sweat. “Computer, why is Spider-Man’s temperature so damn high? What’s the cause?”

A couple seconds later, the A.I. pinged. “Confirmed,” it said. “Subject has a norovirus infection. It appears subject has been infected for at least twenty-four hours. Norovirus is commonly diagnosed as gastroenteritis or the stomach flu. Symptoms include fever, cramps, dizziness, lightheadedness, and nausea.”

A groan swept through the room. Scorpion crossed his arms against the table and buried his head between them.

“He’s sick. That’s why he seemed so sluggish and off during the fight. Because we were beating up a sick kid.”

“Shit. Last time I had the stomach flu, I didn’t leave my bed for two days. He really thought he could take us on in his condition?”

“Not like we really gave him a choice,” Shocker murmured.

“The little punk probably didn’t even think twice about it,” Sandman said miserably. “After all, his dumbass adolescent brain is still developing.”

Rhino sulked. “Yeah, as long as we didn’t permanently damage it...”

The Sinister Six fell into a dreadful silence.

At that moment, Spider-Man coughed. The group jumped and gasped, automatically assuming defensive positions with their fists raised, weapons drawn, and muscles coiled.

Spider-Man coughed again, his head lolling to the left, but he didn’t wake up. A collective sigh passed everyone’s lips. Electro went lax, his hands falling to his sides.

“So…um…what the hell do we do now?”

Scorpion frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

“Like, what do we do? We have him here, beat to a pulp. What are we going to do with him?”

For the first time, Spider-Man was at the complete mercy of his most powerful enemies. And for the first time, none of them wanted to chop off his head and impale it on a spike.

Sandman gazed across the bruises on his face, the road burn striped across his limbs, the bloody puncture wound in his chest. His swollen leg, his black eye, the charred fabric and flesh. He hadn’t allowed himself to take all the damage in for what it was until now. A truly abominable and grisly sight.

“He won’t survive long if we just leave him like this,” he said quietly.

Again, all eyes rose to Dr. Octopus. Otto grimaced between their pitiful looks, their reluctantly pleading stares. Pathetic! he wanted to shout, but he couldn’t find the will to conjure the word—any words.

Soon enough, he felt his own callous facade melting away. He sighed.

“I…I suppose keeping him alive is in our best interest. For now.” He cleared his throat and pulled the goggles off his face. “I’ll clean and treat his injuries as best I can. At least to the point that they’re not life-threatening.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Go—get some rest, all of you. We’ll, uh—we’ll regroup in the morning.”

The Sinister Six exchanged nervous looks with each other, then turned back to the face of the half-dead fifteen-year-old in front of them. Hesitantly, they filed out of the room and up the stairs, shooting a couple anxious glances over their shoulders before climbing out of sight.

The room was eerily quiet now that it was just the two of them. An evil scientist and an unconscious super-child in spandex. The only noises were the beeps from the monitor on his right and the kid’s shaky, labored breathing.

“You’re really something, you know that?” Octavius scoffed. “Of course, now that we’ve finally bested you, this is what we end up with. This is what you are.”

With a thought, the claws at the end of one of his tentacles reconfigured into large shears. The material that made up Spider-Man’s suit was tough, but with a few strategic cuts and snips, Doc was able to tear through and peel the clingy fabric off his body. Now that he was stripped down to nothing but his boxers (which had tiny cartoon Iron Men on them, a sight that made him snort, despite his efforts not to) the devastating harm they’d inflicted upon him was painfully evident. The ratio of undamaged flesh to damaged flesh was sickeningly skewed toward the latter. There was so much to tend to, he wasn’t sure where to start. And it wasn’t like his doctorate had been in medical care.

“We really did a number on you, didn’t we Spider-Man?” Otto murmured. He looked back at the screen. “I mean…Peter. Peter Parker.”

The name felt salty on his tongue. He didn’t like how it humanized him, transforming the famous vigilante from vexing public figure to baby-faced teenager. He’d always dreamt of unmasking the scourge that was the elusive Spider-Man. Now he wished the day had never come.

He left Peter’s side to grab the medical kit from under the sink. Then he got to work, undoing the damage they had reaped.

___________________________________

“Computer, summarize what you’ve gathered on Peter Parker’s personal life.”

Roughly four hours later, Octavius flopped into a chair by the kid’s side, exhausted. He had treated all the wounds he had the capacity to treat, hooked him to an I.V. full of fluids and electrolytes, and was now monitoring his steadily improving vitals. The kid was a suture-filled, burn cream-lathered, bandaged-up mess, but at least he was on the mend instead of his death bed. Seemed like a good time to take a break and do some research on the person behind their friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

“Confirmed,” the A.I. responded. “Compiling personal file.”

A slide with pictures and lists regarding Peter’s life materialized on the screen.

“Peter Parker was born in Queens, New York and still lives there today. He lived in a house in Forest Hills until 2005, then moved into the apartment complex he currently lives in now.”

“A house in New York City?” Otto scoffed. “How lavish. Why the downsize?”

The A.I. enlarged a photograph—a man and a woman holding a bright-eyed, squishy-faced toddler sporting a familiar headful of brown curls.

“Peter’s biological parents, Mary and Richard Parker, died in a plane crash in March of that year.”

A knot formed in Otto’s gut as he stared at the happy family portrait. “Oh,” he said.

“Orphaned at age four, Peter was then adopted by his aunt and uncle, May and Ben Parker. They couldn’t afford to live in the house in Forest Hills, so they moved Peter into their apartment nearby.”

Another picture floated up, this one of a different couple hugging a slightly older version of the curly-haired toddler. After that, a series of images flashed across the screen—young Peter at Central Park, at a science fair, at the zoo, at home, on the subway, on the Brooklyn Bridge, passed out on a couch. With each new picture, he got bigger, older, but not by much. Sometimes his aunt and uncle were with him. Sometimes he was with others his age. Sometimes he had on glasses as thick as windshields. His smile was wide as the sun and just as bright.

In the last picture, he was standing next to Tony Stark, holding an upside-down certificate congratulating him on his acceptance as a Stark Industry’s intern.

“Barf,” Otto muttered, but he couldn’t displace the warm, uneasy feeling he got when he looked at Peter’s smiling face. He really was just a kid. A young, dorky, stupid kid. A kid they’d beat into the dirt ten times over.

“Last year, May Parker became Peter’s sole guardian.”

Octavius blinked, his shoulders tensing. “What happened to the uncle? Ben Parker?”

“Ben Parker was murdered last April by an unknown shooter. The culprit was never caught.”

Octavius swallowed, staring at the photograph of Spider-Man’s uncle. Then he turned back to the mummified teenager on the table beside him. For an instant, something he never thought he could feel for the spider-themed superhero brushed his heart.

Sympathy.

With a huff, Otto stood from his chair. “Come along then, arachnid,” he said, lifting the kid and the I.V. stand in his metal arms. “Let’s find you a more comfortable spot to rest.”

It was well past 4am by the time Octavius slumped into his own bed.

#spiderman #spider-man #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman homecoming #Spider-Man: Homecoming #spider-man: far from home #spiderman ffh #avengers #mcu #marvel #sick fic #peter parker

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managedmischiefs · 4 years ago

Text

north//chapter thirteen

genre: angst

pairing: season twelve spencer reid x female oc

warnings: prison arc, blood, implications of being drugged, self harm under implications of being drugged, physical violence, mentions of abuse (lmk if i missed anyting)

word count: 8.2k

summary: spencer’s post-mexico hardships continue on, and get much worse, while amelia has a concerning experience in her own apartment

i hope u all like this chapter! enjoy!! like, comment, and reblog!! reblogging helps so much❤️

SPENCER

The feeling of abandonment is one that I'm far too familiar with. I hadn't expected to be completely abandoned by the FBI and to not have their support in this battle. I know that I have the support of my team and of Amelia, but when the FBI says that they won't support me and help me stay out of jail or prison, it's disheartening. It’s crushing. It leaves me feeling cold as I sit against a cinderblock wall.

Sitting in jail is boring. It is, by far, the most boring thing I've ever done in my life. I sit and stare at the wall all day while I regret my decisions and listen to the detainees around me scream and shout. The team individually comes by the visit but it's only for a short amount of time because they're working so hard. They're working on my case at the same time they're working on other cases that they would normally take and I know that they can't come to entertain me. I fully understand why, but I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish I could be home.

But Amelia never comes. I told her not to come. She doesn't need to see me like this. She has seen enough. I'm a completely broken mess, rotting away in a jail cell and I don't need her crying over me or providing more content for her nightmares. I asked Emily to relay this message to her and I was told she cried and didn't speak to anyone for a few hours. She's been staying in a BAU interview room and will only go home for a few hours every few days, and I don't blame her. If the roles were reversed, I wouldn't want to go home. But it breaks my heart to know how much Amelia is hurting without me and that I can't help her. I choose to pretend like she doesn’t exist so I won’t think about her. I pretend like I’m living the way I was before I met her. Alone, work-obsessed, with nobody but myself to confide in. It’s easy to forget her during the day when there’s a stream of sunlight flooding in from the tiny window to my right. But then I lay down at night and reach for her waist, or wait to feel her hand on my cheek, or crane my neck to kiss her, I crash back down to earth and remember that I can’t be with the woman I love because of my idiotic decisions.

Emily manages to get me in touch with an old friend hers who is willing to be my lawyer, a wonderful woman named Fiona. She's blunt and she knows what she's talking about and I appreciate that. And now that I have representation, we can move onto the trial and maybe I can go home. I try to absorb some of Amelia’s optimism and stay hopeful that I’ll be released on bail, but my own nasty pessimism rears its ugly head and pulverizes any sign of hope.

Fiona wants me to plead guilty to a crime I didn't commit. I'll only get two to five years as opposed to twenty-five to life, but how could I plead guilty? My memories may be blurry for the first time ever but I know I would never kill that woman. That medicine she was providing me with helping my mom. Why would I kill her? There was another person in that motel room and if my brain would just cooperate and just confirm that it was Scratch, this could all be over.

If I plead guilty then Fiona says I can be released on bail pending trial. Rossi said he would be willing to post my bail, no matter the cost. I'm grateful for him and his generosity but as I spend my time sitting and staring at the wall and the ceiling and the concrete and the mold, the more I don't want to plead guilty. I want to fight this. I have complete faith in my team and their abilities to find Scratch. We found him once and we'll find him again.

"I'm gonna fight it."

That's what I tell Fiona. Being the supportive lawyer she is, she nods and goes on her way, but she comes back far too soon. She doesn't return with a suit for my trial or a date for my trial or handcuffs so I can be transported to my trial. She comes back with Emily.

"Spencer," Fiona sighs, "the Mexican authorities found the murder weapon in the desert. The theory is that you threw it out the window in the car chase. The previous offer you didn't want is off the table. The new offer is to plead guilty to involuntary manslaughter and get five to ten years."

"Gosh," Emily breathes, hanging her head. "There's nothing you can do?"

"Your DNA is on it and the blade matches the blade that cut your hand," Fiona explains. "Spencer, if you don't take this offer, there will be no more offers. And if you lose your trial, you're going to prison. I need to know what you're going to do."

"I'm-"

"Spencer," Emily cuts me off. "Can we talk privately?"

Fiona nods and collects her things, leaving the room and Emily takes her spot. As soon as the door is closed, I shake my head at Emily. "I can't plead guilty to something I didn't do."

"You could do life in prison," she whispers, and I can see her eyes start to tear up. I ignore them.

"You guys will find Scratch. I know you will." I nod stubbornly, falsely confident.

"Yes, we will. We will never stop looking for him. But what if we can do that this month? Or this year? Or this-" she shutters, "decade? Because we sure as hell can't do it before your trial."

I look down at my hands, observing the bandages over my hand. It stings and burns constantly and I wish it would go away. "How's Amelia? Is she still staying at the BAU?"

"Mostly," Emily responds. "Her friend- Jenna, I think- has come by a bunch to take her home and back. She's stayed at Jenna's a few times but she stays mostly in the interview rooms and in Garcia's room. She's, um, well, she's mad at you, Reid."

I scoff out a laugh, rolling my eyes. "Because I won't let her come here?"

"Exactly," there's no humor in her voice. "She just wants to see you. She wants to see that you're okay and it might help you feel better to see her and talk to her a bit. You can talk out decisions like this with her. She's your girlfriend and you were planning on moving in with her and JJ told us you were supposed to go buy an engagement ring for her. She deserves to be involved in this and not at the BAU, suffering and crying and having panic attacks-"

"She's having panic attacks?" My eyes widen, my back straightening up as the red flags start popping up in my head. Is she okay? Have her attacks been so bad that they have warranted a hospital trip? How is her breathing? Has she gone nonverbal? "Wha- is she-"

"Yeah, she’s had some. She obviously had that one with JJ and Garcia and she had one on Monday and she couldn’t speak for an hour.”

"She usually goes nonverbal," I murmur, bringing my hands to my face and trying to avoid biting my nails out of nervousness. "Okay, okay, don't ever touch her until she can speak again. Keep a really calm and low voice and don't freak out because that makes it worse. Get her head between her knees and keep her sitting and get her water and-"

"Spencer, I know how to help a panic attack. We need to be talking about your trial," Emily protests.

"And after her attacks, she usually needs physical attention and she needs comfort and sometimes-"

"You're gonna go to prison, Reid!" Emily shouts, effectively shutting me up. "It's scary to accept but we have to talk about it! You could go to prison for a very long time if you don't accept this deal! Stop talking about your girlfriend’s panic attacks and talk about the situation at hand."

My face hardens and I drop my hands again, sighing. "I can't plead guilty. I just can't."

It's the answer she should have expected, and I'm sure she knew it was coming. Before I even finished, she was out of her seat and banging on the door for a guard to take her away. And yet again I'm left to myself and my thoughts, playing the blurry images over and over again, trying to make out faces and events and names. But there's nothing and I'm left to wonder if I'm going to die in a prison cell.

///

AMELIA

///

My dress has bunched up around my thighs but I can't find it in me to pull it down, even in a courthouse. My legs are full of goosebumps from the air conditioning and my denim jacket isn't doing much to help. I stare down at my lap, my hands resting there with Spencer's medallion between my fingers. The empty space on my hand between my pointer finger and thumb looks too empty and it makes my heart beat faster. I look from the medallion to my hand and back, and I suddenly want to rush out of this goddamn courthouse.

"Amelia," I hear Penelope's voice coming closer, and when I look up, the whole team is approaching.

"Hi," I smile weakly, standing and finally adjusting the hem of my dress. "You guys made it. How was the case?"

"Did they call Reid's case yet?" Luke asks, ignoring my formality question about the case.

"No, but they're about to," I shake my head, gesturing to an open door a few feet away.

They all start walking that way, but I don't follow. I make the decision to choose the horrible wooden bench over the even worse pew-like benches in the court. I had been so upset about not seeing Spencer, but maybe it was a blessing in disguise. Now that I'm faced with the idea of seeing him, I don't want to. I don't want to see him in handcuffs again, or sleep-deprived, or being told off by a judge or prosecutor. I know the BAU has virtually no evidence to support Spencer and that the judge isn't going to rule in his favor. I know that, the pessimist in me knows that. I don't need to see that.

"Amelia?" Dave is standing in front of me and I know it's him from his expensive looking shoes. "You're not coming in?"

"No, I don't need to-" I choke on my words, clutching the medallion in my hand, "to see this happen. I don't want to hear it."

"This doesn't have anything to do with the fact that you're not on Spencer's approved visitor’s list?"

"Maybe," It's taken me two years to learn not to lie to a profiler. "I don't know. But I don't want to see him, Dave. Please go. I'll be here."

I don't even need to ask. The look on their faces tells me everything. The way everyone holds themselves when they walk out and the way they glance around tells me what I need to know. Nobody looks up at me and nobody is running to me for a hug. Spencer isn’t at my side.

I chew on my cheeks and choke down my tears as I stand, meeting them in the middle of the hallway when they walk toward me. "So how bad was it?"

Stephen is the first fearless one to speak up. "The judge decided he was a flight risk,"

I furrow my eyebrows. "A flight risk? Seriously? My Spencer?"

Tara nods shamefully. "He didn't use his FBI passport, he didn't inform the bureau, the prosecutor claimed he had connections all over the world and could get a fake passport and go on the run if he was released on bail. The judge agreed."

"So what now? What happens to him?" Penelope moves towards me and grabs onto my hand, enlacing our fingers. If she didn’t do that, I might have fallen to the floor in a puddle of tears.

"He's gonna go back to the federal jail," Luke answers. "His trial is in three months and that'll determine if he goes to prison or not."

