#they stop perceiving the glass for a brief moment | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

earthtooz · 2 years ago

Text

x : PUNCH TO THE HEART ! :*+ﾟ

in which: rin shows up at your place at 2:35 am, desperate for some first aid and your love.

warnings: BOXER!RIN AU, 2.2k wc, gn!reader, mentions of blood, HURT/COMFORT, reader patches rin up, ooc!rin possibly but this is my fantasy and you all are living in it!, ambiguous relationship; u can perceive it however u like :>, unedited, a lot of intimacy, one suggestive line.

a/n: this wasn't meant to happen, but there were quite a few people who wanted this to happen. i will be tagging the accounts, and you should all thank @limitlesshq for making this happen. i'm gonna go eat my laptop now bc i want this man so badly.

it’s 2:35am when you hear the furious rasping of knuckles on your door.

you’re a little terrified, rooted to where you were currently standing in the kitchen when you hear the intrusive noise. on the journey to retrieve a glass of water, you really were not expecting an unknown assailant to disrupt this methodical routine of yours.

willing yourself to move, you approach the door as carefully as possible, holding your breath whilst you peer into the peephole. the sight you’re greeted with causes you to stumble a little, face scrunching into an unpleasant expression as you lean on the door for a bit more stability.

when you open the door, you don’t know who looks more shocked to see the other.

“rin?” you greet after a brief moment of silence, his teal eyes cutting into yours.

his eyebrows furrow, the shock melting away from his face. “did i wake you?”

“no, i was- uh, doing my work.”

“at 2:30? you should be getting some sleep-”

“can we not talk about my bad habits right now? not whilst you’re looking like…” you gesture to his face, “this.”

there’s streaks of blood on his face, his hair sticks to his forehead due to sweat, he has a bust lip along with a few other cuts scattered along his skin and the drowsiness in his eyes is making you feel fatigued too.

but there’s a part of you that twists in discomfort just thinking about what he’s been up to tonight, where he’d been tonight. the bulge in the pockets of his jacket confirm your thoughts and you wonder how much cash he could’ve racked up tonight to look this disastrous.

rin frequenting boxing matches as a fighter for a little extra cash was something you learnt about him ages ago, but ever since knowing it, you don’t recall him being beat up too badly. something about ‘being too good for lukewarm dipshits’.

rin rolls his eyes. “i’m coming in.”

he pushes open the door a little further to accommodate his frame before stepping through as if this were his home, causing you to stare after him in bewilderment. where was this attitude coming from? why was he acting so weird tonight?

slowly, you shut the door and lock it, turning around to confront rin who now sits on the edge of the couch, forearms resting on his legs as he sighs heavily. walking over to his pitiful figure, you stop a few feet short.

“is something wrong?” you ask, voice practically a whisper as to avoid shattering whatever fragile state rin was in right now.

“‘m just really tired. nasty fight tonight.”

you don’t say anything, not wanting to force rin to open up. instead, you take a hesitant step forward to card a hand through his messy hair and the sound that leaves him is close to a groan of relief. it hurts, really, rin’s double life stresses you out to the point that it causes physical aches in your chest simply thinking about what he has to go through. he says it’s a nice stress relief and the money doesn’t hurt, but because he ‘enjoys’ the activity, he never knows how to stop.

his hand weakly reaches out to grab at you, pulling you closer once they close around your waist, allowing him to lean against your stomach. the dark-haired soaks up whatever affection you give him and with each stroke of your hands through his hair, he leans himself further into you, using you as a crutch, a lifeline, a safe haven.

when you step away a little to take a look at his injuries, you don’t miss the way his hands clench onto your shirt, holding on to the fabric with a vice grip as he stares up at you.

“where are you going?” he asks, voice ragged.

“nowhere, why?” you answer. rin’s grip lets up a little, but he pulls you into him effortlessly, causing you to grab onto his shoulders for stability.

“i don’t want you to go. need to be with you tonight. need to be with you all the time.”

the way your heart flips over and over again in your chest should be illegal because you feel like you’re about to be sent into cardiac arrest. rin is most beautiful when vulnerable, you think, and as concerning as your confession may sound, you mean it well. he bears his shield and sword, wields them so well that he forgets to drop them sometimes, that there is so much more to see when your view isn’t obscured by self-reliance and independence.

your hands travel upwards to cup his cheeks and he sighs, closing his eyes to relax against you.

“i’m not leaving, i just wanted to check out your injuries. speaking of which, you really need to wash up. let me take care of your wounds.”

“they’re fine. i got some first aid already.”

“then why didn’t they wash the blood off your face?”

“i left before they could. wanted to see you.”

“you’re so bothersome,” you scold with a small smile, patting his cheek affectionately. “i’m tired too, i want to go to bed so it’s either you wash up or i’m leaving you on the street.”

with a grunt, rin stands up, surrendering to your pleads as he lets you drag him in the direction of your bathroom. “go shower. i’ll take dress your wounds afterwards,” you command, dropping a spare towel in his arms.

the dark-haired glances up at you with an amused look in his eyes. “not gonna join me?”

“you belong on the streets, don’t make me actually throw you out.”

he rolls his eyes. “aye aye captain.”

closing the door behind you, you dutifully retreat to your room where you had last left your laptop running with the document of the assessment you had to complete by the end of the week. killing time by working a little more wouldn’t hurt anyone, you think, before opening another tab, music still softly playing from your laptop speakers to set the ambient mood.

“what do you think you’re doing?”

a stern voice disrupts your train of thought, the sound of furious typing on keyboard suddenly halting when you see itoshi rin in your doorway, dripping water from his hair with nothing but a towel to cover his body, chest on display for your viewing pleasure.

not that you indulge him.

you breathe out roughly, rubbing your face. “oh good, you’re done. c’mon.”

standing up from where you were working, rin doesn’t let you walk too far out of your room, using a toned arm to stop you as it winds around your torso, bringing you to him effortlessly. you feel the post-shower warmth from his chest radiate off him, almost lulling you to sleep with how heavy your eyelids feel.

“you’re not overworking yourself again, are you?” the dark-haired asks quietly, his hand now tracing circles at your hip from where it snuck underneath your clothes.

the yawn that escapes you gives you the only answer he needs. “it’s just tonight, i promise.”

“you say that all the time. you need to take care of yourself, y/n. these habits aren’t healthy.”

“i know, i know. rich coming from you,” you mutter. “can we talk about this another time? i’d really like to clean you up and get to bed as soon as possible.”

you feel him nod from behind and soon enough, the grasp he had around you loosens, allowing you to step away and guide him to the bathroom. there, you sit him down on the toilet seat and furrow through your cabinets for the first kid, grabbing some antiseptic, cotton pads, and a variety of bandaids.

the remaining mist from his shower lingers in your bathroom and the smell of your products remain heavy in the air- heavy on rin too.

the whole process you spend it in silence, letting the tension accumulate on its own as you brush away still damp spots with a dry cloth and squeeze some antiseptic onto his wounds before placing some bandaids over some of them. he’s not very reactive throughout the process, but his indicators of pain flash across his expression from time to time, even if just for a second. especially prominent when you dealt with his bust lips.

your heart aches.

when pressing the last dressing onto a cut on his cheek, you instinctively bend down to place a lingering kiss over it, as if the one action will communicate all the concern and affection you held for him.

as if the love you feel for him will be branded onto his skin.

it’s with an air of reluctance and melancholy that you pull away from him, not meeting rin’s eyes as you go to put the supplies back in the cabinet and wash your hands.

you easily preempt the two arms that wind around you and the familiar chest that presses itself to your back once again. it seems to be rin’s favourite position, especially with how liberally he rests his chin on your shoulder, staring at your reflection, waiting for you to look back at him.

you don’t cave. otherwise you might break.

