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reidgraygubler · 4 years ago

Text

carolina (spencer reid/reader

Title: Carolina

Request: no, but it was written for @spencerreidbingo

Couple: spencer reid/fem!reader

Category: smut/angst, with a tiny bit of fluff

Content Warning: SEXUAL CONTENT (praise kink, mild-innocence kink, daddy kink, fingering, oral (male & female), penetrative sex, unprotected sex/cream pie, grinding/petting, hairpulling, breathplay, multiple orgasms, possessive kink, orgasm denial), partying, drinking, swearing, large age gap (between two consenting adults), professor/student, post prison!reid, quick mentions of drinks being drugged (but not actually happening) (if I missed anything, please let me know)

Word Count: 9,064

Summary: Spencer thinks his peer is innocent. But little does he not, she’s not as innocent as he thinks.

A/N: it’s based on carolina by harry styles, bc im a sucker for a good harry song. This was written for @spencerreidbingo (i’ll have a separate post with more about that). this takes up the breathplay square on my card (pictured below). This is also the first time im writing a blowjob scene, so im really sorry if it’s not good. i also didn’t have a beta for this, so im kinda blindly posting this. and, lastly, this is a lot longer than i intended. i didn’t mean for it to get this long… it’s just a bunch of words my brain wouldn’t stop saying until i wrote it... i seriously hope you all enjoy this. thank you all for the love and support! check out my masterlist!

~*~* THIS DOES CONTAIN 18+ CONTENT!! *~*~

{***}{***}{***}

I kept my eyes low as I stepped into the lecture hall 5 minutes before anyone else. The professor was writing something on the chalkboard, so his back was facing the room.

“Uh, hello,” I spoked, stepping closer to his desk. He jumped slightly and dropped his chalk at the sound of my voice. I would have expected him to know students would be showing up earlier, considering it was the start of a new semester. And, I honestly would have assumed he was told a new student was coming. That’s not my job.

“Oh, sorry,” he turned around to face me. I smiled softly, watching

as he bent down to pick up the chalk. I cocked my head to the side, watching his backside as he stood back up. He pushed his hair away from his face. “You must be the new transfer,” he asked, resting the chalk on his desk, beside a pile of pens.

“Yep. That’s me…” I smiled, looking up at his face, keeping myself from further checking him out. I quickly offered my hand and gave him my name. “I know I’m early. I figured I’d get the syllabus from you now instead of after class,” I nodded as I adjusted my grip on my bag. He stared at me for a moment, his eyes lingering on my face and then down my body, and that moment felt like an eternity. I shouldn’t be mad or frustrated with him. I basically did the same thing to him moments ago.

I cleared my throat to get his attention once again. “The, uh… The syllabus?” I asked as my smile faltered slightly. He looked at me before looking at the pile of papers on his desk before quickly moving.

“Right, right, sorry,” he muttered as he began shuffling through the piles of paper on his desk. “Um, here you are,” he looked back up at me as he handed me a small packet. I looked at it for a moment before looking back up at the teacher.

“Perfect, thank you,” I spoke, my words kind of lingering because he never actually gave me his name.

“Right, sorry, Spencer. Spencer Reid. I won’t be a drill sergeant about the whole Mr., Dr., Professor. You can call me whatever you want,” he smiled as he placed his hands on the back of his chair. I held back my laughter and the wildly inappropriate joke that I wanted to make.

“Well, Professor Reid,” I smiled as I looked down at my watch, “I better go find a seat before your class starts. I can’t wait to be in your class,” I looked up at him before turning to find a spot. When I sat down, Spencer looked at me with a smile, before going back to writing on the chalkboard.

I quickly and quietly pulled out my books and pens as the other people in the class filed in and took their seats. Spencer quickly finished writing on the board before turning around to greet the class. And, even as he spoke to the class, and looked around at each of the other students, his eyes always landed on me, lingering for a moment before going elsewhere.

{***}{***}{***}

Five months. Five months into being in Spencer Reid’s class, and I have been suffering. I’m not a new student anymore. But the only friendship I’ve made is with my fucking professor, and there’s a certain level of tension between us. That tension was probably thanks to him staring at me during lectures, and me teasing him while he taught. It wasn’t too bothersome, but I definitely wanted something to happen. Unfortunately for me, I don’t think anything will happen.

So, can someone please tell me why I invited Spencer over to help me study for a test? It’s a stupid question too, that I already figured out the answer to… I even finished studying for the day, and I’m going to a stupid party. Maybe I could get him to go with… And maybe, just maybe, something could happen.

I nearly jumped when there was a knock on the door. It’s not that I forgot he was coming over. It’s that I was so wrapped up in doing my makeup and forgot what time it was. My mascara almost smudged when I jumped back. Thank God it didn’t smudge too terribly.

I grabbed my shirt off the counter and threw it on (not bothering to zip it), before running to the front door. I smoothed out my skirt before pulling the door open. And, there stood Spencer.

“Hope I’m not too late,” he looked down at me and smiled. Although, his smile didn’t stay for too long when he saw what I was wearing. He wasn’t disappointed though, no. He was… He clearly liked what he saw, I’ll just put it that way.

“Oh! Thanks for coming over, but I actually figured it out. I should’ve called you,” I looked up at Spencer as he stepped into my apartment. I struggled to zip the back of my blouse as I walked towards my room. I looked back over my shoulder and noted that Spencer was, indeed, still following me. “Can you zip me up,” I stopped in my tracks before giving up on zipping my blouse. It was a black crop top that paired well with the pale pink tennis skirt.

“Where… Where exactly are you going tonight? It’s a, uh, it’s a school night,” he asked as he lifted his hands. The cool metal of the zipper pressed against my back, causing a shiver to go through my spine.

“Uh, there’s this party,” I answered, stepping away from him and towards the bathroom, “Thought I’d go,” I looked at him in the mirror. Spencer looked around the bathroom, at the messy mess I had made on my counter. Different pallets of makeup and tools were strewn about, a varying amount of hair care products tossed here and there. It honestly looked like a bathroom of a pageant queen, and not a 20-something-year-old. In my defense, I had to dress to impress someone here in this stupid university.

“Is that, uh… Is that smart?” Spencer asked, leaning against the door jamb. I looked up at him as I put on some luxurious red lipstick. I smiled as I looked at him.

“I think it is,” I laughed as I picked up something else and turned to look at him, “You wanna come? I wasn’t invited,” I smiled wickedly as I looked at him. His face paled two shades as he looked at me. “Oh, c’mon, Professor, no one will know us there, and I can assure you, no one will even see us,” I looked up at him as I readjusted his tie. He looked down at me before swallowing roughly.

“I don-”

“I do need a designated driver,” I spoke before cutting him off. I walked past him and towards my room. Part of me wondered what he was thinking as I so rudely rushed past him, or cut him off, or whatever I was doing. I wished I could hear his thoughts. I wondered if they consisted of “The mouth on that girl,” or, “I should punish her for the way she’s acting,” or, my personal favorite, “I should put that mouth to good use,”

“How old are you again?” Spencer asked once I sat down on my bed. I looked up at him as I slipped my shoes on.

“22,” I smiled and stood up, “Why, is that important?” I smiled as I grabbed my coat and purse.

“Couldn’t remember,” he lied. We both knew he was lying. He even knew that too. Freaking walking computer is what he is. There's no way he conveniently forgot how old I was. “Are you going to be out late?”

“Why? It’s not like you’re my dad or anything?” I laughed, leading him back to the front door of the house. “I don’t plan on being out too late. I know there’s class tomorrow,” I shrugged as I walked towards his car.

We both stayed silent as he drove with the directions I was quietly giving him. I was pleasantly happy that we were both quiet, but what I hated was the sudden awkward sexual tension that was between us. If he didn’t have this… domineering personality over me there probably wouldn’t be this tension between us.

“Are you going to come with me?” I looked up at him as I unbuckled. He glanced over at me with slight disappointment in his eye. I felt a little bad, but I really wanted to go to this party, I wasn’t going to let my professor’s disappointment stop me. “Please,” I whispered. He sighed before unbuckling himself. I had to force myself to not verbally giggle with excitement before slipping out of the car. Spencer looked down at me as I twisted my hips to swish my skirt. I smiled as I entertained myself. I'm sure if I wasn't watching my skirt, I would have been staring at him, giving myself away.

“Steps,” Spencer muttered as we got closer to the porch. I looked up at him before looking towards the small staircase. I looked up at Spencer with a smile. He glanced back down at me, a worried crease in his brow. I looked down at my skirt and smoothed it out. I looked at the door as we stood close to it, I contemplated knocking.

“So, you weren’t invited to this party?” Spencer asked, looking down at me. His voice stopped me from knocking. Instead, I looked up at him and smiled back up at him. He raised an eyebrow as he waited for an answer from me. My smile grew playful as I looked back at the door, raising my fist to knock on it. “No answer?” he asked, still waiting for my answer.

“Oh, please, Professor Reid, I can get into the hottest parties in LA without an invitation,” I smiled at him. That was a little bit of an over-exaggeration. Most college parties I could get into. But not LA parties. Someday though…

The door swung open, and we were instantly met with loud music blaring through a speaker somewhere in the house. People’s voices and chatter carried all throughout the house, coming through the various rooms and clusters around. “Are you coming in to babysit me? Or, are you going to go back to your car to read the science of the mathematical phenomenon,” I looked up at him, offering my hand to him. I wasn’t exactly sure if that was a real book or not, but I wouldn’t put it past Spencer to read.

“I’m not babysitting you,” he corrected as he looked down at me with a disappointed look in his eye. I smiled and rolled my eyes.

“Are you going to come in and watch me drink and party and have fun, Professor… Or, are you going to go back to your car and read your silly little book,” I looked down at my hand, silently telling him to take my hand and come in with me.

“I, uh, I don’t think it’s exactly in the rules for a professor to party, let alone drink, with their students,” Spencer spoke before looking down at my hand. I dropped my shoulders and looked up at him.

“Fine then… Suit yourself,” I turned around and basically skipped into the house, leaving the door open for him. I made my way towards the loud kitchen and grabbed for a cup and bottle of whatever booze was nearby. I blindly grabbed for a bottle of Grey Goose and dumped it into the cup, no mixer, no chaser.

“First off,” Spencer’s voice came from beside me. I looked up at him and took a long sip of vodka. “You shouldn’t be taking drinks from people at a party,” he spoke, taking the cup from me. I looked up at him, then the bottle and a new cup. I was only a little annoyed that he took my drink.

“I… I’m young. I’m not dumb,” I grabbed a new cup and poured more vodka. I looked up at him and offered him a sip. “I know not to drink something given to me by someone I don’t know.” I scoffed before taking another long sip. I cringed a bit at how strong it was.

“Even then someone could slip something into a drink! Even if you did know them!” Spencer exclaimed, causing the surrounding people to turn and look at us. I dropped my shoulders as I looked up at him.

“If you look around, Spencer, you’re the only person that I know. So unless you’re the one slipping something into my drink… And, as an FBI agent… I don’t think you would,” I cocked my head to my shoulder. Spencer looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “You have more to say,” I added before taking a sip of my drink.

"And, secondly, you're not as innocent as I had originally thought you were," he watched as I brought the cup of straight vodka to my lips. He looked rather unamused with my talent for drinking straight vodka.

"You thought I was innocent?" I asked, nearly sputtering the liquid with my laughter. "Please! I've never been innocent in my entire life!" I shouted over the music. He raised an eyebrow at my statement, and suddenly I had the greatest idea in the world. "But maybe, just for you, I'll be a good girl," I smiled before drinking the rest of my drink in one go. Spencer looked down at me, his lips pressed into a fine as he stared down at me. Ohh, that definitely awoken something in him. I bit back my smile with my offer. Innocent… He thinks I’m innocent. Ha! I honestly don’t remember the last time I was innocent. And, honestly, just for him… I’d be an innocent, good, little girl for Spencer Reid any day, every day even. “I can be your good, innocent little girl,” I smiled at him and cocked my head.

"I don't… I don't think that'd be… appropriate," he spoke, his words very quiet. We both knew that even though it was inappropriate, we both wanted it. We both knew what we wanted to.

I glanced at him before pouring more drink for myself. "You should learn to pace yourself," he stated and changed the subject. He nervously looked at the bottle of vodka and then around the room at all the other people drinking. Or, he was just looking for a drink that wasn’t booze. Did he actually want to keep me safe, or was I just overreading him?

"It's a college party, Professor! I'm not going to pace myself!" I shouted just to get his attention back to me. His head shot back down to me. The level of concern on his face only made me feel a little bad, mostly because he was concerned for me. But, he should know… This is a college party. “Do you want some?” I asked, offering my drink to him again. I held it up to him, close to his lips. His face twisted up as soon as the scent of pure vodka hit his nose.

“No, no thanks,” he held up at hand to block the cup from his face. I pouted before bringing it to my lips. “Do you usually come to parties,” he asked, his eyes darting around the room. Part of me wondered if he wanted to continue that question with “Like this?” But, I was too busy keeping my eyes on his face, rather than looking around the room like he was. Although, I’m sure he was used to keeping an eye on his surroundings. I’ve never been too worried about it, I probably should… But hey, you only live once. Going to college parties with your 38-year-old professor, and drinking straight vodka, and not really caring about your surroundings proves my point of YOLO.

“If I don’t have class or anything to study for… Yep,” I looked up at him with a sneaky smile. The joke with that was his particular class had a test coming up soon, and I should be studying for it. He knew that too because he just announced the test this morning. Although, he did come to my home, to help me with said test. “But, I wouldn't show up to his class hungover. It��d disappoint him too much. And, he’d care too much about me to even focus on the rest of the class,” I spoke, answering the questions he was thinking. It’s not like I’ve shown up to classes hungover before. Granted, I’ve never shown up to his class drunk or hungover. Mostly because I didn’t want to disappoint him, and only him. Anyone and everyone else can go blow themselves.

“How do you know that?” Spencer asked, looking back at me with furrowed eyebrows. I smiled and stepped closer to him.

“How do I know what?” I cocked my head to my shoulder. I already knew what he meant by his question, but… I think teasing him and messing with him is fun. And, he knew that too.

“How do you know that you’d disappoint him?” he looked down at me, pressing his chin to his chest to get a better look at me. His hands were away from me, even though I really wanted his hands anywhere on me. I looked over at my hand and the cup I held before bringing it to my lips. I took a long sip, trying to finish the contents in one go. I tossed the cup over my shoulder and looked up at him with a lazy smile.

“Because being hungover, with the slight possibility of still being drunk, would totally disappoint him… And I would hate to disappoint him.” I whispered and shook my head. Spencer looked down at me with something in his eyes, and I loved the way he looked at me. “I told you, Professor, I’d be a good girl for you,” I cocked my head to my shoulder and smiled, “And only for you,”

“You’re drunk,” he pointed out an obvious fake statement. So, I cackled and shook my head.

“I had one drink,” I scoffed and waved off my in the air, “Most definitely not enough to get me drunk,” I flattened his tie out before gripping it tightly, “Like I said, I wouldn’t want to disappoint you,” I smiled before dropping my hand from his tie, “So, why would I show up to your class… Hungover…? I know you’d care… And I know it’d disappoint you. That’s the last thing I want to do to you,”

Spencer’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed roughly. He quickly looked between me and the room, then back at me, then around the room. I faked a yawn before looking away from him.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom, okay, Professor?” I smoothed out his jacket before turning and leaving him alone in the kitchen. I smiled as I skipped away from him, my skirt swishing with my movement. I secretly hoped he’d follow me. But, a quick glance over my shoulder told me he was still in the kitchen.

However, when I finished my business and left the bathroom, Spencer was leaning against the wall right beside the door. I looked up at him and smiled.

“Follow me,” he muttered, grasping my wrist and pulling me down the various halls and past multiple groups of people. I giggled the harder his grasp grew on me and the faster he moved. I’m happy people were too busy with themselves to notice a 30-something-year-old man was dragging a 20-something-year-old girl down the hall, to which I can assume was one of the only open bedrooms. Fuck… I hope it's a bedroom.

He was a man on a mission. Not letting anyone get in his way. The smile that grew on my lips was pure excitement. I couldn’t help it. I’m sure we’re both getting what we wanted… I hope.

I let out an excited yelp when he shoved me into, exactly what I thought, an empty bedroom. I’m surprised he knew that there’d be an empty room. Most of them are occupied, with couples (or more) doing exactly what I hope we’re about to do. Which was fuck each other.

Spencer slammed the door shut, and quickly locked it before pushing me against it. I looked up at him and giggled like a fucking kid in a candy store. Again, I couldn’t help it.

Spencer was quiet, which led me to be quiet. The air in between us quickly grew hot and tense and thick. I really wanted this to move faster, but I wanted him to be the one in charge. I was willing to let this be slow and let him be in charge. So, when he grabbed both my wrists and held them above my head, I smiled so hard my cheeks began to hurt.

“Tell me what you want,” Spencer’s voice was low and deep as he moved close to me. There was little to no space between us. Which left little to the imagination, for me anyway.

I looked up at him, with the biggest doe eyes I could muster, silently telling him that I wanted the most, in the entire world, was to be on my knees, with his hand tangled in my hair, and his cock down my throat, or to be fucked so hard that I won’t be able to sit properly for several days. But, I couldn’t be that blunt. You gotta play up to that moment before you get it. I’m sure in the end though, I’ll get both things.

I swallowed roughly, trying to think of what to say, because, like I said, I can’t just be blunt yet. So, when I opened my mouth and words just came out, I was pleasantly surprised with what was said. “You’re old enough to be my father, Professor,” I smiled at him as he pinned me against the door. He pressed his hips against mine to keep me against the surface. I could feel a large bulge against my inner thigh, causing me to shiver. “Does that mean I get to call you daddy,” I whispered as I looked up at him through my eyelashes. He is the one who said I could call him whatever I wanted… And he did just ask me what I wanted, and I guess I wanted to call him ‘Daddy’. There was no guessing about him.

Okay, he wasn't exactly old enough to be my father. But he was a lot older than me. Most 20-something-year-olds aren't sleeping with men 15 years older than them… and most 20-something-year-olds aren't sleeping with their professor… I just wanted an excuse to call him 'Daddy'. And he knew that too. So, if we gave each other an excuse for that to happen, then that was all I needed.

I dropped my head to my shoulder to allow him to attack the space on my neck. He dragged his nose across my jawbone before stilling. His lips were just over my neck. As his breathing got heavier, it tickled across my skin.

“That does have a nice ring to it,” Spencer hummed as he dropped my hands and stepped away from me. I swallowed roughly as I stared at him. I missed having his body pressed against mine, and he knew that.

I looked at him as I brought my hands to his belt. "I thought you said this wasn't appropriate, Daddy," I whispered as I quickly undid the belt buckle, without looking. I almost couldn’t move fast enough to unbutton and zip his pants. If he wanted me to stop, he would have stopped me by now. “Can I?” I looked up at him, a plea in my eyes.

"You've changed my mind," he muttered, watching me with such close intent, “God, please keep going,” he spoke like if I did stop now he’d probably die. I looked up at him as I slipped my hand into the waistband of his boxers. He hissed as my fingers brushed against his cock. A small smile grew on my lips.

“Didn’t take much convincing,” I smiled as my fingers wrapped around him. A small groan fell from his lips as I looked up at him. When I pulled my hand away from him not even a moment later, he looked down at me with an alarmed expression on his face. I quickly spat on my palm before sticking my hand down his pants. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” I whispered as I slowly stroked up and down his length. I couldn’t believe it was actually happening.

“I’ve wanted this since you stepped foot in my classroom,” his voice was low and gravely as he spoke. My breathing picked up a little bit as I looked up at him.

Okay… Maybe he did know how long I’ve wanted this. Because I also wanted this the second I stepped into his lecture hall. I wanted his cock in my hands and his hand around my throat. It only took-what, five months for this? I’ll make it worth the wait.

“Does that feel good,” I whispered, carefully picking up speed and adding the slightest bit of pressure in my grip. Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut as he swallowed roughly and nodded. I smiled before pulling my hand away from him, again. I slowly lowered to my knees and kept my eyes on his face.

Spencer looked down at him as he gently pushed his fingers through my hair. His fingers gripping hard on my roots before pulling hard. I smiled before very slowly pulling down his slacks and boxers in one go. I was only a little bit intimidated by his size, but the excitement I felt went straight to my core.

I took a deep breath and swallowed roughly before looking up at him. My mouth fell open, and my tongue stuck out, silently telling him that it was okay. Although I don’t really know why I was telling him that it was okay, we both knew what we wanted, and it was only going to take me doing one thing.

I made eye contact with him as I ran my tongue on the side of his cock. Our eye contact didn’t last long, mostly because he let out a moan and dropped his head back. I smiled as I licked across his tip. A sweet and salty taste was on my tongue.

My jaw fell slack as I carefully took his length into my mouth. I closed my lips around him before slowly bobbing my head, with my tongue swirling around the underside of his cock. I wrapped a hand around what wouldn’t fit into my mouth. And wrapped my free arm around his leg for support.

The sounds of his moans and grunts filled the mostly quiet room. Music, although muffled through the walls and door, could still be heard from outside of our own world behind the door and four walls.

“You were right,” he struggled to speak through groans, “You aren’t as innocent as I thought,” Spencer's hand had a rough hold in my hair as he held me against him. His cock was penetrating my throat, and breathing was beginning to get difficult. My eyes grew wet and tears grew in the corners of my eyes.

“You’re such a good girl,” he looked down at me as the tears started to roll down my cheeks. I wouldn’t be surprised if my makeup started smudging and I looked like an adolescent raccoon. “You look so pretty with my cock down your throat,” he struggled to let out a coo, before moving his hips closer to my face.

Everything about this moment, his hand in my hair, the sounds he was making, the way he smelled, being here… Was intoxicating. I’d give anything to be in this moment again. And I’d give anything to get this moment sooner.