"Penelope?" I whisper and she just hums in response. "Will you come with me?"

"Of course. Whatever you need," Penelope nods, giving everyone a soft, slightly concerned smile before I lead her away.

///

"Um, seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Now?"

"Yeah, now."

"You or me?"

"Me. Why, do you want one? I'll draw whatever you want."

"No thanks."

I pull open the door and let Penelope walk in first, even though she seems incredibly hesitant, practically tiptoeing through the threshold. She manages to get me to crack a tiny smile, but that's the most she gets before I just revert to my sadness.

"Zav!" I call, noticing the front desk is empty. Nonetheless, I walk up and grab a post-it and a pen, starting to scribble little drawings.

Zav comes wandering from the back of the tattoo parlor at the sound of my voice, smiling. "Oh, hey there! Been a while since I've seen you. Here for some new ink? It's about time you added to your sleeves."

"Just something really quick," I tell him, picking up the post-it with the sixth design I'd drawn. "Not on my arm. On my hand, right here," I gesture to the empty space between my thumb and pointer finger.

"Sounds easy enough," Zav nods, then smiles at Penelope. "Hi, friend. Do I get the pleasure of inking you today?"

Penelope's eyes widen and she hastily shakes her head. "No, no, I'm just here with-- with-"

"No tattoos for her, just me." I save her from more stuttering and Zav puts his hands up in surrender. He winks at Penelope before sitting me in a chair and starting on the stencil.

“So,” Garcia asks over the buzzing of the tattoo gun, “what does this one mean? You've said that all your tattoos mean something. What's this one? And why is it so important that we do it now, after the trial?"

Careful not to disturb Zav's work, I reach into my pocket and pull out Spencer's medallion. I hold it up and show Penelope the compass, and she nods in a confused understanding. "When Spencer was in recovery, he was always told that north is the right way to go and obviously, going the right way is the road to recovery and being clean. Well, he told me that ever since he met me, he considered me to be his north or his reason to go north. I've been wanting this tattoo for a long time. Just never got around to getting it."

"That's really sweet," Penelope whispers, smiling at me. "How much pain are you in?"

"A lot," I answer through gritted teeth. "This one is right on my bone and those are the worst, but it's small so it's fine. It'll be done soon."

As anticipated, the tattoo is done within another few minutes. A compass rose with north labeled. Simple. But it’s beautiful and it’s the perfect reminder of Spencer while he’s gone. Temporarily gone. He’s going to come home. Soon.

He's going to jail. He's going to be sitting in jail for three months and I won't be able to see him, and then after that, he still might go to prison. No matter how much he reminds himself that I'm his north, and no matter how much time I spend at the BAU, no matter how many of his shirts I wear, no matter how many times I visit Diana and Cassie, it means absolutely nothing. The justice system is horrible and I know they have a job to do but why can't they see that my Spencer is innocent? Sure, he broke some protocol but all he was doing was trying to help his mom. It's not his fault that a serial killer was targeting the team and decided to sabotage his trip. He should be at home on bail and he should be searching for Scratch so his name can be cleared.

"Amelia?" Penelope's voice breaks me out of my trance and I notice that Zav has already walked away, probably to the front desk to ring me up. She rests her hand on my shoulder and gives me that same pitiful smile that everyone keeps giving me. "We're gonna get him out. We know he didn't do this."

"I miss him," I admit shakily, eyes locked on my new ink. "I know that I spend all my time at the BAU but everything reminds me of him. When I go home with Jenna, we pass by the cafe that me and him went to almost every day. Whenever I see someone carrying a revolver on tv or in the building, it makes me think of his gun. God, P, whenever I braid my hair, it makes me think of him. I functioned before I met him but with him, I was living and actually enjoying my life for the first time. But now that he's gone again," I look up at her, my lips quivering, "how am I supposed to live?"

Penelope opens her mouth to answer but then closes it again. She drags me into a hug, tighter than any hug we’ve had before. I let her squeeze the life out of me because it’s the only thing that feels similar to the way Spencer scoops me up and hugs me after being away on a case. "I wish I had a good answer. We're all hurting and we're all trying to get through this. As long as we lean on each other and you leave the crime fighting up to us, we'll get through this."

///

I stir awake, bundled up beneath a scratchy, knitted blanket and my head resting on a flat pillow. A yawn escapes my mouth before I even open my eyes, my body begging me to go back to sleep. I blatantly ignore it though, swinging my legs over the side of the couch and yawning again.

"Good morning, sunshine," Jenna comes wandering into her living room, holding out a cup of tea for me, "sleep well?"

I shake my head, sipping the not-well-made tea. "No,” I keep myself from scrunching up my nose at the odd taste, “I didn’t.”

Jenna gives me a tiny smile as she sits on the couch beside me. "Maybe you should try melatonin. I heard you watching tv at three in the morning." When I don't respond to her really smart and helpful suggestion, she moves on. "How's the tattoo?"

"Itchy," I glance at the covering of my tattoo, then shrug. "It's whatever. I'm used to it. What are you doing today?"

"Well, me and Frankie were gonna go do a shoot today. You should come. You haven't done any shoots in a while. I'm sure Frankie would love your help," Jenna encourages softly.

I shake my head yet again and take the last drink of my tea, then put the mug on the floor. "Thanks but no thanks. I'm gonna go to the BAU today. But I'm gonna shower first. I'll let you know what I'm doing tonight. Thanks for letting me stay here." And without another word, I stand and walk off to the too-bright bathroom.

Going into the BAU used to always be a fun experience. I looked forward to seeing Penelope and lounging around in her lair, and I looked forward to leaving little gifts for Spencer on his desk, and I looked forward to greeting the team when they arrived home from cases. The BAU quickly became like a second home to me when I started dating Spencer and I went there at every chance I could. But now the BAU is a reminder of the situation at hand, and despite the fact that I'm spending so much time here, I wish I didn't have to. The constant reminder is painful. Seeing Spencer’s desk and all of his belongings arranged in the perfect way he needs them to be is maybe the hardest part. Every time I look through the glass doors, my heart breaks a little more.

I've come to learn that seeing the team huddled up and speaking in hushed tones is never a good thing. But it's the first thing I see when the elevator doors open. My eyes are locked on them before I even open the glass doors to the bullpen. Penelope's eyes are wide and she's clinging to Luke's side and everyone is just looking concerned. That's never a good sign. They are federal agents and have seen the worst of the worst. They should be able to have some kind of poker face, no matter the situation.

JJ is the first to notice me, and when she looks up, she almost grimaces. "Amelia."

Okay. They didn't get a case. This is about Spencer. Something happened with Spencer. Did he get beat up in jail? Did they find more evidence? If they found more evidence, then it's surely not in Spencer's favor. What did they find? What are they hesitant to tell me? Why does everyone look like they’ll burst into tears if I say one wrong word? What the hell happened?

I keep a few feet between me and them, clutching the straps of my backpack, my breath caught in my throat. "What's going on?" I ask, my voice quieter than I expected it to be. "Is Spencer okay?"

The team shares glances and Penelope bows her head, and all the horrible thoughts in my head intensify. Emily clears her throat and my eyes dart over to her. "Spencer," she speaks strongly and confidently, "was transferred to prison this morning."

Spencer likes to put a mountain of sugar in his coffee. Spencer can only fall asleep if he’s read at least two books while lying in bed. And, of course, only after he has received what he deems as a sufficient amount of kisses from me. Spencer prefers to take the train to work instead of driving. Spencer likes to hold my hand when we walk the street. Spencer orders swirled soft serve at every ice cream parlor. Spencer wears purple whenever he gets the chance.

Spencer doesn't fight. Spencer isn't violent. Spencer isn't a criminal. Spencer hates shooting his gun and he wouldn’t even walk around with it on his hip until I told him it didn't bother me. Spencer doesn't resort to violence to solve his problems. He’s the one who puts the violent people where they deserve. Those killers and rapists deserve to be in prison. Not the man who thinks it’s bad luck to wear matching socks. Definitely not the man who mumbles my name in his sleep and whines if he reaches over and I’m not sleeping beside him.

My Spencer doesn't belong in prison.

I'm stunned into silence for a moment and it's almost like I'm waiting for someone to tell me this is a joke. Spencer's not in prison with the worst of the worst. That he's not with the people that he has spent his life hunting and putting away. He isn’t locked inside with people who could be sentenced to life in prison, or in a cell people who will kill him just to have a new pair of shoes, or people who have nothing left to lose.

"He's-" I gulp but my saliva tastes sour and it burns my throat, "he's in prison?"

"There was overcrowding in the jail," Tara explains softly. "I know it's not ideal but-"

"He's-" I cut her off, my voice sharp, "he's in prison? He's in prison with the same people that you guys put away and he's-" my hands fall from my backpack and tears start to fall down cheeks, my eyes darting around until they land on Rossi. "He's with people like my-"

"Why don't you come with me?" Dave cuts me off, stepping forward, holding his arm out for me.

As I break down into sobs, he leads me into his office, sitting me down on a couch as he closes the door. I curl up into myself and cry, and cry, and cry for my boyfriend who is suffering immensely for a crime he didn't commit. He's locked inside a cage with horrible people like my father and he can't escape.

"Amelia, we're gonna get him out," Dave pulls up a chair in front of me, letting out a sigh that doesn't do much to convince me. "We're spending every second we can on his case and searching for evidence that will-"

"He's gonna be in a fucking prison," I sneer, lifting my head, revealing my smudging makeup and tear-stained cheeks, "with people like my father!" Dave sighs again, ducking his head. He doesn't say anything and I don't know what to make of that. "He's gonna be with killers and rapists and abusers and men who kill their wife and son and leave their orphaned daughter to be abused in foster homes!"

"Amelia, I don't know if this will help you at all but, just so you know, serial killers are not held in general population. Serial killers have their own specific wings and they don't get mixed up with the other inmates."

I scoff, staring down at my lap, watching as my tears drip onto my clothes. "Inmates. I guess that's all he is now, right? An inmate?"

"No, Amelia, he's not just another inmate," Dave shakes his head and leans forward, trying to offer me comfort by proximity, but it just makes me feel cramped and overwhelmed. "We're going to get him out of there. I promise."

His promise only makes me cry more. I'd do anything to hear Spencer make another promise to me. I'd do anything just to see him again, but Spencer didn't want me in a jail and I can't imagine he'd want me in a prison. I won't be able to see him, or hear him, or feel him until he gets exonerated. That's going to take days, weeks, months. It could take years. Could go years without seeing his smile and feeling his touch and listening to him ramble on and on about whatever random factoid surfaces in his brain.

"You should go back to work," I whisper, wiping my cheeks. "Sitting here and watching me cry doesn't help anyone. I'll go somewhere else and worry by myself."

I stand and adjust my backpack, but the whole world just seems wrong. It seems like it's spinning and it feels like I just don't belong here. It feels like I've slipped into a different dimension that I don't belong in. It feels like I should just be able to take a nap and wake up and Spencer will be right next to me, kissing my neck and telling me he has to go to work. I'm waiting for the day that I can experience that again.

///

SPENCER

///

I never thought I'd be in prison. Maybe that's a dumb statement, but it's true. I thought my closest relation to prison would be sending criminals there, occasionally going in to interview inmates, and seldom breaking up riots and breaks. I never thought I'd be forced into blues and shower shoes and thrown into my own cell. I never thought this would become my life. I never thought I'd be sitting out on the prison yard, surveying my fellow inmates and wondering who I should avoid and who I could trust enough to keep me alive long enough for me to return home.

"Sup?" A group of three men I recognize from previously stroll up to me, their hands tucked in their pockets, and that alone makes me more nervous than their confident aura. I rise to my feet when they approach me, not out of obedience, but just because I don't want them to hold too much power over me in height. "Got any bats?"

I furrow my eyebrows in the slightest. "Bats?" Maybe I should've listened to Amelia when she rattled off her slang. Amelia.

"Cigarettes," the same guy clarifies as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, glancing towards his buddy next to him. I fight the urge to jump as the redhead slings his arm over my shoulder, standing uncomfortably close to me. If I wasn't in a prison, I'd rattle off how many germs he passed on to me just by doing that, but I know I'd get beat up for doing so. I keep my mouth shut.

"No, sorry, I don't smoke," it's my honest answer, but I almost instantly regret it. Will they kill me just because I don't have any cigarettes to give them? Is that how it works in here?

"Yeah," that same inmate keeps speaking, "I think I'm gonna quit." But then he narrows his eyes at me and takes a step closer. "You okay, man?"

"Yeah," I answer, but I know my unsure sounding voice has completely betrayed me, "I'm o-okay, thanks."

The third man chuckles and crosses his arms over his chest. "Does he look okay to you?"

The redhead leans in closer to me and it takes all my self control not to cringe. "Looks like he's gonna cry."

"Or wet his pants," the first man laughs, and the other two join in with their own chuckles. "Hey, we're just messing- out of respect, you know? It's all over the yard that you stole from Milos."

I quickly shake my head, finally gaining the confidence to shake the redhead’s arm off of me. Well, if they said they respect me, I might as well. He doesn't put up a fight when I do so. "But I didn't steal from Milos. That was my stuff."

"No," Redhead interrupts, "that was a tribute. Everyone has to pay when they join the group."

I glance between the three of them and they're all stony-faced, but I'm confused. I don't get it. What are they talking about? It's clear to them, but not to me. "What group?" I dare to ask the question.

The third man scoffs yet again. "You're kidding, right? Take a look around. They outnumber us.”

"So we gotta stick together," Redhead goes on, and it all starts to make sense. A gang. They want me to join their gang. Am I gang material? Is this a compliment? Is this some weird, sick, twisted, prison-style compliment? "In here, we're the minority."

They're serious, and it's obvious. There are no chuckles. There are no side eye glances. My profiler skills aren't going off and telling me that they're lying. They're serious. They want me to join a gang.

What would happen if I accept? Does that make me a target by the majority? Will that make the majority look at me and want to take me out? I have to survive three months, at most, in here and that's it. I have to do whatever I need to stay alive for three months, and that's it. But what if I reject them? Will that make me an even bigger target if I say no? Will they take that rejection lightly? I can't imagine they would. Which is the lesser of the two evils? Do I really want to join a gang during my three month prison stay? Would I want to join a gang at all?

"I'm not interested," I say quickly, and attempt to make a quick exit. "Thanks anyway."

Before I can even leave, they catch me. "No, no, no," the first guy shakes his head, his arm now around my shoulders, his jaw clenched, "that's not the way this is gonna go."

"Hey," the third guy interrupts, "Tony-O is over there and he's waiting for us,"

The first guy pats my chest and, thankfully, lets me go. "Okay, my man, we gotta go. But," the three start to back away with devious smiles that I've seen far too many times on psychopaths, "no worries, we'll catch you tonight."

They'll catch me tonight. That can't be good. My eyes follow them as they approach someone else, but when they start chatting like friends, I look away. But then my eyes land on someone I can't look away from because he looks familiar. I know for a fact I didn't see him in the room of cots, but I know I've seen him before.

Ever since the situation in Mexico, my brain has been a little bit slow to react and recall faces and facts, but suddenly, it comes to me. I squint my eyes as a name flashes in my head. Calvin Shaw. He was an FBI agent who killed a criminal agent who was working for a Russian mob. He turned himself in and he's been here ever since, but I studied his case in school and he's become an example at the bureau of what not to do.

He's here? At this prison? And why is he staring at me like that? Does he know who I am? Do I radiate federal agent energy? Amelia talks about people's energy's all the time. Maybe I should've listened to her. I'm realizing that maybe I should have appreciated her more than I did. If I get out of here, I need to lay down all my love for that girl as soon as possible.

The guards blow their whistles and shout for us to line up so they start the process of corralling us back inside. Some inmates are brought back to their cells while others, like me, are brought to rooms with a bunch of cots lined up.

Time takes forever to pass by in prison. There's nothing to do and there's no type of stimulation. I just sit on my bed and try to tune out the chatter surrounding me. I try my hardest not to let my mind wander off to my friends or my girlfriend or my mother because I'll go crazy if I start worrying about them. They're fine without me, I bet.

I sit on my bed with my knees to my chest and guard the box of things I'd fought to get back from another inmate, making sure they don't get stolen yet again. That decision to reclaim my things almost got me killed once and I don't feel like getting in that situation again.

It's nearly impossible to tell what time it is because there are no windows but eventually, a few guards come by to scream at us to shut up. Wilkins looks around as the room falls silent and then informs us that it’s lights out.