“talk to me,” he whispers next to your ear, tightening his embrace ever so slightly.

the silence is deafening, especially to rin who grows more and more concerned over it.

“y/n.”

“i don’t like it when you show up like this,” you confess in an exhale, reaching for a towel to dry your hands with. “it hurts seeing you hurt with blood all over your face, all bruised.”

now it’s his turn to be silent. you finally bring your head up to look in the mirror but the sight only makes you realise how much of a mess you look. your hair is ruffled, your eyes are drooping, and you look a little crazed.

yet rin looks at you like you are some iridescent, all-knowing being. like you weave the strings to his life. like you command the outcome of his life. the twisted part is that he would. he would allow you to do all of the above, because “you’re the only place i can go.”

what he means to say is that you’re the only place he wants to go, but the confession causes a hiccup (something that resembled a quiet sob) to escape your throat. rin holds you tighter to him, pressing several kisses on your neck, trying to distract himself from your grief because otherwise he thinks he’d crack too.

“rin.” one quiet syllable of his name causes him to stop and look back up at you, those usually indifferent, cerulean eyes containing so much intention and devotion.

he loves you, he realises.

“i’m glad you trust me and i trust you too, but seeing you hurt and broken down hurts me too.”

you love him back, he realises.

“you talk all the time about taking care of myself, but what about you? you can’t expect people to do the things you can’t, rin.” you’re not looking at him again; it kills him. “i know i can’t stop you from going out every so often, i don’t have a place to tell you what to do- am i making sense right now?”

he gives your waist a squeeze. “you are. you’re right, i’m sorry for making you feel this way-”

“you don’t have anything to be sorry about. this is all just in my head, i’m sorry, i just need to sleep the day off and then-”

“-stop invalidating yourself. you’re right.”

“i don’t mean what i say from a ‘you’re bothering me’ kind of way, i don’t mind it when you come to me for help- i’m more than happy to! it’s just… i’m not as strong willed as i like to be sometimes.”

you turn around in his grasp and he presses you into the ceramic of the bathroom counter, rubbing comforting circles into your skin. “i know, i know,” he repeats. “it’s okay. thank you for being here, that’s enough for me. you make my nights so much easier, don’t you know?”

his forehead rests against yours.

“best part is being able to know that once everything is over, you can be there to make life so much better.”

with a shaky exhale, you begin laughing. “what if i’m actually asleep though and don’t wake up to answer the door?”

“i thought you were going to be asleep tonight.”

“then why did you come?”

“i didn’t mean for you to answer. i just wanted to be near you.”

the weight of his confession is hefty, but calms the ponderous storm of your mind nevertheless. you laugh even harder. rin’s ears turn bright red. at least you’re smiling again. he would fight in countless matches and get several punches to the jaw if it meant he could see you all happy and radiant in his arms.

you retreat out of the bathroom to find appropriate clothes for him to wear so he can be in something other than a towel.

then soon enough, you’re both curled up under your covers with rin holding you to him in a vice grip. when he’s sure that you’re fast asleep, he breathes a quiet, but meaningful ‘i love you’ into your skin, branding you in return before succumbing to unconsciousness with all he could ever want in his arms.

#itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi rin fluff #blue lock fluff #itoshi rin x you #rin x you #rin itoshi x you #blue lock rin #itoshi x reader #blue lock itoshi rin #itoshi rin drabble #itoshi rin #itoshi rin bllk #blue lock

2K notes · View notes

dr-spectre · 15 days ago

Note

genuine question, not trying to twist your words or anything but do you really think Marie *wasn't* mature in splatoon 1 & 2? I mean, 1 I can understand, she was a bitch, but also a teenager with her best friend in the world/honestly what could be considered practically her sibling. But in the Squid Sisters stories Marie is given quite a bit of depth in her thinking and despite her joking, Splatoon 2 makes it quite obvious how fiercely she cares about her cousin. Splatoon 2 storymode is kind of messy and jumbled but the entire point was to show how close their bond is, both Callie and Marie are quite flawed characters, Callie missed her cousin and was incredibly stressed out by all the attention, and once Marie realized her cousin was gone, the only thing on her agenda was just getting her back. Even if after that she made some jokes, I personally see it as her way of coping, a light smack on the head like her way of saying "Don't ever scare me like that again." And Callie would understand that, considering they've been together most of their lives. Apologies for the long ask, I am quite passionate about the Squid Sisters myself.

You know what's crazy? You're technically not wrong in your thoughts, yes, Marie cares for her cousin, i know. I saw the "Callie and I used to look up at the shooting stars together" line in s2's hero mode and i stood there for 5 minutes LMAO! The issue is how the writers went about it and the language that they used. Deep down they probably wanted to show the Squid Sisters bond but they went about it in the most illogical way and downright disgusting fashion. So the entire message is completely lost and the fandom doesn't notice. I do believe that Marie had SOME growth in Splatoon 2 but it wasn't shown enough as it should.....

If Marie were to make jokes about Callie's hypnosis, fine, a light jab as a way to cope with what happened. But the fact that Callie doesn't fucking respond to Marie's crazy lines like "as long as you stop wandering off and getting brainwashed" and that they are as harsh as they is fucking insane to me.

Marie was 19 during the events of Splatoon 2, she just saw her cousin work with her enemies and perceives the whole events as Callie being kidnapped and mind controlled (not what happened but that's what Marie thinks and Nintendo takes her stance.) The fact that she would be making these harsh jokes is just.... I think its absolutely crazy to me, bonkers even. You don't see MCU Captain America joking about his friend Bucky and going "well maybe if you had better grip you wouldn't fall into the mountains and get brainwashed."

Let's say your cousin went through some serious shit, let's say they got brutally beaten up or were addicted to substances. Would you make jokes about that? Would you jab at that in front of their fucking face? I get that Splatoon is meant to be silly and fun, but i know that it is capable of telling serious themes and proper character arcs, ITS JUST THAT THEY KEEP THROWING IT AWAY!!!!! THEY TREAT THEM SO POORLY!!!!

Every time that I think about Splatoon 2's hero mode, it makes me more and more angry for how they basically character assassinated and tarnished Callie and Marie for a brief moment in time. It only took until Splatoon 3 for them to get better and feel more developed (which makes sense timeline wise) and even then when Nintendo calls back to previous events, they still make Callie a fucking idiot and someone with ZERO agency.

The only joke I like is when Marie goes, "Don't throw shade when you're wearing dumb glasses." That's the ONLY one I barely like. Everything else is dogshit and genuinely insulting to both Callie and Marie to me. It treats Callie more of a moron and Marie as insanely sassy despite the events she JUST saw and was stressing over FOR AN ENTIRE STORY MODE!!

Do you think the developers were laughing at the "jokes" they were coming up with? Because I hope to fucking god they weren't.

I remember hearing about how Callie took inspiration for her Splatoon 3 look from Octarian culture and I was like "cool!" But the wording they used was "Callie took inspiration for her new look when she was BRAINWASHED!!!!!!!!" They just love to treat Callie like shit on purpose i swear to fucking god dude.

Sorry for the ramble and genuinely angry tone, i like the Squid Sisters too much. I do believe Marie became mature in Splatoon 3 but that mature nature was not properly shown in Splatoon 2 sadly despite there being depth there in the Squid Sisters Stories prologue.