My knees would hate me in the morning, I just know it. I could already sense the dreaded carpet burn before he even started. But, in all honesty, it’d be worth it. Walking into class tomorrow morning, with bruises and day-old wounds on my knees, just to see his expression.

As I began to pick up pace, the sounds Spencer was making started to become more urgent, easily telling me he was close. But, before he could finish, I pulled away from him, crashing into the wall to get away from his grasp. He looked down at me with a mild frustration on his face. I smiled before wiping my chin clean of spit.

“I guess chivalry is dead. Whatever happened to ladies first?” I asked, my voice a rasp from how raw my throat was. I looked up at him, feeling a certain level of sass grow in my smile. Spencer quickly tucked himself back into his pants before grabbing my hand.

“Come on, on your feet,” he muttered as he pulled me back up to a standing position. I nearly toppled over into him if he didn’t hold me upright. I looked up at him and smiled.

“Bed… Now?” I whispered, my tone showing how urgent I was. It’s not that I wanted this over with, it's that I wanted everything to happen to me all at once, and I wanted it to last for a long time.

Spencer nodded before cupping my face in his hands. He was harsh when he pressed his lips to mine, like his life depended on it, if he did kiss me now the world would end. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he started guiding me towards the bed. And when the edge of the bed hit the back of my legs, he pushed me back onto it. I quickly moved so my head was resting on the pillows. Spencer was quick to take his cardigan off and be over me.

“You’re not going to fail me, are you,” I joked as he quickly started leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses on my neck. He lifted his head and looked down at me with confusion on his face. “If I’m a bad fuck,”

“If you ask that again, or bring up class while we’re doing this… Then yes,” he muttered as he looked at me. I laughed as I pushed my fingers through his hair.

“Oh, shut up,” I laughed as I pulled him down to kiss him, again. One of his hands landed on top of my breast, carefully kneading it, causing me to moan into his mouth.

His hand slowly drifted away from my chest. I pressed my head into the pillow and looked up at him with a smirk. He carefully dragged his fingers up from my chest to the base of my neck, causing me to let out a shaky gasp. I wanted fingers and a hand around my neck, carefully cutting off my airway just right. Suddenly, I never wanted something so badly in my life. Something dark flashed in his eyes as he looked down at me like he knew what I was about to say.

“Do it… I fucking dare you,” I muttered, placing both my hands around his wrist. My nose twitched as I stared at him. “I said fucking do it,” I spat, pushing his hand down more onto my neck. My words slowly got cut off as the pressure in his hand and fingers tightened around my neck. A moan struggled to escape me, but did eventually fall from my lips. He seemed pretty happy with that.

“Is that good,” his voice was a growl. I looked at him and moaned.

“Harder,” I begged, my voice growing raspier the more I spoke. He smirked before allowing his grip to tighten. His other hand was still sitting on top of my hips, and I could tell where he wanted to put it. I’d be a dirty, rotten liar if I didn’t want his hand up my skirt. In fact, I’d love it if he did more than just his hand.

Spencer swallowed roughly before finally sneaking a hand up my skirt and resting it on my underwear. My grip around his wrist got tighter as he pushed past my underwear and past my folds. My eyes fluttered closed as another moan was strangled in my throat.

“You’re so wet,” he purred as he slowly moved a finger around my clit. I looked up at him, as I struggled to swallow roughly. A dark smirk grew on his lips as he watched me struggle for a moment. “Does that feel good,” he asked, mildly mocking me from earlier. His movements picked up speed just a little bit, and my body reacted, well tried to react.

“Oh, you’re such a good girl,” he looked down at me. His pupils were so blown I could nearly see my reflection in them. “Another thing you were right about,�� he whispered as he slipped a finger into my entrance, and curled it just right. My vision slowly blurred before my eyes rolled into the back of my head. Another moan struggled to escape my throat as Spencer added a second finger.

My body was on autopilot as I lifted my hand and hit his wrist a few times, telling him that I desperately needed to breathe. When I reopened my eyes, I looked up at him a moment before he removed his hand from my neck. Worry and concern flashed in his eyes as I breathed. Air burned like fire in my lungs as I took a deep breath. As I exhaled a loud moan followed behind, easily telling Spencer and I that I had reached my first orgasm of the night. I just hope there will be more...

“You did such a good job, Princess,” Spencer whispered as he looked down at me. With his free hand, he brushed the tears away from my cheeks. He carefully withdrew his hand from between my legs and held them up to his face. He looked at them for a moment before placing them in his mouth, sucking and licking them clean. I took a shaky breath and nodded.

He very sloppily pressed his lips to mine, then on the corner of my lips, and down my jaw, and neck. With one quick movement, a loud rip filled the room, as he tore my shirt off my body. I looked up at him with shock in my eyes. To be fair, that shirt was flimsy, to begin with. I was more worried about leaving my chest so exposed as we left the party.

“Oh, I’ll give you my sweater,” Spencer muttered before attacking my neck and then down to my collarbones, and over my breasts. I gasped as he wrapped his lips around a nipple.

“Mmm, Daddy,” I whimpered as I shifted under him. I brought my hands back up to his hair, tangling my fingers in the hairs on his neck. When he sensed that I was growing restless (even though he just started), he quickly left wet kisses down the rest of my body

“I like the way that sounds coming from your mouth,” he whispered once he was in between my legs. I looked down at him just as he looked up at me. “Good on your end for wearing such a short skirt,” he smiled before pressing his lips to my inner thigh. A shaky breath tumbled from my lips as I looked at him. “Makes for easier access,” he added before going higher up on my leg.

“You’re not going fast enough,” I whined as he just kept kissing, or licking, or rubbing my inner thighs. It was honestly getting annoying. I kind of felt bad for him. Considering I’ve already cum once, and I got him close but didn’t let him finish.

“I’m not going fast enough?” Spencer looked up at me. I shot him a scowl as I shifted slightly on the bed. Spencer looked back down the apex of my legs before looping two fingers around the band of my underwear. As soon as I lifted my hips, he pulled my underwear off my body and chucked them to the ground beside the bed. “How’s this for fast enough,” he muttered, mostly to himself, before licking between my folds. A breath of air got caught in my lungs as my hands found their way to his hair, my fingers getting knotted up in his roots.

“Mhm, Spencer,” I gasped, rolling my hips up at him. He hummed, sending vibrations straight to my core. My legs wrapped around him, my heels digging into his back as my own back arched.

“Ohh, Daddy, please don’t stop,” I cried, pressing my head into the pillow beneath my head. My fingers pulled hard on his hair, pulling him closer to me. He hummed again as he pushed two fingers back into my entrance. My grip in his hair tightened, and I could feel my grip wanting to loosen.

My breathing picked up as a familiar feeling grew in my stomach. And all I could say was his name, and the suddenly loved nickname I had for him. He seemed to appreciate my reaction too, because he worked faster. Messy and wet sounds, mixed with my breathy moans and calls of his name filled the room, and my end was near.

“Fuck,” I shouted as I finally came undone. I could sense if I didn’t pull him away, he’d keep going, and going till I couldn’t take it anymore. And, honestly, that sounds great, but I think that’s for next time. I wanted him in me now. “Spencer, Spencer,” I cried as I tried to pull his head away, but failed so hard.

“Nuh huh,” he hummed, looking up at me. I took a deep breath and pressed my head into the pillow beneath me and threw an arm over my face. “Please, Spencer,” I cried as I bucked my hips at him, “Fuck me, please, fuck me, Daddy,” I moaned. He was going faster than before and was clearly trying to work me to the end faster too. It was hard to breathe, and speak because my words would just get stuck in my throat.

Although, when I did cum, again, for the third time tonight, Spencer did move away from my legs. He knelt between them, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. My body was shaking lightly as I tried to come down from my high.

“Please,” I whispered, lifting a hand up, trying to reach for his tie. He looked down at me with a smile and raised an eyebrow.

“Please what?”

“Please, Daddy,” I furrowed my eyebrows as I spoke. I could feel my voice becoming a little whiney. Spencer moved so he was hovering over me, his fingers gently brushing hair away from my face.

“Tell me what you want, Princess,” he whispered cupping my face in his hand. I looked up at his face, admiring his lips, and eyes, and nose, and the way his lips had a sheen from when he licked them clean and whatever was leftover from when he was eating me out.

“Please fuck me, Daddy,” I begged, begged. Spencer smiled before pressing his lips to mine for a moment. He sat up away from me to remove his sweater and shirt. My head was spinning from excitement, I didn’t even notice that he was totally undressed.

Spencer was back between my legs, looking down at me like I truly belonged right here. Or, like I was his to fuck with. Either way it was a good feeling.

“Ready?” He asked, his voice so low that I could hardly hear it over the bass of the loud music. I rapidly nodded my head, worried my answer was the wrong one. But it wasn’t. I desperately wanted this. Needed. I needed this.

Spencer hovered over me before putting an opened mouth kiss on my lips. I could hardly breathe as he rubbed the tip of his cock against my clit and entrance. I could feel a moan getting caught in the middle of my throat, my body not being about to handle anymore teasing. Until, he very slowly pushed into me.

“Oh, good girl,” he repeated. Those two words, constantly coming off his tongue. Making me feel good. The praise that I hadn’t heard in such a long time, that I longed for. Part of me wondered if he knew I wanted it. “Has someone not been taking care of you?” he asked, looking down at me. I stared at him, not trusting my own voice. My mind was too distracted with the way I felt, light and airy but at the same time full. So I shook my head.

“No, Daddy,” I whimpered and kept shaking my head. Spencer smiled before pressing his lips to mine.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you now. I’ll take care of you,” he mumbled before moving his hips. It took him a moment to get a perfect rhythm. He lips attached to different spots on my neck, leaving hickies in his wake.

“Spencer,” I whispered as I moved my head closer to my shoulder to let him have more space.

“You feel so good,” he grunted as he moved his hips so he was deeper in me, “You feel so good, and you’re all mine,” he pressed his forehead to mine as he wrapped his arms around my lower back, pulling me closer up to him. My breathing got deep, my chest heaving with each breath I took. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down, closer to my face.

“Oh, be quiet,” I whispered before putting my lips on his. He smiled before passing his tongue between my lips. A moan fell from my lips, which he seemed to enjoy… Considering it was probably just music to his ears.

“I’ll only be quiet if you keep making those little noises,” he muttered against my lips. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. He smiled again as I knotted my fingers in the hair on the back of his head.

“Faster,” I breathed out, keeping my eyes on him. Spencer laughed lightly as he picked up the speed. My hips bucked with his, meeting at the right points. “Please,” I whimpered as I threw my head back more into the pillow. He pulled his arm away from my back and brought his hand between our legs, where we met.

“It’s okay, Little Girl,” Spencer whispered before pressing his lips to the side of my face. I let out a shaky breah and arched my body into his. I couldn’t believe how good I felt. I almost wasn’t sure if it was fair that my professor was better in bed than other men my age. He was more experienced, to be fair. “You can finish, it’s okay,” he kept his voice low. It almost sounded like he was giving me permission.

I nodded my head, breathing heavily through my nose. “Mmm, Spencer,” I moaned, loudy, as my walls fluttered around him and my release came. And a few moments later, Spencer thrusted deep into me with a grunt, filling me with his essence. His body collapsed on top of me whence he finished.

“Fuck,” I muttered, my fingers still tangled in his hair. My limbs were sore and shaking slightly from the rough movements. Spencer laughed lightly, agreeing with my statement. “We can’t sleep here,” I whispered, keeping my eyes on the ceiling above us. I wished we could just sleep here, mostly because I was exhausted after everything we did.

“I know,” Spencer replied as he slowly moved off and away from me. I looked up at him with wide eyes. “You’re messy now,” he muttered as he basically tumbled off the bed. I quickly sat up, just to make sure he was okay. Although I was happy he was okay, I quickly regretted moving as fast as I did.

“Your sweater,” I mumbled, reaching out towards where his sweater was lying. He looked down at it before picking it up to hand to me. He also grabbed a fistful of tissues and moved to between my legs, again. “Just give me your boxers,” I looked at him as he wiped the insides of my thighs clean. He looked back up at me, still cleaning my legs.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” he spoke as he tossed the dirty tissues to the trash. He grabbed his slacks and boxers, tossing me his boxers. I slipped them on under my skirt, and then slipped his sweater on.

“I’d hope so,” I whispered as I stood up. My body wobbled for a second, nearly falling over, before I caught my balance. Spencer looked back at me, looking at how fucked I looked. I mean, I probably looked about the same as him.

“I’d given you a ride home either way,” he said as he redressed. I looked at him with confusion on my face. Either way? So even if we hadn’t had sex, he would have given me a ride. I asked him and he said yes. So I would hope he’d given me a ride, even if we didn’t fuck.

Once we were both ready to leave this stupid party, that I didn’t even enjoy (well, I did, I was just in a different world), or was even invited to, we walked out. It was as easy as pie. And, since no one really knew either of us were here, I won’t be known as the girl who fucked the professor.

The drive home was quiet. Like, even quieter than the drive here. He didn’t even have the music playing. I wondered if it was my fault, if he was regretting what we had done. If I had known he’d be so regretful, I wouldn’t have wanted to fuck him. But, I guess its too late now.

When I looked out the window, I realized we were parked outside my apartment building. I looked down at my attire and looked back at Spencer.

“Thanks… Thanks for the ride… And thanks for the sweater. I’ll be sure to give it back to you… Eventually,” I looked up at Spencer as I pulled the door open to leave.

“See you Thursday,” he nodded at me. I looked at him before slamming the door shut. I scoffed before turning to walk up to my home. I couldn’t want to sleep.

{***}{***}{***}

Two weeks. Two weeks since Spencer and I fucked. Okay, not too bad. I don’t regret it, and I’m not afraid to say that. However, I think he might be regretting it. Considering he’d been nothing but ignoring me since the night of the par-Well, I wouldn’t say ignoring me since then. He did fuck me in his office the following Thursday. But, it’s still been two weeks since he last said anything to me. Fuck, I’ve never been so mad.

“Good morning, Professor Reid,” I looked at him as I skipped into his lecture hall. I heard his words begin to greet me back, but fail when he saw what I was wearing. “Best get to my seat. Excited for today’s lesson,” I readjusted the cardigan that hung off my shoulders before turning to go to my seat.

I could feel his eyes burning into the back of my skull as I walked away from him. Or, was he staring at my ass. Most likely my ass. It was my ass he was staring at. I was wearing a fairly short skirt, so that’s on me. But, I’d do anything to get his attention today. And it would appear I have gotten it.

His lesson wasn’t actually anything important. It was just revision for the test coming up soon. But, it was obvious he had other things on his mind, and I was very clearly one of them. It was honestly a little distracting if I’m going to be honest.

So, I was happy when he called the end of class 5 minutes early. Although that excitement was gone the second he called my name to the front to talk. I looked at the ground as I stood by his desk, waiting for the very last person to leave so Spencer and I could have our moment alone.

“What are you doing wearing that?” Spencer asked as soon as it was just us. I tried to ignore the fact that he was trying to take the sweater off me, and made my shoulders drop.

“What? This old thing?” I asked, pulling the cardigan that he let me wear around my body. I looked back at him and smiled. He was not smiling. “You gave it to me,” I scoffed, letting him take it off me without a fight. I watched as he folded it over the back of the chair before turning to face me.

“I gave it to you so your,” his words began to get jumbled up as he gestured to my boobs, “So you weren’t exposed in front of any-”

“So no one would see what belonged to you?” I asked, folding my arms over my chest. Spencer looked down at me, a flabbergasted look on his face. I smiled and cocked my head to my shoulder.

“I… I never said that,” Spencer shook his head.

“Yeah, but you thought it,” I scoffed and rolled my eyes. Spencer looked down at me. I could tell that he was trying to be the one in charge, kinda like how he was the other night. But it was so, so clear that he couldn’t be in charge. That he wouldn’t be in charge now. That this was just embarrassing to him. Maybe that’s just how our dynamic would work. Out in public, I was the loud one, the one who made everyone think that I was in charge in the bedroom. And, Spencer, in public, was the quiet, shy, nervous one, who was clearly submissive in bed. But in actuality, he was telling me what to do, when and when I can’t cum.

“Why were you wearing that?” he asked again, his voice pulling me from my very dirty thoughts. I looked up at him and smiled.

“Because you were ignoring me! I needed to get your attention somehow! And then I remembered I still had that,” I smiled at him. I wished I still had his sweater on, because it was actually quite cozy and warm. The look he gave me made me drop my shoulders, suddenly feeling ashamed about the current situation. So, I stared at him, feeling annoyed. More annoyed than I have over the last two weeks. “Do you regret it?” I finally asked, not really knowing if he’d be mad with my question.

“Pardon me?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at me. I shook my head and looked down at the ground. “It’s not that I regret it-”

“So you do,” I looked back up at him and dropped my shoulders again. Before Spencer got the chance to say anything, I cut him off, “Oh please, you loved shoving your tongue, and cock, down my throat,” I scoffed before looking at him. The expression on his face flinched slightly as he looked back at me from behind the desk. “I get to… I get to be your good, little girl, your princess for, what, a week? A day? 12 hours? Whenever the fuck you want... And I’m supposed to go back to normal life the next day? And… And pretend that nothing happened!” I stared at him and shook my head. Spencer looked over at the door and back at me. “Thinking it’ll never happen again!” I shouted. I didn’t mean to shout, honest. But I was starting to get angry. He made me feel something like I belonged to someone. And now I don’t feel like that.

“Will you stop talking for a second,” he muttered before stepping away from me and his desk. He walked over to the door and shut it. I crossed my arms over my chest and watched as he walked back over to me. “I never said you had to pretend as if nothing happened. And I never said that I regret it,” he spoke in a harsh whisper. I looked at him with mild irritation on my face.

“It sure fucking felt like it,” I spat at him.

“You’re all I think about… Christ, I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you that. I never said you had to forget everything… Because I’ve been having a hard time forgetting it myself.” He looked up at me. I almost refused to look at him, but his voice was so soft that I had to look at him. “I never expected you to forget,” he added.

“Then why are you acting like it didn’t happen,” I stared at him before swallowing roughly, “You made me feel like I was wanted, that I belonged somewhere, with someone,” I spoke as I stepped closer to him. It was only a little bit closer to him, not as much as I wanted. But he stepped closer to me, making it so we were the closest we had been all day, in one large step. "You remind me of home," I added in a whisper. Spencer smiled and cocked his head to his shoulder.

“You do belong somewhere,” he whispered, resting his hands on my shoulders. I looked up at him, feeling my heart pick up speed, and butterflies appear in my tummy. “And that somewhere is with me,” he brought at hand to my cheek, allowing his thumb to rest on my lower lip. I looked up at him before he pressed his lips to mine.

I was honestly expecting him to say something else. I don’t know what. But I liked what he said, it made me feel really good. Like, I belonged with him, and nothing could change that.

taglist: @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto, @thebluetint

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brywrites · 4 years ago

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Lock and Key I

Summary: In which Spencer Reid stumbles upon a GED class at Millburn and feels something like hope for the first time in weeks.

[Series Masterlist]

....

The prison library is a haven, for the few minutes he’s allowed to visit twice a week. It’s quiet, secluded, and full of his favorite things – books. The selection is nowhere near as nice as his personal collection at home, or the public library, but it’s better than nothing. Without words, he’d go mad. He needs stories to keep him sane, to give him a route he can escape by.

Today though, he’s startled to walk into the small space and find twelve other prisoners inside – accompanied by a face he’s never seen before. A woman. What’s even more surprising is that she doesn’t wear the uniform of a guard or an employee. Instead she’s in Converse sneakers and a lavender polka-dotted dress. It’s been so long since he saw that color – any bright color, really. But it’s his favorite and it isn’t until that moment that the realizes how much he’s missed the simplest of things. The sight of his favorite color. Bright images in dull spaces. Things that look hopeful.

Reid isn’t sure what’s going on, but the other prisoners seem to be too absorbed in the books to notice him. Just as he’s thinking he can back away quietly and return tomorrow, she turns around, smiling at the sight of him.

“Well hello there!” she says. “Are you Luis?”

Reid tilts his head, confused. How does this stranger know his friend? “Uh, no, no I’m not. I’m sorry, who are you?”

Her smile drops, though she doesn’t seem annoyed. Merely disappointed. “Oh. They told me Luis would be joining us today, but he never showed up. I’m Y/N. I’m one of the teachers here.”

This is the first he’s heard of such a thing. “You teach?”

She nods. “That’s right! I teach a couple of different groups – a few college classes here and there, a resume workshop. This is my GED class. We’re starting a unit on British Literature so they’ve all come to pick out a novel. You must be new here,” she notes, looking him over. He can feel himself flush under her gaze. It’s been a while since someone looked at him just to see him and not to evaluate his potential as a threat or a tool. “If you’d like, you can join the class. I’ve got plenty of open seats.”

“Oh no, I don’t need a GED.”

“It’s never too late to graduate,” she says. Then, considering him, “But that’s not what you meant is it?”

The way she’s studying him makes him nervous, though he’s certain it’s the same way he’s studied suspects and victims, trying to see beyond the obvious and understand what lies beneath. How strange, to be on the other side of that stare. “I’ve graduated high school already,” he informs her, hoping he doesn’t sound aloof. “And college. Actually, I hold three PhDs.”

“In what?”

“Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering.”

Y/N holds his gaze, taking this in. It’s as though she’s trying to decide whether or not to believe him. He figures in this environment, perhaps it’s not unusual to be told blatant lies by some prisoners. Delusion and paranoia aren’t uncommon. To teach in a place like this, she would have to be insightful and observant. For whatever reason, she must decide to trust him, because she smiles again.

“Well that’s rather impressive. You’re more qualified than I am. Just a Master’s for me.”