My heart starts to pound when the lights go dark and the guards walk away because, despite the darkness, I see three familiar men rise from their cots and stalk over to me. Like on the yard, I rise to my feet just so they don't get too much power over me. I know that I've made the right decision to do so when one man pulls out a makeshift knife he's clearly made from a bed frame or something he smuggled in. The panic and unfiltered fear settle in. My instincts tell me to run, but there is nowhere to go. I don’t have a gun to defend myself, there is no way to talk these men down like I’ve done to others in the past, there’s nothing I can do. I’m all on my own.

One guy smirks, stepping up to me. "It's party time."

The two other men quickly grab my arms and tie my wrists behind my back, then shove a sock in my mouth to keep me quiet and muffle the sounds of me screaming, just so a guard doesn't come in and interrupt. Is that good? Does that mean they're not planning on killing me? They're just going to beat me up?

They start dragging me off, into the connected bathroom and my screams echo even louder off the wall. I'm doing what I can to get out of the grasps of the men but I've never been physically strong. Maybe I should've taken the fit tests more seriously. Maybe I should've gone training when Morgan asked me to go. Maybe I should've taken my life more seriously.

"So," there's another man with a thick accent standing there already, his arms crossed over his chest, "you're too good to be with us? We offer you friendship and what do you do? Spit in our faces."

The redhead tightens his grip on my arm. "Thinks he can survive in here without our help."

"You," the man with the accent grabs the knife, "you need to show some respect," he brings the knife up to my face and traces the blade across my skin. I'm not sure what they're planning on doing to my face but I know it won't feel good.

"Do it," one guy encourages, smirking.

"Back off," there's another voice now, and the four men holding me stop in their tracks, "now." I turn my head to see who my savior is, and it's none other than Calvin Shaw. "Untie him," he says, and the guys behind me quickly do so, and take the sock out of my mouth. "Now get out of here," he tells me and gestures back into the main room. I hesitate, but Calvin gives me a pointed look. "Go on. Go."

I high tail it out of there, my heart pounding harder than it ever has before. I think it could positively burst out of my chest as I return to my cot. It dawns on me now how many people are in this room, and not a single one of them stepped up to help me. Nobody yelled for a guard or helped me fend off the gang or did anything at all.

So I sit down on my cot and I don't even lay down. I don't dare to go to sleep and I barely even blink. I'm even paranoid that, due to the position of my cot, there are people behind me that I can't see. I'm too freaked out. I'm too scared that those men will come back and kill me for real.

I've faced the scariest men and women in the world. I've witnessed things that I never should have and I've talked myself out of horrible situations. I can't escape this. I can't flash my identification or shoot a few bullets and then go home to Amelia. I can't do that. I have to spend every second of my life with my guard up, watching my back at the same time I'm watching my front and my sides just to make sure no one is coming for me. It's day one and I'm already panicked and I'm already lost. I just want to go home.

///

The next two days are like walking on eggshells. I'm constantly watching my back, front, and sides and I'm making sure to keep everyone in front of me at all times. I can't move my cot without risking a fight so I'm barely sleeping at night. I force myself to stay awake to guard myself and protect myself from any possible attacks.

I get to have a talk with Calvin at a time when the cell blocks are open, and he shows nothing but compassion for me. He believes my innocence, shares the story of his sentence, and gives me a book I've never read before. It feels good to have someone I can trust. I can tell he's powerful in this prison, judging by the way he told those gang guys to stop beating me up and they immediately complied. Sitting in his cell is the only time I allowed myself to relax in the slightest.

But that relaxation is short lived because soon the guards are telling us to get back to where we belong. We get cuffed and shoved along to our cells or wherever else, and I get back to my cot. I sit with my knees to my chest and prop my eyes wide open, despite how utterly exhausted I am. I've barely slept in the three days I've been here and I don't know how much longer I can stand this.

"Reid," my name is called by a guard along with a few other names, and we all quickly rise to our feet. "Grab your things and let’s go."

I quickly grab my little bucket of belongings that I've been guarding with my life and hold it close to my chest as I approach the guards. I'm thankful that they don't cuff us as they take us one by one into different blocks.

Wilkins, of course, is gripping my arm harder than he needs to be as he shoves me along a corridor. I keep my eyes forward and no matter how badly I want to see what prisoners I'm walking past, I don't let my eyes wander. I've already seen a guy beat someone else up on the yard just for looking at him and I'm not wanting that to be my future.

"Hold," Wilkins snaps, and I force my feet to freeze in their spot. Then I feel him shoving me inside with, again, more force than needed. "Now get in there." Once I wiggle my way through, not really fitting with the tray I'm holding, Wilkins shouts for the door to close. He gives me another look before stomping away, leaving me all alone in my new home.

I set my tray down on the little table beside me and immediately notice the book on the bed. It's the one that Calvin had told me about yesterday, and I guess he arranged for it to be in my cell.

"Hey," I suddenly hear Calvin's voice from the cell beside mine, "welcome to the neighborhood!"

///

AMELIA

///

I throw my backpack onto the floor of my apartment, locking the door behind me, groaning in pain with every step I take. I dread when I'll eventually have to walk up to my room, but I plan on avoiding it as long as possible.

I start on my walk to the kitchen for a drink, probably a huge glass of wine, but then I stop in my tracks when there's a small, cold breeze against my legs. I shake it off and drag myself into the kitchen. The window is closed and the plants on the windowsill are half dead. Of course, they are. I haven't been home enough to water them.

I grab a wine glass from a cabinet that's far too high for me, definitely placed there by Spencer, and fill it almost to the brim. I toss the entire drink back in seconds and then pour another drink. Once I have my second glass in my hand, I fill a new glass with water and start to feed my dead plants that are probably past the point of return. Once I've quenched the kitchen plants, I move to the bigger one beside the balcony door.

As I approach it, I roll my eyes. I've located the source of the breeze and it's coming from the cracked open balcony door. I’ve left the door open for two days straight. I shake my head at myself and pour the rest of the water into the plant before closing and clicking the lock on the balcony door.

I barely even realize that my hand starts to shake while I pour the water into the plant. I'm blinded by tears that I don't feel coming and something in my mind tells me that the more wine I drink, the less I'll cry. Drink more wine. Drink more wine. So I gulp down the rest of my wine glass and ignore it as my head starts to get fuzzy.

I throw both glasses into the sink and then grab the cracked open wine bottle, taking a long sip. Drink more wine. Drink more wine.

It smells sweet in the kitchen. Did I light a candle? What in the kitchen smells like bubblegum?

My body is moving around the kitchen and through the living room, but my brain is so fuzzy and everything is so blurry that it doesn’t even feel like I’m moving. I feel like I’m floating with my lids drooping closed, hands moving like they’re being told to. I nearly collapse against the couch, but it feels like I’m pulled back up and pushed back to my feet. Drink more wine. You want to drink more wine.

I grab the bottle and chug down the rest of the contents, my trembling hand dropping it to the ground. I barely even jolt when it shatters at my feet.

The glass, it feels like I have a voice whispering instructions in my ear. Pick up the glass. I fall to my knees and grip a piece of jagged glass in my hand, watching blood come to the surface and stain the clear surface. Tighter. I oblige, watching a drop of blood fall to the floor. A drop stains my jeans. Go to the stairs.

I toss the glass aside and crawl to the stairs, collapsing at the bottom and dropping my head onto a stair. I bring my knees to my chest, my cries fill the apartment as I slump down, my whole body shaking as I sob. I'm not sure how long it takes me to fall asleep on the staircase, but I do, and the alcohol keeps me asleep the whole night, something I haven't been able to do in a while.

///

"Amelia? Hey, are you here? I hope you are, the door's unlocked."

I whine as I'm roused from my sleep, and as I start to move, I'm expected to be comforted by my duvet. But instead, I go sliding down two steps of my staircase, groaning as I hit my hip. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes as I process the intense pounding in my head.

"Are you-" Penelope comes and stands in front of me, freezing when she sees me, "whoa, you look awful."

I let out a humorless laugh, rolling my eyes. "Gee, thanks."

She observes my surroundings- bloody hand, smudged makeup, messy hair, wrinkled clothes, tear-stained cheeks, sleeping on the stairs. It's not hard to tell what's going on, especially for someone who has been hanging around profilers for over a decade. I'm sure everyone on the team can see that I'm spiraling, and it's obvious to Penelope too.

"How'd you get in?" I ask, shakily pushing myself to my feet and grabbing onto the railing to steady myself.

"Well, I knocked and you didn't answer but the door was unlocked. I came to check up on you because I know you were really upset yesterday. I, well,” she pauses, wringing her hands together, “I'm not really sure what I say but I'm really sorry if I-"

"No," I cut her off, shaking my head, hugging the railing and trying to hide my bloody hand from her view. She looks utterly heartbroken, but I'm not sure what the cause is. If it's because of Spencer or because I lost my cool at the BAU, I'm not sure. "I should be the one apologizing. It was my fault. I overreacted. Um," my eyes wander down to the ground and I ignore the few pieces of random broken glass that have trailed towards the stairs, "I was just kinda upset. Then when Dave was talking to me, he promised that you guys would get him out of prison. Promising was kind of mine and Spencer's thing. Him saying that just made it so much worse."

"O-Oh," Penelope's eyebrows pop up, "I had no idea."

I nod and fall back onto the stairs. "When we first met and he told me he didn't shake hands, I went home and I just thought about how we could do something similar to shaking hands but not actually shaking hands. One of the options I presented to him the next time we saw each other was pinky promising. He liked it and it just stuck. Promising just became our thing." Penelope stares at me, her lips turned downward and her hands laced in front of her, head bowed. “Well, I’m gonna go take a shower. Thanks for checking up on me.”

“Yeah, of course,” Penelope just slightly perks up now, lifting her head and giving me an attempt at a smile. “If you need anything, let me know. And make sure to double check that your door is locked.”

“I will, thanks,” I turn on my heel and start stumbling up the stairs, clinging to the railing for support. My brain is pounding against my skull and I can’t keep a thought in my head for more than a second. My hand is throbbing.

“Hey,” Penelope pauses at the door, looking up at me, “did you light a candle?” I shake my head. “Hmm. It smells like bubblegum in here.”

TAGLIST

@babybloodstonebones @bxnnywriting @blameitonthenight21 @feralreid @anepiphany @reidscardigan @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @stxrrywildflower @penemily @whollytaciturn @thegingerfairchild @yasminwashere @shrimpyblog @anamelessfacelessnerd @wonderlandhatter @whxt-to-write @inkandexchange @just-call-me-non

#nikos north fic #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #dr reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x oc #matthew gray gubler #matthew gubler #mgg #criminal minds fic #criminal mind fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

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adelaidedrubman · 4 years ago

Note

🌿🍂🥀🌼 + jessie and/or lela xx

thank you stella ily for these <3 doing both because both these dumb bitches deserve callouts

🌿 What is something true about your OC that they refuse to admit about themselves? Is there any reason to this besides embarassment?

there's a long list of things, she's possibly the least self aware person on the face of the earth. but one of the most notable is that she actually really, really wants people to need her and prioritize her in the exact all consuming way she claims to hate. she's done her best to be nothing more than a backdrop in people's lives, but it's largely to cover up how desperately she wants someone to actively choose to make her the center. (like, in her main fic one of my favorite moments of complete lack of self awareness to write was her looking at adelaide and xander and thinking "wow someone missing you after 20 minutes apart? sounds terrible. couldn’t be me." then approximately five minutes later being like "ohhhh nooooo my mortal enemy is having a crisis because ive been unavailable for 20 minutes i gotta go" and being notably a little happy about it. (shocking revelation, she didn't just want to get out of yoga.))

beyond embarassment (which is there, wanting to be needed yuck) her reasons for not admitting this are that she doesn't feel she actually deserves to be loved like that, and that she could only let down anyone who did. and the possibility itself is also terrifying.

🍂 How does your OC think they will die? Does death scare them? Is there any reason for this?

answered here!

🥀 What is something your OC blames themself for and is it really their fault? Does it keep them up at night and is there any lingering trauma?

answered here!

🌼 Describe one of your OC’s worst nightmares.

actually falling for eden's gate. as in legitimately beginning to believe. there are several potential circumstances in which she would possibly give in and join, that's. whatever. but the possibility of actually beginning to seriously take a single thing joseph seed said to heart would be her worst fucking nightmare.

🌿 What is something true about your OC that they refuse to admit about themselves? Is there any reason to this besides embarassment?

answered here!

🍂 How does your OC think they will die? Does death scare them? Is there any reason for this?

her theories have shifted over time. she once assumed it would be slowly and painfully, in a hospital somewhere. when she learned about eden's gate, she had completely given up on life and honestly thought it was going to be a quick path to her death. she expected to become an angel, not one of the chosen. but once she'd actually been inducted and received her first doses of bliss, she reacted more to the physical strength boosting properties than the mind melting properties, and so her path and views on mortality shifted.

now, she thinks she'll probably eventually die in battle. and she doesn't fear it — she doesn't want it to happen anytime soon, but it's preferable to the ways she expected to die before.

🥀 What is something your OC blames themself for and is it really their fault? Does it keep them up at night and is there any lingering trauma?

lela? blame herself? take responsibility for her circumstances? for anyone besides herself? no. no thank you.

she doesn't feel particularly guilty for anything, but she does dislike who she was prior to eden's gate and blames herself for moping and being weak rather than overcoming. which is a little unreasonable, of course.

🌼 Describe one of your OC’s worst nightmares.

bliss stops working to keep her strong and she starts losing physical functioning again. she actually still experiences a fair amount of chronic pain even with the bliss, but she's able to tolerate it because she's still able to physically peform — it's not like her body won't move or can't do things anymore, it just hurts like hell. but that's fine, she considers that her enduring "test". if she actually started to decline again, that would be a different story.

#oc: deputy jestiny ellen #oc: lela grayson #horrid ladies

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greyias · 4 years ago

Text

Companion Interview Meme

Tagged by: @a-muirehen — thank you for the tag!

Pick three companions who know your OC/muse well. Answer the questions from at least one of their companions points of view. Replace anywhere it says ‘Grey’ with your OC’s name. Name the three companions who will be answering here: 1. Theron Shan 2. Lana Beniko 3. Kira Carsen Are they ready to be candid with their responses? Don’t worry, this is totally private. Grey will never read it.

(Slight spoiler warning in one answer for Echoes of Oblivion)

1. First Impressions. What was the first impression you had of Grey?

Theron: Look, it’s complicated. Like on one hand, she just had to be hiding something, because she was just so—so—no one is that nice! Or naive. It had to be an act somehow. I was convinced of it, there had to be something wrong with her, some deep, dark dirty secret she was hiding. Because if she wasn’t then that means she was a genuinely good person who actually cared deeply about random strangers and that was just weird. And kind of wonderful. And in retrospect when I look back maybe I just... needed a few reasons to keep people at arms distance. I once told her that I loved her from the moment I saw her. Striding into the situation room like she owned the place and... yeah. That was also true. As I said, it’s complicated. And I’m kind of an idiot.

Lana: I was quite impressed by what I had assumed at the time was a great deal of pragmatism. She was a Jedi, and yet didn’t seem bothered at all by the fact that I was a Sith. In fact, sometimes I think maybe she was... fascinated by it? There was a moment or two where I wondered if... well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now. She has always been a force to be reckoned with. It’s easy to follow someone like that... even if they are a Jedi (and a very impractical one at that. I really should have seen that coming in retrospect.)

Kira: She didn’t know how to take a joke. I mean, I’ve gotten better over the years, but at the start I’d had a tendency to make jokes first, assess the situation later. I’d made some comment about taking no prisoners, and you would have thought I’d just kicked a puppy instead of making a joke. Kind of felt like I had from the look on her face. Luckily, I think we both made better second impressions when we started working together on Coruscant.

2. Grey walks into a bar. No, it’s not a joke - what does she order? If you give her a credit for the jukebox, what kind of music would she put on?

Theron: Something fruity and filled with rum if you don’t stop her. Don’t let her drink the rum. And then because she has no loyalty whatsoever she’ll put on Tai-Vor Swivt on the jukebox and just share my special playlist with the whole cantina. Um. I mean. Her playlist. I don’t like Tai-Vor. I only listen to Heavy Isotope. And things like that.

Lana: The answer depends on the time of day, her mood, and several other factors. I have it all documented in this rubric here. You’ll need to give me more specifics on your inquiry if you want an accurate answer.

Kira: I mean, usually she just orders caf, which almost always gets a dramatic eyeroll from the bartender. So I usually have to order so we don’t get the stinkeye the entire time. And usually she lets me pick the music too -- I kind of suspect she didn’t really know many of the artists. Not exactly dialed into pop culture, that one.