I am working on a giant rant about Splatoon stories and their issues, i should probably finish it because it's been in my drafts for a little while now.... then again i am scared that people are gonna criticise me...

#splatoon #splatoon 3 #splatoon 2 #callie cuttlefish #callie splatoon #marie splatoon #marie cuttlefish #hypno callie #octo callie #ask blog #ask me stuff #ask me anything #ask #rambles #ramblings #ranting #rant #rant post

18 notes · View notes

inquisitornocturn · 8 months ago

Text

≪─ Qᴜᴇꜱᴛᴀ ɴᴏᴛᴇ ─≫

⋟ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Beckett/f!reader the kindred, Sebastian LaCroix/reader as background pairing

⋟ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: y/n etc is not used, rating - E, POV second person, cheating, mild dubcon, smut, fingering, PiV, anal, deepthroating, facefucking, masturbation, cum swallowing, semi-public sex, porn with little plot.

⋟ 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: When you're nearly immortal your past tends to collect mistakes that sometimes catch up with you, just like tonight when you see that one of such possible mistakes have again decided to appear in your life, despite your best efforts to avoid it. Thankfully Sebastian doesn't notice a flash of panic as you notice that Beckett is present at this gathering in Nocturne Theater, but he also doesn't know what kind of past you share you with the Gangrel Elder who's allergic to swearing allegiance to anyone but himself. You hope he doesn't notice you, but when anything ever slipped past Beckett's keen senses?

⋟ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5,644

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: first of all - thank you L for not letting me forget Beckett's claws♡ second - i guess i'm back in the saddle, so to speak! this was fun to write and it's actually quite an old idea that someone suggested to me in passing when i first introduced Beckett to my longfic a minute to midnight. the suggestion was for a part two of it which, i'll admit, i am not going to do, because the fic is not even done at the moment of me posting this, no way i'm going to plan a second part so early (if at all), but the idea of the dynamic between the three of them kind of stuck so here it is - albeit brief, but fiery take on how it could possibly work. enjoy♡~

“Competence in this organization is truly scarce.” Sebastian murmurs by your side and you hear disdain in his words. You can barely stop yourself from rolling your eyes, but manage to keep yourself composed as you look at him.

“You say that decade after decade.” You remind him and his eyes snap to you, his blonde eyebrows furrowing at your perceived insolence, and you see his fingers tightening around the glass of blood he’s holding.

“That’s because it remains factual. Camarilla lacks dedicated, talented people. That’s why we’re here, in hostile territory trying to make things right.” He snaps back and peels his eyes away from you, scanning the crowd at this function.

Nocturne Theatre, one of the places LaCroix anointed to be an Elysium, is packed with other kindred tonight. The Primogen are here, including the elusive Dr. Grout who seems to keep himself apart from the rabble. Earlier you watched him for a little while, observing the man as he tried not to twitch, not to hide behind his own glass of blood, as he whispered to himself from time to time. Malkavians, what an interesting breed of kindred.

You are tempted to argue with Sebastian, to tell him that LA is not as hostile as he thinks it is. It’s hostile to him, surely, and perhaps the Camarilla presence overall, but otherwise it’s a decent city. You met the Hollywood Baron, and one in Santa Monica, both of them attending this gathering as well, but at the moment neither of them is in your eyesight.

“Look at them and tell me that they don’t need a leader.” Sebastian speaks up again once you don’t and you watch him gesture over some figures. You try to understand who he means exactly and struggle because it could be anyone from Nines Rodriguez to VV, who thankfully is dressed appropriately tonight, to-

Oh no.

Your eyes widen for a moment and you turn your face away, hiding it behind your glass by taking a sip. Quickly you clear your throat.

“Yes, of course they need a leader, that’s why you’re here.” You don’t hesitate to placate Sebastian’s growing irritation and breathe a sigh of relief when he clearly misses your reaction to seeing one particular guest lingering among the kindred, chatting up Primogen Strauss among all people.

Beckett.

You heard rumors that he might be in LA, you even heard rumors that he’s here to mingle with thin-bloods that seem to be littering the Santa Monica beach, but you hoped that Tung’s grapevine gossip is not true. You aren’t so lucky, it seems.

As you glance in Beckett’s direction, seeing the same dusty coat he wore last time you saw him, seeing his dark brown hair loose as always, and his charming yet often sarcastic smile - you remember all too well why you have been trying to avoid him.

Before you ended up with Sebastian you were with Beckett. Very briefly, very tumultuously, very passionately. You ran into each other in Paris, where you were trying to distance yourself from your Sire who remained in Italy and Beckett was chasing yet another meager, fallible clue to one of the questions he always is looking the answers for.

You met in a kindred bar, another Elysium, where you were trying to plan your next steps and Beckett was annoyed that some sort of contact stood him up. You barely remember what happened next, you drank, a lot, some sort of special blood that made you feel drunk in a way you used to feel when you were alive. Beckett most likely was drunk too, maybe against his own better judgement, but next evening you woke up with him in your bed, your body sore and cut from his claw-like nails, your head swimming and a strange affair that caught up with you couple decades later in another city. You were with Sebastian already, but Beckett didn’t care and he took the opportunity to remind you just exactly how he made you feel before.

Cheating kindreds, what a concept. Do morals of kine even apply to you?

For a moment you wonder that as you look at Sebastian, still lingering by your side and sipping thick liquid from the glass, his cold, blue eyes settling from one attendee to another. He wasn’t a Prince back then, when you cheated behind his back, but he is now and you wonder what would happen if Beckett again decided that satisfying his desires comes as a priority above all else. So many things he treats like this, not just you.

“Hm. I think it’s time to talk to Grout. He started skipping most meetings.” LaCroix says to you half-heartedly, not really caring if you’re listening or not, so you simply nod and get slightly startled when his icy gaze turns to you with a strange warning in them. “Remember to behave. I haven’t been Prince for long, your behavior reflects on me, is that understood?”

“Yes, Sebastian.”

“Try that again.”

You scrunch your nose ever so slightly, knowing what he wants to hear and not wanting to comply with his ever-growing ego, but you sigh slightly.

“Yes, Prince.” You finally respond and Sebastian smirks at you, showing off his fangs that find their way into your flesh so often.

“Good, good. Now, I shall excuse myself.” He says and walks off without giving you another glance.

You sigh the moment he’s further, watching him approach Dr. Grout and seeing Primogen’s eyes widen momentarily as LaCroix walks up to him, but your eyes quickly return to Beckett. He’s still talking to Strauss but now he’s at an angle that you can see his face better and the sunglasses on his nose, you can even make out his red, glowing eyes that you remember so well when they burn with passion.

You have to hide.

You can’t let Beckett see you because you don’t know in what kind of mood he is. Maybe he has another to satisfy him or maybe he doesn’t, but in either case he might still want to play with you, simply because he one hundred percent knows that you’re a chosen partner of Prince of LA. And what’s a better way to boost his own ego than to temporarily claim something that’s not his. After all, his entire career as a kindred anthropologist is based on exactly this kind of behavior and you haven’t been able to resist him the first two times he wanted to lay his claim.

Carefully you begin stepping backwards, only now realizing why you haven’t sensed him before seeing him, his attendance catching you so off guard. With so many kindred around it’s hard to notice even his presence, but that matters none because he’s here and so are you, and you understand that you have to retreat to the lobby before you stand out, so you turn your back and pick right side of the room to serve as your escape route. You take note of the scattered crowd: some in seats, some standing in groups and there’s even some ghoul servers, but you don’t know if they are Sebastian’s or anyone else’s. Either way, you see the open door and that’s your goal, that’s what you focus on.