Reid decides against commenting in the irony of the situation, that despite his qualifications he’s nothing but a prisoner here. The same category as every drug-dealer, murderer, petty thief, and gangbanger. No better. But the way she looks at him, it at least makes him feel normal again. She looks at him like he’s a human being, with no disdain or disgust in her gaze, and no air of superiority in her voice.

“What did you study?” he asks her.

“English literature in college, education in grad school. I specialized in literature and languages, though I’m not too shabby when it comes to history. If it’s the STEM field you’ll be wanting though, you’ll have to check in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, my colleague teaches those classes.”

Glancing down at her watch, her eyes widen. “Goodness, we’re almost out of time.” She turns to the other inmates and instructs them to make their choices before she has to dismiss class for the day. To him, she adds, “It was nice to meet you – um…”

“Doct-” he begins, before stopping himself. This isn’t a normal introduction. Here, he holds no title, no position of importance. “Er, Spencer. My name is Spencer.”

“Well, Doc –” He tries not to smile at her casual acknowledgment �� “if you ever change your mind, we meet Mondays and Wednesdays in room W15 during the afternoon rec slot.”

Despite having no need to attend a GED class, and for reasons he cannot quite explain, he finds himself slipping into that very room on Wednesday afternoon. Y/N glances up from the whiteboard she writes on, faltering for only a brief moment when she catches sight of him slipping into an empty seat in the back row, but she carries on. They’re talking about common themes in Brit Lit, and she’s explaining the Canterbury Tales, which they’ll be reading parts of. From what Reid gathers, there aren’t enough copies of books for them to all read the same novel, but she’s printed out large sections of the Tales for them to read together. It’s familiar, and for someone whose life has largely revolved in academia, it’s soothing to be in an environment where learning is taking place and discussion is happening. Even though he sits silently in the back row, observing.

The other inmates have all picked out books to read on their own and report on, from King Lear to Brave New World. A few have even selected Bronte and Austen novels, which Y/N applauds them for. When she divides them into groups to read and discuss “The Knight’s Tale,” she slips over to join Reid in the back of the room.

“I didn’t think you’d make it, Doc,” she tells him.

He shrugs. “I – I’ve kind of missed the classroom. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to sit in. If you don’t mind, of course!”

“Not at all.” She smiles, dismissing his worry with a wave of her hand. “The more the merrier. Besides, it’s rare that I have students with such an extensive education beforehand. You’ll need to file an enrollment slip though, just for official records.”

She hands him a piece of paper and a commissary pen. While he doesn’t need the credit, he could use the normalcy. Discussions about books with other people in a space that feels a little safer – even if it doesn’t look like the classrooms he’s used to. The walls are stark white and bare save for three posters of famous writers and scientists. The two windows have thick bars on them. The desks are bolted to the floor. Every man in the room wears prison issued blues. But there is a whiteboard and a bookshelf and a clock. And Y/N, in a bright blue turtleneck. It makes him think of the sky, which he only gets a glimpse of for a few hours each week. Suddenly, she’s become the most vivid connection to the outside world.

“How long have you been teaching here?” he asks as he writes down answers to the form’s printed questions.

“Almost three years now. It started with just GED classes, but some volunteer programs have helped us bring new opportunities to the guys. It took me a while to convince the warden, but they’ve been a huge success. So are you coming from another facility? I know we had some transfers last week.”

He shakes his head. “I uh, I haven’t been sentenced yet. But there was overcrowding at the jail so they sent me here.” Reid pauses. “I assumed you would’ve known that.” The inmate records are publicly available. All she’d have to do is search his name or the number on his clothing and everything she needed to know would be right there – his charges, his admission date, his identifying information and that ID photo from his first day.

But she just shrugs. “I make a point not to look up what my students have been convicted of. I let them volunteer that information if they choose to, but I respect their privacy. Besides, I’d like to believe all of us are more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

He’s struck by her words. After all, for the last decade his job has been to see people precisely as the worst thing they’ve ever done. To delve deep into those actions and develop a profile of a person on that alone. He has an impulse to dismiss her statement as naïve, but it reminds him of Garcia, of her boundless optimism and her ability to see the best in the world even after looking at the worst of it. That memory and the smile Y/N looks at him with softens the heart he’s been carefully hardening since he arrived here. And so rather than dampen her spirit he asks, “Does it matter if I’ve read all of the books you’re discussing already?”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly with surprise. “All of them?”

“My mother was a literature professor,” he says. “And I just really like books.”

“Well, typically I’d encourage you to take the courses we offer for college credit but they’re full. Since you already have your GED, I suppose we could treat it like you’re auditing. It might help some of the guys to have someone with a little more academic experience…” She trails off and then gasps. “Oh wait! How would you feel about being the TA for the class? It’s been so long since I had one for the GED classes.”

“Like… grade papers and things?”

“No, not like that,” she says. “There are strict rules about who sees what here. Being a TA for me would be less typical TA duties and more of mentoring the other students, helping me clean up after class, re-shelving books, things like that. It’s not an official job so there’s no pay, but you would get good time credit.”

Though he doesn’t know what his sentence here will be, if he’s sentenced at all, he knows that any good time credit he can obtain to reduce the length of it is worth it. And so he says, “Okay.”

Y/N’s eyes light up. Her smile is the prettiest thing he’s seen since he got here. “Perfect! Oh, this is so exciting. I’m glad you joined us.” When he finishes the paperwork, she leads him to an empty seat at a group of tables.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, Porkchop. It’s a love story,” one of the men is saying to another.

“Come on now, Xavier, you know the rules,” Y/N interrupts. “Nicknames stay outside the classroom. We use first names here.”

“Sorry, Teach,” Xavier says. He tries again. “It’s a love story, Carl.”

“That’s more like it. Carl, I can’t wait to hear your response. But first, I’m going to have Spencer join your group, alright? He’s our newest student and our TA for the class. He’s read a lot of these books so if you’re having a hard time or want to talk to someone about the material outside of class time, he’s a great person to ask.”

The group welcomes him – Xavier, Carl, Richie, and Luis. Reid is grateful to be with Luis, the one person he knows he can consider a friend inside. They talk about Chaucer and “The Franklin’s Tale,” and he’s surprised by the critiques and connections his peers make. Their debate is certainly different than the conversation he’d expect to find at a university class, but their ideas are still insightful and interesting. They make connections to their own lives, to the sacrifices they have made and the power of love they have witnessed firsthand. Mothers who never stop fighting for their appeal cases. Friends who send money so they can afford commissary. The difficulty of skipping commissary so they can send money home to their own families outside.

When their discussion finally winds down, Reid asks, “What’s the rule with nicknames about?”

“It’s Miss Y/N’s way of humanizing people,” Xavier says. “She says when we use first names like that, we’re all equals. But it’s different outside of class. We stick to nicknames because that’s what you do, y’know?” Reid shakes his head. Xavier chuckles. “You’re fresh meat, huh. First time you been down? In here, COs turn you into just a number or a last name. So nicknames inside are a way to hold on to some of your identity. Beyond that, there’s some guys in here you don’t want knowing your name, you feel me?”

“Nicknames gotta be given to you by someone else. Can’t make your own. Course, that means they’re usually a little insulting. They call me Porkchop,” Carl says. “Xavier’s Hammerhead. Richie is Spiders. And Luis, he been christened Slim Jim yesterday at chow. But don’t worry, we’ll find one for you soon.” Reid isn’t sure how to feel about the assurance. He doesn’t want to belong here, doesn’t want to fit in or get comfortable. On the other hand, he may be here for a while. Maybe laying low and finding allies wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

He knows one thing for sure – as he walks out of class, Y/N flashes that bright smile at him again. And for some reason, it makes him feel hopeful. More hopeful than any session with lawyers or judges has made him feel. Monday can’t come soon enough.

[Next]

Tags: @calm-and-doctor @averyhotchner

#criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #prison reid #prison!reid

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bigskydreaming · 3 years ago

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I kinda wanna fucking scream, so here, have a offline bullshit rant post.

So I’ve literally been trying to get my stupid fucking meds for over a MONTH now at this point, which I’m sure you can all see like, my mood is just wooooonderful these days. Not an excuse, casual reminder that yeah you do gotta take care of your own space so if my mood is dragging anyone down, I’m totes on board with blocking or unfollowing or y’know, burning me in effigy or something. Okay maybe not that last part. But still. You get it. And its not even that like, I need mood stabilizers per se, lol, so shout out to the armchair diagnosticians helpfully peppering my inbox still in their quest to oh so slickly be like ‘hey you’re a hot mess, take your hot messness away from tumblr’ like lol, didn’t ask.....nah, its mostly the perpetual lack of sleep and chronic pain issues that I have zero distraction from when my specific combo of meds isn’t able to let me actually weaponize my ADHD properly and power through that. Its a whole thing. Whatever. Just go with it.

POINT IS. So I’ve been trying to do this for over a month now, first obstacle was even just getting the money together for my refill appointment which is a whopping $150, because I have to pay out of pocket for mental health stuff these days because I had to switch my insurance over to something that paid out more heavily for physical benefits like my jaw surgery.....and because of the pandemic, and how many psychiatrists in my area and that I could actually reach aren’t taking new patients during the pandemic since most of them are conducting business virtually still, like, I have barely any resources for seeking out and trying new psychiatrist offices in the meanwhile that might charge less and I’m kinda stuck with the one I have because the last thing I can afford is to have like, NO psychiatrist at the moment, y’know?

So first I had to have that to even BOOK the appointment, which took forever because rent and food are a joy to accrue when you can barely manage to function as an actual employee of the capitalist machine ahfsklhflkahflakf, but so then I did that and like, got an appointment put on the books for August 19th. That was the soonest they could fit me in back when I paid them for my appointment about a week and a half ago. No, two weeks ago now? Eh, time is fake. ANYWAY, so that wasn’t gonna work for me, so basically the entirety of last week was devoted to constantly calling and trying to check in every other hour to see if they had any sooner cancellations I could take, because for whatever fucking reason, they just ‘don’t do’ a cancellation list wherein they call the next person on the list once they have a cancellation. Whatever.

So finally got a cancellation slot with a virtual appointment last Saturday night at random as fuck 8:40. Okay cool. Most of my refills are fairly simple, no real changes, but two are controlled substances so like, they have to do their due diligence and go through the proper protocols before giving me another prescription to one or whatever. Fine. Okay.

So I call the CVS they sent the prescription for my ADHD med to, the very next morning. One of the controlled substances, and the key med to like....making me functional instead of a rambling disjointed whirlibird of a thought emitter. Problem is, that medication is on back order. Won’t be in until Tuesday. Ugh. Okay, fine. Nothing I can do about it, because while the specific provider I spoke to in order to GET my refill prescriptions was taking an appointment the night before, the actual offices that schedule appointments and connect patients through to their providers was closed for the weekend, so I couldn’t even ask for them to send the scrip somewhere else.

SO. I go back to the CVS on Monday, hoping that maybe it came in early because not like I can do much else in the meanwhile. Course its not there, but oh well. I toy with the idea of calling to ask my provider to send the scrip to a different pharmacy (only had it sent to this one cuz its within walking distance to me, and since I can’t drive for medical reasons and Uber’s are expensive as fuck, just for errands, like, even though walking is sooooo not fun for me physically, like it is what it is). I decide against it because here’s another fun fact about this controlled substance....for security reasons, pharmacies don’t have to tell people over the phone if they have it in stock or not. Like, they won’t just say no we don’t have it in stock - I mean, they WILL say that, but that doesn’t actually mean anything because that’s what most of them say about that particular medication no matter whether or not they DO, and then just cite security protocols, so you have to actually GO to the store in question to ask them and even get a real answer to whether or not they even HAVE it in stock to FILL a prescription if its sent over. And no, the provider won’t just send scrips into several different pharmacies at once and just be whichever has it in stock can fill it - because again, controlled substance.

SO. I decide its not worth it to try getting the scrip sent over somewhere else, because I’d have to at least waste money on an Uber to even travel to various pharmacies and even check if they CAN fill it sooner than this one, when at least this place will have it in tomorrow. Its just one more day at this point.

Except then I go back on Tuesday. Oh sorry, don’t know why that other person told you we’d have our order in today, our shipments of that medication don’t come in until Wednesdays.

So I go back Wednesday. Success! They have it in stock. I go to pay, pulling out my goodRx coupon that was just printed out that morning, specifically citing the price for CVS at Target. The pharmacy manager says sorry, we don’t honor that coupon here for controlled substances like this one. I say: record scratch? He’s like yeah, that’s at the discretion of individual pharmacies, and we don’t honor that price for this specific medication, because we don’t want to attract customers only coming here to get that medication filled for that price. (This pharmacy is right at the edge of Inglewood and Culver City, for anyone who is familiar with those neighborhoods. The implications are exactly as they appear to be). So I’m like, what’s the regular generic price? He quotes me something that’s $180 more than the coupon, and thus $180 more than I have since I was focused totally on getting THIS amount ASAP, so I could get these meds so I could do more work and make more money. You see the train of thought. I’m like well that’s awesome, I don’t have anything close to that. Hey. Weird question. Why did nobody I talked to the past three days in a row that I’ve walked into this store in person to request this refill, like, mention this little tidbit about not honoring this coupon so instead of waiting for a backorder that would do me no good, I could have been spending that time having my prescription transferred somewhere that WOULD honor it?

He’s like, well did you mention to any of them that you’d be using a goodRx coupon for this particular medication? I said, yup. He said, you sure? I said well the specific process each time was I came in, I asked if this medication was in, they said what’s your name and date of birth, I provided that info, they said are you paying out of pocket, we don’t have valid insurance info for this on file for you, I said yup paying out of pocket with a goodRx coupon, they said *clickety clack of the keyboard* nope, sorry, we won’t have this medicine in until Tuesday, I mean Wednesday.

He’s like, well you must be misremembering or they would have told you at the time that we don’t take GoodRx coupons on this medication. I’m like, dude, it was you. It was literally you that I spoke to two of those three times, right here at the counter, in person. I’m gonna go ahead and trust my memory of those interactions and what was said there over yours since you don’t actually remember having talked to me two times in the last three days. He’s like, I gotta go help another customer. There is no other customer. I leave. Fun day for everyone.

So then I call around town to at least check which CVS will actually honor the coupon I have and the price that I can afford to pay it at. I don’t bother asking if they even have the medication in stock because I know its not guaranteed to be a CORRECT answer, but at least I can see who accepts this damn coupon. Also, reason I’m only trying big brand pharmacies instead of smaller, hole in the wall ones is because again, controlled substance, and I know from experience that the bigger brand pharmacies are at least more likely to have that med in stock whereas most smaller ones tend to run out very quickly as they usually only get enough for their existing/regular customers and a little extra.

I find a CVS five miles away - not walkable, gonna have to Uber. Call my psychiatrist office again to ask them to transfer the scrip, front office says they’ll send the request to my provider, who usually checks and fulfills such requests in 24-48 hours. I’m like okay cool, can I get a phone call to let me know when that happens, so at least I know when to check back to follow up if it hasn’t happened yet for whatever reason? They’re like no, the pharmacy will send you a text or call when they get the prescription sent over and you can take it from there with them. I’m like okay, but I’ve done this a bunch of times and know from experience the pharmacy does NOT in fact always call or text, so is there a certain time to follow up to inquire if the provider has already sent the scrip and the pharmacy SHOULD have it by now or if the delay is on the provider’s end? Front office is like yeah no. I’m like, swell.

So that was yesterday. I call the pharmacy (which I still don’t even know if they have the medication IN STOCK to fill the scrip even once they GET the scrip, and won’t until I can actually Uber out there, but one thing at a time at this point) at like 9 pm, they’re a 24 hour pharmacy, and they’re like nope, we got nothing (this is after spending an hour and a half on hold to even TALK to someone at the pharmacy). Called them again today at noon, still nada. Technically I have another 29 hours before the window in which the provider is supposed to send the refill scrip to this new location, before I can be like, okay so they still haven’t done it, can we send him a nudge or another request. The 24-48 hour window will only actually EXPIRE after their offices close on Friday meaning it’ll be Monday before I can even actually REACH someone again to ask them to send the scrip again, if the pharmacy hasn’t ACTUALLY gotten it by Friday night, and pessimistically, I’m not super inclined to assume that they will at this point.

I’m antsy, irritable, hungry because I don’t even know for SURE sure if the new pharmacy will ACTUALLY honor the coupon or say no sorry we don’t do that here either, whoever told you that was wrong, or if they’ll even actually have it in stock versus I’ll have to have it sent somewhere else AGAIN, so I have to pinch every penny possible in order to ensure I have the most money possible once my prescription IS filled in case the price is more than I expected again or in case I have to take Ubers there or further than I expected or basically....shit happens that I don’t expect. And this is what I’m basically spending all my time doing instead of working, because trying to get work done in this state is like....the harder I try to make it happen, the less it actually gets done, so I try and prioritize this and its roadblock after roadblock dragging out and wasting my time, and like yeah, I can post and shit while I’m doing this aka sitting on hold or walking around town trying to get shit filled because its fine if I ramble incoherently along the way in posts, but actual WORK work requires like....fucking coherency and succinctness and not having to stop and start every five minutes to call someone else, and oh yeah, being able to power through migraine spikes. And just.

I’m very annoyed about anything and everything to do with this shit. The hoops you have to jump through to even get the stuff that like....actualizes your hoop jumping ability, is just....*gnashing of teeth*

Anyway. So that’s my offline bullshit rant. Yay. The end.

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realityhelixcreates · 3 years ago

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Lasabrjotr Chapter 80: The Littlest Seidkona

Chapters: 80/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),Thor(Marvel)

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time

Summary: It's the final ceremony of Buridag-the Seidkona initiation-and all eyes are on you.

You woke up in Loki's arms, right where you had collapsed, Ulfrun, the junior healer looking over you.

“There.” she said. “It is as I told you, she was simply overwhelmed. There was a great deal of power moving during the ceremony, and she is still but mortal...”

“Yeah, that's me.” you grumbled. “Reaching above my station again.”

Ulfrun jerked back like she'd been burned. Loki chuckled.

“Yes, I think she will be all right. The Princess in Courtesy is in the habit of getting back up after she falls, never fear.”

Princess in Courtesy. That was what you were now. A princess without a kingdom, or people of your own, but you had the title...and for your purposes, that was all you needed.

“Will you have her come by for a checkup this evening? I'm certain Bjarkhilde will want to look her over.”

“I think I can do that.” You said, and she jerked back again. “I know, it's pretty weird, isn't it? But this'll make things easier in the long run, won't it? Except for the people who like talking trash at me, it's gonna suck for them, but I don't really feel bad for them.”

“I think we will be fine Ulfrun, thank you for your help.” Loki said.

“So. The ritual has brought you an inheritance.” Loki said, after the junior healer had hurried away. He kissed your cheeks and forehead, mumbling in affection. “So you will understand me now when I say that when I am drowning, you are my air, that I wish to wash my hair in your perfume, that when you look at me, an arrow pierces my heart, fixes it within my breast, pins it to my soul. Like a hapless bird, your gaze knocks me from the sky, to fall into your gentle, blossoming hands.”

Warmth flowed all the way to the tips of your ears.

“Stop, you're gonna make me faint again.” you murmured.

“Later then,” he said, amused. “When you are already laying down, perhaps.”

Thor poked his head around the back of the dais.

“The smoke is clearing.” he announced. “Is she all right?”

“Yeah, I'm good.” you said, Loki helping you to your feet. You had completed the ritual, now it was time to be presented to the people.

Out of the thinning smoke, and into the courtyard the three of you appeared, Heimdall keeping his vigil from atop the high dais. No one would dare make a move against you while he watched.

“The ceremony is complete!” Thor announced in his booming voice. “The paths of fate have been cleared for the Princess in Courtesy. May she pass down them in peace, for as long as her life has been interwoven with ours!”

The cheering was loud and enthusiastic, and seemed genuine. Your finger didn't hurt at all anymore, likely due to lying in Loki's arms for those few minutes while Ulfrun looked over you.

You stood and let them cheer as much as they wanted, then followed the princes back out of sight behind the dais when the crowds enthusiasm began to wane. You unwound the bandage from your finger to show a very pleased Loki that the tiny cut had nearly disappeared. It was nice to see how happy that made him, to remember how willing-even eager-he had been from the start to share that healing bond with you. You had never found out if that had cost him in pain or energy, just that it was very clear that he was more than ready to give.

“So you have gained something.” Thor mentioned on their way to drop you off with the other Seidkonas. “That will come in very handy. Save you decades of study.”

“So you didn't know it was going to happen either?” you asked. He shook his golden head.

“I've never actually seen one of these ceremonies performed. The last one I know of was for my mother, and that, of course, was before I was even born.”

“They must have had one for me,” Loki mused. “In secret. Hidden away in shame from prying eyes.”

Thor's warm smile withdrew into contemplation, as all three of you tried to envision it: A tiny, possibly blue infant, held over the bowl and crying, like a human baby getting their first check in with a doctor, a blade held against one minuscule hand or squirming foot...

It was an uncomfortable image, but it made sense to get it done as early as possible, if they were to pass Loki off as their son.

“So this is probably normal. Just another way to pass on the magic of Allspeak. We'll just see how well it works out for me.”

******

The second part of your day was to be taken up by another, much longer and more complex ritual, that had to be done partially in secret. Thor and Loki escorted you, followed by many people, to one of the popup apartment complexes that now housed to majority of Asgard, until more permanent housing could be built. This one housed the thirteen remaining Seidkonas of Asgard, and had been transformed by them into a ritual house. With some small pomp, the princes transferred you into their care, but beyond their doors, it became a strict 'no boys allowed' club.

This was because, as soon as the door closed, you were led into the next room and stripped down, a bundle of incense being wafted around your body. Once naked, you were plunked down into a metal tub filled with a redolent herbal tea, which the others scooped up in bathing bowls and poured over your head, as if making a kind of Seidkona soup.