3. How does Grey spend a day off from work?

Theron: Hmm, if I have my way it’s a nice slow morning and any message sent to her e-mail receives a cordial out-of-office message (Lana gets two for each message she sends.) Maybe later we can take a walk in the woods, go pet those stinky Exoboars running wild and ruining the Odessen countryside, maybe we get a little lost along the way. Spend the evening winding down with one of her swashbuckling holoflix. If I don’t have my way someone winds up asking her a work question and then she doesn’t get a day off. Yes. I know the irony of this coming from me.

Lana: If she is onsite at Odessen nowadays she seems to spend it in a mix between time in her quarters, leaving the base to take a walk in the woods, trying to duck surveillance to meditate in her “secret” spot.

Kira: Back on the Defender, it was just a lot of meditating, practicing her katas, sparring. Honestly, even on her days off she usually just kept trying to make sure we were prepared for the next mission. Although if I invited her to do something normal she’d go along with it. So I may have made sure some of our off days coincided so she would actually take something resembling a break. The weirdo. She seems to have relaxed a little from that here on Odessen. I think that’s nice.

4. What silly superstitions or funny traditions does she observe?

Theron: She meditates each morning, and still observes the Jedi morning fast. Except she totally cheats on her fast and will drink a cup of caf if its hand delivered to her. She’ll warm her hands on the mug as she takes in a big whiff, and this little smile spreads across her face. It causes the freckles on her nose to wrinkle. And maybe I’m the one who hand delivers the caf because its hard to think of a better way to start the day.

Lana: We do not speak of the fruitcake, or any of her other attempted holiday traditions. If we do not encourage her, then maybe she’ll stop. Please, we must all band together, for the good of my digestive tract.

Kira: Whenever we would finish up a mission on a planet, she liked to take off her socks and boots and meditate with her feet sticking into the ground. She even wanted to do it on Quesh but Doc was loud enough on that instance to be able to talk her out of it. She tried to hide it but she looked really disappointed, so I tried to cheer her up by joining her on this weird mud hop at our next port of call. Not sure if I really felt any different but it seemed to make her happy.

5. What does Grey wear to bed? And just how do you know that?

Theron: Traditional night wear is a thin tank top and sleep pants. Let’s just say sometimes there’s less traditional night wear, or sometimes less than that -- but that’s between husband and wife.

Lana: On mission she typically wears something quick to change into her armor. On base she seems to have a standard set of pajama bottoms and sleeveless sleep shirt. How do I know this? Let’s just say I have to keep the Commander on schedule, even when certain people who should know better try and distract her from our very busy day running things.

Kira: She usually was changed and ready for the day before I ever saw her, but sometimes there’d be a late night where she couldn’t sleep, and I’d find her in the Defender’s mess. Pretty simple and spare sleepwear, sleep pants and tank top. Fashion’s not exactly her priority, you know?

6. Your favorite memory of Grey?

Theron: Why do you make me pick? Damn... that’s hard. There’s almost too many to choose, but... I guess it would be just after we got back from Nathema, and I was trying to apologize for everything and... somehow that turned into a proposal. And despite me being a stumbling awkward mess she still said yes and... look. I probably should have picked a different one, I’m not really good at the talking about feelings thing.

Lana: That moment when the broadcast across the galaxy happened after she had tamed the Eternal Fleet, she stood poised and powerful, finally setting the galaxy aright after Zakuul had torn it asunder. It was a moment more than five years in the making and I couldn’t have been prouder.

Kira: That moment when we stood, side-by-side, with everyone else in the Force and turned that creep Tenebrae, and every other of his counterparts into absolute crumbling dust. It almost made up for the fact that I wasn’t there the first two times she sent him packing.

7. A time you very nearly almost kissed Grey?

Theron: I mean, if we’re being technical, I had... thought about it for one moment on Manaan. Just a brief second, as we were saying our farewells before I went into hiding. Our eyes had met while we were shaking hands goodbye and it would have been so easy to just pull her in close and--I didn’t. Of course I didn’t. Not then at least. Now though? I don’t miss a chance.

Lana: I was angry at myself, my weakness, and taking it out on the clutter around the Gravestone. I had been surrounded out in the swamp, and only Koth’s timely intervention had saved me. She had come seeking me out to make sure that I was all right, to check on my injury. And in the low light, she just looked so concerned and guilty, and I’m fairly certain she was leaning in. I would have, you know, if Koth hadn’t been throwing around things and making a racket.

Kira: It was right after my Knighting, and I had snuck a bottle of champagne on board to celebrate. I suspect she hadn’t ever actually tasted alcohol before, judging by her reaction to the first sip. But we kept drinking, and giggling, kind of like we weren’t stuffy Jedi at all. And there was this moment where she asked me about Nar Shaddaa. Not pushy or anything, just... curious about my experiences. She never talks about it, but I don’t think she really knew much of life outside of the Order so she was always cautiously curious. And there was this moment where I was telling her about my first kiss and we kind of leaned in and--nothing happened. At the time I didn’t want to risk making things weird. I... like where we’re at. I’m fine with it.

8. Vacation time! Where do you take Grey for some R&R?

Theron: You know, I just love the sound of that word. Vay-cay-shun. Despite popular opinion I actually do take them, maybe a few more now than when I was single. We have a secret little hideaway that no one else knows about that I like to take her to when things get a little rough or we just need a break from the everything the galaxy is deciding to throw her our way.

Lana: You know, a vacation does sound nice, but someone has to keep things running here, especially when a certain nameless spy whisks our Commander away to fake locales. Seriously, I need a proper itinerary. What if I need to contact them? It’s just rude. Oh right, the question. I suppose I wouldn’t mind visiting some place quiet and out of the way, although I honestly have yet to find a place in galaxy that qualifies because if I take Grey for some reason she always finds someone in trouble that she insists on rescuing.

Kira: I’m not sure if it qualifies as a vacation per se, but I’ve been able to sneak her and one of our other Jedi buddies around base off to Nar Shaddaa for a Girl’s Night. Those are fun, even if we kept getting hit on at the bars. Although that can be entertaining in itself, especially that one time some guy pretended to be a Jedi, and then got this very detailed lecture on how bad an idea that was from Grey. I don’t think I’ve seen a man wilt so fast in my life. I would pay to see that again.

9. Grey’s sense of humor -is it dry, immature, sarcastic, self-deprecating, physical, witty, dark, or…?

Theron: I think it depends on the situation and her mood. It can be very subtle, and sometimes I can’t tell if she’s being serious when she says something ridiculous, or if she’s messing with me. Which... I suppose is fair, because sometimes I do the same to her.

Lana: She loves a good pun, which I find delightful. It’s doubly delightful just to see Theron roll his eyes and groan like he’s being tortured.

Kira: I think a lot of people don’t really get her humor, and honestly it took me a while to realize when she was joking. She likes to let others take the lead when it comes to cracking jokes, but when she does make a zinger, it takes a few seconds for it to land. They’re a lot more sly and subtle than you’d think. My favorite is when she starts to get really frustrated with someone and makes really dry, pointed comments that usually sail right over their heads. She has so many people fooled with that sweet serene Jedi act, they don’t even realize the epic burn until long after the conversation has ended.

Tagging: @confettininjabean, @thewriterandmuse. @shanfamilydrama, @storyknitter, @lumielles, @captainderyn, and @brietopia

#companion interview meme #tag game #tag thing #meme thing #thank you for the tag!#this was fun!#oc: greyias highwind #i had to stop them from commenting on each others' answers #(and pretend they couldn't hear each other)#because it just kept descending into snark and bickering #and was making each question a loooooong scroll lmao #theron was very indignant and practically vibrating at many of lana's answers

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shinrasfirst · 4 years ago

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Lottie’s chain of sweetness.

It’s hot, we’re all irritated, some of us are having a shitty time of it lately. Repost this to your dash!

5 THINGS YOU LOVE ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER/s.

I have a bunch of characters, so I’ll give you one thing for 5 of them instead!

ONE Let’s start with my boy Zack. I like a lot about him, but one thing I really like is his optimism and his faith in people and the good in the world. That’s very not me, so I guess I find it inspiring to see someone who manages to remain so positive and driven despite all the bad things that happen to him. (I also really like how he approaches people, his kindness and contagious joy about life which makes him so hard to dislike, I’d argue.)

TWO Next up is Johnny, one of my latest muses. There’s a lot about him that I don’t know from canon and also a lot I haven’t hc’d about him yet, but from the things I have seen/decided on what I like the most is how genuine he is. He’s kind of a dumb dumb, but he is not a bad guy. He doesn’t do bad things just because he can, he’s even pretty outspoken about not doing them. He might be annoying Tifa with his love confessions, but he isn’t pushing himself on her, doesn’t touch her or ask inappropriate things. He will help you if you ask him, even if you’re not super close friends (AFTERWARDS you’ll be his friend tho, whether you want to or not u.u). He says what he thinks and he isn’t fake or lies.

THREE What I like about Rufus is that he really has a lot of shit happen to him, actually, but doesn’t give up. Of course he’s a spoiled rich bitch and he pulls a lot of shit himself, but still. He has the worst father in this entire franchise I’d argue, he almost dies a few times, he works hard for world domination and ends up with a lot of nothing in AC. Still he seems as sure as ever in AC and doesn’t break down or gives up. He still wants things and goes after them, and that strength is really admirable. (Detached from his actual goals lol).

FOUR I like Angeal because he’s so honorable it’s almost annoying. But every good story needs a guy like that; someone you roll your eyes at sometimes but at the same time wish you had around in real life. He’s a really good guy, he struggles but tries to be the best version of himself. He’s a tragedy because of it, but that’s part of what makes it so special.

FIVE I like Rude (my version of him, I suppose) for being steadfast, in who he is and what he wants. Sure, he also has days where he struggles with what he and Reno are asked to do for the company, but overall he isn’t a man plagued by doubt. He is confident in himself and stands by his values and opinions, and in that sense it’s not easy to unsettle him. Also, he has a big heart and he doesn’t think letting it guide his actions is a sign of weakness.

5 PEOPLE ON HERE YOU LOVE, AND WHY.

that’s really rough. i might mention some more okay?

ONE one of the first people i found on here and thoroughly fell in love with is @rcdwrxck. kay is just amazing. she’s funny and smart, great to talk to, great to plot with, write with, ship with. she is kind and caring and genuine. she has the floofiest dog in existence and i wish every day i could pet him. she’s also a huuuuge reno x rude shipper, who would have thought? heheheheehEHEHEHEHhhehhe. ---but seriously, kay you’re so precious, i’m keeping you forever. and i adore your reno and our threads and i’m not letting you go again. <33

TWO obligatory mention of course is @dogof-war. han is very high on the list of people i talk to the most in this fandom (if not THE person i talk to the most). talking to her is a blast, i have a lot of fun and i’m always happy to see messages from her. we keep plotting new nonsense all the time and all of it is quality shit 👌 her writing is swell and her portrayal of heidegger is really unique and wonderful. i was super intimidated by her when i first made this blog and followed, but now that we’re friends i find it hard to remember how that felt. i really appreciate her for just saying what she thinks relatively unfiltered, for indulging my weirder kinks and interests in rp (like the best ship in history rufus x heidegger, go home if you can’t handle it), and for occasionally salting with me about this and that. <33

THREE another person i talk to a lot (tho not as much as we used to) is @solnyeo / @persephina. first of all panda’s writing is incredible - the feeling and detail that go into it blow my mind *chef’s kiss*. secondly, panda is such a lovely person. full of creativity and kindness and always giving out positive energy for everyone. (i often get some sad vibes from you and i wish i knew how to cheer you up, but i hope you know i’m always around if you want to talk to me :) ) panda is so amazing to plot with. every little idea we share hatches into some beautiful butterfly of a story (that we end up not writing but--) and it’s pure joy to imagine worlds together :) aerith or not, i absolutely love seeing them around on my dash (& hopefully writing with them again soon). <33

FOUR another gem i have to mention is mari, @stingslikeabee. i don’t often bond so easily with ocs on tumblr but mari is a godsend. not only is her character amazing, well-developed, and fitting beautifully into the story; mari also manages to continuously blow me away with fabulous verse ideas, drabbles, meme or regular replies. she’s so creative and such a great writer - and on top of that a really kind, funny, genuine, caring, special person. the internet is a dark place full of weirdos and creeps but sometimes in this sea of coals you find pure gold and that’s mari. i’m really glad we found each other and i enjoy talking to her so much <33

FIVE of course i also have to mention @giftofthegodess because !!! i love rave. such an amazing genesis. an absolute highlight to plot with, full of creative ideas and beautiful headcanons. also sharing my hobby of making rare pairs, apparently, hehehe. also a fellow bts fan now, HEHEHHE. talking to rave is just so.. easy. they’re chill, funny, active, laid-back, and full of passions and thoughts they love to share. also enjoy throwing people under the bus by calling them out with discord screenshots. 👀 i feel really lucky to have met them in this fandom and i really love our ships and hope to see them going far <33

SIX I want an honorary mention for @hiislegacy because they’re one of my fave writers in this fandom. We don’t talk that often but it’s always fun when we do. I just feel like we’re on the same wavelength, and we’re both kinda old-school in our views on ships and writing and fanfics and such? Also they portray any muse they set their mind on really really really amazingly well. Love <33

SEVEN another person i appreciate immensely on here is @lifedxbt. they write a lot of muses but the one i interact with the most is definitely tseng. i really enjoy the way they write him, the continuity in their portrayal, their endless headcanons that keep giving this character more depth - and are so good it’s hard to remember that they’re not actually canon facts from the game. they’re one of the few people i even read some threads of that i’m not part of. they’re just hella amazing and i hope we get to write more in the future :)

EIGHT + some other people I adore and want to mention: @presidentiial (first of all thank you for this meme game, second of all you’re so kind and lovely like.. ALWAYS, i appreciate you a ton; and i always admire the effort and passion you put into your muses and blogs, you’re truly someone to look up to), @hautevaux (another oc in this fandom that’s just so well established and developed it’s easy to forget vaux isn’t a canon character; your writing is wonderful and somehow you manage to turn every situation and thread into something special with your magic tailor dust), @sweettifalockhart (we don’t talk as much as we should but i want you to know that i think very highly of you; i think your writing is next level, and you’re a joy to plot and write with), @devilreno (i sometimes feel like we’re those two people who kinda know each other from accidentally running into each other in the street, and we greet each other and cheer at each other from a bit of a distance but never really sit down together for a drink?? does that make any sense. have a drink with me is what i’m saying--- or, you know, let’s be friends. you’re amazeballs - and your writing and art are 👌👌👌), @makostamp / @reflectingchaos (we have sooo many threads together and i adore all of them!! you really write all your muses so well, it’s a joy to plot and write with you. i know you have your doubts sometimes, but you’re a really great rp partner and you come with everything one needs for having a great time in an rpc!!), @fraxcxccl (literally i’m your FAN. i’m blown away by your art, AND your writing AND the fact that you made up this amazing oc that ALSO feels like a canon character like, shut the front door. i’m not really a shy person but with you i still feel like i need to come up with something GOOD to approach you with before i’m worthy of writing with you. i’d love to though.), @turkoftheslums (you’re precious. i know you only love me for my dog but that’s okay, she’s the best part of me. we should write more because i really enjoy seeing you around and i feel like we could be good friends :) )

AND ANYONE I WRITE WITH AND HAVEN’T MENTIONED NOW, please don’t read anything into it. I’ve had this post in my drafts for weeks now and I kept going back to change it, add more people--- at some point I have to stop. I’m following you? That means I think your writing & portrayal are great. We’re probably one conversation away from being friends. <33333

5 SONGS EITHER YOU OR YOUR MUSE REGARD AS A ‘GUILTY PLEASURE’ THAT ALWAYS MAKES YOU SMILE.

these are all nonsense songs, all of which are guilty pleasures (if at all) of ME, not my muses.

ONE Lol okay, so there’s definitely this song, which I found at 3 in the morning while browsing youtube and sent to Han as a joke about our ship, but I’ve listened to it so often by now that I’ve had to begrudgingly admit that it’s actually not so bad. The lyrics still kill me, but it’s such a good smut writing song.

TWO HAHAAAA, okay this one is hilarious. Haven’t thought of that one in years, my sister reminded me when I told her about this meme. It’s super dumb, be glad if you can’t understand the lyrics (I’m guessing only one person I’ve talked to on here will be able to understand). It’s basically about “playing doctor” in a sexual way and the shit she sings, let me tell you. But the beat is kinda nice, haha.