After short walk alongside the row of seats you turn left, seeing your salvation so close, seeing Gary of all people lingering there as well, and he grins widely to you as you have no choice but to approach. When you’re about to greet him, out of necessity and not friendship, you hear someone speak and it’s not the Nosferatu Primogen because his face doesn’t move.

“Ah, I was hoping to see you.” A smooth voice you recognize so well and you stop in your tracks.

Shit.

He did notice you after all. Maybe your not-so-discreet escape drew his attention or maybe he was just waiting for you to separate from the crowd. Either way, when your eyes move to the speaker, you see Beckett with his head slightly cocked to the side and a curious look already set on your face over his sunglasses.

You take a moment to compose yourself and manage a strained smile.

“Beckett. Surprised to see you here.” You say in a voice that even to you sounds forced and notice Gary giving a glance to you both.

“I take you know each other well.” He chuckles in that gravelly voice of his and for a moment you wish you could strangle the damned Nosferatu with his own bowtie. You don’t need anyone making this more awkward than it is.

“We know each other.” Beckett replies, giving Gary a short look before looking back at you. “Would you be so kind and give me a moment of your time? I’d like to discuss something of great import.” He continues and you clench your jaw for a moment then smile.

“Wouldn’t it be best if the Prince heard it?” you ask, trying not to let your mind wander to sudden memories of his animalistic, near feral kisses. Sebastian never came anywhere close to the passion you experienced with Beckett, and sometimes you still think of him instead of the Prince when fucks you whenever his mercurial mood strikes.

“No, this is a matter that’s best heard by his beloved partner.” Beckett’s words are tinged with sarcasm and you want to wipe that arrogant grin off his face, but with Gary watching you have no other choice but to play by the rules of diplomacy.

“Hah, beloved partner. I’m sure she is very loved by our wonderous Prince.” Gary interjects with another one of his chuckles and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“Do you have anything you want to say, Gary?” you ask with your tone cold as a cadaver and Gary chuckles again then raises his palms in show of surrender.

“Not at all, boss. Just being observant, but I can tell when I have overstayed my welcome.” He grins, his lips, or what’s left of them, twisting in a cynical manner and he gives you a short bow of his head before he glances at Beckett. “I’m sure we will talk again.” Nosferatu says to him and walks past the man, choosing the middle aisle to stroll towards the main gathering without looking back.

You watch him go with slightly confused expression, now wondering what kind of rumors are spreading about you and Sebastian. What kind of gossip can there even be? You are together, neither of you sleep around, well, except for that one time in your past that’s been out of your control and that is now presenting itself to you again in a form of Beckett’s sardonic smile.

“I was actually hoping to see you.” He says and you look at him, your eyes meeting his over the sunglasses that he has lowered down his nose.

“What for?” you snap at him and Beckett raises his eyebrows at your drastic change of tone.

“Can’t two old friends talk?” he smirks and you grit your teeth, your eyes briefly glancing over his shoulder to the attendees by the stage, noticing Sebastian’s blonde hair while he’s surrounded by what looks like VV and Therese. You worry not, he hates both of them with visceral seething.

“Friends?” you scoff and Beckett’s smirk widens as he steps closer, his fingers quickly and firmly closing around your wrist. His other hand grabs your glass and sets it on a backrest of the nearest theater chair before you can protest.

“Old acquaintances.” He responds in a quieter tone and for a moment he too glances back, most likely making sure that no one is paying close attention to the both of you, then he steps past you, outside of the stage room and into the dimly lit lobby while pulling you after him.

“Beckett, you can’t be serious.” You hiss at him as you follow him against your will. With couple tugs you try to free your limb from his grasp with no luck, his clawed fingers only tightening around it further and you sigh in capitulation. Maybe he only wants to talk.

Once in the lobby, where no one else seems to be present, he stops and turns to you. Beckett’s eyes quickly sweep over you, your tight red dress and the slit in it over your thigh, your décolleté that reveals nearly more than it hides and pauses at your neck before his studying gaze meets yours once more.

“Climbing the kindred ladder I see. You sensed well that Sebastian will be your ticket to upper echelons of Camarilla.” His mocking grin pokes at your anger and you have to remind yourself who he is and where you are, but he always knew just what to say to get you either aroused or pissed off. Sometimes both at the same time.

“I’m not with him to be his stay-at-home wife, Beckett.” You frown and try to tug your wrist out of his hand again with no luck.

“No, you’re with him because he offers protection. And that hulking monkey at his side, of course.” He chuckles, always so damn arrogant because he’s an Elder. Or maybe he always has been like that, before the centuries piled up.

“Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?” you ask growing more irate by the moment, but Beckett clicks his tongue at you.

“So impatient. Not even a Fledgling anymore but some things do not change, I suppose.” He taunts again, making your frown deepen, not because of his mocking but because he’s wrong.

“You don’t know how I was when I was a Fledgling, don’t act as if you’ve known me my entire immortal existence.” You tug at your wrist again and this time Beckett’s grip tightens enough to begin hurting, but you don’t betray it, just stare him down as he sighs with another chuckle.

“No, but I know your Sire. Or rather, your dear old dead Sire.” He laughs and with free hand he grips your chin, lifting your face to his like he wants to inspect it. His body draws closer for a better look and you clench your jaw, not moving your eyes from his. “I did want to talk to you about something but now that I see you, I might have another idea.” He whispers and your mind reels for an answer, trying to avoid settling on the obvious one.

You are caught off guard by his words so much so that you don’t even notice how his fingers are becoming warmer against your skin, how the glow in his cat-like eyes becomes a little brighter. Your gaze leaves him for a moment, glancing in the direction of the door to the stage room, but your plan of escape is immediately reduced to nothing as Beckett releases your chin and turns, making quick strides to a door. You scramble after him, your heels hindering your steps, and you briefly notice the sign on the door, informing you that he’s pulling you into women’s bathroom.

The moment you are shoved into the small area, you try to turn, to maybe push back and leave, but once the door closes it becomes completely dark. Kindred have no use of bathrooms after all, there’s no light here and in utter darkness you have less of a fighting chance against a man like Beckett.

You feel the grip on the back of your neck and only the sound of your heels and his shoes fill the silence as he guides you forwards. You orient where you are quickly the moment you see the dull reflection of Beckett’s eyes in the mirror and you manage to grasp the edge of the sink just before he pushes the side of your face against the cold glass.

“Beckett, you can’t, what if Sebastian-“

“But that’s part of the thrill, dear.” He chuckles and you finally notice how hot his palm of on your neck feels. Your eyes adjust to the darkness and you see shadowy reflection of your own face as it is pressed against the mirror. You want to argue further but Gangrel’s free hand begins roaming over your waist.

“Thrill for us to get killed?” you ask in a breathy voice. You don’t struggle and you don’t fight because you do want this. Sleeping with Sebastian is so boring after all, not after you know how good sex can really feel, even for kindred.

Beckett laughs at your words, his hand now beginning to lift your dress in hurried movements, pulling it up and twisting the fabric, maneuvering the slit in it so that it falls on both sides of your hips like an opening while he has you bent over the sink.

“Sebastian cannot kill me. He may be a Camarilla Prince, but he’s still just a brat.” He taunts the very notion of Sebastian being any threat for him whatsoever and you hear the sound of fabric ripping as Beckett gets rid of your panties swiftly and efficiently.