The entire dwelling was dimly lit with only candles, and the other Seidkonas were mostly silent in their work, speaking only to give you quiet instructions, or chant ceremonial blessings from the Norns.

Newly cleansed, you entered a different room, this time converted into a kind of sauna. In the pitch dark you sat and sweated, swaddled in thick clouds of suffocating steam from more herbal tea, ladled constantly over the hot stones.

Whether from the heat, the herbs, or the incense, you didn't know, but you began to feel odd. The magic within you felt as though it was swelling, throbbing with a heartbeat different than your own. The passage of time became meaningless, but eventually you began to see a light. Soft, blue, and ephemeral, you couldn't focus on it's source, as it dimmed down into nothing every time you tried to concentrate on it. But it pulsed like the heartbeat of your magic.

The Seidkonas who had joined you in the sauna began singing one word, one tone over and over. Your heart and your magic began to attune to it, thumping along in time, like your little Seidkona drum. The word felt natural, it slotted into your mind, filling a tiny, empty hole. The last syllable of the chant you had been practicing for weeks now. The very last piece of the magical puzzle, that you were not yet meant to utter.

You heard the beating of drums outside, muffled by the door, which cracked open and let in a blast of air. You knew it was warm, but it felt cool on your heated skin, disintegrated the clouds of herbal vapor, and sharpened your heat-fuzzed mind to a razor point. You exited the sauna like an infant; brand new and surrounded by sensation. The air was cool, the candles were bright, and the tub of pure water they dumped over you was like shards of ice.

While some of the women dried and helped you dress yourself, others continued the drum beat that had started while you were in the sauna. Seidkona drums were made of wood now, but their drumstick was shaped like a bone, and the little drums were rounded like skulls, and they may have been these things, long, long ago.

You sat among them, and were given a chunk of bread to eat, and a light, sweet fruit juice to drink. The flavor and texture was more clear than ever before, the sensation of relieving hunger and thirst practically palpable. The drumming continued while your hair dried and and you devoured the snack.

It wasn't just the steam or the heat-whatever herbal concoction you had bathed in and breathed in was effecting you. Your senses felt wider, like you were experiencing sensations on a deeper level. Maybe you always felt things this much, but simply hadn't noticed before.

Somehow you knew when to stand up. You and all the other Seidkonas got to your feet at the same time, some kind of unknown but compelling signal alerting you. As one, you all filed to the door.

Your instructor, the eldest of the Seidkonas stepped up beside you, as the others gathered their cloaks and drums.

“You are different than us.” she said. “The magic runs through you just the same, so you should know in advance: at the initiation, something new is always revealed. Some power, some knowledge previously unknown or lost. I know you've read about it with Saga, and you must understand that there is the probability that it will also happen to you. But you must also know that it's possible that it will not happen. Because you are different than us, and though the magic flows through you just the same, the rest of you might not be able to handle such a revelation. Never have the Norns allowed one of us to be harmed by this initiatory experience. They care about those who act in their stead, and will not force you through something you cannot handle. However, if they decide that you can handle it, human or not, they will push you to your very limit. Be ready for either outcome, for once it is started, there is no going back.”

The ancient Seidkona provided you your little rounded drum, and the parade began; a double line of esteemed sorceresses, wrapped in dark blue cloaks. You followed behind, cloakless, beating your drum in time with the others, a call to the masses that the initiate was coming, the ritual was beginning.

You followed your escort into the same courtyard from earlier in the day. In the time you had been squirreled away for cleansing, the whole area had been transformed. The tall dais was gone, another set of seating had taken its place. There were special seats for the most important guests, and new fencing had been erected, leading to clearly defined separation of Asgardian and human spectators. The entire courtyard had been swept clean of all snow and slush, all debris had been removed and sapphire blue decorations depicting your mark in silver had been put up. New torches had been planted and lit, and large braziers had been placed within the circle-one for each Seidkona, and an extra one in the center for you. They were each filled with a bundle to burn, a little tuft of incense herbs poking out of the top.

The drum beat continued as people filled the seats, as Thor and Loki took their special places, mere spectators in your grand show. The Seidkonas fanned out from their lines and each stood in front of a brazier. The drums only stopped once you had reached the brazier in the center. Each sorceress lit their own fire in their own way. Some were able to use magic, others used burning rods, lit from the torches. You had decided some weeks ago not to use a rod, but to use your magic to teleport burning material into your brazier.

And it worked! You were able to teleport fire! Your bundle burned...for all of a few moments, before the flames shrunk and went out.

Damn. You tried it again. Once more, the fire popped into being within your brazier. And once again, dwindled and disappeared. And again, with the same results. Why wasn't it working?

You heard muttering in the crowd, and you could pick out a few conspicuous questions being asked.

“Is that supposed to happen?”

“Is this a bad omen?”

“Does this mean she's not supposed to be doing this?”

“Did she fail?”

Frustrated, you stalked over to a torch, uprooted it, and used it to light your brazier. This time, the damn thing stayed lit. You scoured the gathered people with a glare, as if daring them to say anything more.

To your eternal annoyance, you spotted Todd among the human seating, his eyes narrowed in the expression he always got when you'd done something he hadn't expected or given you permission to do. Thankfully, you were much too far away to hear the veiled insults and negging that always followed that expression, but your memory helpfully provided several old examples, and they echoed around in your head until you forced them to cease. You swore, if he ever brought this up to you, you were going to teleport him into the middle of the river. If he was properly apologetic, you might even pull him out of the mud before he sank in forever.

Maybe.

“Practical.” Loki said in a stage whisper that carried out over the crowd. “Even mages must know how to solve problems without resorting to magic.” The crowd fell silent once again. Positioned right in front of you, the old Seidkona's wrinkled lips twisted into a wry smirk. She then lifted her drumstick into the air, and the dance began. The dance was supposedly simple: three steps and a quarter turn, four times, ending in a full spin, and then starting again, all in a circle around the burning brazier. Simultaneously, the drum beat, and the chant song kept time. You thumped your little drum, chanting along as you'd practiced. It would only get more challenging, you knew, and as soon as the chant had reached its end, it started over, this time faster. Your performance, how long and fast you could go before declaring the secret last word and bringing it all to an end, was supposed to determine how powerful a Seidkona you would be. In reality, your status was already confirmed, and everyone knew that expectations had to be different for a human, but you were still determined to give the best showing that you were physically capable of. And so you sped up. And sped up. And sped up, continuing until the world became a blur, and dizziness threatened to overtake you. Blue light sparkled at the edges of your vision, having escaped your dreams, now following you into trance states, when you were between awake and asleep. And faster. And faster. Though you were breathless, the chant song filled your ears, the drum beat mimicking your racing heart, until finally, lest you fall over into the fire, you stopped, threw your drumstick hand into the air, and shouted the last word at the top of your voice. Something appeared in your hands, forcing you to drop the drum and stick. You flung it high into the air. Both Loki and Thor cried out in surprise.

You felt the mark on your hand spark into life, runes searing up your arm, neck, and face. The power buzzed through you, like a swarm of bees in your blood, and for the first time, you could make out words in the thrum of magic. You finally knew what it wanted from you.

You were meant to break the lock. Learn us Learn us Learn us.

“Show me.” you commanded. And then the universe opened up before you.

#lasabrjotr #loki x reader #loki (marvel)

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fanfalc-616 · 4 years ago

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The Rights Of A Nindroid

Chapter Thirteen- Variation Two

(Prevoius variation here)

(Discord Here)

This chapter was originally an RP with @ablackswansweet, and there are two versions- one from both character’s POV. I have Swan’s permission to post this.

The young man can feel the android's gaze on him. It's wary of Martha and him, although he can hardly blame it. But he can't help but find the idea of a machine being "scared" kind of funny.

"What do you want?" It asks, most likely knowing something is coming, judging from the resignation in its voice. Kyle smiles internally.

You can almost see the cracks.

The blond is practically buzzing with excitement. A real android! And he gets to study it up close!

Getting closer, he inspects its face. The eerie look almost makes him shudder.

"I want to learn how you work." He takes Original's chin in his hand, moving it's head left and right to get a better look at it. The winces of "pain" from the android are uncanny.

He writes down some notes and takes his place next to the official again. Next part should be fun.

The android seems less than pleased with him playing with its uncovered face. Still, it bites its tongue instead of Kyle's hand (despite its very obvious desire to do so) until the blond is done, and lets out what sounds like a breath of relief.

How can you replicate relief in coding ? It's AI is fascinating.

"Haven't you done that enough?" It whines, trying to shake off its bonds. "With everything you've done to me, I doubt that any competent mechanic would need any more research."

It tries to shoot him a displeased glare, but without its faceplate it just looks unsettling and pathetic.

Kyle chuckles to himself. For a machine, it's talking a lot. Fascinating.

"Thing is, Original, I'm not exactly a mechanic. I'm just really, really interested by your wires and gears. And how well they respond to… Certains stimuli," he says.

A few more words in his notes and he looks at Martha, asking if it's time. She nods. Awesome.

As fast as he can, the blond connects wires to the android, barely able to contain his joy. It's not everyday you get to experiment on a non-human sentient being.

Stepping in front of the control panel, he waits for the official's instructions, almost shaking from anticipation.

Original isn't looking so good. It seems worried. Well, it's right. It should be. The distress emanating from it is very interesting, too. Can it sense the danger looming over it?

“To begin with, my name is Zane, not Original. Second, if you are so interested in ‘wires and gears’ perhaps a robotics course would be a more healthy outlet for you," it tries to reason with him. Too bad that it's way more interesting than a simple robotics course.

After a pause, it adds, "Why are you doing this? I can assure you that I have never meant to cause harm on any innocents.”

Kyle's hand twitches. He looks over at Martha. She's wearing a displeased expression. He didn't expect anything else, and he's probably making the same face as well.

“You can begin whenever you like.” The official tone sounds slightly interested, now.

He hums in response.

"Hey, Original?" He calls out to the robot. "You talk a lot."

He pushes a button and a small jolt of electricity was released. This fairly small amount of energy is only meant to cause discomfort. Wouldn't want to burn it out too fast.

The android squirms and still attempts to free itself, but no real pain response occurs. Interesting. A new paragraph written.

It still tries to reason with him, going on and on about how it wants it to stop, please. Kyle drowns the sound out with his thoughts. That wasn't very exciting.

Maybe with a stronger charge, something interesting will happen? That's what Martha seems to think too.

The android finally looks like it understands it's not talking him out of it.

How advanced is its code supposed to be, again? That took a while.

“I suppose I am talking a lot,” It concedes, “but not nearly as much as an old friend of mine. Jay couldn’t stay quiet if his life depended on it.”

Is it trying to have a conversation with him? Now? In its situation?

It must have thought of something. Let's humor it.

"Heh, yeah. I had a guy like that in one of my foster homes." A smirk grows on the blond’s face as the robot seems startled. "Didn't end well for him either. No one like a constant source of useless noise, don't you agree?"

Even without a faceplate, its expressions are pretty easy to guess. It's almost laughable how a few words shakes it up.

Making small talk is is a smart plan, he'll give it that. It's probably hoping that it'll make him like it enough to not hurt it. Let's see how long this game can last.

"How is your old friend doing now?" He asks, slowly turning up the voltage. The other engineers told him this should be as painful as period cramps, so that's fun.

The android struggles under the amount of electricity building up. But still, it continues to talk. Kyle's impressed.

“I haven’t seen him in a while- I’ve been a little…” It looks at its restrains and winces, probably reminded of its situation.. “... tied up.”

At big crooked smile appears on the blond's face. It's even making jokes now! Powering through painful situations could be a valuable asset if they were to make something like supersoldiers. Looking good so far.

“I don’t think I caught your name, either. What do you go by?” It asks, most likely trying to get information on him. That's not very important data, though. It can have it.

The blond lets his face turn into a surprised expression for a second. "My name's Kyle. He/him, I guess. But I don't think you're going to need to know that."

He turns the charge a little higher again, hoping to see some more interesting pain responses as they continue to talk. This is getting boring. Martha seems to approve of his method, however. Thanks, mom.

"Tell me about your other old friends. You said you were dating, right? How's it like ?" He asks again, a sinister smile on his face. How about a good old Pavlovian shock therapy?

Original fights any sign of discomfort or pain, and its calm expression is almost unsettling when you know what its sensors are going through right now.

“It’s nice to meet you, Kyle," It tells him, the lie barely noticeable. But Kyle has worked with hypocrites before. Original is talented. “I don’t recall mentioning that I was in an active relationship, but I suppose that the background research you must’ve done would cover that.”

Kyle smiles and says nothing. He increases the tension steadily, appreciating the sight of the android losing its peaceful facade, with flashes of pain occasionally visible on its face.

Impressive. The robot is still fighting. Maybe leaving the sensors at their normal settings was too nice, but oh well. Things are just now getting better.

"Yeah, I read your file before coming here. Big fan, by the way." He smiles, but the hostility starts to seep in his voice. "Wonder how they feel about your self-sacrificing nature," he almost spit out.

No. Breathe. Calm down.

Some composure regained, he suddenly sends it a jolt of electricity. Seeing it almost bite its tongue in pain is pretty therapeutic, actually.

Kyle lowers the voltage to let the robot catch his artificial breath. It's going to give up completely pretty soon. He'll have some fun with it first.

"So, your old friends ?"

Its pathetic sigh of relief is still very satisfying. It looks desperate, and tries to explain its past actions. It really doesn't need to. Kyle already knows they're unforgivable.

“When I was fighting the Golden Master, I meant no harm to any innocent people. I was built to protect those who cannot protect themselves. I… I understand that in some ways, I have failed this function, but I do my best to help those in need.”

The android attempts to steady its breathing. Trying to keep keep a sliver of dignity in front of the enemy, maybe ?

Anyways, it stopped talking. Finally.

Kyle sighs and does his best not to give a snarky reply. It seems to believe in what it's saying, anyways. Further proof of how out of touch with reality its AI is.

Another spike of tension, and Kyle is smiling again.

"You didn't answer my question, Original. How was life with your… Boyfriends ? Kai Smith, Jay Walker and Cole Brookstone, yeah ?" He says, insisting on their last names. They know who they are. Perhaps that'll make it talk.

His excitement level goes through the roof at Original's reaction. It goes stiff, most likely from anger. He found the weak spot.

A whimper escapes it, but it doesn't adress it. It's really mad.

“You do not touch them," it snarls at him. If Kyle's hand had been close to its face, there was no doubt it would've bitten him. “If you hurt them, I swear on the First Spinjitzu Master that I will hunt you down to the ends of the-“ Kyle cuts him off by sending it a strong shock. It cries in pain. The blond doesn't feel bad.

"Calm down. I didn't even actually threaten them yet," The boy mutters, leaving the tension run high a few more seconds before leaving it room to breathe again. The pathetic sounds of relief it does each time makes him want to laugh.

"If I wanted to truly use them as hostages, I'd tell you I know which shop they go to every two weeks to buy supplies and food, which is the one at the end of the main avenue."

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the voltage starts going up again.

"I'd tell you we have live feed of them almost every day and everywhere they go."

The pain must be becoming close to absolutely unbearable, seeing how the android trashes around. Fun.

"Or… I'd tell you how one of them already got arrested once, and how easy it is to transfer prisoners or fake an accident."

The power is now all the way up. It's almost scary how much this artificial body can handle.

Before it actually physically breaks, though, Kyle shuts off the power. The android's breath of relief is broken up by what sounds like sobs.

The blond comes closer, chuckling as the machine flinches near him. He takes off the wires plugged into it.

"Don't you dare threaten me or her ever again. Remember who holds the power here," he mutters in its ear before joining Martha with a smile, his notepad black with scribbles. She looks satisfied.

The android looks like it wants to say something, but doesn't have the strength to do so anymore. That's a satisfying sight.

He leaves the room with Martha, closing the door after her.

She smiles at him.

"It's close. You were right, you can almost see it cracking by the minute."

She fondly ruffles his hair and he chuckles, his nose tickled.

"Good job, sweetie."

#the rights of a nindroid #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago zangst #psychological torture #torture #trauma

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fourteenacross · 4 years ago

Text

Hello, void, I’m back for more screaming. idk, following along the concept from this, which is in and of itself a follow-up to this.

When Sam gets back from his last lunch meeting before the holiday recess, Josh is on his way into the office. Seeing Josh around isn't strange--he pops in on occasion to see Donna. What is strange is that Josh's arms are loaded down with folders and a tablet--he's clearly here for work, despite the fact the place has already mostly shut down for the holidays. His staff is largely gone and there's one senior staff meeting standing between Sam and nearly a month in New York with Will and his family.

"Hey, Josh!" he says. "Donna has a meeting--I'm late to that meeting, actually--but she should be out in twenty minutes or so."

"I'm here for the meeting," Josh says, just as Will pokes his head out into the reception area.

"Oh good, you're here," he says to Josh. Which is...incredibly out of character.

"Oh good Josh is here?" Sam asks, raising his eyebrows.

"You too, I guess," Will says. At Sam's incredulous look, Will absently busses him on the cheek.

"I don't understand." Sam turns back to Josh. "Did Evelyn send you to try and get me on board for the thing?"

"No," Josh says. "I don't work for the DNC anymore. I resigned two weeks ago."

"Wait, why didn't you--"

"You're both late for our meeting," Will says. He tugs Sam's sleeve. "Come on. Cathy, hold the calls?"

"Already on it," Cathy says from behind her desk. "Good luck!"

"Thanks," Will says, and ushers him into the conference room.

Sam's a little hurt that Josh hasn't mentioned quitting his job and a little perplexed that Donna hasn't mentioned it either. When Josh was briefly between jobs after President Santos' first and only term ended, she made sure to remind him and Will both, frequently, that she was the sole breadwinner for her household now, and she really needed a raise. Even more peculiar is Josh showing up here of all places, to meet with Will of all people. Sam gave up on the idea of Josh and Will getting along a long time ago, and while they're generally civil to each other at this point, they're certainly not actively spending time together.

Still, he follows Josh into the conference room. Seated at the table are Donna, Lauren, and Winnifred, all with notes and laptops spread in front of them. Will sits next to Donna, the two of them at the head of the table, and, to Sam's great surprise, Josh sits next to Will and slides him the tablet he was carrying.

"Have a seat," Will says, and Sam sits down hard.

"Okay, someone has to tell me what's going on because you're all freaking me out, now," Sam says. "Is this an intervention? Is this because I said I should take a meeting with Kavan Chowdhury while we're up visiting your parents? Because that was a joke, I'm not going to work over the break, I swear."

"No, it's not an intervention," Will says. A beat, then, "Though I know you weren't joking about that even if you think you were, but we can argue about that later."

"This is the first strategy meeting for your next campaign," Josh says before Sam can continue down that line of conversation.

And that...maybe makes more sense. Sam is genuinely shocked that Will would hire Josh to work on his campaign given their history and honestly almost more shocked that Josh would take such a breeze of a job. Also, it's way too early.

"That election’s still four years away, and not to tempt the wrath of the whatever, but do you really think it's going to be a big enough fight that we need to start planning already?" Sam asks. His first re-election campaign was nothing, and if anything, he's more popular now than he was in his first term.

"Yes," Will says. "Because it is four years away, but it's not going to be a cakewalk. It's going to be the hardest fight of your life and I'm determined we're going to win it."

"I really don't know--" Sam starts to say.

"Just show him the thing," Josh says to Will and Will rolls his eyes, but he turns on the tablet and then flips it over so that Sam can see the screen.

Seaborn for America it says, in stylized red, white, and blue.

Sam can hardly move.

"You're ready for this," Will says gently, switching out of his work voice and into the quieter one he uses in the moments just between the two of them. "You're ready for this and I think the world is going to be ready for it by 2018. I think we can do this."

"Will...." Sam starts to say, but he doesn't even know where to begin.

"It was always heading here, Sam," Josh says. "You know that. We've been talking about this since we were kids on the Hill."

Which isn't untrue--they have been talking about Sam's political career since the summer they first met. But most of those conversations unceremoniously died when Sam came out. Sam always assumed that Josh had transferred those dreams to Matt Santos.

"I don't...I can't...." Sam stutters, still staring at the tablet.

"You can," Will says. There's a fire in his eyes that Sam hasn't seen since he first decided to run for the Senate nine years ago. A bone-deep desire to make this happen. An unwavering determination that once got a dead liberal elected in the California 47th.

"We've started drawing up some preliminary plans," Donna says. "We're starting off in a good place--people are still talking about your speech at the convention over the summer. The younger demographics appreciate that you're active on social media and, well, to be frank, that you're kind of a nerd. Older voters still associate you with Bartlet, and that gives them confidence in your leadership skills."

"Did you...do polling?" Sam asks.

"Well, yeah, I'm your Media Director, of course I did polling," Donna says.

"How long have you guys been planning this?" Sam asks.

"We found out the week after the election," Winnifred says, and Lauren nods. Sam turns to Josh.

"Well, Will called me up after Evanson tanked the first debate and it started to become clear we were in for round two of the Sullivan presidency," Josh says.

"He told me when I started as Press Secretary back in 2006," Donna says.

Sam looks to Will, then, who's radiating pride and just a little of the Bailey smugness that drives Sam crazy.

"Since the moment you told me to give Kay Wilde your name," Will says, and Sam isn't sure if he wants to smack him or kiss him, but he'd settle for the latter, for certain.

He looks between the five of them, all of them so sure that this is what's next, so confident in him as a candidate, as a leader.

"Could everyone who's not married to me step outside for a minute?" he asks. He's trying to keep his voice even, but it goes a little high at the end.

"If you're gonna make out or shout at each other, can't we just turn around until you're done?" Winnifred asks.

"Come on," Donna says, nudging her to stand up. "They just need a minute to psych each other up. And then, yeah, probably be gross and romantic at each other.”

"Just, two seconds," Sam says to them, though his eyes don't leave Will. "Don't go anywhere."

The rest file out, and then it's just Will, sitting at the head of the conference table holding an iPad that's long since gone to sleep.