THREE Let’s stay with the German songs for a moment, because I remember loving this song SO much when it came out (in my defense I was like 14) and even now I have to admit it’s not awful. I also remember not knowing it the twins are girls or boys when I first watched it, because honestly his voice is like ??? And he kinda looks like a female singer that’s quite popular in my country.

FOUR Also I’m a trashcan so I like club music, especially for working out, and I’ve been weirdly obsessed with this one. It’s repetitive af and really only good for running but ?? I love it?? (You have to fast forward a bit, the beginning is only beat).

FIVE This needs to be on this list as well. Because it’s a bit ?? but also it’s hella great. Anyone who says they can’t feel it, is lying.

Tagged: if you’re seeing this and haven’t done it yet, please do it. i can’t tell anymore who’s done it already and who hasn’t!!

Tagged by: @madamdirectcr

#( tag game. )#( munday. )

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taetaespeaches · 4 years ago

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“You know that I would ruin myself over and over again for you.”

yoongi x reader (or oc) genre: angst word count: 2.2K

a/n: Here it is, lovelies. I feel like this is way too hyped but I hope you all get HEARTBROKEN... kidding, loves. This is the “illicit affairs” inspired fic off of Taylor Swift’s folklore. This takes place after “I thought you left” after Yoongi returns from Japan. I hope you all enjoy, and thanks for reading! :))

MINDLESSLY cleaning up your apartment, you almost didn’t register the ding of your phone, notifying you of a text. It wasn’t until the second ding, that you realized.

Reaching for the device, you could have swore your heart stopped upon reading his name on the screen.

Honey boy: We’re back. Can I see you?

You wanted to say no. You wanted to tell him to leave you alone. You wanted to stand up for yourself and tell him that he’s not allowed to treat you the way he did the past five days. You wanted to leave him in silence like he did you.

But you couldn’t.

You: You can come over tonight. Honey boy: 9 pm? You: That’s fine.

You were beginning to pity yourself even, holding onto this thing that never was. How pathetic.

As the next couple of hours passed before he was supposed to stop by, you nearly sent multiple texts telling him to stay away. Thirty minutes to nine, you started preparing yourself for the conversation you convinced yourself needed to happen. You would tell him if this is ever going to be something, he’s not allowed to promise communication while he’s away and then not follow through. You needed commitment.

Your anxiety was through the roof, your heart racing as 9 pm approached, and then, at 8:48 pm, there was a knock on your door. He was early?

Opening the door, you revealed a sorry looking Yoongi, dark circles under his eyes and his skin pale. His lips curved into a small smile as he greeted you, “Hey, Kid.”

That was all it took for you to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug, his arms easily wrapping around your waist. And it wasn’t that the anger disappeared, but rather just didn’t matter in that moment.

You pulled him inside your apartment, Yoongi kicking the door closed before you kissed him with need. Yoongi slowed your actions by pulling away for a moment, holding your face in his hands as his eyes scanned your features.

“I missed you, you jerk,” you pouted, Yoongi giving you a sorrowful look.

“I’m sorry, Kid,” he whispered, casting his gaze to your feet. He didn’t look like himself. He looked like he was lost within himself. Compassion is a strong emotion. Strong enough to grant forgiveness sometimes, even if only temporary.

Gently, you took his hand and led him to your bedroom, letting go of his hand when you entered the room, walking to your dresser to grab a condom out of the box before making your way to your bed alone. You sat on the mattress and looked to Yoongi as he stood still in your doorframe.

“Come here,” you told him. He stared at you for a moment longer. He opened his mouth to speak, what you took as a protest, choosing to cut him off before he could begin. “Please.”

Yoongi took a deep breath before slowly starting toward you, you pulling your shirt over your head as he made his way across the room. He stood in front of you, allowing you to pull his pants off his body before he crawled on top of you, kissing you with passion. He stayed on top the whole time, holding your hand as he placed gentle kisses to your face.

It felt like an apology. And it was one you were willing to take. That is until it ended.

He rested beside you for a few minutes, running his fingertips over your arm and the side of your body, feeling the dips in your curves. It was nice. Comfortable. And you felt a sense of relief inside your stomach, easing the anxiety of the past few days. But then, he moved to get up.

“Where are you going?” Your tone laced in panic.

He didn’t look back at you as he pulled his bottoms onto his legs, his back facing you. You noted the expanse of it again, appreciating his smooth skin and toned muscles in contrast to the outline of his spine. And then the realization hit you that you were always seeing his back. You were always watching him leave, and you never knew when he’d return.

“I have to get back to the dorm, I told the guys I’d be home in a bit,” he told you. And something snapped inside you.

“They still don’t know about us?” You asked pointedly, Yoongi stalling his movements for moment before he stood to pull his underwear and jeans over his ass. Turning around, he looked at you as he zipped and buttoned his pants.

“I haven’t told them, no,” he started, glancing around the room for a moment to find his shirt. Spotting it, he looked back to you. “Hobi knows of you.”

“Is that why you didn’t contact me while you were in Japan? The boys being around?” You asked. There was the anger again.

“Between that and the busy schedule, yeah,” he confirmed, looking slightly guilty but mostly on the defense.

You hummed, nodding. Yoongi walked the few feet to his shirt, scooping it up and looking at you as he held it in his grasp. “Hobi knows?” You asked.

“He knows I’ve been seeing you a bit,” he told you just before pulling the shirt over his head. With him fully dressed and you still naked in bed, you suddenly became aware of how vulnerable you felt. You pulled the comforter up around you, curling your legs against your chest.

“I told my coworker about you a couple days ago,” you told him, Yoongi looking at you curiously.

“Yeah?” The words were spoken out of genuine curiosity, as if he wanted to hear what you would have told your coworker about him.

“Yeah. She asked what we are, and I didn’t know how to answer,” you told him. You were preparing to fight, and you didn’t care anymore if it would ruin everything you’ve been clinging so tightly to.

“What do you mean?” He asked, his eyebrows pulling together.

“Well you’ve never given any indication of us being in a relationship, so I couldn’t call you my boyfriend, but it felt crude to call you a fuck buddy,” you told him, holding some venom in the final two words.

“You thought about calling me a fuck buddy?” He asked, anger now seeping into his usually gentle features.

“The thought crossed my mind.” Your tone was cold, and you knew it was. It was supposed to be.

“What the fuck?” He questioned angrily. “That’s what you think this is?” Any intention of leaving was now gone as he planted his feet, staring daggers at you from a few feet from the bed.

“I don’t know what this is, that’s the problem,” you informed him, standing up to find something to wear. You kept the blanket draped over you, your back to him as you spotted your clothes. “Sometimes I feel like you’re the one, and I didn’t even think that was a thing before I met you,” you admitted, pulling your underwear on. “But other times, I feel like I’m being used,” you said as you pulled your shirt over your head, “or that I’m just here for when you need-”

“Used?” He questioned, the word drenched in hurt.

“Ever since we started having sex, you started pulling away,” you told him, turning to look at him.

“That’s not true,” he shook his head, a mixture of disappointment and anger on his face.

“It is true,” you insisted. “Look at you right now,” you gestured to him, pointing out his fully dressed form as he prepared to leave after coming over for an hour to have sex. “What am I supposed to think?”

He looked down at himself before looking up at you again, desperately searching for words. “I didn’t come over here for sex, I came over because I missed you,” he told you, his face scrunched up. “You initiated this,” he gestured to the bed.

“Right, well excuse me for trying to feel close to you,” you pointedly retorted.

“You think we have to be having sex to feel close to me?” He asked. You could tell he was feeling a whirlwind of emotions but so were you.

You shrugged, staring at him. “You left me in complete silence.” You spoke the words in a quieter voice than you’d been using, and you watched as they penetrated his fragile shield of thick skin.

“I told you when we started this whole thing that it would be complicated,” he reminded you, you shaking your head. “I told you so many times, I warned you that I wouldn’t be able to give you a normal relationship.”

“I’m not looking for a normal relationship, Yoongi, I’m just looking for some consistency and some sort of” you searched for the word, “label, so I don’t feel like I’m making all this shit up,” you told him, tears forming in your eyes.

“Making what up?” He questioned, his voice quiet as he stared at you intently.

“How I feel about you, and how I thought you felt about me,” you admitted, a tear falling down your cheek before wiping it away quickly. You could have sworn Yoongi took a step toward you before deciding against it. “I feel fucking insane when I get so much affection and care from you one morning and then you’re gone for five days without a word. And then when you come back, I’m just supposed to act like your silence didn’t hurt?”

He stared at you for a moment, waiting for you to continue, and his continued silence made the whole fight hurt so much more.

“Just tell me what we are so I can at least put my guard up, because you have the power to completely break my heart,” you said as more tears fell, you groaning in frustration at the evidence of your pain, wiping them away aggressively.

“I warned you of all of this. You said you were capable of making your own decisions. You kept me around. You asked for this,” he said, regret immediately taking over his features.

“I asked for this?” You questioned angrily.

“That’s not what I meant,” he interjected.

“I didn’t ask to be treated like a convenient play-thing for when you need to get off, or like a fucking ego boost for when you’re feeling insecure or lonely,” you spat, knowing fully well that the words would hurt him.

“That’s not what this is though,” he told you sadly, the anger leaving him.

“I guess I was wrong when I said I could handle the terms of this relation-whatever the fuck this is,” you corrected. “Because this is not working for me,” you told him, Yoongi’s eyes widening in what appeared to be panic. “I feel pathetic and taken advantage of, Yoongi, do you not see that?”

“I’m not taking advantage of you, Kid, jesus christ,” he defended, his tone defeated.

“Don’t call me that,” you sobbed. “Don’t call me that right now.” You visibly saw Yoongi take a sharp breath of air in. “Do you see me?” You asked, both of you staring at each other for a moment. “I’m a mess for you. And you know that I would ruin myself over and over again for you. And you’re just letting me do it,” you cried, wrapping your arms around your body.

Yoongi stared at you speechless, his eyes raking over every inch of you as he realized what you were saying. He was breaking you down, intentional or not.

“I’m sorry,” he told you sincerely, backing away from you. “I-fuck I’m sorry.” Without another word, he turned around and made his way through your apartment, you following after him angrily.

“So that’s it? You’re walking away?” You asked through your tears, watching him as he grabbed your door knob.

“What do you want me to do?” He turned around to look at you, tears in his eyes. “I’m ruining you right?” You stared at each other, hopeless and directionless, both of you running through your history, trying to figure out where things could have been changed to avoid this exact moment from ever happening. “I just- I can’t give you more than this, baby.” You flinched at the term of affection, and he sighed. “As much as I want to give you more, I fucking can’t,” he told you, his voice shaking with emotion as the words left his lips.

The man in front of you was lost and confused, regret and heartbreak evident in his expression, his eyes tired and dark, his skin lack luster compared to its usual glow. You had all but told him to leave, but halfway out the door you felt betrayed that he was actually leaving.

It was a flaw of yours to use anger in times of hurt; to throw mean remarks instead of what you really wanted to say. And you put that on display with your next words.

“Make sure no one sees you leave. And heaven forbid your members see you come back flushed, better tell them you were out for a run,” you told him viciously. “We can act like we never happened,” you added quietly. Yoongi nodded slowly before exiting your apartment, closing the door quietly behind him, his clothed back being the last you saw of him.

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years ago

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Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 1.4}

*Severus Snape x OC*

General warnings: professor x student (however no underage romance), blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5.5k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

On the night of Robin's return to Hogwarts, she felt honestly relieved to be back at the castle. It had become a true home to her over the last months, and the old stones, moving paintings and long hallways had her feeling more welcome here than her own family home did at this point. Most of all she had missed the dungeons, with their freezing air, gloomy atmosphere and serene darkness. Hell, she even had missed most of her classes and teachers! What, or rather who she hadn't missed at all however was Professor Morgan.

If there ever had been two people who simply couldn't stand each other's guts, it was Robin and Damion Morgan. Ever since the first week of term, he had been unreasonably harsh and hostile towards her, and that without any fathomable reason. Robin had tried for weeks on end to get on his good side, without any success whatsoever. At last she had simply accepted that everyone but her seemed to adore the 'handsome young professor', as the members of her study group liked to call him, and that he in return seemed to adore everyone except for Robin.

And it was exactly this defense against the dark arts professor who approached Robin as she left the great hall after dinner one Friday night, two long months after the end of Christmas break.

"Miss Mitchell…" His almost cheerful voice made Robin jump, and she pressed the book she carried even more tightly against her chest. She knew better than to be misguided by his friendly attitude, even when he came to stand in front of her with a smile. "Where would we be headed at this time of night?"

"To… the dungeons?" Robin replied without much thought, as she peered up at him in the dim light of the candles. It was true, she was merely heading from dinner to her room, not even taking any detours. In her eyes there was yet again no reason for Morgan to bother her, to call her out for absolutely nothing, and yet again he still did just that for some unknown reason.

"Huh…" He quipped, feigning both a frown and a nonchalant smile at once. "Curious that you would be heading there now… After what you did today, one would assume you would make a little more effort to hide away."

"I'm not hiding, sir…" Robin replied immediately, both in surprise and defense, as a deep frown fell upon her face as well. "I don't know what you're talking about, actually. I spent the entire day in class or in the library, I can hardly imagine either of that to be wrong."

"Of course you don't know what I'm talking about…" He sighed in resignation, then grabbed Robin's arm and started dragging her towards his classroom. "None of you students ever know anything at all when it comes down to the inevitable question of who is guilty and who is not."

"Please, Professor, I didn't do anything wrong! I swear!" Robin protested, but still didn't dare to resist as he dragged her along so very harshly. "Where are we going?"

"Detention, my dearest. You will have a great time cleaning up the mess you made in my classroom. And if it takes you all night, then perhaps you will learn not to mess with me!" He declared almost happily, but didn't loosen up his death grip on Robin's arm even as he had to see that she was following him without resistance now.

By the time they hurried up the spiral staircase, his hold on her was seriously starting to hurt, but Robin didn't dare complaining. The sudden turn of events, and foremost the suddenly very real threat of getting detention for something she hadn't done in the first place had finally made its into every part of her mind, and Robin found that she was petrified with fear. Whatever it was he believed her to have done, she saw close to no possibility to convince him of her innocence. Her heart was racing like crazy at this point, her stomach churning as it always did when she was afraid, which made her believe that she couldn't actually get a decent word of protest out even if she tried.

A moment later they arrived in front of the classroom door, and Professor Morgan merely kicked it open with one foot before dragging Robin inside. The immediate sight she got of the aforementioned 'mess' was quite repelling, to say the least, and she wondered how anyone in their right mind would even be able to create such thing. Papers were scattered everywhere, books ripped apart and models trashed, and in addition to the sheer demolition alone, the entire room was covered in a disgustingly smelling black-purple goo.

"What happened here?!" Robin asked in quiet shock, while at last her arm was released and she could try to soothe the hurting spot that surely would bruise by tomorrow morning.

"Oh quit the act already, will you?" Morgan sighed again and pushed Robin further into the room. "You are going to clean this classroom until it's absolutely spotless, and you're not going to leave a second before that is done to my fullest contentment."

"But sir,-"

"No 'but', Miss Mitchell. You have gotten yourself into this and you're going to get yourself out of it again."

"I don't even know any cleaning spells…" Her voice was almost too quiet now, defeated and flat… she didn't like how she sounded at all. But it was late, and she was tired after a long day of studying, and she just wanted to read the book she had gotten from Professor Snape that morning after potions class… but as it seemed, that wouldn't be happening any time soon.

"Well, you better get started doing it the old-fashioned way, then." He gave her another overly bright smile, then summoned up a bucket filled with a strangely smelling pinkish liquid, a rag and a broom. "Doesn't that look like fun…"

"But-" Robin started, but upon the glare she got in return, her voice lowered in volume significantly. "...the water smells funny."

"Well, obviously it does, silly…" Professor Morgan scoffed, "It's a cleaning solution. How else would you get the… slime off."

Before Robin could say anything that would indicate her concern about touching that stuff, Professor Morgan turned back towards the door and stepped out into the hallway. "As I said, I expect this to be done and over with once I return."

"Aren't… you going to be staying here?" The frown on Robin's face deepened once she realized that he was actually going to leave her alone. "Isn't detention to be supervised by a professor?"

"The way I see it, you can hardly mess up the room any more than you already have, so why would I need to be staying? This room's disgusting!" He let out an incredulous chuckle, "And I've gotten an important… appointment to attend to. Truth be told, I'm already quite late." Then he shook his head to himself and pulled the door shut from the outside at last.