“Beckett!” you hiss at him when hems of them dig into your skin for a moment before they are completely torn off and you hear a chuckle.

“Sorry, darling, they were in the way. And you know how I am about things that try to stop me from getting what I want.” He replies and makes you gasp the moment you feel his fingers rubbing at your folds from behind, vampire’s touch passionate and expert, making sure his claws do not hurt you, only allowing them to scrape against you.

Beckett’s skin is like embers upon yours, now that he’s using the Discipline to rouse himself and his body from its usual dead state, and you moan despite yourself. You’re aroused but you’re not wet and he can feel it, for that you need to follow his suit and trigger power of your blood to simulate life for you to fully enjoy what he’s about to do to you.

“Hm, you still feel just like I remember.” Beckett whispers and you feel his lips trail over your back where the dress doesn’t cover it, searing trails left in his wake as he moves a hand from behind you and now in front of you, beginning to rub your clit in quick, precise circles. You moan again. “Come on, I know you want this, you’re not even struggling.” He taunts again and you gasp when his fingers toy with your clit in a way that makes your knees weak.

“We can’t, I can’t.” You respond in a whisper and Beckett lets out a short, silent growl of annoyance then he scoffs.

“You’ll change your mind in a moment.” He says and you hear taunting in his tone again before his fingers leave your body, his hand still firmly pressed against the back of your neck and you begin hearing sounds of fabric being shifted around, then a clink of a belt buckle being maneuvered and lastly the promising sound of a zipper being pulled down.

“Beckett, please.” You whisper and not because you truly want him to stop but because the risk of being caught is just too great. What if Sebastian notices you’re gone? What if Gary ‘subtly’ tells Prince that before you disappeared he saw you talking to Beckett? What if?

“Begging now? How delightfully unexpected.” Beckett taunts and you feel the warm tip of his cock nudge at your folds, then slide slightly up to your entrance before he begins to push himself in.

You make a sound through your clenched teeth. The sensation is not the most pleasant, but it’s not entirely unpleasant either as he forces himself into you inch by deliberate inch.

“If you only let yourself enjoy it a little this might be much much more pleasant for you.” Beckett speaks and you know he’s right because by the time his impressive length is buried inside of you to the fullest you feel mostly pain. Blood tears gather in your eyes from the discomfort and your fingers grip the edge of the sink so tightly you feel like you could tear it off the wall with one pull. “Come on, dear.” His voice is dripping honey against your ear as he whispers, hot breath fawning over your skin and hair. “Submit to me.”

With that Beckett begins to pull out, readying himself for another thrust, and you know you have no choice. He won’t stop and not using the Discipline out of principle is stupid and childish. So you give in, needing only a moment to concentrate and active the only thing that will elevate this from painful to pleasurable.

You feel your limbs beginning to warm up, your heart beginning to beat, you inhale, feeling your lungs fill with air in a different way compared to when you simulate breathing. And your body responds to the abusive invasion, you feel yourself becoming wetter by the second and hear Beckett exhale with satisfaction.

“This is much, much better.” He commends with satisfied tone in his voice and then he thrusts into you again, this time his passage easier, smoother. His fingers once more move around you to your clit and he begins rubbing it once more, urging your body to respond, to give him what he needs – your arousal.

“You’re a bastard.” You whisper against the mirror, your breath now fogging it and you hear Beckett chuckle behind you, a third thrust being easier than previous two, your cunt quickly becoming soaked so much so that you feel some of it drop down your inner thigh as he thrusts into you again.

“And you’re overflowing.” He taunts and makes you moan when two of his claws scrape against your folds that are enveloping his shaft as he plunges into you again. “And so tight.” He mocks against your ear, enjoying how your body is still going through stages of temporary revival, and you let out a sound again as his cock stretches you deliciously painfully.

“Stop mocking me.” You snap at him much weaker than you wanted and Beckett nips at your ear with a chuckle.

“I’m not mocking you, I’m enjoying you. And I know you’re enjoying me. You love how I treat you, how I make you feel pain and pleasure at the same time. Such a little freak you are.” He whispers and you blush now, unable to deny his words. “No answer? Hard to argue with the truth, I suppose.” He goads you but you remain silent, just enjoy the feeling of his cock impaling you in slow, powerful rhythm while his fingers caress and stroke your folds. “Don’t relax just yet, I know what you truly like. After all, I was the one to introduce you to your pleasure.” Beckett nips at your ear again and you glance at him with the help of a mirror, only seeing his red eyes cast down for a moment before he straightens his back and pulls out, making you gasp from the agonizing absence his imposing cock leaves in its wake.

Beckett chuckles and his fingers slide over your stretched cunt, smearing his fingers with your arousal without digging his sharp nail in, but then it is gone too and you exhale with a whimper, wanting more, so much more.

“You’re taking fucking forever.” You murmur as you pant slightly, your grip on the sink relaxing at last and Beckett laughs softly.

“Quite literally, my dear.” He taunts and you roll your eyes before you stiffen when you feel the smooth tip of his cock now nudge at your asshole.

Your eyelids immediately droop and you bite your lower lip from anticipation. He was right, as he usually is. Beckett does know what you truly like and it’s only confirmed by your deliciously sweet whimper when he holds the base of his cock firm before beginning to push his hard length into your hole.

“That’s the kind of sound only cock in your ass can make you produce.” He says with such vulgarity that it makes your body shiver in response.

“Stop mocking me…” You moan again and Beckett scoffs at your words, his cock sliding into you with ease now that it’s been doused in your arousal.

“I’m complimenting you, dear.” Beckett corrects you and you smirk slightly, moans threatening to emerge as he carefully slides into you, letting you adjust to his size and girth.

“You’re complimenting yourself.” You respond and Beckett scoffs again, arrogant and haughty as ever, before you feel his body press against your rear, letting you know he buried his cock into you as deeply as he can.

“Someone has to.” He says and you feel the grip on your neck finally release you, feeling both palms on your hips now as he holds your ass in place for himself.

Before you can respond you feel Beckett’s lips on your back and then he draws his own hips back, before slamming right back in. You cry out and immediately clasp your palm over your mouth, moving your face and pressing your forehead against the mirror as pleasure nearly drowns your mind immediately. Your knees are weak and if you weren’t bent over the sink with Beckett holding you up, you would not be able to remain upright.

“There, the best compliment there is, a woman being so pleasured she’s close to losing her wits.” Beckett whispers against your skin and you feel his tongue trace alongside your spine for a moment before he at last starts thrusting.

You have to keep yourself quiet, you know that your very life depends on it. The bathroom is just too close to the stage room and someone might come out and hear, so you keep a palm over your mouth, trying to muffle your moans that are becoming louder the harder Beckett pounds into your ass. You bite your lower lip with your front teeth and your fangs nick your skin but you don’t even feel it. The pleasure is too great, and the pain of being stretched like this has wiped your brain from near all thoughts. You’re not sure you even remember your own name.

“You always took me so well, that’s what I like about you.” Beckett’s whisper is now against your shoulder and you feel his teeth as he bites down without drawing blood.

You whimper and then do it louder when his claws finally dig into your skin, slicing into it like daggers as the Elder grips your hips with supernatural strength. He needs it to keep you in place because he’s plowing into you with such force that you have to press palm of your other hand against the wall so that your back doesn’t break under tension.

Beckett swears under his breath after he releases your shoulder from his teeth and suddenly he pulls out, making you whine in protest, you felt like you were getting close to your bliss even like this, but Beckett has other plans.