"Hi," Will says, when it's clear Sam's not going to say something first.

"Hi," Sam says. He gets to his feet, dazed, and walks over to Will.

"I know I've said it before, but the waistcoat is a good look for you," Will says.

Sam covers his face with his hands. "Will," he says.

Will stands too and goes just far enough to lean against the table, crossing his arms loosely against his chest.

"Very distinguished," Will continues.

"Will," Sam says again, and this time Will stays quiet. Sam drops his hands and stares at Will for a moment. "Since that first night?" he finally asks, soft, like he's afraid if he says it too loudly it will dissipate into the air and fade away.

Will nods. No cute remark, no explanation, no smug rejoinder. He just nods. Sam has both never loved him more and never been more terrified.

Something of it must show on his face, because Will's resolved expression softens and he says, "Hey, hey, come here," and reaches out to pull Sam into an embrace. "You have to know I love you too much to have started this if I didn't think you could win it." He presses his nose into Sam's hair. "I would never do that to you."

The problem is that Will thinks Sam can do anything. Will's unwavering belief in him as a person is sometimes so overwhelming that he's paralyzed by the expectations.

"I don't know if I can do this," Sam says into Will's neck.

"You can," Will promises. "And even if you don't believe it yourself, you've got me and Josh and the staff to believe it for you until it sinks in."

Sam closes his eyes and thinks about a quiet night more than a decade ago when President Bartlet challenged him to a game of chess.

Sam, you're gonna run for President one day, he'd said, and the shock of hearing his private dream spoken aloud by one of the people he respected most in the world had stunned him into silence. President Bartlet thought he could do it. He believed in Sam, which meant more than he could ever articulate. It's a memory he's held close, one he's never shared with anyone, not even Will, in part because was certain that his relationship with Will would put an end to those aspirations. In 2002, the idea of an out queer man running for President, let alone winning, seemed like an absurd fantasy.

In 2014, he's startled to realize it might actually be within his grasp.

Sam reluctantly pulls back from Will, just far enough that he can look him in the eye.

"You really think we can do this," he says. It's not a question--Will has made that much clear.

"I'm certain of it," Will says, that steely resolve back in his voice.

Sam loves him so much.

"Okay," he says. "Then I guess we should get the rest of the staff back in here so we can start."

Will's grin could light up the Beltway.

"Yes, sir," he says, and kisses Sam firmly before pulling back and moving for the door. Sam moves with him, an arm tucked around his waist.

"You really called Josh to help?" he asks, just to hear Will's beleaguered sigh.

"I wouldn't use the word 'help,'" Will says. He pulls open the door to the conference room, where the rest of the senior staff and Josh are milling around a little too casually to not have been listening at the door the entire time. "Come on in, everyone, I've bullied him into it."

"I was just telling Will how nice it is that he could ask for your help, Josh," Sam says. "Look at the two of you, working together."

"I don't need help!" Will insists.

"It's very sweet," Sam says. "Don't you think it's sweet, Donna?"

"So sweet," Donna says.

"Spending the next four years working together," Sam says, just to see Will make a face like the milk in his coffee's gone off. "It'll bring you closer together."

"And eight more years after that, knock on wood!" Donna adds, and Sam has to imagine that it's entirely to see Josh roll his eyes so hard it's a wonder he hasn't hurt himself.

"Listen," Josh says as he brushes past Sam and Will and back into the conference room. "I only answered this call because I want Sam to win this and I don't trust the guy who ran Bingo Bob Russell's campaign into the ground to pull it off."

"I ran Bob Russell's campaign into the ground?" Will says, stalking off after Josh. "I think it was more like you manipulating the convention from hell--"

"Excuse me, I did no such thing!"

"It's gonna be a fun four years, huh?" he hears Lauren say to Winnifred behind him.

"I think you mean it's gonna be a fun twelve years," Winnifred replies.

And while Sam is still a little terrified of tempting the wrath of the whatever and even more terrified that he might not be up to the job, he can't help but sincerely think that it will be fun.

"You're an idiot!" Josh snaps.

"I can fire you!" Will snaps back.

Well, a little fun, at least.

#fic by me #sort of #the west wing #sam x will #will bailey #sam seaborn

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softspideys · 5 years ago

Text

Supernova (Part I) (Peter Parker x reader)

summary: you’re the newest recruit to the Avengers. the problem is, no one is quite sure of what your powers are yet.

warnings: none

word count: 1.7k

pairing: peter parker x reader

a/n: this is my first series since time after time, and I really hope everyone likes it! stay tuned for part 2 :)

When Tony Stark showed up at the doorstep of your foster home, asking if you wanted to be an Avenger, your first instinct was to laugh in his face. You weren’t even sure if it was really him at first. You knew the name and the reputation of course, but had only ever seen a few clips of him on TV or in a grainy picture in the newspaper.

But it was him, and apparently he wanted to speak with you. Your foster mom was freaked, convinced you’d done something bad enough to warrant him coming all the way to the apartment you were currently living at in South Bronx. You didn’t even bother pointing out that although the state’s file on you was probably enormous by now, there was no criminal record. It wouldn’t matter.

Privately, you were also a little scared. Why would the Tony Stark, one of the richest and definitely the most powerful man in the world, want to talk to you? You were a nobody, a poor kid shuttled from orphanage to foster home and back again.

Stark insisted on talking to you in private. As soon as he shut the door, you blurted out, “Are you here to arrest me?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Pardon?”

You gulped, but didn’t back down. “I’m sorry, I just . . . how do you know who I am? Am I in trouble?” You thought back to all of the times you’d shoplifted from corner stores and bodegas, how no one had ever seemed to notice or catch you. Maybe it was all accumulating now.

He seemed amused by that. “No, you’re not in trouble,” he said. He sat down and nodded to the chair across from him. “That’s a little below my pay grade. Why don’t you take a seat?”

Earlier, when word had gotten out that Iron Man was here to see you, a few of the other kids had joked that maybe he was coming to reveal that he was your father. For a brief second, you wondered if that was actually happening.

Slowly, you sat down. “There’s no real easy way to say this,” Stark said, taking his glasses off and peering at you thoughtfully. “Not without freaking the hell out of you, anyway.”

“Say what?” you demanded. “What’s going on?”

He heaved a sigh. “As I’m sure you know, I’m in a group of individuals who all have rather . . . special . . . abilities. And we like to keep an eye out for people with the same type of skills.”

You blinked, wondering why he was telling you that. “Okay . . .”

“Well, we’ve had our eyes on you for a little while now,” Stark said, “and we think you might be someone we’re looking for.”

You stared at him before you let out a small, nervous laugh. “Sorry, what?” you said. “You’re—is this some type of joke? Are you actually Tony Stark?”

“I am, kid,” he said. “Got the money to prove it.”

“Listen,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m sorry you came all the way out here, but I think you must have the wrong person.”

“Mm, don’t think so.” He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out his phone, some small, sleek, high-tech model that made you feel especially poor just by looking at it. He pressed a button and a hologram appeared above the screen. It was your name, date of birth, and current address, followed by your picture. “That’s you, right?”

“I . . . yeah,” you said, watching in disbelief as the picture changed into one from you in elementary school, followed by one of you as a toddler. How did he have all of that? How long had they been watching you?

“There’s no mistake here,” Stark said. “Like I said, you’ve been on our radar for a while now.”

“But why?” you said. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way he could be saying what you thought he was saying. “I’m not special. I’m not a god or a trained assassin or from another planet. I don’t have—have superpowers or anything like that.”

“You sure about that?”

You sputtered out a laugh, but Stark merely raised his eyebrows at you. “Come on,” he said. “I’ve looked at your file, you’re a smart kid. You mean to tell me that you’ve never felt like you were different? All those years on the streets by yourself, and you never wondered how you survived it? You never wondered who you were, or where you came from?”

Staring at him, you felt your throat tighten. Of course you’d wondered that. You’d been wondering all of that for as long as you could remember: a lost kid with no family, no friends, left to survive and fend for yourself. You always knew there was something different about you, but never what exactly. It was like a second heartbeat, thrumming deep in your chest, waiting to be let out.

“So, what?” you said finally. “You’re telling me I’m one of you? How do you even know that?”

“There are certain cases that we keep track of if we think it’s going to be something, or someone, useful. We’ve got the technology now that can sense it from the moment it’s born or created. Most of the time they’re one-offs, or false alarms, or they die out with time, but you . . . didn’t.”

“You’ve been watching me? This whole time?” A strange wave of emotions washed over you: some of it was embarrassment, like your turbulent life was something to be ashamed of. The other part of it was anger, flushed and creeping up your neck. They’d seen all you’d gone through and didn’t help? They’d been perfectly content to watch a child abandoned, bounced from place to place with no direction, and it didn’t occur to anyone to step in?

Like he could read your mind, Stark said, “If we help one, we have to help them all. It’s like a nature documentary, you know? You can’t mess with the natural course of things.”

You knew it was a fair point, but you still wouldn’t look at him. “Alright,” you said. “So, I’ve got some kind of special abilities? What are they? How come I’ve never seen them?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Stark said, relieved that you seemed to be catching up. We think you’ve got something powerful inside you, and we’d like to help you figure out what it is. And then, of course, use it.”

“Like—like be an Avenger?” you asked. The words sounded silly coming from your mouth, and you half-expected him to laugh at you, but Stark merely shrugged.

“Well, maybe not right away. But we can get you trained, see what you’re working with, how to control it . . . then we’ll talk.”

You could barely believe what you were hearing. “Train? At the new compound, you mean?” You knew Stark had sold the old Avengers Tower in Manhattan in favor of a newer, bigger place upstate, with sprawling green hills and dozens of different rooms for Avengers and agents to train in. It was the kind of place you could only dream of, all that open space to exist.

“Where else?”

The idea seemed too good to be true, but like a balloon popping, you were suddenly brought back to your reality. There had to be a catch. You lived in the city; the trip upstate would take several hours just to get up there. It was going to be impossible for you to go back and forth between your foster home and the compound to train: you didn’t have a car or even a license to drive, and you knew for a fact that neither of your foster parents would be willing to make the trip so often.

Besides, what about school? You’d just started your junior year at the local public high school, and while it wasn’t going totally flawlessly, you still didn’t want to transfer or miss a lot of it.

“Look,” you said before Stark could say anything else. “I appreciate you wanting to help me and, you know, thinking that I’ve got something special. But I don’t think I can live here and work with you. It’s just too much.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean, live here? Why would you live here?”

“Where else would I live?”

“At the compound,” Stark said, like it was obvious. “With everyone else who doesn’t have anywhere to go.”

“You mean like . . . like you’d adopt me, or something?” Your heart began to beat uncomfortably fast at the thought. You were still expecting him to deny it, even after all of the crazy things he’d been telling you so far. But he merely nodded.

“Well, yeah. You can live upstate and go to school there, or we’ll get you into something online, or we’ll just tutor you. Plenty of options that we can talk about later.” He waved his hand, clearly unconcerned with the idea of school.

“Are you serious? You really want me to live there?” You almost felt a little dizzy. Was this it? Was this finally the out you’d been searching for your entire life?

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Stark said. “Romanoff’s downstairs signing the papers now. Should I tell her not to bother?” The slightly amused tone of his voice said he knew the answer; your eyes were already shining with tears.

“No,” you said, your voice cracking. “I mean, yeah—I mean—I want to. I want to do this.”

“I figured.” He leaned forward suddenly, his eyes locking onto yours with a sort of quiet urgency. “Listen to me. I’m sure we could talk for hours about the various parental issues we have and how it’s messed us up and all that fun stuff. But that’s all gone now, alright? If you join, you’re a part of this. You’re on the team and you’re in the family. And we don’t leave each other. Understand?”

Somehow, yet again, he’d known exactly what you needed to hear. “I understand.” You swallowed. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

He grinned at you, the first one you’d seen since you met him, and held out his hand. “Call me Tony. Welcome to the team, kid.”

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker series #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman imagine #spiderman series #spiderman fanfiction #avengers imagine #avengers series #avengers fanfiction #marvel imagine #marvel series #marvel fanfiction #writing

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poppy-in-the-woods · 4 years ago

Text

ArkAngel Part 2 - Chapter 10

Tags: plotting, cops, Hardy hacking into a computer a la ‘wake up, Neo’, not perfect grammar/ orthography.

Word Count: 2068

Tag list: @triplexdoublex @welcometohoteldiablo @rumoured-whispers

Author’s note: Though The Flats is a real place in Cleveland, The Grim Reaper Lovers Club is not a real coffee shop, at least to my knowledge. A pity, if you ask me. Also, two quick things:

Almost no Jake in this chapter, so that’s always a good thing, even if it means no Molly, and the text in bold is there because Tumblr does not support small caps and I didn’t want to put it all in regular caps.

Also, I apologize for not following the regular upload schedule anymore.

On with the show!

As promised, Qweenie woke him up at six. It was still Saturday, but it seemed to Wes a month has passed since they'd been to the club. Without saying anything, Leonor handed him a cup of coffee as soon as he entered the kitchen.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Do you already have a plan to rescue that girl?”

“I've been thinking of one, but we're going to need some help,” Qweenie said.

“Whose?” Leonor asked.

“From Tar Pit's brother.”

“No. No, not even mention it. That guy's a cop, if the cops get involved…” Wes started, speaking very fast.

“Please let me explain,” Qweenie said, raising her hands reassuringly. “Hardy told me that as soon as it became known that one of the bodies was Tar Pit's, the police blocked and audited his accounts. The only reason Jake knew she was involved in that night is because he knew she transferred a thousand dollars to you. So I've been thinking: they must have a mole in the department, right?”

“Probably, but how do you know it's not Hannigan the mole himself?”

“Well, Hardy's been watching him, and he doesn't think he is,” Qweenie replied, shrugging. “In fact, he still has an open case against O'Shea.”

“An open case?”

“For murder, but without a body it's not easy. At the moment it’s only a case of missing person, but Hannigan believes she is dead and that the Irishman has something to do with it.”

“Can Hardy sneak into the police servers?” Wes wanted to know.

“Yes, although not for long, and she can't do too much or she’ll drawn attention on herself. What I've thought we could do is this: we secretly contact him, ask for his help in exchange for unofficially telling him what happened the night his brother died, and incidentally, we expose our suspicions regarding the mole.” Suggested Qweenie. “He can probably help us come up with a plan to rescue Molly that doesn't end everyone dead and bring the mole out of their hiding place.”

“You would kill two birds with one stone,” said Leonor.

“Let's check with the others, see what they think.”

Anthony was at his desk, going through a case file and racking his brain about where a certain piece of evidence fit in when his screen went black.

-What the hell…? He mumbled, annoyed.

He tried moving the mouse, but it did not respond. He was going to call the IT department, but then letters started to appear.

¿?: Good morning, detective Hannigan. Don't worry, nothing happens to your computer, I have only taken control temporarily to be able to communicate with you. Please act normally.

Anthony put down the phone and put his hand on the mouse again.

¿?: You can write your answers. For the moment, I’m going to ask you a question, would you like to know what happened the night your brother died?

AH: Of course.

¿?: I can tell you, but you have to do me a favour.

Ah: What favour?

¿?: You have to help me rescue a hostage from O’Shea. And you can't tell any other policemen.

AH: Why not?

¿?: Sure you have realized that you have a mole in your department. This is how O’Shea knows what evidence to make disappear so that you cannot arrest or charge him. There may even be more than one.

¿?: Would you like to discover who it is that is failing your attempts to lock him up?

AH: Of course I would like it.

¿?: Come to the Grim Reaper Lovers Club on The Flats this afternoon at 1PM and I’ll tell you all. And come alone.

¿?: I know your face and that of your co-workers. If I see Castle or someone else approaching the area even, I’ll leave and you will not know anything. Have you understood?

AH: Yes.

¿?: Very well, see you at 1PM. Talk to the person wearing a green t-shirt and is reading The Children of Lir.

¿?: And now, I return you the control of your computer.

The screen returned to normal, as if that had never happened. Anthony tried moving the mouse, and it responded smoothly. Before he forgot, he wrote on a post-it:

Mabel, 13:00, GRLC (The Flats). Bring flowers.

And he continued working as if nothing had happened. As he expected, no one asked him what that reminder meant, because at first glance it seemed that he had a date with a woman, but he had developed his own codes over the years. ‘Mabel’ meant ‘date with a stranger, potential suspect,’ and ‘carrying flowers’ meant ‘go armed’, but even Cas didn't know that.

At the agreed time, Anthony walked into the Grim Reaper Lovers Club, a popular goth-style coffee shop, and searched the tables for who was wearing a green T-shirt and reading The Children of Lir. He found him toward the end of the hall: a tall young man with blond hair combed into a Mohawk and multiple tattoos on his arms. Without saying anything, Tony sat down across from him.

“Good afternoon, detective,” the man greeted him, closing the book. Now that Tony saw him better, his face was familiar.

“Are you the one who talked to me this morning?” He asked, just to be sure.

“No, not me, but for the sake of that person, I have agreed to be the face of this operation.”

“What do you know?”

"Oh no, this isn't going to go like that,” he replied, smiling. “First I will tell you the basic rules and then you will decide if you want to follow them or not. If my conditions are not good for you, you can leave without any problem.”

“But then you won't tell me anything.”

“Exactly. The rules are as follows: everything I am going to tell you is unofficial; I'm telling Anthony, not Detective Hannigan, so you can't do anything about that information as a cop,” the young man explained. “You also cannot tell anyone about what is discussed in this meeting, and you have to help me free the hostage.”

Anthony considered it for a moment. He knew that his brother was a criminal, and that the person who had probably killed him had done so in self-defence or in retribution. If that boy offered him a resolution to the mystery in exchange for his help and also O'Shea on a platter, it was a more than good deal.

“Okay. I swear I won't tell anyone.”

“The night your brother died, he had two prisoners and three hostages. One of the prisoners was the Chemist, I was the other.”

“Why was he holding you?”

“Because of the fairy dust. He knows what it is, right?” Anthony nodded. “The Chemist managed to recreate the formula from his father's notes. Your brother wanted to buy it, but The Chemist refused, so your brother kidnapped him and ordered his goons to search his house, but since the drug did not appear, he ordered one of his thugs to torture him. That's when he slipped that I had a copy of the formula.”

“And he kidnapped you to try to get it.”

“Yes. So there we were, the two of us, tied up and beaten, not saying anything that Tar Pit wanted to know. It was then that the three hostages arrived.”

“How, voluntarily?” asked Tony, surprised.

“They were my rescue, but they had to voluntarily surrender to get in, yes,” the boy explained. “They had an absolute insane plan, but in the end it worked. Sadly, in the process, we had to shoot your brother and his two thugs to get out.”

“I imagined it had been something similar,” he sighed. “And the Chemist?”

“Unfortunately he was already dead, so we burned the warehouse in an effort to pretend that we had never been there, but you know, karma keeps count,” the young man replied with a bitter half smile. “The girl who saved me that night, who devised the plan that allowed us to survive, is now a prisoner of O'Shea, and I want her back.”

“Do you have a plan?” He asked.

“Maybe, but surely you can help us refine it. And if we get it right, we can find the mole in your department.”

“How are you so sure there's a mole?”

“Because O'Shea's son knew something that he could only have known from the cops. And if the bank didn't give him that information, and we know that he didn't, the leak had to come from your side,” the young man replied.

“Okay, I'll help you.”

“Well, go to this address in an hour,” he said, handing him a business card. “To be opened the door, call the number on the back and say your name. We will be waiting for you. See you later,” he said, leaving a five on the table.

At two o'clock, the detective went to the address on the card (a closed furniture store), and called the number hand-written on the back. No one spoke, but after he said his name the blind opened enough for him to enter.

Inside, CC, Mei, Qweenie, Leonor, Hardy, Chalky and Wes awaited him. Hardy had his laptop open at one end of the table. The detective sat in the vacant seat.

“Now that we're all here, let's get started,” Hardy said. “This is Molly Davenport,” she began, putting up a photo of the aforementioned. “Molly has the fairy dust formula on a pen drive in a KeyBank safe.”

“These boxes can only be opened by the owner, direct relatives (ascendant or descendant) with a death certificate and the key, or the police with a court order. The plan is for us to let O'Shea know that Molly has what he wants so the mole can get it for him, thus coming out. While they examine the contents of the pen drive, we will secure the area and rescue Molly. Any questions?”

“There is very little time margin,” said CC.

“We can buy some time,” Chalky said.

"Since I'll be the one to give them the tip, I'll also be the one to crack the password for the file or folder, so it'll take as long as I can," Hardy added. And when it's there, I'll tell you to make sure it's the correct formula.

"So they'll call me, because they already have my sister as 'helper,'" Chalky said, drawing the quotes in the air.

“We are too few to do that in a short time and stay alive. O'Shea has dozens of men patrolling his house,” the detective said. “Believe me, I know, I've investigated him.”

“Well, that's where our second person of interest comes in. Hardy, show him,” Wes said.

“This is Grace Blair Williamson, aka the Snow Queen,” Hardy said, switching to another photo. “Currently, she is the one who controls all the cocaine and methamphetamine trafficking in this city. Her territory borders on what it is currently in dispute, so we thought that if we offered her to get rid of her competitor and hand her extra territory, she might help us.”

“What if she doesn't?” Hannigan asked.

“Then we'll go to the next one on the list: Jesus Diego Torres, the King of Mary Jane and the third in contention for Tar Pit’s old territory,” Hardy explained.

“What if none of them want to help us?”

“Well, I hope we don't have to resort to it, but I have enough information on both of them to blackmail them,” Hardy said.

“It might work,” Mei said.

“It will work,” CC said.

“How do we know O'Shea has Molly at her house?” Leonor asked.

“Because the security cameras have seen them arrive around nine in the morning in a car, with four other people,” Hardy said, playing the video.