Robin heard a few whispered words, then a faint bluish glow crept through the gap underneath the door for but a second before it faded as well, leaving the classroom illuminated by only the moonlight falling through the tall windows. A vain attempt to free herself revealed that the door was indeed quite as locked as it could be, and wouldn't even budge under Robin's admittedly mediocre use of alohomora. She regretted not spending at least a little more time and effort on charms class, but then again, charms was more of a 'say-the-word, do-the-thing' kind of subject, and Robin preferred a little more thinking and a little less learning by heart. It didn't matter now, because for now, she still had a classroom to clean.

With a sigh in resignation, Robin placed her book on the only clean spot in the room (she made sure of that twice) and got working without wasting any more precious moonlight.

… … …

Five long hours later, the room was cleaner than it had probably been in years. Decades, even.

To begin with, Robin had used one of the spells she had read about in her book about literature she had gotten with her Christmas purchases. It had neatly restored the books that had been torn apart, and she had to spend little additional time to put them all back into what seemed a good place to store them. Next, she had used the cleaning spell she had finally been able to learn by heart a few months ago, the same one she frequently used to clean her workspace in potions class. At last however, she had found that the blackish goo wouldn't even faintly disappear from any of her tidying spells, and thus she indeed had to revert to doing things the old fashioned way: taking the rag and the bucket into her own hands to scrape the bloody stuff off every single surface in the classroom.

And bloody it had been indeed, or at least extremely unpleasant, if not straight out torturous. While Professor Morgan's cleaning solution did indeed work extraordinarily well to get rid of the goo, it had also turned out to be rather extraordinary at getting rid of the skin on Robin's hands. After three and a half hours of being wrist-deep in the rather aggressive solution, Robin was just about ready to burst into tears over the unyielding pain. However she hadn't once thought about quitting, not even when her hands had started bleeding and her skin had burnt like liquid fire. That would've come equal to admitting her defeat to Professor Morgan, and Robin was both too proud and too stubborn to let that happen. She would not give that man any reason at all to justify what he had done to her, but she would prove that she wasn't what he believed her to be. Even if for now that meant taking the unfair punishment with dignity.

When at last the classroom was spotless, her hands bloody and burnt, and Robin in her entirety dead tired, it was well after one o'clock at night. So much for being in bed before curfew…

With a slightly pained groan, Robin rose to her feet after spending hours on her knees and walked towards the door that promised her freedom. She picked up her book, or rather Snape's book, with the sleeves of her black jumper, not risking to get any blood on it, before at last she tried the door once more. It still wouldn't budge.

Groaning in annoyance, tiredness and frustration, Robin tried every spell about locks, doors or gates she could recall, but without any results. She was still locked inside the classroom. Somehow she had hoped that the spell keeping her in here would be undone the very moment the room was spotless, but obviously she had overestimated Morgan's creativity.

Well, in this case she would have to wait until he came back to check on her, which in Robin's eyes might just as well take a couple more hours. It wasn't much of a rumor and more of a well known truth that Professor Morgan enjoyed to visit Hogsmeade in the late hours of the night, and sometimes only returned after sunrise the next morning. And when he returned, his robes were ruffled and the blackness in his eyes dilated to the obvious. Or so Robin had heard, at least, and for once she felt rather prone to believe the gossip, even if only because she wanted it to be true. It was a nice mental image to snort over in class.

With another sigh, Robin walked back through the moonlit room and finally allowed herself to light a few candles as well. She had refused to do so earlier, for the long and dark shadows they usually created would've made it rather difficult to find but the very last spot of dirt in their darkest depths. But now that she was done cleaning, she might just as well do some reading in candlelight, if only she was careful not to let her injured hands touch the paper. Hopefully 'Mandrake and its Use in Modern Age Potion Making' would make the time until she would be released from her prison a whole lot more interesting, and the night overall a little less lonely.

… … …

The short, muttered words on the other side of the door didn't suffice by far for Robin to prepare herself for the door to fly open with a start, and she let out a surprised yelp as the book in her fabric covered hands slipped to the ground with a quiet thump.

"What in God's name are you doing in here?!" Professor McGonagall's both surprised and scolding tone didn't help with the inevitable racing of Robin's heart at all. "Miss Mitchell?! It's three o'clock in the morning, you ought to have been in bed for hours!"

"Professor!" Robin finally blurted out in relief, as she picked up the book carefully, with her hands still covered. At least it wasn't Morgan, anyone but him was a joy to see at this point. "I can explain…"

"I surely do hope so."

"You see, Professor Morgan locked me in here at around eight o'clock last evening, for me to clean the room of the absolute grossness it had been covered in. And well… he said he'd come back to let me out again, but that was hours ago, and he's not yet returned from his… appointment."

"And why by the heavens would Professor Morgan lock you in here to clean in the middle of the night, and entirely by yourself as well?" McGonagall's voice as well as the incredulous frown on her face spoke volumes about what she thought of Robin's story, but Robin wasn't yet ready to give up on the truth.

"He clearly must've believed that I caused the mess in the first place, which I solemnly swear I did not!" Robin pressed the book to her chest in a vain attempt to find some comfort in it, and walked towards the transfiguration professor with a hopeful face that indeed betrayed her emotions as well. "He stopped me in the hallway after dinner, and dragged me straight up here."

Professor McGonagall frowned down at Robin with a stern expression in return. "Did anyone witness this incident?"

"Well, no, but-"

"And did Professor Morgan, by any chance, tell you to sit around here, reading books in the candlelight, after you had cleaned?"

"No, I-"

"Miss Mitchell…" Professor McGonagall raised her hand to silence Robin, which she did comply to with a sudden and heavy weight on her heart. "If you are going to come up with a story to cover up for your nightly detours, at least make sure to make it reasonable."

"But professor, I-"

"That's enough." She cut in, and Robin felt her own strive for the truth deflate like a balloon. "It's not for me to decide what we are to do with you, but let me assure you, if you were in my house you would be cleaning classrooms for that accusation of Professor Morgan alone." With that, McGonagall turned towards the door with the unspoken yet unmistakable message for Robin to follow her.

As they descended down the spiral staircase, Robin felt like she should say something, do something, anything to make her professor see the truth… but no words would come across her lips. She felt defeated, and betrayed by justice. Sure, professors were only humans, but was it too much to ask of them to believe her? Didn't they realize that she wasn't full of the same lies and pathetic behavior the other children showed? Obviously not. Thus, in a mixture of betrayal and indifferent numbness, Robin ignored the pain that was still spreading from her hands up her arms and followed her professor down into the dungeons. Maybe she would at least, at last, be able to get some sleep now… However, much to Robin's surprise, McGonagall didn't lead her to the dorms, but rather right towards Professor Snape's office. Well, just bloody great… now she would need to disappoint her favorite professor as well, and all that in the same hellshow of a night that just refused to come to and end already. She just wanted to sleep, for God's sake…

McGonagall knocked on the door twice, then waited in silence. Two seconds later, the door was ripped open with a start, and an angry looking Snape glared down at the two females on his doorstep. Upon seeing McGonagall however, his anger turned into indifference first, then into annoyance.

"Good evening, Severus." McGonagall spoke and put a firm hand on Robin's should once she noticed her taking small steps backwards.

"To what do I owe this… pleasure?" Snape asked ever neutrally with just a subtle hint of sarcasm, and Robin almost let out a bitter snort. It wasn't much of a humorous situation, rather the opposite, but seeing that his modes of communication with fellow professors didn't differ from the way he spoke to the students just made Robin feel a little bit better.

"I caught one of your students out of bed, while on my patrol." McGonagall phrased it almost as an accusation, which made Robin frown. "Reading, in Damion's classroom. She had locked herself in with a rather badly cast charm on the door, and hadn't it been for the light of the candles… I might not have found her at all."

For a second, Snape's eyes flicked down to Robin's, and she felt her heart sinking to the bottom of her stomach. Oh no… he was mad at her. For real, this time. And that could only mean real trouble in return. With a start, Robin felt her eyes watering and once Snape looked back up at McGonagall, the first tears spilled down her burning cheeks. Damnit… she had always made such an effort not to cry in front of anyone. But she was just too tired, too disappointed in the loss of truth and the world, too focused on ignoring the pain to actually care anymore. Not tonight anyway.

"Thank you, Minerva, I will take care of the situation. Right away." With that Snape pulled Robin into the office by her other shoulder, then simply shut the door into his colleague's face. With two long strides he was back behind his desk, sat down, and went back to scribbling line after line onto a piece of parchment in silence as if Robin wasn't even there.

For a moment Robin simply stood in the middle of the office and focused on stopping the tears falling from her eyes like the rain outside had been doing for days. Only once she felt like she had somewhat regained her composure and was more or less ready to face a harsh scolding, she looked up to her professor at last.

"Care to explain?" He asked as if she hadn't just spent five minutes crying in the middle of the room. Actually, she found herself thankful that he ignored it entirely. But that didn't change the fact that she had already spent enough time trying to convince people of her innocence today. It had never worked, so she might as well spare both of them the time and get the seemingly inevitable scolding over with as soon as possible.

"No." She thus answered in a neutral but quiet tone. "Please, professor… just tell me how horribly I have disappointed you tonight, and how I'm going to get a month's worth of detention. I honestly just want this night to end already."

At that Snape looked up from his work at last, and his eyes sought Robin's until she felt the tingle in the back of her head once more. Honestly, she didn't even care if he yelled at her now. She just wanted to go to bed and cry herself to sleep, in the hopes that at least her hands would hurt less once she woke back up in the morning.

"I can believe Professor McGonagall's account of the occurrences then?" He raised his eyebrows a little, and placed his quill down on the table to sit up straight to observe Robin more intently.

"I'm fairly certain you can believe whatever you want, sir."

A few muscles in his face ticked upon that, but it didn't reveal any possible thoughts he could be having in reaction to her words. Robin hugged the book even tighter to her chest, but didn't look away from his testing gaze. She'd stopped being afraid of him the first time he'd given her a book to read, and by now she actually found his focused seriousness and honesty to be admirable traits every other teacher seemed to be missing. He'd become her favorite professor a good while ago, for a good reason.

"Then I believe we are done here, Miss Mitchell. You are free to go." He said, and motioned towards the door without another word.

Robin didn't need to be told twice, and in her desperate wish to get back to her room before her eyes would start watering again, she almost ran face first into the door. Embarrassed, she tried the handle once more, wincing as the fabric of her jumper rubbed against her broken skin the wrong way, but yet she couldn't open the door. Completely confused, she turned back to Professor Snape only to find him still watching her intently.

"Well?" He merely prompted, motioning to the door again, and Robin took out her wand with shaking hands that were a dangerous indicator of how close she felt to falling apart completely at last. She tried the same variety of spells she had previously used in the defense against the dark arts classroom, and with the very same result. Nothing. The door wouldn't move an inch, and the tears were back in her eyes as well. Why did everyone have to torture her tonight?!

"Quite impossible without the right spell, isn't it?" Snape's voice sounded from close behind Robin all of a sudden that she dropped both the book and her wand with a startled shriek, while her hands flew up to her face to cover her eyes. A childish reaction, admittedly, but she couldn't care less at the moment. She just wanted everything and everyone to go away already and leave her alone.

Snape however, standing a few feet behind her now, did rather the opposite and moved Robin's now uncovered hand away from her face with such a startling carefulness that she dropped her other hand as well to look at him in honest surprise. He was looking down at the bloody mess that were her fingers, carefully twisting her hand over in his own without actually hurting Robin any more than it would've hurt without his chilled touch. She had no idea how he did that.

"The truth, Miss Mitchell. Now." He finally commanded with a voice as grave as she'd ever heard it, while yet he dropped her hand beyond carefully indeed, before moving over to a shelf full of small bottles and vials.

"I… I didn't mean to keep things from you, professor…" She started, swallowing down the lump in her throat. Maybe he would actually believe her. The least likely person to show compassion. "It's just… I told Professor McGonagall, and she didn't believe a word I said, and earlier Professor Morgan didn't believe me either, so I just… If I get scolded for telling the truth anyway, why bother telling it at all, you know?"

"Well, I am listening now, am I not?" He simply gave back, stern as ever while looking through the potions, but to Robin those words actually meant more than she cared to admit. Because she actually believed him.

"It all started after dinner today… well, yesterday actually. I was walking towards the common room, at around eight probably, when Professor Morgan approached me out of nowhere and dragged me to his classroom, saying he was giving me detention for what I did today. The class was an absolute mess, all destroyed and covered in that blackish purple goo… And Professor Morgan told me to clean up the room spotless before he returned. Then he left me with a rag, a broom and some cleaning solution, and locked me into the classroom before he left. Told me he had an appointment and that he'd come back later… but he never did, and I couldn't get out on my own, so I sat there and read the book you gave me. To at least make some good use of my night." Robin finished with a nervous anxiety that was making her hands tremble, and obediently sat down on the chair Snape pointed her to once he turned back towards her.

He held out a small vial filled with green liquid for a moment, then handed it to her. "Drink this."

"Is…" Now the rest of her body started shaking as well, maybe out of anxiety, or maybe out of sheer tiredness. But she still couldn't suppress her curiosity, not even in this state. "Is that Wiggenweld Potion?"

His brows lifted in mild surprise, and that barely-even-there smirk played on his lips once more as he sat down across from her in his own chair. "It is indeed…"

"Oh…" Robin breathed in equal surprise, and since she didn't know what else to say, she moved to down the contents of the frail glass bottle, coughing upon the rather unpleasant taste but swallowing it nonetheless.

"What happened to your hands?" He asked without wasting any more time, every sign of amusement gone from his face to be replaced by the previous graveness once again.

"The… goo, it wouldn't be washed away by any of the cleaning spells I used, so I… I had to scrub it away with the rag and Professor Morgan's cleaning solution. With my hands. And well, the cleaning solution did get rid of the goo, but also every scrap of skin on my bones."

"And why exactly didn't you stop once it started to hurt?" His tone let her know that he actually didn't know the answer to this question, instead of his usual rhetorical ones. "Why did you let it come this far?"

"I…" Now it was embarrassment which Robin felt, rather than nervousness for once. It had been a bit stubbornly childish, hadn't it? "It was stupid. There's no good reason."

"I asked for your reason, not a good one."

"I thought that if I actually did what he told me, that if…" New tears formed in her eyes, making it difficult to talk, but she wouldn't disappoint Professor Snape even more by refusing to answer now. "If I did what he'd told me to, did nothing challengeable, if I proved him wrong about me… that someone would see that I didn't do what he accused me of. I… I just wanted to be better." She finally started crying for real, ugly sobs and a puffy face, until her hands started hurting less and less, and her tiredness seemed to vanish further into the back of her mind. The potion was showing effect, then… thank goodness. Wiping her face with her sleeve, Robin felt a little more composed at last. The tears stopped flowing, and her nose felt a little less stuffed.

"Has the pain lessened?"

"Yes. Thank you…" Her voice sounded raspy and thick, but hearing it couldn't be worse than watching her sob, so she let it slide and gratefully went with his ignorance of her crying. His silence, to Robin, felt kinder than any awkward words of comfort ever had.

"What exactly is it that Professor Morgan accuses you of?" He asked once she looked back up at him.

"I'm not entirely sure, sir…" Robin answered truthfully, and balled the now wet sleeve up in her fist while she thought. "I guess he believes that I messed up his classroom."

"Did you?"

"No!" Her reply came so quickly that her eyes seemed to jump out of her head at her desperate expression. "I… I thought… I thought you believed me, sir…"

"I believe that Professor Morgan locked you up in his classroom, as well as everything that followed upon that as you stated it." He said, and for a short moment the muscles in his jaw clenched but his face stayed neutral. Robin didn't know if that glimpse of a reaction was about her or Professor Morgan, but she didn't even care. He believed her, and she would forever be grateful for that. "Now I need you to give me a reason to believe that his accusation was as unjustified as his punishment."

Robin thought for a moment, bit her bottom lip, tapped her foot against the stone floor, and pulled her sleeve over her hand once more to thumb over the edge of the book on her lap, even though the blood on her hands had dried up now and the skin was healing at an astonishingly quick rate. That's when she had an idea, one she could only hope would convince him. If he knew her at all by now, he would understand.

"They ripped the books." She started. "In the classroom, all the books were ripped and completely torn apart. And I could never do that, not even in a blind rage. I spent my entire Christmas money on books, and I even own a spell book dedicated only to spells about working with and preserving books! I… I used one of those spells on the books in the classroom, actually. I restored them instead of simply swiping up the pages." She took a deep breath, then placed his own book on his desk with her still covered hands. "And I preferred to have my jumper scratch my hands even more sore for two hours than allowing a single drop of blood to possibly touch the pages of your book."