He grabs your waist and turns you around, making you stumble on your unsteady legs and he leans in, giving your open mouth a fiery kiss before you feel him grip your arms and force you down to your knees. Your knees slip on the floor and you fall with your ass on cold tiles, your knees splayed and your panting filling the room in the moment of silence.

Beckett chuckles and grips your chin, pulling it up before he pushes two fingers into your mouth, making it salivate at the intrusion as he rubs pads of his digits against your tongue. You can barely see him in the darkness except for the eyes, those you can always see, and you clearly see as they watch you with lustful pride.

“Open wide.” He commands and you let your jaw become slack before his fingers leave your mouth and now his cock taps against your lower lip.

You swallow the saliva just in time, because he thrusts his length into your throat and when you instinctually try to pull back, Beckett grabs your hair and keeps your head in place.

“Come on now, dear, you know how to take it, no need to fuss.” Beckett croons and you know he’s right. You lean towards him, feeling the tip of his cock sliding alongside your tongue and nudging at your throat before you make it slide even deeper, until your nose is right against his pelvis, your tongue pressing hard to the underside of his length and you hear Beckett exhale with undeniable satisfaction. “Good girl.”

You whine around his cock, vibrations of your voice sending a shiver down his spine before he begins thrusting. He’s close, you know it, that’s why you’re on the floor, getting your mouth fucked, he likes hearing you sputter and struggle when he comes down your throat.

“Don’t deny yourself, darling, touch yourself. I want to feel you come.” Becket encourages and you don’t hesitate, your fingers quickly moving between your spread legs and finding your clit, still throbbing with need.

You begin to massage the nub, making yourself moan as you do so, your ass still feeling sore from taking his cock but it’s a pleasant feeling, one you relish as Beckett thrusts into your throat faster and faster. Your jaw is screaming from pain, it’s hard for you to accommodate him like this but you enjoy this feeling too. Part of the reason why you didn’t even resist him pulling you into this bathroom even if you spoke of it.

“Come for me, come on.” Beckett urges you, his breaths heavy and his voice unsteady while his other hand also tangles and grips your hair, making you whine as his pumps start becoming erratic.

Your fingers rub your clit faster and you don’t need much effort to feel the heat spreading between your legs and in your lower abdomen. Pleasure knots at first, taking over your mind completely and you unravel, your muscles spasm and your fingers stutter as you rub yourself to draw out your pleasure as much as you can while you moan around Beckett’s cock.

And then he comes too.

You have nearly forgotten that he’s fucking your face and when his hot and thick cum spurts at the back of your throat, coating it, you begin to sputter and choke, forgetting to swallow at first.

“Fuck! Swallow it all.” Beckett grunts as he moves his twitching cock in your mouth, letting your throat milk him for all he’s worth and you follow his command, finally remembering what you need to do, gulping down his seed until with one last twitch of his length last bits of it trickle down your esophagus.

He slowly pulls out, his fingers leaving your hair as he moves backwards from you and you watch his red gaze cast down on you while you listen to him move his clothes, first the zipper, then the belt buckle as you sit on the floor exhausted, disheveled and sweaty.

“We’ll meet again, I am sure.” Beckett finally says after he puts his clothes in other and then he leans over you, his fingers tilting your head up for him to press a strong, but short kiss against your lips. “After all, I’m going to be in LA for a while.” He teases with a smile against your mouth, then he pulls back, gives you another glance and walks out.

For a moment you feel blinded as the light from the lobby illuminates the bathroom when Beckett opens the door, but then it closes and you’re in darkness once again. Panting and dazed you sit for a moment longer, then grab the nearby sink to pull yourself to your feet.

“Damn it.” You swear under your breath as you grope around for the light switch and finally flip it, blinking couple times as your eyes adjust to the low brightness of the bathroom lights.

You look at yourself in the mirror, the Discipline now fading and your body cooling swiftly. You see your reflection, the bite on your shoulder, the creases in your dress and you finally notice your torn panties resting on the edge of a sink to your left. You grab them and toss them into trash, then lower your dress, trying to smooth it with an annoyed sigh. Your hair is a mess, you try to fix it too, then run some water, washing your face and rinsing your mouth. It takes you around ten more minutes to feel like you look somewhat presentable and with another swear at Beckett’s expense you exit the bathroom, only to stop immediately because he’s there, holding two glasses of blood and wearing that cocky grin on his face.

“Figured you might need some refreshments.” He taunts and you narrow your eyes at him but take the glass, still feeling ghostly soreness in your ass and jaw. You know that he knows.

“Yes, refreshments.” You mutter and take a sip, finding even this bagged provision better than nothing, then you stiffen as you see Sebastian quickly approaching, his face confident and smiling.

“There you are! I was looking for you.” He announces ignoring Beckett and then wraps an arm around your waist, barely spending half a second to look at you. “Come, Gary has something to say I want you to hear from his own… well, can’t call them lips, but let’s say mouth. If you’ll excuse us.” Sebastian shoots a dismissive glance at Beckett and begins leading you away.

As you walk with Sebastian, your knees still feeling weak and your legs still being shaky, you throw one last glance over your shoulder at Beckett and see him cheerfully wave to you before he calls out:

“Have fun.”

#vampire the masquerade #vtm #beckett #cuthbert beckett #beckett x reader #cutchbert beckett x reader #reader insert #x reader #female reader #vampire the masquerade bloodlines #vtmb #beckett fic #my vtm fics

13 notes · View notes

lipstickstainz · 4 years ago

Text

touches - s.r.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Summary: Spencer doesn’t like to be touched. But what happens, when he gets comfortable around you? Warnings: fluff, Spencer being cute, getting shot but nothing too explicit and oh, and a bucket full of angst Word Count: 4,4k A/N: hello friends. I have a part two of this in my drafts if you like! I hope you enjoy. gif not mine.

You had heard a lot about the BAU team before joining them.

About the cases, the trust, the bond. It had always been something that had fascinated you. You had experienced some things with your previous team as well, but the BAU was in a whole different league.

Before you had been moved there, you had already familiarized yourself with the teammates. You didn't want to come unprepared to a team that knew each other inside and out. Also, you were a person who put your foot in your mouth quickly.

You were most impressed by Doctor Spencer Reid. You had heard the most about him. He was a genius, with an IQ of 187 and he could read 20,000 words a minute. Not to mention his eidetic memory. You had even read his doctoral dissertations. While you didn't understand everything, they were incredibly interesting and gave you a little insight into the mind of the spectacular Doctor Spencer Reid.

When you first met, you concentrated on not reaching out to him. You merely raised your hand to greet him, which he returned with a smile, and although he tried to hide it, you knew that this small gesture meant a lot to him.

While the other team members put their hand on his shoulder or ruffled his hair, you were almost tensely careful not to touch him. If he should want to, he would make the first move.

It happened some time later, as you stood side by side in the office kitchen. While Spencer poured himself a coffee, you poured hot water into your teacup. You asked him for the sugar that was next to him, and instead of sliding it over to you as you had been doing, he held the dispenser out to you. You reached for it and when your fingers brushed his, it went through you like an electric shock. You suddenly felt warm and your heart beat faster, but Spencer didn't seem to notice. He smiled at you before walking back to his seat. You looked after him.

After that incident, you were both a little more relaxed. While you didn't push it, Spencer didn't seem to mind you handing him files or touching each other briefly when you sat next to each other. After an incident on the plane, even the team noticed.