The images showed Molly dressed in the clothes she had worn to the club on Friday and sneakers that were clearly not hers, being escorted into the house by a man and a woman, followed by another man and a boy.

“Is that the Irishman's son?” Hannigan asked.

“Yes.”

“How I hate that little bastard...!” The policeman exclaimed, clenching his fists. “Okay, I say we go ahead with the plan.”

“Good. The first step is to contact Williamson,” Wes said. “We can only do it this way if we have her help.”

“Hardy, do your thing,” Qweenie said.

#poppy writes #dopeman #arkangel #dopeman x arkangel #machine gun kelly #mgk #mgk fanfic

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jamaisvuandyou · 4 years ago

Text

Please Dry My Eyes: Part 2

Description: Jin, Hoseok, and Yoongi have had a running streak of bad luck, but Jin isn’t sure what to make of this one: His old friend’s trickery that leads to him being the new father of a little toddler, Jeon Jungkook.

Posted: 05/28/2020

WARNING: Brief mentions of suicide.

Angst: 2,068 words

A/N: Sorry it’s so late, someone on Ao3 demanded I update soon and so my brain rebelled against me. And I’ve had a busy week.

Previous Part. Next Part.

Jin still felt like he could use a drink, or eight.

Hoseok gingerly tested the couch. “He left a note, right?”

“Yeah. He said the pressure was too much. Said that everything would be better off, everyone would be better off. Said there were some videos for his son on the flash drive in his desk. Apologized to him and me. Basically told Jungkook's mother’s parents to F-off because he wasn’t going to let them abuse Jungkook the way they did his mother.”

“Wow. That’s it? That’s all he wrote?”

“There were more expletives and a long winded argument as to why they shouldn’t fight the arrangements he’s made. He was a lawyer. Had to make sure his work wasn’t fought.” Jin rubbed his forehead, panic welling up in him. He was a parent now and he wasn’t even the one who had gotten the girl pregnant.

“There. That was the last box. We’re all moved in. It’s kind of sad that we can pack and unpack our belongings in less than a day.” Hobi had arranged the few house decorations that they had on the coffee table and side tables.

After rushing to the scene with Yoongi last night, and giving statements to the police until the wee hours of morning, they’d gone home, slept for half an hour before Yoongi had to rush to work, then Jin and Yoongi spend a few hours packing up and the last hour unpacking in the new place. Thankfully, Hobi’s friend from the dance studio had a car and had been more than happy to help transfer their things. But most of their furniture they just took to the dumpster.

They hadn’t given Hoseok the full details, partially because it was horrific and Jin just couldn’t deal with it yet and partially because they were both so exhausted that Hoseok just let them leave it at that until about fifteen minutes ago when Jin finally started explaining everything. Hoseok had only mildly inquired about what was going on, and Jin figured he needed to at least know the important bits.

“Your shoes working for you?”

Hoseok looked up at him warmly. “Yeah. Thanks, Hyung. I know you were buying them before all of this happened. It means a lot. Really.”

Jin just patted his arm. “You needed them.”

“We also needed food and coffee, but you got me the shoes.” Hobi hugged him, not satisfied.

Jin just smiled and laughed a little.

That made Hoseok smile up at him. “There. Better. You looked like you were ready to jump off a building in panic.”

Jin winced, the image of blood popping up in his mind.

“Oh…” Hobi squeezed tighter. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

Jin just nodded, sighing shakily. “If I had paid attention…”

“Hyung, he was determined. He would have ended up somewhere they could monitor him and he could convince them that he was fine and then what? There’s nothing you could have done.”

“I enabled him.”

“Jungkook will be better off with you, Hyung. I know he will.”

Jin leaned against his younger for a moment, uncertain of everything that was ahead of him.

The doorbell rang.

They looked at each other and then Jin got up and answered it. “Hello.”

“I’m Namjoon, Jungkook’s caseworker. And this—“ he looked at the toddler in his arms. “Is Jungkook.”

Jin smiled. “Hi, Jungkook.”

“Jinnie,” he murmured, looking quizzical.

Jin blinked in surprise. “Yeah, I’m Jinnie.”

Jungkook smiled and shyly reached out for him.

Jin smiled again as he took the toddler into his arms. “Hey, buddy. You know who I am?”

“Jinnie,” he mumbled again, tucking his face into Jin’s shoulder and clutching his shirt tightly.

“From what I understand, his dad has been showing him pictures of you. Saying you’re his uncle.” Namjoon looked stressed. “How long ago did you actually find out? Because he filed everything a week ago, but he was pretty insistent about not bothering you until everything was certain.”

Jin debated silently on how to answer.

“It won’t change anything. The paperwork is solid and your background check came up clean. There was your recent job, but he informed me of it yesterday and said that you weren’t actually at fault. Jungkook is yours. Completely. Provided you don’t become an unfit guardian.”

Jin sighed. “He asked me yesterday. He sent me fake contracts so I could read through them and had me sign the ones he actually wanted me to sign. I trusted him. When we realized…” he swallowed hard. “It was too late. His lawyer said we were clear to move in here since everything was official and submitted before he died.”

Namjoon just nodded. “Here’s my phone number. For now you need to call me whenever he needs to see the doctor. You don’t need to call for his appointment this Friday. It was scheduled before. More like, if he gets sick or hurt, just so that I can make sure that he’s being properly taken care of and keep on top of paperwork.”

Jin took his card, and stepped aside so Namjoon could set Jungkook’s diaper bag down.

“The rest of his stuff is in my trunk.”

“I’ll help you,” Hoseok said. “I’m Jin’s roommate, Hoseok. Or, I guess I’m his tenant now.”

Jin rolled his eyes. “Roommate. I’m already freaking out, don’t threaten me with the stress of having you pay me rent.”

Namjoon chuckled sympathetically.

Jin watched the cute toddler peek out at him sleepily, before rubbing his face back into Jin’s shoulder. Jin gently rubbed Jungkook’s back, noticing how much Jungkook relaxed with it.

Hoseok and Namjoon brought in two suitcases.

Namjoon slid one open partially and pulled out a stuffed animal. “This is his Nunny and Jungkook can’t sleep without it.”

Jin took the bunny when Jungkook looked around at the name of his toy, tucking it in between Jungkook and himself. He smiled when he saw Jungkook smile a very little before his eyes slipped shut and he was out like a light.

Jin closed his eyes, rubbing the boys back and savoring the warmth he radiated.

Namjoon looked through something on his phone, then went into the diaper bag and pulled out a picture frame containing a photo of Jungkook’s parents in it. “I’m sure there are more photos somewhere, but I thought it was important he have at least one of both of them together.

Jin nodded. “Thanks.”

Hoseok took it, setting it on a shelf that they had no chance of filling considering they’d unpacked just about everything they owned.

“Alright, if you have any questions or problems, just give me a call. I’ve been working with Jungkook for a while and he can be a little particular.” He checked on the boy in Jin’s arms one last time, then looked at Jin. “Really though, I can tell you’ll be good for him. He hasn’t fallen asleep that easily since I don’t know when. He does walk a bit, but his speech is a little behind as well as some of his fine motor skills. He still struggles to feed himself, but he’s getting better.”

“Alright, I’ll work with him on that.”

“Okay then, I’m off. Good luck.” Namjoon seemed a little hesitant to leave, but stroked Jungkook’s head one last time before heading out the door.

Hoseok shut the door, having followed Namjoon out for a moment. “So, you’re a dad now.”

Jin shivered. “He’s so small, Hoseok.”

Hoseok nodded, coming close and stroking the boy’s hair. “Namjoon is right. You’ll be good for him. I’m going to take his suitcases to his room. You want me to unpack?”

“No, I want to do it so I can find everything easily when you’re at work tomorrow.”

“Good point. Just sit down. Cuddle your kid.” He chuckled. “Oh God, hyung. Your kid.”

“My kid. My Jungkook. That’s a mouthful.”

“JK?”

“Mmm, I was thinking Kookie,” Jin countered, sitting down on the couch (it’s been forever since they had a couch and he was so excited) and relaxing so he could hold Jungkook properly. The toddler was sound asleep, one of the bunny ears gripped tightly in one of his hands and Jin’s shirt in the other. “I’m sure we’ll probably use both as he grows.”

Hoseok sighed. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep.”

“I know. I’ve gotten used to your elbow in my side, and Yoongi stealing the covers. We can ease out of it, I think.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” He headed toward the door and opened it just as Yoongi was getting ready to knock. “It was unlocked.”

“Oh. Whoa,” He looked around with surprise. He took off his shoes before taking a few tentative steps in. He looked at a loss for words, finally settling with, “Our stuff must look so out of place here.”

“Mostly things just look empty,” Hoseok answered. “Glad there was a bed though, because ours literally fell apart while we were transporting it out of the apartment and a spring came through our mattress. So, hope you’re okay with the mattress that was here. We also decided to just throw out most of the other furniture. Kept the dining room table. Oh, and hyung being a dad is already weird.”

Yoongi nodded, then saw Jin and the curled up toddler. “He’s even smaller than I imagined. What’s his name again?”

“Jungkook.”

“Right. Um, do you want me to make lunch?”

“That’d be great, Yoongi,” Jin replied, smiling. There was something really soothing about holding Jungkook so close as he slept. Feeling his even breaths and the beating of his heart. The quiet little sounds he made now and then.

“You look ready for a nap,” Hoseok chuckled softly.

“I feel ready for one. But I’m getting hungry and this one will be hungry sooner or later. Something simple. Maybe a grilled cheese?” He needed a nap, honestly. He’d been going since yesterday and his nap this morning wasn’t exactly enough to satisfy his need for sleep.

“Can do.” Yoongi got a good look at Jungkook and smiled. “He’s cute.” Then he headed into the kitchen to make lunch.

Jin smiled down at the kiddo, then kissed the ultra-soft baby hair. He was adorable, and so very soft and squishy.

Jungkook stirred, blinking up at Jin and then pulling his Nunny closer and peeking out at the world. “Jinnie.”

Jin pressed a kiss to the boy’s chubby cheek. “Are you hungry, Jungkookie?”

He nodded cutely, lips puckering cutely as he curiously watched Yoongi and Hoseok move around the kitchen.

“You want to go see what Yoongi and Hoseok are making?” Jin asked, getting up. If he didn’t move he was going to fall asleep, and that would throw him off for the rest of the evening.

Jungkook nodded again, hand turning into a fist around Jin’s shirt.

Jin chuckled and carried him to a kitchen. “Hobi, Yoongi, look who’s awake.”

Hoseok turned and smiled. “Ah! Hi, Jungkookie!”

Jungkook gasped and buried his face in Jin’s shoulder and neck, bringing up his bunny to hid behind as well.

Jin gave him a little squeeze. “It’s okay, Jungkook. Hobi is just happy to see you.”

“I wanted to play with you later, if that’s okay,” Hoseok said softly. “We can go play outside.”

Jungkook shook his head, not even peeking out.

Jin exchanged worried looks with the other two. “Okay, well, we can play with your Nunny later if you want.”

Jungkook just whined a bit and wiggled in Jin’s grip. He wiggled until Jin set him down, still clinging to Jin’s sleeve, but standing and looking around poutily. He looked up at Jin, lip wobbling and arms going up.

Jin sighed, but smiled as he picked up the toddler. “You’re just not sure about any of this, are you, kiddo?” He pressed a little kiss to Jungkook’s forehead.

“Jinnie,” He mumbled, clutching the collar of Jin’s shirt. “Nunny?”

“It’s on the floor. We’re going to have dinner. Some yummy grilled cheese and some applesauce.”

Hoseok picked it up and handed it to him so he wouldn’t have to try and pick it up.

“Ju?”

Jin thought for a moment. “Ju-ice?”

“Ju,” Jungkook nodded.

“Okay, I think I have some orange juice, how does that sound?”

He looked up at Jin, blinking, wet eyes looking completely lost.

“Well, we’ll just try it. You want to sit next to me, Jungkookie?” He offered, heading to the high-chair that had been in the closet but now sat beside the table.

Jungkook just mumbled Jin’s name again, but didn’t protest when Jin put him in the highchair. He just sort of looked at the table of the high chair and watched Jin as he got the sippy cup of juice, the container of applesauce, and the plate with the grilled cheese sandwich.

Jin sat down beside Jungkook, setting the cup and applesauce down.

“Can he feed himself?” Yoongi asked.

“We’re about to find out,” Jin answered, putting the spoon into the applesauce.

Jungkook grabbed the spoon, but was playing with it more than eating.

Jin hummed to himself, gently taking the spoon from Jungkook and feeding him a bit of applesauce.

Jungkook readily opened his mouth to take it.

“Yeah, don’t think he knows how to feed himself yet. Are you sure you can feed him the grilled cheese sandwich?” Hoseok asked, taking a seat with his own sandwich.

“Could you cut it up into small bites while I feed him the applesauce?”

He nodded, sitting and taking a knife to the sandwich.

“What should we do for dinner, hyung?” Yoongi asked, checking the cupboards.

“Rice, and whatever else we can think of. I don’t know, I don’t think I was as ready as I thought.” Jin shook his head and helped Jungkook eat another spoonful of applesauce.

“Jinnie,” Jungkook continued to babble Jin’s name between bites, seeming at least a little happy. But Jin still wanted to see the boy smile.

“You’ll figure it out, hyung. We all will,” Hoseok said optimistically, hugging Jin’s shoulders and head from behind.

Jin’s eyes widened as Jungkook burst into tears and made grabby hands at Jin without any sort of explanation. Just a continued wail of “Jinnie!”

Yoongi covered his ears while Jin tried to calm the child. “Sooner rather than later, hopefully.”

–

Previous. Next.

Masterlist.

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heartslogos · 4 years ago

Text

the declassified texts of the inquisition’s elite [166]

(914): I apparently sent an offer letter to, and then subsequently onboarded, the wrong candidate. How's your Monday? -

“How incredibly unusual. Josephine doesn’t make mistakes like that,” Vivienne says, “She’s entirely too organized for such a thing. Do I dare make the suggestion that the chain of command is falling into disarray?"

“You can suggest it, but I won’t be around to hear you do so,” Max replies. “I’d prefer it if I wasn’t in the same building as you entirely, thank you.”

Vivienne’s lips quirk up as she signs her name on the last receipt with a slight flourish as her only signal to how much she’s truly enjoying the current situation. It’s not a situation meant to be enjoyed, of course.

Josephine’s department making a mistake like that and having it go all the way to the stage where to back out would be to lose extreme face, is so highly unusual and worrisome that it can only scream, yell, bellow, holler, and cry of a deeper problem.

“Is our poor Ambassador overly booked?” Vivienne asks as she hands the documents back to Max to file with their Quartermaster. Vivienne turns over her shoulder. “Careful, mind you. I say that more for your safety than that of what’s inside of those boxes. Those chemicals are inexpensive and low on our priority list for resupply, certainly, but if any of it leaks onto you, we’ll be in very dire straights. Gently, my dears. Caution almost never betrays.”

“That’s why I’ve been pulled from field work, I assume,” Max answers her, peering around Vivienne to watch them unload. “How’s the research going? I’m not sure what on. I’m sure it’s on something suitably mind blowing. Don’t go into details. You know the jargon will fly over my head and it’ll have us both feeling disappointed in me.”

Vivienne hums, focus still mostly on the unloading of her new shipment of chemicals and sundry equipment.

“Tell the Quartermaster that renovations are almost entirely complete in the new lab building and inventory stocks are mostly filled,” she says instead of answering his question. “But I am concerned that other lab employees are scavenging through this one whenever they run low because they’re too lazy to fill out the requisite forms needed for their own buildings. I will not have my new building opening with a deficit and ruined books just because the other Leads can’t manage their staff.”

“Duly noted and I’ll pass that on to Threnn as soon as I see her.”

“Who’s taking over your field work?”

“Herah.”

“Odd. I thought Herah was also being pulled from fieldwork to assist Josephine’s department.”

“Must have been pulled right after me. I’m not sure who’s handling my assignments now. Maybe it’s gone straight to Rylen at this point. Herah’s field work goes to Edric. And I know Edric hasn’t been pulled for internal clean up because he’s still abroad, and as far as I’m aware the clean up is only happening at our Skyhold main base. Our auxiliary branches and locations are doing just fine. Josephine’s staff outside of Skyhold’s perfectly capable and well trained. It just seems that within our main offices…some people have been getting slack.”

Max pauses to consider. "Or maybe we all suffer from the exact same problem here at headquarters.”

“And what problem is that?”

“A general unwillingness to let other people do our work for us,” Max replies. “Unless placed under extreme duress.”

“Are you accusing certain parties of being unable to delegate their work properly?”

“Accusing? You make it sound so harsh!” Maxwell waves his hands, keeping the signed documents carefully pinned under his arm. If he loses them Threnn will have his head. Vivienne probably would find it mildly entertaining or mildly annoying, depending on how comical it looks if he loses them right in front of her directly after she finished signing them. But Threnn would be absolutely livid. “Besides, it’s a problem most of us are guilty of. Myself included.”

“Hm.” Vivienne’s still keeping a careful watch on the people unloading and carrying items into the lab building behind her. “So who did Josephine accidentally hire and how bad is it?”

“Not a clue,” Max answers. "I didn’t ask. I had a feeling it might not go over well. The Iron Bull is probably going to kidnap Josephine for a few hours and have her unwind.”

“A wonderful idea. He’s a very astute man. I’d say he’s wasted working covert intelligence, but it does seem to make him feel fulfilled.” Vivienne sighs. “And that’s what anyone can ask for out of a job, really. That and adequate reimbursement. Though that isn’t a problem the Inquisition has ever had. Maybe I should check in on Josephine as well. Offer her some advice on finding suitable assistants.”

The older woman’s face pinches immediately after saying that. “Though considering my own high turn around that may seem hypocritical. No. I’ll just ask her out for a light lunch when I see she has time free on her calendar. Or perhaps I’ll schedule one of our next meetings during a lunch instead. Do you suppose the Iron Bull knows who’s slid into our ranks by mistake?”

“Best check with one of Leliana’s immediate staff,” Max replies. “They’re probably the ones assigned to do clean up on this. I mean. We are keeping the new hire for sure. I imagine that whoever ended up slipping in wasn’t entirely a lost cause. They must have passed our background checks to have even gotten to Josephine’s desk for approval in the first place. I”m sure it can’t be that bad. And it’s not like we can’t hire the other one we meant to get instead. We’re always short on personnel. Maybe we can transfer one of them to oversee the set up of your new lab.”

“A charming idea.” Vivienne’s tone of voice, however, says that she clearly disapproves of the idea. Vivienne’s always been protective of the things she’s considered hers. It’s one of her most endearing qualities that reminds Max that he probably shouldn’t be afraid of her. After all, she’s apparently decided she’s suitable to be considered one of hers. “Do go run along now. I’ve got to make sure these boxes are going to the right storage rooms, and I’m sure our dear Quartermaster is wondering what a simple sign and deliver is taking you so long.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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toloveawarlord · 5 years ago

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Ch. 4

Pairing: Sophia x Fenrir

Tagging: @plumpblueberry

A/N: I finished this chapter quite a while ago but didn’t get around to posting it. We’re slowing learning about Sophia’s origins over the next few chapters.

The shifting of file boxes and paper filled the awkward air between the two doctors searching in silence. Kyle couldn’t find any appropriate words, leaving him uncomfortable in the situation. He longed for a drink. Maybe that would give him the clarity to break this awful tension.

“Did ya find it?” Like sunshine breaking through on a cloudy day, the Ace of Spades cut in with his bright grin. He leaned against the door frame; hand stuffed down in his pockets. Having escaped the nurse’s station, Fenrir had wandered back to the filing room.

Sophia slid the lid off another box, careful eyes scanning the patient names before removing one single file. “Yes, this one. Alex Marshall, 34 years old.” Her shoulders tensed as both men moved to either side, peering over her shoulder at its contents. Too close for her own liking.

“The symptoms all match that of the autopsy report and my own investigation into the matter.” Kyle spoke after thoroughly reading it over. With little information to go on, the only results they could yield would come from the man himself. “I’ll report this back to Lance. We can meet at the Civic Center tomorrow around 11 to visit him together.”

Her gaze flickered to his but immediately dropped away. That questioning look too much for her to deal with. “That’s fine. We’ll be there.” Snapping the file shut, she pushed it against Fenrir’s chest. “Hold on to this.” She couldn’t shake the ill feeling washing over her.

Kyle soon dismissed himself, muttering about needing a drink. Nothing more could be done until daylight. As for the Ace of Spades, he flipped through the file while slightly watching her replace the boxes in their proper place. He couldn’t glean much, but her shoulders were tense. “Something bothering ya?”

“Yes. I’m unsure why, but...” Sophia trailed off, brushing a strand of raven hair from her face. An abnormality in the paperwork. The answer alluded her, so close to revealing itself but never quite doing so. It didn’t sit well with her.

Rapping at the open door drew both of their attention to the nurse. “Sophia, Sullivan is asking for you.” Though she spoke to the doctor, her eyes were glued to the army boy, a hint of blush creeping across her cheeks and chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. The transparent signs of infatuation.

“Who’s Sullivan?” Fenrir asked, trailing behind her once again as a puppy following its new owner. Either he was dense enough to not notice the nurse’s hot gazes or he pretended not to. Neither option clear enough to make a confident diagnosis.

This late into the night, only their steps echoed down the empty, dimmed hallway. Most of their patients fast asleep, and the number of staff drastically dropped from the day shift. Inhaling a breath to calm her scattered thoughts, Sophia came to stop before the last door on the left.

“Sullivan is an eight-year-old orphan who suffered major injuries due to an accident in his foster home. The investigation done by the Red Army never ruled a cause, though I speculate an accident not the reason. Sullivan can’t remember how it happened and without his testimony, little could be done.” Her hand hovered above the handle, pale blue eyes glancing back over her shoulder at him. “Whatever you do, don’t stare at his injuries. He’s self-conscious.”