A variety of emotions flashed through his face upon that, each too brief for Robin to fully grasp, but she was certain to have spotted both an overall consensus of both concern and rage. It sent a chill down her spine, and she almost wanted to apologize for whatever it was she'd done wrong, but he beat her to it. "Is your skin healing yet?"

"Yes, I believe so. I don't feel as tired anymore either."

"Was to be expected." He stated, rising to his feet, and then made his way towards the door. "Get up."

"Where are we going, sir?" Robin asked, intentionally calmly, as she rose to her feet. This time she felt more excited than anxious. A bit of both, maybe.

"Nowhere. I will teach you how to open the door."

What followed were five minutes of explanations from Professor Snape, and then ten minutes of Robin trying to put them into action the best she could at this time of night. At the end of it, she had learned both the spells to lock and unlock the door quite successfully, thanks to the easy to follow instructions and a lot more patience than she was used to. She was left feeling proud of herself for once, for learning something new so quickly under these circumstances, and thus she found herself smiling for the first time in hours. It felt good to not be sad anymore, and she wasn't quite as oblivious to who she was to thank for that as he likely would've wanted.

While Snape moved back to his chair and his desk, Robin remained standing in the middle of the room. "Thank you, professor… For the Wiggenweld potion, and the spells. And especially for believing me when no one else would."

"I'm the head of this house, Miss Mitchell. That means it is my responsibility to look after you, whether you are guilty or not, which in this instance wasn't for Professor Morgan to decide."

"Will you be talking to him about this?"

"Would you like me to?" Again, an honest question. The difference was visible in his eyes more than in his tone even, and for a short moment Robin wondered what else she might find in there if she paid attention to it from now on.

"Not really." She sighed at last, then gave him a crooked smile. "I believe fighting him by his own means would only end at my disadvantage yet again. I want to be better than that."

And for once, Robin got an actual smirk in return, a real one that wasn't mocking or sarcastic. Only humored, and a little bit proud if she squinted enough. It was a beyond relieving sight. One she made sure to remember.

______________________________

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ispiderdudei · 5 years ago

Text

Only-part five

prologue part one part two part three part four part five

dad! Tom Holland x OC

only masterlist

my masterlist

Summary: Tom was living his dream as a rising star in Hollywood for the past six years. Even though it was everything he ever wanted he missed everything that he left behind. His family back in London. His best friend who’s career had also taken off and though they were roomates they never had time for one another. His first love that was torn apart by a dumbass decision. He wished he could take it all back. All the stupid decisions he made in the past that could have been the other way around if he choose the right choice. What happens when he wakes up one day in the life he should have chosen?

warnings: nervous Tom, kinda fluff, Blythe being a smol bean, um yeah that's about it

word count: 3289

authors note: I feel like everyone of these I have an excuse on why I'm late to post. Well, it’s because I’m a senior in high school who has to apply to a million scholarships so I don't have to worry about student loans, but I’ll survive:) I also am taking three college classes and ironically English is the one that is killing me. I thank you for your patiences and wish me luck. Idk when the next part will come out but don't worry it’s happening. Also you know, just feel free to send me an ask anytime like I don’t mind (PSA this is my favorite look ever pic is definitely not mine)

After Blythe’s little incident and a good ten minutes of Lennon tending to her daughters small wounds they finally were able to calm her down before making their way back to the party. Tom was still overwhelmed by what happened earlier and it made every worse case scenario run through his mind. It was mostly about how he imagined Lennon finding out. The more he thought about telling her the more he backtracked his plan all together. Tom wasn’t going to tell her today. He knew that for sure, but that didn’t mean he could wait forever. Tom didn’t know exactly how this scenario would play out but he really didn’t want to at the least. He didn’t want Lennon to hate him and he also didn’t want her to act like she forgave him automatically.

He decided he needed to find the right opportunity because that’s what is best for everyone. He needed to wait it out because he still didn’t know if it was permanent, so why would he jeopardize it. If Blythe had come in a few moments later he would be hating himself even more. No matter how much he wondered if Lennon's lips were still as sensational as he remembered them to be. Another part of him wondered if he felt guilty just being so close to having an intimate moment with her how much more of that would build up inside of him.

Lennon brushes the curls out of her daughter's hair one last time before giving her a soft smile, “Are you going to be okay now?” The girl sniffed and nodded watching her mother stand up. Lennon turned to Tom giving him a sorrowful look and it made him panic even more because he knew what it was for.

Lennon and Tom grabbed the food while Blythe trailer behind them as they all walked back outside. Tom noticed more people than he did before, but that was because he just wasn’t paying attention earlier when he walked in with Xio. He saw many faces familiar, new, and old. It made his mind wonder on how the hell he was going to converse with them and still take on the persona of this other Tom. It was easier for him to talk to Harrison and Xio because they knew it wasn’t him. It wasn’t easy to talk with Lennon, but he was comfortable in the small conversations they have had so far.

“Can I go back to playing,” Blythe asked her mother in a more chipper mood looking at a few kids that Tom didn’t recognize.

Lennon nodded looking down at her. Blythe smiled rushing over to them stumbling a little. “Be careful please,” Lennon yelled at her letting out a sigh, “That child is a spitting image of you, I swear.”

Tom looked at Lennon shaking his head, “She’s a hundred percent you.” He meant every word their daughter was definitely a copy Lennon from the short time Tom knew her. Blythe didn’t have to do much to tell Tom that she was Lennon’s daughter because she was so much like her. He didn’t have to think about the fact that she had the same physical features as him but her mannerisms were like her mother’s.

Tom couldn’t remember much from his childhood. Well, he couldn’t remember some things, but he did remember Lennon. She was always so happy and full of energy. She never seemed to slow down and kept him on his toes when he was around her. When something sad would happen she would be back to herself in no time. Blythe proved that to Tom just mere seconds ago when she was a mess and then went straight to her task before she got hurt. It was almost scary how much their personalities were almost the same.

Lennon just scoffed at Tom rolling her eyes, “You only say that because you’re too stubborn to realize she is a girl version of you.”

“You can’t tell me that child who is stopping to pick the dandelion to make a wish is mini me,” Tom asked as he watched the five-year old stopped dead in her tracks looking down at the weed before picking it up and holding it tightly with one hand squeezing her eyes shut as the children rush pass her before blowing it out with the biggest smile on her face.

Lennon let out a laugh, “Well, I remember both of us doing that if I do recall.”

Tom smiled softly, “I’m glad I did because most of my wishes came true.” Well not exactly for him but the other him. You’ve learned by now Tom has always had the biggest crush on Lennon no matter how much he didn’t want to admit it. Lennon liking him back was a shock and he never expected her to return the feelings no matter how many times Haz told him to grow a pair and ask her out. She was too perfect for him

Lennon gave him a sly smile rolling her eyes, “You were always one for cheese Tom.”

Tom shrugged, “What can I say?

“Ah, Thomas, nice to see you not overthinking things,” a thick Irish accent said behind him making the hairs on the back of his neck. Tom knew it anywhere because it was one he had to reason with when was dating Lennon and to be honest it still gave him anioxty to this day.

The funny thing about Lennon’s father, Alex, is that he is the living embodiment of James Bond, Pierce Brosnan’s version, of course. One of his most fond memories of Lennon’s father is when Lennon, him, and Harrison went to see Mamma Mia in the Cinema. He took Lennon home after and he was face to face with the man when walking her to the door swearing he would break out into a song by ABBA at any given moment, or run off with some Meryl Streep doppelgänger to Kalokairi. He would never do that to his wife though. They were far too in love.

It wasn’t that Tom enjoyed Lennon’s father’s company it’s just something you don’t exactly need when you have everything else running through your mind. Having to deal with the man he had been afraid of since he started dating Lennon wasn’t at the top of his list. He respected the man as much as he did his own father, but he knew that in his old life the man probably hated his guts. Tom won’t blame him for it because he would only blame himself. Hell, he already did.

Tom let out a nervous laugh that didn’t have to be forced because his he was so anxious he was scared Alex would sense something off about him because it has happened many times before. The man was like a bloodhound on a search for its owners next game while on an afternoon hunt. “Well I am trying. Being laid back was a goal I have for the new year of my life.”

Lennon's father took a sip of his drink before winking and pointing at Tom mere seconds after the glass left his lips. “That’s always been a good goal of yours. Glad you are finally living up to it.”

“Awe, come on dad, Tom has already been doing that,” Lennon beamed looking at her husband making Tom give her a timid smile. Alex gave him a look that Tom has seen before.

He was having serious déjà vu and it wasn’t the good kind. It was like a happier version of the memory before and Tom was slightly scared. The memory was when Tom asked for her father to approve him asking Lennon for his hand in marriage. They were never engaged when they called things off but Tom wanted to do it so desperately.

It was at a dinner party Nikki decided to hold for something Tom couldn’t quite remember, but he did at the time. It was only them and a few family friends nothing too special; him and Lennon were a few months into their relationship that still felt surreal to Tom.

He knew he needed to talk to Alex and he was scared out of his mind. He feared rejection the most because he knew the man hardly trusted him when he was just friends with his daughter. Lennon was off with Xio and a few other girls that were invited and Tom took the chance. He saw him standing on the porch talking to his father and knew it was now or never.

Taking a deep breath he walked over to the tall Irishman trying his best to not stumble and fall on his face while on the way to ask the man the question that will change his future. As he approached closer Tom had second thoughts but he tried his hardest to hide them so it wouldn’t get the best of him. He was sticking to his plan no matter how much he wanted to not ask all together.

Alex noticed Tom approaching upon first glance and gave him a smile. Tom looked between the two men giving them both a nod while putting his hands in his pockets.

“Lennon leaves you alone for a couple of minutes and you don’t know what to do, am I right Thomas?” Alex said smiling down at him earning a laugh from Dominic.

Tom smiled nervously, “Uh, no, actually I came over here to talk to you about something. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Not at all,” Alex reassured him, “This old man was just getting a good point around about London’s traffic laws.”

Dominic shook his head, “I’m sure we can continue our political debate later. Perhaps over another game of golf. I can play easier so I don’t win.”

“I think that’s how you play naturally Holland,” Alex playfully said back earning a laugh from Dominic.

Tom’s father looked towards the kitchen at his mother who was motioning for some assistance from him and let out a site tucking his hands in his pockets, “I suppose the spouse is calling me. Perfect timing for you, Tom.” He gave both his son and Alex a nod before walking off.

Tom gulped, he hoped it wasn’t noticeable to the man standing in front of him because if he knew how terrified he was there was no telling on what he was going to say in their next conversation.

Alex slung his arm around tom’s shoulder patting letting out a chuckle, “Your father is something Thomas. Maybe that's why I like you so much.” It was something said so simple, but it gave Tom a spark of hope and eased his nerves at the thought of Lennon’s father liking him. “Now, my boy, what is it you need to talk to me about,” Alex asked as he lead tom to a secluded part of the Holland’s yard stopping looking down at him as he waited patiently for Tom to speak.

Tom stood a little taller than normal adjusting his jacket as he tried to relax his shoulders, “I, uh… well sir you are well aware I have liked your daughter for a while. Even before we were dating.”

Alex narrowed his eyes at Tom. It wasn’t out of anger, no, far from it. He was doing it because it seemed he was trying to piece together at what Tom was getting at. Alex is an intelligent intellectual that can seem to figure things out quickly and it usually was a problem or a person that he was able to solve. Tom, however, was scared to say anything before the man spoke. He felt like he was constantly trying to impress the man. “I’m well aware of you’re infatuation for my daughter, yes. You two have been dating for a while I hope you’d at least expect me to notice.”

Tom’s eyes widened, “O-of course, Sir. I had no doubt that you are i-in-informed of Lennon and I.”

The man let out another deep throat chuckle, “Now Thomas, you don’t need to act nervous around me we’ve known each other for quite some time and I think it's only fitting for you to not stress so much around me.”

But that was the thing, everything that was going through Tom’s mind at the moment was making him nervous. What he was doing could make or break him and Lennon’s relationship. He was scared shittless to say the least. He cleared his throat hoping years of acting school and control of his voice could help him the situation he was in, “Well, you see, what I’m going to ask might.”

“What would that mean,” Alex asked his voice laced in concern. It caught tom by surprise. It only made tom’s mind wonder to Alex thinking the worst-case scenario. “Is there something you need to tell me Thomas.”

It was that look.

Tom let out a nervous laugh, “I guess I said that wrong and can see where you are interpreting what I’m saying as something negative, but I promise it's not.”

The olderman placed his hands on his hips, “Well go on.”

Tom took a deep breath, “Well let me start out by saying I love your daughter more than anything. I think she is breathtaking and her flaws are just as beautiful as her perfections. Lennon has taught me how to stay grounded through everything and has given me more second chances than I could count. She is amazing and has this presents about her that makes me want to know than I already do about her. Even our relationship started as friends she is always proving that she is the one that I’ve always wanted to have a life with as I grow older. I know your gonna say we are too young and that I’m crazy for even thinking you’d say yes. And believe me I have prepared myself for your rejection-”

“Yes.”

Tom didn’t even processes Alex’s reactions. “I just want you to know that I’m not going to stop asking, because I know she is my future. Not some stupid movie deal or another musical opportuinity… What?”

“Yes, Thomas you have my blessing.”

“You’re serious.”

“I can take it back if you like and say no,” Alex state bluntly.

“No!” Tom said a little too loudly making some of the people close to them turn to the sudden raise of his voice. He cleared his throat, “No. I uh- I just- I didn’t think that would work out so well.”

“For Christ sakes,Thomas, don’t tell me you have flashcards prepared.”

Tom let out another laugh, “Something like that yeah.”

Alex rolled his eyes, “You try too hard. I do trust you, Thomas, because Lennon trust you. Do I think I’m crazy for approving for my daughter to marry so young? Yes, but I rather it be with you than some son of a bitch that I know wasn’t good for her.” He looked over Tom’s shoulder and smiled.

“Hi dad,” he heard from behind him, “Tommy.” The two men didn’t say anything. “Did I interrupt something?” Lennon raised an eyebrow before intertwining her fingers with Tom.

“Not a thing Lennonbug,” Alex said smiling at his daughter proudly before giving the same look to Tom.

This was everything he wanted.

However, he didn’t want to think about the look Alex was giving him right now, “How have you been improving Thomas?”

Tom’s palms were sweaty as Lennon gripped his arm. This wasn’t him being scared shitless asking her father to marry her. This was him being scared shitless on what to say to the man in front of him in an opposite way. “Just… going with the flow…” Tom mentally cursed himself because he would never say that.

Both of them gave Tom an odd look before looking at each other. Before either one of them could speak on Tom’s choice of words the voice of Nikki came from the front porch, “Okay everyone lunch is ready. Let’s hurry and eat before Harry dies of starvation.” Before everyone could trample over to the plastic table outside that was filled with a full buffet Nikki stopped them, “But before we do so we should congratulate Tom for achieving all that he has. I’m proud of you for blessing me with the two most adorable children and the best daughter in law a mother could ask for.”

Tom smiled at his mother nodding in appreciation placing a hand on Lennon’s back. “Thanks Mum,” there was a slight pause as if everyone expected him to say something else, “What are we all standing around for let’s eat, I’m famished.”

The guests cheered before making there way to the table. Blythe ran up to Tom grabbing a hold of his had pulling him towards the crowd of people waiting in line, “Come on Daddy we need to hurry up if you want to get something to eat.”

Lennon laughed at the little girl, “Hang on little bird we need to wait for our turn. There are still going to be quite a bit of food left by we get to the table.” She turned to Tom, I’m going to get Eli and make sure you don’t put too much on her plate. We don’t need the incident we had at the twins party. As for you,” she turned to her daughter, “ You need to at least have a few vegetables on your plate if you want any cake.”

“Okay, Mummy,” Blythe let out another annoyed groan tugging Tom’s had more. Making him

practically stumble to the line of family and friends.

The party unfolded like any other everyday gathering with Tom able to avoid questions his brothers threw at him throughout lunch. Most of which were covered by Xiomara, and the slight uncomfort he felt when Lennon got up to go get something from the kitchen didn’t help his current situation.

Just when Tom thought he couldn’t bare his siblings grilling him about his current life a sense of relief came over him as the voice of Lennon came through the back door. Her smile was as bright as the glow of the candles lit brightly on the cake she was holding. Her voice carried the familiar tune as everyone else around him began to sing happy birthday.

Lennon set the cake down in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder making him tense up. He made sure to not flinch so much. Being put in a situation that might make everything go away the next day made Tom start to panic. What was he supposed to do in this situation? Everyone tuning into the song with their gaze on him. Blythe plopping down next to Tom leaning over looking in awe at the pastry in front of her father.