Spencer was on his way to the trash can when you got up to sit with Emily and Hotch to discuss the current case. You squeezed past each other as the plane made an unexpected swerve. You tried to grab onto the seat next to you, but the sway was too sudden. Before you could fall, Spencer grabbed your arm with one hand and your hip with the other and held you tight. He pulled you straight toward him so you wouldn't land face down on the ground. Even when the plane was back on course, he didn't let go. As you tried to regain control of your irregular breathing from the shock, Spencer looked at you closely. You felt his gaze on you, almost burning into your forehead, but neither said a word. As you broke away from each other and each sat down in your seat, you noticed his gaze still on you. When you looked up, he looked away.

Next came your birthday. Even though you didn't want to celebrate and your real plan was to have food delivered and watch your favorite movie for the hundredth time, the team dragged you to a bar. "Pathetic," Derek had called the plan, and you had punched him affectionately in the shoulder, but by the time he put the first drink in your hand, you had all but forgotten his comment. While some of you sat at a table and the rest enjoyed themselves on the dance floor, you sat at the bar. You did love your team, but on your birthday you didn't want to hear about any cases outside of work. Which couldn't be avoided when you were around each other 24/7.

You sipped your drink, secretly cursing Derek for having so much alcohol in it. You scrunched your nose.

"Did you know that alcohol tastes different when you drink it with a straw?" Spencer asked, sitting down in the empty chair next to you. You turned to him and raised an eyebrow questioningly. "When we ingest something, the aroma molecules go up our nose and we can tell from the start whether it's going to taste good or not. Also, the nose detects different flavors than the tongue. So if you drink the drink with the straw so the glass is farther away from your nose, you'll perceive the taste of the drink differently than it is." Even in the dim light of the bar, you could see how red he was getting. When you didn't answer, he laughed nervously and ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I was rambling again."

You took another sip of your drink. "Don't apologize, Spencer. I like that you're so smart. And I like that you're comfortable enough to want to share your knowledge with me," you smiled gently at him. He returned your smile.

"I appreciate you not reaching out to me then, by the way," he confessed, nibbling on the label of his beer bottle. "I don't like shaking hands with strangers, and it makes me uncomfortable when I'm expected to but I don't. So, thanks for that."

"It's okay," you said, but he let go of his bottle and turned to you completely.

"You never pushed me to do this. You waited for me to make the first move on this because it means more to me than it does to you. There aren't many who are that respectful and understanding." He got up from his chair, but left the beer bottle on the counter. He held out his arms. "I haven't wished you a happy birthday yet because I didn't want to do it in front of the team. They'd make a big deal out of it." He gestured for you to give him a hug. He actually wanted to hug you.

"Spencer, you don't have to do this," you said, but before you knew it, he had grabbed your hand and pulled you off the chair, right into his arms.

You had often imagined what a hug from Spencer would be like, especially when you saw him hug JJ or Emily after a hard case. But you had imagined it differently.

He had his arms wrapped around your waist and held you so close that you almost couldn't breathe. You felt his long fingers on your skin, despite your T-shirt and you felt his warm breath on your neck and his curls on your temple. Goosebumps spread over your body and you prayed he didn't notice. "Happy birthday," he whispered in your ear and before you knew it, he placed his lips on your cheek before pulling away from you. Smiling, he reached for his beer and sauntered back over to the table, leaving you standing at the bar. With a pounding heart and fire in your veins. And in that moment, you just thought that work colleagues, or even maybe friends, shouldn't feel that way about each other.

After your birthday, it was no longer an issue for Spencer. Under the table, he'd nudge you with his knee if you weren't paying attention for a second, or he'd put his hand on your shoulder when he looked over you at the computer screen. He also didn't mind if you were so exhausted from a case that you fell asleep by his side on the plane, with your head on his shoulder. You didn't realize it, but JJ had pointed out that Spencer always pulled you a little closer then, resting his cheek against the top of your head. For him, the constant touching was no longer an issue.

For you, it was. Every time his skin brushed yours, you felt warm and your heart skipped a beat. Whether it was at dinner, at a briefing, or just walking by. But it was bearable.

It got bad when he touched you longer. On particularly hard cases, he had taken to looking under the table for your hand and squeezing it twice. It was a gesture of friendship and care. If you held each other, nothing could happen to you. On the plane, you always sat next to each other, playing cards or absorbed in your own thoughts. Spencer, however, got into the habit of putting your legs over one of his if you had to fly for a particularly long time. At first, the team gave you strange looks, which made you uncomfortable, but didn't bother Spencer in the least. So you tried not to let on, which was pretty difficult when you were surrounded by profilers. Flames blazed in your veins at those touches, heat tingled under your skin where he touched you, and when he pulled you into his arms on certain occasions, you almost felt dizzy.

This is not how you should feel about your best friend.

"Thales, Miletus, here's your key," Hotch said, tossing Spencer the room key as the team checked into the hotel. He'd resisted at first the nickname Garcia had picked out for you - classically, after the discoverer of magnetism - but since everyone was using it, even the earnest Hotch had given up on it. "Prentiss, JJ, your room is right next to ours." The two women nodded and the four of them walked down the corridor while Derek was kind enough to take the girls' bags.

You couldn't look after them for long, because Spencer had already grabbed your hand and intertwined his fingers. "Come on. Our room is waiting."

You had never shared a room. You'd either always had your own, or shared one with Emily or JJ, but never with Spencer. You wouldn't mind so much if you weren't into him. Hopefully there were two beds. On opposite walls. Far away from each other.

When Spencer unlocked the door and you entered, you wanted to sink into the floor. Double bed. One blanket. You tried to mentally prepare yourself for the stay by setting your bag down on a chair and stopping in the middle of the room while your best friend inspected it. He didn't seem to notice that you had only one bed and, more importantly, only one blanket. At least, it didn't bother him.

When you returned to the room that evening, you went straight to the bathroom and took a shower. The water was as cold as you could stand it. It was supposed to cool you down and prepare you for the night. It wasn't every day that you shared a bed with your crush. After combing your hair and changing, you slipped under the covers and tried to fall asleep as quickly as possible so you wouldn't notice Spencer's presence next to you when he came out of the bathroom.

Your thoughts cheated on you. What if you snuggled up to each other in your sleep at night? Or you would unconsciously snuggle up to him, but he didn't want you to? Then you'd have to get another room tomorrow. And it would get so awkward that you wouldn't be able to look him in the eyes.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Spencer finally as he climbed into bed next to you. Immediately, you felt his warmth. He hadn't taken a cold shower, apparently.

"It's always hard when kids are involved," you answered truthfully. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't what was floating around in your mind either.

"Come here," he said, opening his arms. Hesitantly, you slid closer to him so there was still space between you, but it didn't seem close enough for Spencer. After he turned out the light, he pulled you close enough for you to rest your head on his shoulder and with his free hand, he reached for yours and intertwined your fingers again. Your heart stopped. "We can do this, Y/N. We've done it all so far." You heard his heartbeat beneath you, felt his breath on your hair, and the warmth of his body burned into your skin. "Try to get some sleep. We'll know more tomorrow," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead before you fell asleep.

When you woke up in the morning, you felt Spencer behind you. His chest was pressed against your back, his arm was wrapped tightly around your middle, and he had his face buried in your neck. Immediately goosebumps spread all over your body. You tried to pull away from him a little, but he pulled you even closer. Spencer was still asleep, so he didn't notice how he carefully slid his hand under your shirt and how his long fingers danced over your soft skin. You held your breath, afraid to move or give away your racing heartbeat. At one point he pulled his arm back and turned onto his back before lifting his hand and rubbing his eyes. His hair stood out in all directions and he smiled sleepily. You were getting hot.