Inside the small room, only the lamp next to the bed illuminated the room. The thin boy sat upright against his pillows, but his lashes dragged against his cheeks as he struggled to keep himself awake. “Sophia, I heard...” His head tilted, lips mashing together as the words took a moment to come out. “you’re...leaving.” His tone wavering with sadness.

“I am,” Sophia answered, unwrapping the white gauze from around his head. According to his chart, it had been a while since anyone had changed it, but she’d like to check on swelling and the stitches.

Fenrir stopped in the doorway. Even with the dim light, the ailments of the young boy were hard to overlook. The brown hair completely shaved away on the right side, in its place a long line of stitches across puffed, red skin. Bruises peppered across his pale skin like oversized freckles, varying in color and severity. His left arm securely fastened in a sling.

Once the fresh stitches were covered again, Sophia leaned against the stool. Her calm features never giving up what might be going on behind them. “I’m going to be working with the Black Army, as their doctor. I’ve already asked for your transfer. There’s no need to have those teary eyes.” Her voice lacked the teasing tone that most would take with a child so young, instead remaining meticulous and monotone.

Several seconds passed before Sullivan’s mouth tugged into a lopsided smile. “I... get to...go?” Green eyes lit up, opening wide in shock. He adored both Sophia and the idea of being in the army. His gaze fell upon the Ace of Spades lingering in the doorway. “You’re a... solider?”

“Fenrir Godspeed, the Ace of Spades,” Fenrir introduced himself with a slight bow and a wide grin. Whatever the boy had been through, the admiration shimmering from his eyes told Fenrir that he loved the army. Striding across the room to where Sophia was, he easily slid into the conversation. “Ya like swords or guns the best?”

The doctor barely commented as the topics changed with ease at the hands of the Ace. Her focus falling back on the file placed on the corner of the bedside table. Eyes narrowing, she snatched it up and flipped through once again. Preliminary notes taken by Kayla, proper paperwork that the wife had filled out, and the standard discharge forms. “My notes.”

“Hmm? Sophia, somethin’ the matter?” Fenrir holstered the gun he’d been showing off to Sullivan. Her sour expression enough to alarm him. Even though they’d just met, he found it concerning since she hardly let her emotions show outwardly.

Sophia checked twice, counting the pages under her breath. “My personal notes are missing. They’re the final page of the file for any case that it is under my name. This one is no exception, and I would not have forgotten to do so.” Why would they have been removed unless it held more information that someone didn’t want revealed?

Someone went to the trouble of stealing it. The fact swirled around her like suffocating smoke, settling in her lungs as heavy stones, a permanent reminder of something familiar. Of what she needed to remember; she couldn’t place.

“Get some rest, Sullivan.” Her goodbye short and crisp, lacking the motherly touch that one would except from a caretaker. Sophia moved with purposeful and long steps, engrossed in her own memories to respond to her fellow officer questioning her.

The path to her destination lit only by the moon peeking out from behind a silver cloud, her eyes cast around to the shadows swallowing up the smaller streets. The quiet of the night heightening her guard, as if those shadows were alive and watching her every move.

“Sophia!” Fenrir grabbed her arm to stop her from continuing on. “What’s in those notes that could be worth taking?” He couldn’t understand her abrupt behavior but the person who took the notes had gotten in and out unnoticed. That made them dangerous, and he wouldn’t allow her to walk into a dangerous situation alone and unarmed.

Her head shook in annoyance. “I don’t know.” That wasn’t quite true. The case had struck her as odd, and perhaps in her notes was a clue that she’d overlooked. It must be connected to her, as Carter and the other doctors never filed separate notes, choosing to use the normal paperwork and move on. She tended to pour details onto the page that most might have labeled as irrelevant.

“Aright, then where are ya going?” Surely not to attempt to hunt down the thief.

“The Civic Center.” Her voice dropped, barely above a whisper as she continued, “I keep a copy of all my notes hidden there among the old files.” None but her knew about this habit. Never before had a situation arose where she needed to use them.

Fenrir insisted on accompanying her. He disliked how shrouded she could be about certain things. Her relationship with the Red Army doctor... he’d overheard a little about reopening a wound. Her origins being in Red Territory were obscure, even after all the digging that they’d done. Now she kept secret files in case they were ever stolen. “Why do ya keep copies?”

“It’s how I was raised.” Her words harsh and final, sealing off the topic from being continued. That part of her, the part that dictated how cautious and meticulous about her past flared up to protect those secrets. It wouldn’t help their current case and digging deeper would only harm him. She couldn’t be sure this even had anything to do with her family.

If it did, she was putting all of Cradle at risk by investigating.

#ikemen revolution #ikerev #ikemen revolution fanfiction #fenrir godspeed #kyle ash #sophia emerson #etched in blood #chapter 4 #ace of spades #five of spade #ikerev oc

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ladyfogg · 5 years ago

Text

May I? - 3/?

Fic Summary: Ensign Faith Diaz struggles to hide her mental illness from her fellow shipmates aboard the Enterprise until an intrigued Data goes out of his way to try to understand her behavior. At his insistence, Faith tries to figure out what she's truly passionate about and eventually seeks the professional help she needs. Fic Masterpost.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Data/Female OC

Warnings: tw: depression, tw: anxiety, fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut

Data went back to his work.

Before that day he had not had a conversation with Faith and after two he found himself more puzzled than before.

When Geordi had spoken of the ensign, he had mentioned her tardiness and overall dismissive demeanor over the last few weeks. Data could not comment on the tardiness but he had not found her to be dismissive unless questions were directed at her own well-being.

The fact that she used the Jefferies Tubes as a way to escape during her rotation was troubling. Handling stress in a fast-paced environment was essential to any position within Starfleet. If Faith could not handle the stress, how had she gotten as far as the Enterprise?

Data scanned Faith's Starfleet personnel file and found nothing of significance. She had adequate marks in the academy and had served on another vessel before the Enterprise. Her transfer orders included a glowing recommendation from her previous superior officer.

Data concluded that something must have happened in the time between her last posting and her current one. If her behavior had changed once on the Enterprise, then it stood to reason the Enterprise was the issue. He had several hundred theories but not enough evidence for a clear hypothesis.

Switching his main focus, Data finished the project he had been working on and decided it was the best time to dream before the night ended.

He climbed into bed, dimmed the lights, and closed his eyes.

He was in a forest. A dense forest, thick with vegetation. It may have been daylight but he could not tell through the canopy created by the massive trees around him.

Data walked forward, listening to the crunching of the leaves under his shoes. It was the only sound he heard which was strange. Forests had animals did they not? He should be hearing birds at the very least.

"Data."

His name was whispered and he turned in the direction it came but saw no one. He kept moving forward.

"Data."

This time the whisper came from a different direction. Yet still, he saw no one. At first. The harder he stared, the more the plants began to twist and change, winding themselves into a distinct shape. He took a step closer for a better look.

"Data!"

This time the voice with louder, right behind him. Data spun around and came face-to-face with Dr. Soong.

"Father?"

Dr. Soong smiled. "I'm surprised you found this place so quickly, son," he said. "I didn't even program it. It developed on its own when I added your dream function."

"What is it?"

Soong looked around, a mysterious glint in his eye. "The unknown, Data." He turned Data around and suddenly there was an archway of branches and vines, unintelligible whispers beckoning him forward. "The unknown."

Then he pushed Data through.

Data sat up. In the months since he began dreaming, he had cataloged over one-hundred and fifty dreams. In ninety-two percent of those dreams, he had found himself on the Enterprise while the remaining eight percent took place in various locations he had visited throughout his life.

This was the first dream where the location was fictitious. He was not sure how to interpret what he saw. Was Dr. Soong there or did his brain create his image as a "guide" of sorts?

Data was required on the Bridge, which left little time for him to dwell on the matter. He would have to examine the dream another time, perhaps during his session with Counselor Troi the next day.

He reported to his station on time, as always.

The planet they were surveying had no life forms and the previous day's excursion to the surface yielded nothing special.

"What are your thoughts, Number One?" Captain Picard asked.

"It's like I said in my report," Riker responded. "There were a few structures but they were empty, seemingly abandoned years ago. No idea who made them but whoever did couldn't be found."

"Any reason why they were left?"

"I'm assuming it was due to the atmosphere. We were down there for a short time and even then it became difficult to breathe. We just barely managed to leave before storms rolled in."

Picard studied the screen thoughtfully before he sighed. "Best move on then. Data, set a course for the next planet in this system."

"Course set. We should arrive in fourteen hours and fifty-two minutes," Data announced.

"Thank you, Mr. Data. Engage."

And so they moved on.

Data's shift ended hours later and he retired to Engineering to continue his improvements with Geordi.

"Hey, Data, glad you're here," Geordi said when he arrived. "I need your help."

"Certainly. With what?"

"Here, let me show you."

Geordi led Data to the assistant engineer's console where a piece of machinery was physically out of place. It did not interfere with the console's function. Yet it was still troubling.

"Interesting…" Data said. "This reminds me of what Faith found yesterday. There is no reason for this unit to have been disassembled."

"No there isn't." Geordi raised his eyebrow. "Two pieces of Engineering machinery physically moved in less than twenty-four hours? I don't like those odds."

"It is extremely unlikely such occurrences are random."

"But what could cause such a thing?" Geordi asked. "These things are heavy. It would take at least three people to move them, maybe four. And that's if you detach it from the wall."

"The reasoning is also unclear," Data said. "I suggest running diagnostics on both units to ensure they have not been tampered with."

Geordi nodded in agreement. "I'll start on the one Faith was examining. By the way, thanks for taking care of her. Things could have gone south fast if you weren't there."

"It was no trouble," Data said. "Geordi, may I ask you a question about Faith?"

"To tell you the truth, Data, I don't know much about her."

"It is about her work. You said her performance has been lacking in the last few weeks?"

Geordi crossed his arms, leaning against the wall in the process. "More like months. When she first joined there wasn't an issue. I mean, she worked a little slow but still got the job done. Now she seems...I don't know, distracted. She's been late multiple times. Sometimes I ask her to do something and it takes hours, or she gets side-tracked and forgets. She's also had a bit of an attitude." He frowned. "Why? Was she rude to you?"

Data shook his head. "I did not find her rude. Although, I am curious about her behavior."

"What do you mean?"

"She injured herself but was reluctant to seek medical attention. Even when she was bleeding."

Geordi's dismay turned to concern. "That is troubling. Well, I know she's been ordered to rest per Dr. Crusher. Maybe she just needs a break. We haven't had shore leave in a while and who knows when she had a break on her last ship. I guess I never considered she may be overworked."

"It is possible. She was particularly unconcerned regarding her own safety. As her superior officer, I thought you should know."

Geordi stood up straight and adjusted his uniform. "Thanks, Data. I'll keep that in mind and will keep an eye on her when she gets back."

"That would be wise."

Satisfied the matter was settled, Data took a seat at the center terminal to begin to work. A few moments later Geordi joined him.

"Data?"

"Yes, Geordi?"

"Why the sudden interest in Faith?"

Data stared at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"You seem particularly concerned about her."

"Should I not be?"

"I'm not trying to discourage you. I think it's great. I guess I'm just curious."

"I am as well."

A sly smile spread across Geordi's face, though Data was not sure why. "Is that so?"

"Yes." Data studied him for a moment. "Judging by your tone you find this amusing."

"Maybe a little."

"May I ask why?"

"I've never known you to show such fast interest in a woman before."

"Ah. You think my interest is sexual in nature."

Geordi snorted with laughter. "Well, is it?"

"It is not. You of all people know I do not have any feelings, let alone sexual ones."

"It doesn't have to be sexual. You can just want companionship."

Data considered Geordi's point of view. "Currently I only wish to understand what Faith is going through. However, I have found our brief interactions pleasant enough, if not confusing."

"Confusing?"

"Yes. Her reactions to certain topics. For example, at times she will be conversing with no issue but when certain subjects come up she shuts down or grows defensive."

"That's not new to you, Data. You've been around plenty of people who don't want to share what's on their minds."

"I am aware of that, Geordi. But this is different."

"How?"

"I do not know. Hence the curiosity."

Geordi still had a slight smile on his face, almost as if he knew something Data did not. "As your friend, all I ask is that you be mindful of your questions. You may not feel, but Faith does. And she may not appreciate the extra attention." He picked up his tricorder. "I'm going to go check that console. Let me know if you need anything."

Data frowned as he watched Geordi walk away. Faith had approached him the previous evening and had even apologized for snapping at him. She did not seem bothered by his interest, only frustrated by the repeated question of her well-being. Data planned to avoid asking that particular question in the future, especially with Geordi's warning.

The more he learned about humans the more he grew confused. Yet, his resolve to be like them never wavered. If anything it strengthened as he hoped to fully understand them someday.

He and Geordi worked for several hours, exchanging thoughts about the latest mystery and reviewing the results of the diagnostics. In Geordi's initial sweep nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Still, the staff was told to keep an eye out for anything that seemed physically out of place.

"I need a break," Geordi announced, rubbing his forehead. "My brain feels like mush and I still have some calibrations I have to run. Why don't we call it a day and meet up in the morning? Start fresh."

"Good idea. I need to feed Spot and I would like to work on my painting."

"Well, enjoy. I'll see you tomorrow."

Data took his leave, heading for his quarters. Spot greeted him when he arrived, meowing and curling around his legs.

"I know it is time for your dinner," Data said, making his way to the replicator.

After making sure Spot was fed, Data turned to his paint supplies. There was an abstract painting he had been working on for a number of weeks, but when he reached for the canvas, he decided he did not want to work on it. He wanted to start something new.

Data propped a fresh canvas in his easel and carefully selected several paints for his palette. His thoughts focused on the dream he had and he found himself painting the lush forest, dark and mysterious with beams of light attempting to peek through the canopy.

When he was finished, he stared at it for some time, reliving the dream vividly. There had been something in the underbrush before his father had appeared. It nagged at him, tugged on his mind until he propped up another fresh canvas.

Without hesitation, he dipped his brush in brown paint, mixing it with a small amount of white to lighten it some.

Then he began to paint.

Data was capable of computing multiple thoughts and actions at once, yet often limited them when he painted. He had been told creative endeavors required your full attention and he made it a point to follow said rule.

Often he knew exactly what he wanted to paint and what techniques he needed to implore to achieve his goal.

This time, it was different. This time, his hand seemed to have a mind of his own, gliding across the canvas in sure, deliberate strokes. It took Data a moment to register what he was actually painting.

Two light brown eyes stared back at him from the canvas. There was no face, no skin, just the eyes framed with long dark lashes.

Faith's eyes.

Data lowered his brush, staring at what he had done and unsure of why he had done it. It was supposed to paint the vines and leaves, twisting together. Not this. He considered stopping but the urge to continue was strong. So he did not fight it.

He added more white to the brown mixture until he was able to match her skin tone, filling in the blank spots on the canvas.

Fresh brown paint was squeezed onto the palette, and this time Data added a drop of black, darkening it to match her hair. The eyebrows came next, thick and dark, with a small imperfection in the left one, no doubt leftover from a faded scar.

Last was her hair, escaping its braid as it swirled around her face. It was not until her image was complete that he finally added the vines he had been attempting to recreate. Various shades of green wove together, twisting just as they appeared in his dream. They blended into her face, almost as if they made her.

Hours had passed by the time Data lowered his brush, staring in awe at the image he had managed to produce. It was nothing like he had ever painted before.

"Most curious."

#commander data #lt commander data #data tng #data soong #star trek next generation

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sunnyrollins · 5 years ago

Note

Prompt request from soft angst list “‘what keeps you up at night?’”

“What keeps you up at night?”

The familiar bedroom was shrouded in darkness, and Amanda stared blankly up at the ceiling as the cars passing by on the streets outside became nothing more than white noise. The sheets next to her were still cold…untouched…despite the fact that it was well into the night, but she had been too distracted think about it for too long. Her mind had been too busy replaying the events of the past few days on a nearly constant loop, as if to remind her of every mistake she’d made.

Rita Calhoun stood in front of her, as calm and composed as always. She paced a few steps, her eyes never leaving Amanda’s, before stopping in front of the stand.

“Detective Rollins…you and Captain Benson were the first to speak to the accuser, Ms. Alexander, correct?”

“We were.”

“Upon filing her initial police report did Ms. Alexander ever identify my client? Or even give a physical description of her attacker at all?”

“Not at first,” Amanda responded honestly. “She told us that she didn’t get a good enough look at the person who attacked her to give an accurate description. But it’s not uncommon for details to come back to victims once they’ve had some time to deal with the initial trauma of the attack.”

“I hear you, Detective. So, just to be clear…you’re saying that when Ms. Alexander initially spoke with you and Captain Benson she had no memory of her attacker’s face. But once she spoke with you alone further into the investigation…suddenly she remembered?”

“Like I said…it’s not exactly uncommon.”

Rita nodded, pacing once more and pursing her lips as if she was deep in thought. Amanda knew better, however, Whatever she was going to ask next was surely planned well in advanced, despite the show she seemed to be putting on for the jury.

“Detective Rollins, are you in an intimate relationship with Mr. Carisi?”

An uncomfortable heat crept up Amanda’s neck, and she attempted to swallow back the dryness suddenly present in her throat.

“Objection.” Her eyes flitted over to Carisi at the sound of his voice. “Relevance?”

“Your Honor,” Rita sighed, her tone thick with condescension “Mr. Carisi might be the only one in this courtroom who doesn’t see how this is relevant.”

“Overruled, Mr. Carisi. The witness may answer.”

Amanda’s eyes shifted to the jury, and she found herself vehemently hoping that her mind was playing tricks on her when she could swear she’d seen nearly every expression there grow skeptical.

“Yes…but that’s already been disclosed to both the DA’s Office and the-”

“So the NYPD had my client in custody…your significant other was building a case against him…and suddenly Ms. Alexander could make an ID on her attacker after a conversation with you that, conveniently, no one else was present for? You’re an intelligent woman, Detective Rollins. I’m sure you can see how one could find that curious?”

“With all due respect to ADA Carisi, my job is to protect and serve. And I care a lot more about that than I do about his conviction rate,” Amanda responded with unwavering conviction. “All we spoke about during that conversation was the fact that we had a suspect in custody and that we were going to ask her to try to make an ID. Once she had some time to process what had happened to her, the details came back.”

“Time…and perhaps a little coercion.”

“Your Honor,” Carisi insisted with a frustrated huff.

“You know better, Ms. Calhoun,” the judge chastised. “The jury will disregard.”

Rita looked at the woman on the witness stand with a subtly confident twinkle in her eye, her lips twitching into what almost looked like a condescending half-smile.

“Nothing further,” she concluded with a nod.

With a deep sigh, she turned over again to look at the clock. It was already nearing 2 A.M., and her brain had not showed any signs of even preparing to power down for the night. She only attempted to close her eyes again for another minute or two before finally giving up and tossing the covers aside to get out of bed.

Slipping silently past the doors of the girls’ rooms, Amanda made her way into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water in an attempt to clear her head. It’d been nearly a week since the verdict, but all of the chaos of the ordeal felt as if it was still lingering.

A key jangled in the lock of the front door not long after she’d gotten herself situated in the kitchen, and her head turned to watch as a familiar silhouette stepped through the threshold. She could hear him stifle a yawn as he closed and locked it silently behind him.

“Still up?” Carisi asked in a whisper nearly as soon as he noticed that he wasn’t alone.

Amanda shrugged and set the untouched glass of water down on the counter before taking a seat at the table with a sigh. “Yeah,” she responded in the same hushed tone. “Figured I’m gettin’ just as much sleep out here as I was tossing and turning in there.”

After hanging his keys in what had essentially become their designated spot by the door, he made his way into the kitchen and took the seat next to her. Even in the darkness she was sure he could recognize the discontent in her expression as she looked blankly out the window and to the familiar city lights. It wasn’t as if she’d been putting any effort towards hiding her feelings as of late anyway.

Being so emotionally open was, admittedly, uncomfortable for her in the beginning, but she’d eventually come to accept the fact that he knew her entirely too well to make it worth trying to hide things away from him. He would never push it, but she could always hear the disappointment he tried to mask in his voice when she’d lie and tell him nothing was wrong. At a certain point, she’d just stopped, and she eventually found that there was a certain liberation that came along with not keeping things locked away in the recesses of her mind.

The outside world only held her focus for another silent minute before she turned her attention to her former partner, and for as much as she wanted to offer a gentle smile, or suggest that he go to bed after a late night at work, she couldn’t bring herself to.

“What keeps you up at night?” She asked instead. He studied her with a curious gaze for a long few seconds, as if trying to sort through exactly what she was asking. “Is there ever that one thing,” she began to clarify, “that — no matter what you do or how hard you try to move past it — you just…can’t shake?”

“If this is about the Marino case-”

“You know it is.”

He drew in a deep breath only to let it out in a sigh, and when he reached over to take her hand in his, she didn’t flinch. “It’s not your fault that he got off, Amanda.”

Finally looking away from him, she shook her head. “Look, Carisi. I know you wanna spare my feelings, but I’m not naive. I know if I would have just brought Kat into the damn room with me to talk to Missy about the ID…”

It was that one oversight that consumed her with guilt. The fact that she’d spoken to their victim alone was what set off the entire chain reaction. Had she just put a minute’s worth of thought into it — she couldn’t help but consider — the entire mess could have been avoided. A rapist wouldn’t still be out on the streets. Olivia wouldn’t have been upset with her. Carisi wouldn’t have been on thin ice with his boss.

“It wouldn’tve changed anything,” he finally said. “The case was shaky to begin with. We knew it wasn’t gonna be easy.”

“My testimony put that final nail in the coffin. We both know that.”

Amanda let go of his hand and stood up, taking a few paces across the kitchen floor before finally stopping and turning fully away from him to face back towards the window. This wasn’t supposed to happen, she couldn’t help but think. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“You know…” She started again, her voice barely above a whisper. “I used to think I knew exactly what I’d do if it ever came down to having to choose between this,” she gestured vaguely between them, “and the job. And…now I’m not so sure I do.”