“Make sure you wish for something good daddy,” The little girl whispered as the short song came to an end. He knew that but what the hell was he supposed to wish for. She looked over at him with her doe eyes, “Can I blow them out with you?”

Tom gave her a tight smile nodded allowing her to slide into his lap as everyone huddled around them. Tom shut his eyes and told himself to just live in the moment. With Blythe’s weight shifting in his lap and the feeling of Lennons hand on his shoulder this moment couldn’t have been more perfect. He couldn’t wish for this life to last but he could just let it temporarily engulf him with happiness.

That was his wish to just see what happens next with what could have been.

taglist: @let-me-luve-you @lemondropirwin @afterglowparker @underooshields @mybitchborky @theamuz

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consumedkings-archive · 4 years ago

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All 5s for Miss Arden who is she queen give us the deets xoxo

dove!!! hello!!! thank u for the ask about my girl!! ilu ;-; partially under the cut for mentions infertility, and also for length, because i don’t know how to shut up ♡

detailed oc questions!

5. do they have any siblings? what’s their names? what is their relationship with them? has their relationship changed since they were kids to adults?

arden has multiple siblings, but she has no idea who they are, where they are, what they’re like as people, or even how many she has. she was adopted at two years old by a wealthy couple in new york, and the adoption was such that the parents did not want to be located or found later, so their names and information are unknown to her. not that she’s ever had any desire to find them!

10. do they like children? do children like them? do they have or want any children? what would they be like as a parent? or as a godparent/babysitter/etc?

she loves children. kids are the fucking coolest, man. they ask a lot of questions, and arden is so full of facts and knowledge that she almost always has an answer, but most importantly she really loves how free of the inhibitions of adulthood children are!! they’ll put pretty much anything in their mouths!! they almost all love animals unconditionally!!! that shit rocks!!

she definitely wants to have her own children. in her pre/no cult au i have for her with jacob, they’re together for quite a while before they decide they want to try for kids, which ends up being an incredibly long and arduous process where arden has to go through several instances of ivf--and even then the doctors are still concerned that it would possibly come down to choosing between arden and baby. they do have!! a baby though!! safely and without any further complications, and arden is probably exactly the kind of mother people would expect: loving, patient, doting. she’s much less strict than jacob is but puts a heavy emphasis on being fully and thoroughly educated.

15. are they good at cooking? do they enjoy it? what do others think of their cooking?

arden’s a great cook! or, at least in the sense that her food always tastes good. her brain tends to vibrate at a different frequency most all the time from the people she spends time with, and so it often looks like she’s a hurricane just busting through the kitchen when she’s cooking, always focused on the task at hand rather than keeping things clean and tidy as she cooks. it’s absolute chaos. but the food does end up tasting good, and arden enjoys it--she loves the catharsis of cooking, lol.

20. do they like musicals? music in general? what do they do when they’re favourite song comes?

while she has no particular love for musicals, arden does have a very funny love for music. it’s like, not what most people who like music feel (when you play music, it reinforces the part of your brain that does math, which arden thinks is very cool) and when her favorite song comes on she stops literally everything she’s doing to listen and enjoy it.

(and her favorite song is black hole sun by soundgarden)

25. what do they find funny? do they have a good sense of humour? are they funny themselves?

people. arden finds people funny. she thinks humans are an incredibly funny collection of creatures, diverse and complex and funny, and i think sometimes that makes her humour translate as like...a little more dark? she’s usually pretty matter of fact and almost never says something she doesn’t mean, which means that her humour tends to focus on things that are real and tangible and accurate and then using it to make a point. you know, like “find the thing that you don’t like about you and then make a joke out of it” kind of humour, but without the malicious intent--she’s real big on acknowledging and accepting our personal faults and doesn’t see anything wrong with noticing them in other people too.

30. do they exercise? regularly? or only when forced? what do they act like pre-work out and post-work out?

she does exercise, and regularly! arden is exceptionally fit. she’s pretty much all wiry muscle and leg. she spent a long time in high school and college not taking very good care of her body and then pushing it to its limits to see how far she could go, and that inevitably ended up impacting her ability to have children. now, she takes meticulous care of her body, and that includes regularly working out in healthy ways. pre and post work out arden are pretty much exactly the same as regular arden, except that she might seem a bit more relaxed post-work out.

35. what’s their guilty pleasure? what is their totally unguilty pleasure?

guilty pleasure would be buying notebooks. arden has a vast and unending collection of notebooks (which are empty), and which she insists she’s going to fill one day with all of her thoughts (which are many), and they fill up a solid two shelves on her bookshelf. somewhere deep down i think she knows that she will never have the time nor the ability to sit still long enough to actually write something down in them, beyond using them for scrap paper, and there are plenty of times where jacob has tried to get her to let go of some of them, but you know.

unguilty pleasure would definitely be doing shit at the vet clinic for free. the staff like to refer to her as “doctor write-off” because she just can’t stand to see an animal come in needing help and their people can’t pay for it.

40. do they like energy drinks? coffee? sugary food? or can they naturally stay awake and alert?

arden is that really annoying person who drinks one (1) cup of coffee and then she’s fine. she’s meticulous about her circadian rhythm and sleep cycles, which means she’s almost always rested. because her brain runs at 100 mph, energy drinks/too much coffee/sugary foods can make her feel unbearably jittery--though she does enjoy a good slice of cheesecake now and then.

45. how do other people see them? is it similar to how they see themselves?

arden has almost no filter, and i think that makes it so that people’s impression of her is usually pretty accurate to exactly how she is--and i think most of the time, people think she’s a little odd. she’s quite smart and will often try to pace herself and her thoughts for other people, so that she’s not running ahead of them five or six tangents down the road, but this is a habit that later jacob tries to break her of--because she’s smart, she shouldn’t have to dumb herself down for people--and this usually translates in conversation that she isn’t actually paying attention, which just isn’t true. she is paying attention, she’s just also thinking, and that means her brain is somewhere way past where the conversation is, currently.

but she’s also an exceptionally warm person, in the kind of straightforward, matter-of-fact way. she has almost no tolerance for people making mistakes on her watch, but she’s never vicious about it--not until someone’s really pushed her.

50. if they could only take one bag of stuff somewhere with them: what would they pack? what do they consider their essentials?

books books books! arden will read through books over and over and not get tired of them. endless entertainment. but also, books about subjects she doesn’t know very much about--like architecture, she loves learning about architecture and design. she can’t fit them in the bag but she’d take castor and pollux, the dogs, of course; wherever she goes they go!

#ask games #ash.txt #ch: arden hale #tomexraider #dove ilysm

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joonapeach · 5 years ago

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a 2k word drabble about detective oc who’s after wanted criminal artist taehyung except the catch is that they used to be in love in uni until their differing ideologies and means of achieving justice put them against each other

ok enjoy maybe i’ll write more idk

“Thinking of running?” you smile obnoxiously at him. Staring him up and down, you let your gaze linger on the handcuffs on his hands at the table, all with the intention of rattling him.

Whether he notices or not, he’s unaffected. He smiles back just as obnoxiously, perhaps an ounce too much, making you uneasy.

“Why would I ever dream of running?” Taehyung grins, looking up at you with big doe-eyes. “I’m right where I want to be after all. It’s been too long since I last saw you.”

You ignore his statement, pulling up a chair from the side of the room. His eyes don’t take a second away from you, and it bothers you. It bothers you that Taehyung is still the same each time you cross paths.

From behind the one-way glass of the investigation room, all your superiors and colleagues were probably watching intently. They got to be the lucky audience to your reunion with the man you once almost gave your heart to.

Keeping your watchful colleagues in mind, you straighten your back and give a stoic glance towards Taehyung. He looks at you the same as always. But you weren’t the same as his memory. You had a career now, and your career depended on this right now - your career depended on stopping the crimes that had created chaos in the country.

Your career depended on a fool like Taehyung.

“We’ll keep it simple and start from the beginning,” you clear your throat, sitting down across from him. “Walk us through your crimes.”

“Through my crimes?” he cocks a brow, laughing in disbelief. “Come on, _____. Don’t be boring.”

“Mr. Kim-”

“Mr. Kim, now am I?” his eyes glint with the question, unabashedly winking.

You glare at him, your hands shaking ever so slightly before you quickly regain composure. Not here… not now.

“Talking about my crimes… that’s no fun. All I do is paint some walls. I’m more curious about you now. How’ve things been lately?”

Your jaw drops. “Paint some walls?” you repeat in a scoff. “You vandalize the most important buildings in the country, Mr. Kim. And that is only a small portion of your crime. You and your group are arsonists.”

“But my art is pretty though, isn’t it?” he smiles softly, focusing an intent stare on you as if searching for an answer. “You used to love seeing all the new things I’d make.”

You freeze, your head subconsciously snapping to see the glass through which all your colleagues were watching. Of course, you couldn’t see a thing from your end. But you could only hope things from their end didn’t look so compromising for you.

“Tell us how Mosaic chooses the targets. What’s your motive?”

“Ah… that reminds me. Remember in college, every time I’d come running to show you a new piece, that dick, Theo, would always be there. Do you still let him hang around you?” Taehyung tilts his head, curiously blinking at you. Your eyes widen at his evasion of your questions. “He should thank me, you know. The only reason you ended up giving someone like him a chance was because I dropped out. We all know if I’d stayed till graduation, it’d be us that-”

“Mr. Kim, what is your motive?” you jump to cut him off, loudly enunciating each syllable so to block Taehyung’s rambling words from reaching your audience’s ears. He gives a small smile at your frenzy before responding.

“I just wanna make the world a prettier place, _____. You know that’s all I’ve ever wanted,” he says sincerely, looking innocently at you.

“Why is Mosaic burning down so many institutional buildings these last few months?” you press on. “You all would never aim to go that far last year. Something’s changed.“

“You’re right. We’re in a hurry now, so we stopped wasting time on the baby steps,” he shrugged, smiling once again. “That and I started running out of designs. It’s hard work for me to churn out that drawing every month, y’know?”

You could scream in your frustration. He’s giving you nothing.

Your fists clench, your eyes shoot to the clock and you’re realizing Taehyung’s game. Three minutes had passed in this room and he hadn’t said anything of value yet. Any longer and you’d be removed from questioning him and still no closer to putting an end to a year long case.

But you know better. If someone like Taehyung and his group could be stopped with a few questions and threats of torture, you would have caught them all already.

Exhaling, you decide to take a different approach. “How do you decide what to paint?”

He beams, pleased with your different question. “Hmm... just this and that, you know. I give it some thought. We’re telling a story here so the message has to be clear in the art. Otherwise we’re just burning down buildings without a point,” he pouts. “You know, you should all spend some time on Reddit, _____. They’ve done a pretty good job analyzing my art. Better than you anyway… which sucks, considering you should know my-”

“Tell us what your plan is,” you interrupt as soon as you feel him begin to digress. “These attacks are becoming too frequent and large-scale now. There’s bystanders and deaths at each one. Do you realize what you’re doing?”

He pauses, blinking. “I’m making a change, _____. While you and Theo and Yunseo and all of you all were wasting hours in class trying to learn how to stop the bad guys, I actually went out and did it first-hand. We’re not the villains here.”

“You’re killing innocent people each time you mark a building with your art, Taehyung,” you plead softly, holding his stare. At the sound of his name, his eyes shut. “Please. Reconsider this. Work with us and I promise you, we can give the change you’re looking for.”

“We’ve done more in the last three months than your teams have in this year,” he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, _____. But I’ve already chosen my side.”

Your body stiffens and any sense of mercy you were willing to have washes away.

“Well, you’ve chosen the wrong one,” you say as a matter-of-fact. “You were caught painting the wall at the railway station. Now, Mosaic’s prime artist has been arrested, the station has been evacuated and lookout teams are there hunting your group,” you announce, carefully watching his face to note his defeat.

There’s nothing. He barely even blinks, before sadly looking up at you and saying, “You should really go see my art, _____.”

You halt, raising your brows at his words. “That’s all you want to say?”

“I always do the hidden details you like to look for,” he says with a grin he fights to keep off his face. “You should go see.”

You scoff. “What are you talking about, Taehyung?”

His eyes twinkle with a look that reminds you all too much of the boy from your past.

“You know. You said you liked seeing something for the first time and thinking you understood it all, but when you looked closer, you found something else entirely. Didn’t you say that’s why you chose to become a detective?”

Your blood runs cold and your expression drops. Perhaps to another detective, to any one of your colleagues watching this interaction, this would seem like a passing remark. Maybe a little strange, but everything that came from Taehyung was granted to be a little strange.

But to you, the words carry a different weight. You could blame it on the years spent by his side or you could blame it on the feelings that you carry around like a guilty burden. Nonetheless, there was something in what he said that pricked you.

“Finding something else?” your brows furrow as you jump up from your seat.

He nods, pausing to look at you for a moment too long. “Hm. Finding something else, somewhere else? You were always good at figuring things out.”

You stop for a second, blinking at him before running towards the door of the room. Your heartbeat rings in your ears and you burst the door open before screaming like a madwoman at all the people inside.

“CALL EVERYONE! WE GOT THE WRONG LOCATION! IT’S A TRAP!”

Your few words invoke manic across the room. It’s all in fast motion now, and your head spins from the way everyone in the room races to move. Your colleagues rush out the door to contact other teams, you hear your superiors call the officers on lookout to tell them to change location. There’s a few moments where it all moves so fast and you can barely recognize anything around you.

Then suddenly, it stops. Your captain yells in madness, sinking to the floor and it’s quiet across the room. He smashes the phone that was on his ear to the wall.

“What… what happened?” a detective from beside you asks hesitantly.

Another detective shakes as she stares at her phone. “This was a distraction,” she slowly says. “All of this… they… Mosaic is burning City Hall to the ground,” she cries.

For the second time in the last five minutes, you feel fear overcome your body, threatening to tremble you till you’d have no control over yourself. But you quickly steady yourself, just for one last thing.

You already know what awaits you as you run back into the questioning room, but for the sake of the small chance you’re wrong, you still check. All that remains inside is two empty chairs and a pair of handcuffs lying on the table.

Kim Taehyung was gone. And he left nothing to show for it.

* *

You’ve felt crazy many times because of him. You remember in university, you once spent hours everyday researching art history and painters just to have topics in common with him. You would change your route back to your dorm to pay visits to places he’d be or art galleries, learning more about him just so you could be close to him. Perhaps the time you felt the craziest of all was when you found out he had dropped out of university to join a group of misfits who’d claimed they would change the world, and considered whether you should follow him in his descent to madness.

But you steady yourself. You always do. You pride yourself on following your instinct and your logic, not your heart and whatever it calls.

That’s, after all, why you’re here today. Standing at the wall in the empty railway station he’d last painted before pulling off the biggest attack the Mosaics had done yet. It only seemed right to look for any traces of Taehyung in his art.

Once you approach it closer, you take it all in. He was right. You should’ve come to see his art all this time.

No longer was he the artist he was when he was the boy you loved. No, now he was… something much more magnificent now. His style had evolved and he tackled much more complex and large designs now. You were honestly impressed at the way he had managed to create a mural like this inconspicuously, before letting himself get caught.

The large strokes of the red paint create an imaginative face of a man, and inside the details, Taehyung’s included a variety of colors and details.

You stare at it for a few moments, looking at each edge of the picture. Minutes pass by before you try to tear yourself away and head home.

As you take a few steps back, you give the wall one last glance. You look at every corner and every edge, at the eyes of the man, his mouth, his hair. You think about Taehyung coming here in the dead of the night, taking the utmost care to paint every small stroke and detail to create this piece. You wonder if this was another world, would he come running after you just as he once did to show you what he’d created. The thought makes you laugh and you slowly walk away.

But then you stop in your tracks. The right shoulder of the man catches your eye. Something in the style of the shading, the strokes, the way the colors mix perfectly everywhere else but here… it all looks off to you.

Instead of stepping closer, you cautiously take a few steps back. The darkness of the station hinders you from focusing carefully on the spot and you turn on your phone flashlight, pointing it at the wall.

Tilting your head, you can see it now. What seemed like a small error of technique on an otherwise perfect piece, now read something out to you. Deliberately hidden in the details.

You exhale a chuckle before walking away. You two were a predictable cliche. Against all odds, you wound up standing against the boy you once thought would always be by your side. And against all odds, he was running from the girl he wanted to stay by.

And although they shouldn’t, the words on the painting make you happy. Because you know despite everything, you mean them too.

I’m sorry. I love you.

i had an alternate ending (you can read it here) but i decided against it bc i like the way i wrote this one more hehe anyways if u read this thanks

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