She didn’t turn back to look at him, but she was positive she could envision the exact way he must have been looking at her. The way that came across clearly in his voice when he responded.

“What are you saying?”

A long, tense silence hung between them, and she could practically feel his eyes on her while he waited for a response. Her eyes closed as she attempted to collect her thoughts.

“I…” she paused when she could hear him get up from where he’d been sitting, and she knew that he’d moved closer to her without having to visually check. “I’m requesting a transfer out of SVU. I’ve got the paperwork filled out…just have to hand it over to Liv tomorrow.”

“What?” Admittedly, he sounded about as shocked as she’d expected. It wasn’t like they’d ever discussed the possibility. In fact, she hadn’t brought it up to him at all, even as she’d gone through the process. “No…Rollins…Hey…” When he touched her shoulder, she finally turned to face him, only to see that his eyebrows were knitted in concern as his eyes studied hers. “What are you talking about? Can you just think about this for a minute?”

“I have,” she told him. “I’ve thought about it a lot…and it’s what I have to do.”

“Amanda…come on. You love your job.”

“God, Sonny, I do love my job. But maybe there’s something I love a little more now.”

She couldn’t blame him for looking as if he’d just been completely blindsided. Between the news of her wanting out of SVU and the implied admission that she loved him…after warning him time and time against saying it to her first…ensuring that he knew she wasn’t ready to say it back. Maybe, she thought, it wasn’t fair to drop all of this on him at two in the morning after a long night at work.

She could no longer keep it all tucked away, however. It had to come out. Maybe she could finally get some rest once it did.

“You’ve been tryin’ to tell me you love me for weeks and now you’re not even gonna say it back?” She asked with a weak, half-hearted chuckle.

“I’m kinda busy tryin’ to convince you not to make a huge mistake,” he told her honestly. When a sad smile touched her lips, he gently cupped her face between his hands and leaned down to kiss her. “I love you, Amanda,” he said, his voice a whisper against her lips. “But you’ve gotta reconsider this, alright?”

A part of her wanted to argue that her mind was already made up. That things would be easier this way. That they’d never have to worry about their relationship getting in the way of a conviction again.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she just closed her eyes, allowing him to kiss her briefly again before breaking it to pull her into a hug.

“Everything’s gonna work out, okay?” He promised. He had no way of knowing that, but she could swear that, in that moment, he could lead her anywhere and she would follow without question. It was terrifying and beautiful all at once. “Hey…it’s gonna be alright.”

The way that his arms wrapped around her, holding her securely against him, allowed her to breathe out for what felt like the first time all week. And, despite what was rational, she let herself listen and believe in everything he was saying to her.

Regardless of what happened — whether she took a step back and chose to remain where she was, or whether she ended up deciding that a change in environment was what was really for the best — she knew that there would always be a constant. The man she loved…he would always be right there next to her. And, as long as that was the case, she knew he was right in some capacity.

Things would be okay. As long as he was beside her, they always would be.

#rollisi prompts #rollisi #svu #svu fic #long post #no one:#me: HOPE YOU ALL LIKE DRAMA #anyway perhaps i'll post this on ao3 later

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secretsolenoid · 5 years ago

Text

Push and Pull

A gift for @hoursgoneby! Sorry about the delay. I hope you enjoy the fic! It’s based on your second prompt, TF: Prime Knock Out/Starscream, the morning after. No NSFW, but there’s hints about what happened the night before.

The thing about being on the Nemesis is…

Well. Scratch that, Knock Out thinks, as he pushes himself groggily out of recharge. There are quite a few things about being on the Nemesis, and very few of them are good. The ship is utterly and unapologetically Decepticon. Which isn’t a bad thing! Certainly not. Knock Out is, after all, a stalwart Decepticon. Unquestionably. Especially if it’s another Decepticon asking.

But when a ship is so utterly Decepticon, there are a few design choices that tend to go along with that. A certain aesthetic expectation. It’s the kind of expectation that leads to awkwardly hexagonal hallways. It’s the kind of expectation that leads to a ship that looks like a battering ram. It’s the kind of expectation that leads to a ship full of dark corners, and illuminated in dusky blues and purples where it isn’t completely dark. The only way that one could possibly make it more Decepticon would be buillding a ship in the shape of their brand, and to Knock Out’s knowledge no one’s ever been that crass.

Aside from the horror of living in sub-optimal lighting conditions for his perfect plating, however, the thing that bothers Knock Out most about living on the Nemesis is the complete and utter lack of privacy.

He’s hated it before, of course. Why wouldn’t he be a little disturbed at the idea of Soundwave keeping tabs on him, on his colleagues. He hardly has anything to hide, but he misses the freedom of the open road. He misses being beholden to almost no one.

He particularly misses not being abruptly awoken by hammering on the Medibay door.

Knock Out is beginning to move before he even registers what he’s doing, only to find himself stopped by an arm, trapped over his plating. For a moment his instinct is to strike out, or to shout. Then he registers the slight weight of it, and the long, clawed fingers. There are streaks of his red paint along the edges.

“Ah,” he says, and turns his head, just as the hand twitches.

Sure enough, he’s looking into the brightening red optics of Air Commander Starscream.

Starscream appears to be having the same dilemma, upon waking, that Knock Out is, because he gives a full-body jerk and a truly unfortunate screech. “What is the--”

Knock Out winces, and musters his best glare. “For slag’s sake, Starscream, access your memory banks before you blow out my audials,” he says.

Starscream’s mouth opens and closes, then opens and closes again. Really. Somehow, this is what it takes to shut him up? He wouldn’t stop pontificating, last night. Knock Out is used to being the pontificator in a relationship.

He is also used to coming out of a night of interfacing with a little less… mess. He can feel the dragging lack of energy in his own systems, but more than that, he can feel an ache in his cables, the remnants of dispersing a good charge, all the way from his chestplate to his knee joints. He can also feel the mess on his armor, and ragged patches of paint transfers. Primus, and he’s sure there are scratches in his armor, the telltale sting of lines down his pauldrons that must mean the paint is scraped away to match the red tips to Starscream’s claws.

Starscream doesn’t look much better. There’s a dimness to his optics, even fully opened, that speaks of a well-earned weariness, and paint transfers on his chest plating, thighs, and claws that all bring to mind certain... Well. Last night was spent rather enjoyably, if Knock Out does say so himself. It’s very entertaining to see that he still has the power to make Starscream’s expression look dazed, even if he hasn’t done altogether much to earn it this time.

Knock Out shakes himself out of his stare. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m apparently on call.”

As though to emphasize the point, the banging on the door starts up once more, making Starscream flinch, and his eyes narrow.

“Then handle it,” Starscream says. There is a particular rasp to his voice that sends a little shiver rattling through Knock Out’s plating. He remembers exactly how he got that rasp there, last night. “No, wait. You’re a fright. Clean up first.”

Abruptly, Knock Out’s good mood sours. “Oh, yes,” he says stiffly, levering himself off of the berth. “I couldn’t possibly have thought of that myself, Lord Air Commander. Not me.”

Starscream bristles, his wings hiking up behind him. There are slight dents in the edges of those, from Knock Out backing him into a berth last night, and Knock Out has apparently left some scratches there that he doesn’t remember trying to. He checks his own finger plating for paint transfers, and finds edges of silver-gray. “Then handle it!” Starscream hisses. “And bring me something to clean up with!”

Knock Out pulls a cleaning cloth from his subspace, and flings it at Starscream’s faceplate, though he catches it, the fragger. At least he lets out a disgruntled squawk in the process. Knock Out endeavors to ignore him in favor of pulling out a second one and giving himself a quick rub down. He can at least clean away the paint transfers, though there’s nothing he can do for the scratches themselves until he has some proper time with his paints and a buffer.

The thought sours his mood further. He’s going to have to unlock the Medibay doors and face whatever mess has been brought to him while looking atrocious.

“I thought I told you to be careful with the finish,” Knock Out says, eying Starscream.

Starscream snorts dismissively. He’s busy cleaning streaks of red from his own finger plating. “I don’t recall you complaining at the time,” he says, eying the scratches decorating Knock Out’s own plating. “In fact, I recall being encouraged.”

“What an interesting memory you have,” Knock Out retorts. “If you applied that skill for creative reasoning to our battles with the Autobots, we might have all of Shockwave’s beast parts by now.” He’s prickling with furious indignation now, and no small measure of regret. So much for thinking Starscream’s handsome face and slim jet’s figure would make up for the fatal flaw of his personality.

Starscream’s wings bristle even further. “Don’t play coy, Knock Out,” he says, but he’s adopted a vicious little smirk now. “Or shall I replay the audio file?”

Knock Out turns away from him quickly. “I’ve patients to attend to,” he says. “You’ll have to leave.”

Sure enough, when he unlocks the doors to the medibay, there is a collection of battered and bleeding vehicon troopers collected around the door. Most bear the marks of blaster bolts. Some are bleeding energon. Others are carrying their own limbs, or their comrades’.

“What did you do, anger Shockwave’s beast?” Knock Out asks, as the dispirited troops shuffle their way into the Medibay. Most of them know the drill by now, dropping limbless or unconscious comrades onto the medical berths, then lining up against the walls if they have less injuries.

“Autobots,” one fo the braver vehicons offers. “Shockwave tracked them to some fossil…”

“What!” Starscream screeches, again. Knock Out is busy preparing his surgical blades and does not wince, but most of the vehicons flinch. “That oaf! Where is the battle! And with no notice to the rest of us! I’ll have him up for insubordination!”

“Are you sure, Commander, you weren’t simply… distracted?” Knock Out says, eyeing the scratches still carved into Starscream’s plating.

Starscream’s shoulders hunch towards his helm. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, grounder,” he hisses, and makes for the door. “By the way, you missed a spot.”

Knock Out scoffs, and struggles to search his plating. It’s only the sound of Starscream’s laughter that brings him out of it with a scowl. “You’ll pay for that, Commander,” he says.

Starscream actually smirks his way out of the door, the fragger. “I look forward to it, doctor.”

#secret solenoid 2020 #secret solenoid gift #fic gift #tf: prime #knock out #starscream #knock out/starscream #hoursgoneby #anonymous

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brianamorganbooks · 5 years ago

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Even for an all-girls boarding school, the first day of classes feels normal. I wake up a little before my alarm, anxiety roiling in my gut. No way can I go back to sleep. Waking up early turns out to be an unexpected blessing, though, as a knock sounds at the door. I glance over to the other bed, but Charlie isn’t there.

I yawn and manage to roll out of bed. When I answer the door, a security guard informs me that I have two visitors, but I’m not expecting anyone. To my surprise, two movers, both men, stand in the hallway. The security guard supervises as they haul two giant trunks into the dorm room, setting them down at the foot of Charlie’s bed.

“Here you go, Miss Masters,” one of them says to me.

With Charlie missing, it looks like I’m living in this room alone. I kind of feel like I am. I’m not so sure that Charlie unpacking will change that.

“I’m not her,” I say. “I don’t know where she is.”

The first mover grunts. “We need someone to sign for this. Do you think you can do that?”

I shrug. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

The second mover passes me a tablet, and I scrawl my signature on the screen. He hands the tablet to his colleague and nods to the trunks. “Clothes and everything. Mr. and Mrs. Masters said if she’s missing anything, just let them know.”

That must mean they’re not coming to help her move in. As awful as she is to me, I feel a pang of pity. I may not be on the best terms with my parents right now, but at least they cared enough to make sure I’m settled.

The first mover nods. “Well, have a nice day.”

“You, too,” I answer.

Without another word, they shuffle off, talking loudly down the hall. The security nods and escorts them out.

Once they’re gone and I’ve closed the door behind them, I look over at the giant trunks—large, ornate, and ancient-looking—and wonder what to do. Charlie isn’t here to unpack them herself, and I wouldn’t dream of helping. She’d probably kill me for it.

The movers also brought an easel, a plastic storage tub labeled PAINTS AND ART SUPPLIES, and a bucket full of paintbrushes. Charlie’s an artist? Now the Monet makes more sense.

I finish my routine without touching her stuff, somewhat surprised when she doesn’t show up. My uniform is stiff and scratchy, but it doesn’t look too hideous. The Livingston standard is a red-and-gold pleated skirt, white dress shirt, red tie, and tan blazer with the Livingston crest emblazoned on the chest. As far as uniforms go, it could be so much worse. Still, my knee-high red socks and low-heeled shoes make me feel like a Catholic schoolgirl.

I sit alone at breakfast, fighting the urge to dump my tray and crawl back to my dorm room. I nurse my glass of orange juice like it’s something stronger and push my scrambled eggs around my plate with my fork.

I knew it would be hard for me to make friends here, but so far, I haven’t met a single person who isn’t in a clique. After my weird encounter with Charlie and the other girls in the bathroom, I’m less sure that was a fluke and surer that it’s par for the course. My mom thinks opening up is the key to getting closer to people, but how can I open up to anyone if I can’t get them to look at me, let alone maintain a conversation?

Not far away, Charlie, June, Billie, and Ronnie all sit together, eating and laughing. Some girls in hijabs sit at the table closest to me, also laughing. A squeal of delight cuts through the air, and I turn to see a group of black girls reenact a story. Nearby, more girls trade food items with each other.

I would give anything to know what that inclusion feels like.

After halfheartedly pushing my eggs around on my plate until my phone reminds me it’s time for class, I dump the content of my tray in the trash and sling my bag over my shoulder. Charlie and her gang are still seated, still laughing. I don’t want to bother them.

Classes are predictably boring. Thankfully, because this isn’t a movie, none of the teachers single me out for an introduction as a transfer student. None of the students pay me much attention either. I’m getting used to being ignored.

By the time my English class rolls around, I’m beyond grateful to see two familiar faces—Ronnie and Billie. Unlike June, however, they don’t seem keen on making me feel included. They don’t even acknowledge me as I slide into the desk adjacent to Ronnie’s.

“Hey,” I try.

“Hello,” Billie says.

Ronnie takes a brush out of her purse and runs it through her hair without saying a word. She digs out an eyeshadow palette and a rainbow-handled makeup brush.

Billie takes out her notebook, turns to a new page, and scribbles something across the top of it. Hand-lettering, it looks like. Fancy penmanship stuff. I bet she keeps a bullet journal.

“Have you had this teacher before?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Ronnie says. She doesn’t elaborate.

“Not me,” Billie says. “Doesn’t matter. Heard he’s easy, anyway. Also, it’s English, which we all happen to speak.”

This is probably the most they’ve ever spoken to me, and I’m not sure how to keep them talking. In my earlier classes, I didn’t dare try to even speak to anyone. My nerves got the best of me. Plus, I was too busy making sure I was in the right classroom. This school is too big.

I lean forward in my seat. “I like your glasses, Billie.”

“Thanks, Daisy.”

“It’s Rose.”

She flicks her gaze toward me. “Are you certain?”

“Positive.”

She presses her lips together. “You’re settled in with Charlie then?”

The change in topic pricks my ears. “She say something bad?”

“Not in so many words.”

I look to Ronnie, hoping for some kind of tell. She pulls old receipts and tubes of lipstick out of her purse.

“Charlie’s nice,” I say, and then feel like a giant idiot. Charlie isn’t nice. Anyone can see that, surely even her friends.

Billie quirks an eyebrow. “Is she though?”

“I… no, I guess not.”

I swear to God she smiles. “Haven’t lived with her long and you already get the gist. She’s a right terror. You’re in our thoughts.”

“I’d rather live outside than bunk with her,” says Ronnie. “You’re stronger than I am.”

“Well, so far so good.” I mirror Billie’s smile, hoping I look more comfortable than I feel.

The teacher, a man named Mr. Preston, enters the room and calls us to attention. I spend all of class trying not to look too eager, either to impress the teacher or for friendship, even though I’m starving for both. Once class ends, Billie and Ronnie get up. I start to follow them out when the teacher pulls me aside.

Billie and Ronnie either don’t notice, or they don’t care. I’m not sure which is worse.

“Uh… Rosemary, is it?” Mr. Preston begins. I can already tell from his tone of voice that this won’t be a fun conversation.

“Rose,” I say.

He falters, then forgoes my first name altogether. “Miss Abbott, I wanted to let you know… well, given what happened at your last school…”

Wait, he knows about that? My face catches fire. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not discuss that.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t. I just wanted you to know, I’m happily married. And, if you want to make a good grade in this class, you’ll have to work hard, like everyone else. Any… extra credit will be announced in advance and will be open to everyone. During school hours.”

My whole body burns. “Excuse me?”

“I won’t repeat myself. Do you understand?”

All I want is for the ground to open up and eat me. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Excellent. Have a good rest of your day.”

How can I do that, though, when my teacher insinuated that what happened with Nathan is my fault? That I’m a predatory temptress who lured someone saintly off the straight and narrow?

The rest of my day follows a similar pattern. I have no classes with the other girls, save Charlie in my history class. Relief washes over me when I realize that none of them see the way the teachers here treat me. If it’s any consolation, at least none of the faculty single me out during class.

I’m having a tough time wrapping my head around the idea that news of what happened has traveled over here. Sure, what happened in Salem was local news, but I didn’t think it made it all the way out here. Clearly, I was wrong.

Maybe the faculty have all seen my file.

After my classes, I head back to my dorm room. I pray Charlie isn’t there, but even if she is, it’s not like she’ll talk to me.

Meyer Hall sits sad and empty. Most of the other students must be out in classes, at the library, or hanging with their friends. I get on the elevator and head up to my floor without running into anyone else. While I fish my keys out of my purse, I consider calling my parents. It’s been less than two days, and while they’re not exactly thrilled to speak to me, at least it might be nice to hear a familiar voice.

Then again, if I call them now, it will feel like giving up. Like I’m a scared little girl who still needs her mommy and daddy. I’m not sure I’m ready to give up yet.

When I open the door to my room, Charlie is sitting on her bed. Ronnie, Billie, and June are sitting on mine. Their heads all snap up as they notice me. It might be my imagination, but I swear they all frown.

Ronnie snatches something out of Billie’s hand and holds it to her chest, hidden from me. “What is your roommate doing back here?”

“I don’t know. I thought she was in classes all day.” Charlie shoots me a look, like it’s somehow my fault that she hasn’t memorized my schedule. “Rose, do you mind? We’re in the middle of something.”

It’s the first time she’s gotten my name right, let alone tried to display any semblance of manners toward me, but anger heats my blood. “It’s my room, too. I’m staying.”

Charlie’s eyes narrow. “It’ll just take a second.”

Is she serious? Are they all so self-absorbed they think I’m not offended? This is my room as much as hers. She has no right to kick me out.

I square my shoulders. “I’m taking a nap.”

Ronnie mutters something under her breath. Billie titters. I probably don’t want to know what she said, especially as June won’t look at me or her—or anyone, for that matter. Ronnie is still holding whatever it is tight against her blazer, hidden from sight. What could it be?

I keep my eyes locked on Charlie’s, daring her to try again. Maybe it’s not wise to cross her but they’ve all treated me like shit so far and I just want to crawl under the covers and forget about the day.

Charlie blinks. Ronnie looks to her for guidance, as do the others.

“Fine,” Charlie spits. “Guess we’ll go somewhere else.”

She gestures toward the other girls. Ronnie rolls her eyes, tucks the object she’s been holding into her purse, and heads for the door. June and Billie follow. June shoots me a look so warm, it could almost be sympathetic. Even her sunflower earrings seem to smile at me. Charlie gets up from the bed and glares.

I try my best to ignore her, but she’s not leaving until she says her piece. “What is it?”

“Watch yourself.”

“What?”

From the open doorway, Billie laughs again. Charlie shoots her a look, then returns her attention to me. “You need to work on your attitude.”

Jesus. “You’re the one with the attitude here.”

She clenches her jaw, but she doesn’t say anything else. Instead, she grabs her purse and keys and heads out into the hallway. When the door slams behind her, it rattles the hinges.

I sink down on my bed and flop onto my back, staring up at the ceiling once more. Maybe I’ll never find my place here.

I roll onto my side and stare at Charlie’s bed. It’s unmade, the comforter rumpled from where Charlie sat on it. Her belongings haven’t moved since the movers brought them this morning. Maybe she’s not unpacked yet as some form of protest. Though I don’t know her well, I can see her doing that.

Maybe she hates her parents as much as she hates me.

Keys jangle in the lock, and I sit bolt upright. Charlie rushes in, flushed and anxious. Speak of the devil.

“Forget something?”

“My phone.” She grabs it from her nightstand, pausing to look at the unpacked trunks. “You didn’t touch them, did you?”

If I weren’t so tired, I’d be offended. “Why would I do that?”

“Why would you touch my vial?” Charlie counters.

I bristle but don’t take the bait. I’m too tired to start any more fights with her. One of us needs to be the bigger person.

Charlie checks her latest-model phone, frowns down at something on the screen, and types something out. She mutters a curse. “Gods, I hate boys. They’re so stupid sometimes.”

Surely, she’s talking to herself, right? She can’t possibly be trying to strike up a conversation with me.

I don’t respond. After a second, her gaze flashes toward me, like she’s only just registered she said something to me, someone she hates.

“I’m sorry about your vial,” I say. “I didn’t mean—”

“Charlie!” Billie shouts from the hall.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” I continue.

“Don’t worry about it.” Charlie tucks the phone into her pocket and heads for the door. “Thank you.”

Once the door closes, I lie back on the bed. Despite the shitty day I’ve had, I feel a tinge of hope. Maybe Charlie and her friends will come around. If not, I can reach out to other girls, right?

tag list (let me know if you’d like to me removed/added): @lady-redshield-writes @smokescreens-n-otherillusions @cogwrites @nicholewrites @fireflys-locket

#livingston girls #writeblr #writerblr #my wip #my writing

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