"Good morning, Y/N." Good morning indeed.

The case took longer than planned, though of course you can't plan a case. After the third night, you had gotten used to sleeping next to Spencer, but the cuddling worried you. The longer you shared that room, the more complicated your feelings became. It was almost unbearable.

Derek, Emily, Spencer and you found the unsub in a remote car yard. While the latter surveyed the building, Derek and you looked around the yard.

"What's going on between you and Reid, anyway?" he asked curiously. You gave him a meaningful look, but he didn't care. "It's come to all of our attention. You guys are inseparable, he has to touch you all the time, and those looks."

"What looks?" you probed, trying to sound as unsuspecting as possible. This time Derek was looking at you. So he had noticed. And if Derek knew, so did the others. Fucking profilers.

"Y/N," he started, and stopped. When you turned to him, he twisted his mouth into a weak smile. It was a very different Derek who stood before you. Not the go-getter who sometimes made fun of Spencer. He seemed genuinely worried, and that made you nervous. "Friends don't look at friends that way."

A loud bang rang through the air and the conversation was all but forgotten. You took cover and communicated via hand signals. Quietly, you moved forward. It wasn't long before you saw a figure running away behind the cars. "We got him," Derek said into the mic, and together you dashed toward the unsub. He ran toward the woods and disappeared. Derek looked at you and nodded. You split up.

Gun drawn, you ran forward. Leaves crunched beneath you, but you tuned that out. You focused on the birds above you, the shadows of the trees, and the gun in your hand. He had to be here somewhere.

You didn't even startle when you felt cold metal against the back of your head. "Don‘t. Move." You took your fingers off the trigger and raised your arms. "Put the gun down. Vest off." Slowly, you bent down and placed both on the ground. The only thing you could think about was that you would hopefully find them later. "Walk.“ With your hands clasped behind your head, you took one step at a time. Derek was nowhere to be seen. You wished you hadn't split up.

He led you to a rundown cabin in the woods that wasn't marked on any map, which is why you couldn't have known about it. He pushed you inside and closed the door behind him, his gun still pointed at you. "If you had wanted to kill me, you would have done it long ago," you gave out, but he didn't go for it. It was a game of fire. You knew the file and what he was capable of.

It was only a few moments before someone kicked open the door and Derek stormed into the cabin, closely followed by Spencer. "Put the gun down and keep your hands off," Derek yelled. Up until then, you hadn't realized that the he had pulled you close and was holding the barrel of his gun right to your temple You only had eyes for Spencer, who was deliberately not looking at you.

You tried to get his attention, but he wouldn't budge. You raised a hand and moved it toward your shoulder, hoping Spencer understood your message. But he wasn't looking at you.

Look at me, Spencer. Come on. Look. At. Me.

His eyes moved from the unsub to your fingers, tapping a spot in your shoulder. You repeated this until he finally looked you in the eye. Then he shook his head, barely perceptibly. Again you tapped the spot. If Spencer shot through your shoulder, he would hit the perpetrator in the torso, and even if the bullet slowed down through you, it would still do enough damage. And you were willing to take the risk.

But Spencer didn't shoot. And time was running out for you. "I trust you," you said, no sound escaping your lips. He gritted his teeth. "I trust you, Spencer. Do it."

And then he shot.

"Welcome back, sunshine," Derek grinned, wrapping you in his muscular arms as you entered the office. "We've all missed you."

It had been three months since you had been shot in the field. Spencer had shot you through the shoulder as planned, and you were right. The perpetrator was shot and the rest of the victims were found. So it was almost a happy ending.

Almost. Of course, you had to listen to a few more things from Hotch on the way to the hospital. You were tired of living and he was disappointed and angry, but incredibly relieved that nothing else had happened to you. You could have been the next victim, too.

"All of you?" you prodded, and Emily, who had joined you, screwed up her face.

"He's not back yet. He extended his vacation," she said, putting a hand on your shoulder. "He's not really over it yet."

You hadn't heard from Spencer since the incident. He hadn't visited you at the hospital, called you or been to your home after you were discharged. You were best friends and the fact that you hadn't seen him in three months hurt more than the gunshot wound. The only person Spencer talked to was JJ, but even she couldn't give you any information.

He probably blamed himself, but why? You had wanted him to shoot. It had been your plan. Besides, he had shot so well that you didn't suffer any permanent damage. He shouldn't worry about it.

It was strange to work a case without him. Not having him near you. Not being able to feel his warmth. You tried to reach him, by phone, by letter, but you got no answer. Even though you hadn't spoken in months, he was your best friend and you were starting to get really worried. He had cut off contact with JJ himself.

When you walked into the office one morning, you were almost breathless. Spencer was standing at his desk, leaning against it, and the others were standing around him. But you had no eyes for them. Spencer was back. Your Spencer was back. As you walked toward them, you got a sinking feeling. He looked good. Changed, but good. His hair was a little shorter and he didn't look as pale as usual. He also seemed more confident and self-assured, which unfortunately made him even more attractive.

He didn't see you until you were almost in front of him. He smiled weakly at you before standing up straight. "Y/N," he said, and it felt so good to hear your name come out of his mouth. Immediately, goosebumps spread across your body. You expected him to give you a hug or insist on talking to you in person, because a lot had happened in the time without him, but he didn't. He turned around briefly and pulled something off his office chair. Not something. Someone. "This is my girlfriend, Vicky."

You didn't know what had happened in the last few months. Did you even want to know? Spencer hadn't contacted you in a long time, only to reappear with a girlfriend? You didn't understand the world anymore. The rest of the team must have felt the same way, because as you stood at your regular table in the bar, the couple was the only topic of conversation. In fact, you would have preferred all the murder cases.

"I'll be honest," Penelope said, taking a big gulp of her drink, which took quite a while since she always drank with a straw, "I was hoping you two would get together." She pointed her finger at you and then toward Spencer, who was standing at the bar with Vicky. You saw her run her finger through his hair and had to look away. Didn't she know he didn't like that?

"Hotch and I even bet money on it," Emily confessed, turning back towards the table. Apparently she didn't want to watch them either. "We would have gotten you a nice wedding present from that."

"He looks happy," you said, but you guessed that's not what the others wanted to hear from you. You sat at a table made up mostly of profilers. They knew exactly how you felt about the whole thing.

"Give it a rest," Derek said, putting his arm around your shoulder. Even the overly positive music in the background couldn't lighten your mood. "We all know how you feel about Spencer. And honestly, we thought he would feel the same way about you."

"But he doesn't, so please let it go," you shot back, instantly regretting it. Your friends weren't to blame for the whole situation. It was you. As you dared another look, Vicky pulled Spencer onto the dance floor, which you knew he didn't like either. Didn't she know him at all?

"I don't know what got into him," JJ confessed, sipping her Coke. "Those two don't even fit together." They didn't, but maybe that's why it worked. There was this theory that opposites attract, but you could never have imagined it with Spencer.

When Vicky grabbed Spencer by the tie and pulled him down so she could kiss him, your heart broke. It was different when you just knew two people were doing something. But when you saw it, all hope was lost. Even from a distance, you could see their tongues and you almost threw up.

"That's my sign," you said, pressing a kiss to Penelope's cheek. "See you." They all said goodbye to you and even over that awful music, you could still hear "It must hurt terribly to see him like that" and "I couldn't do that" as you walked.

Outside, the cold night air surprised you. It hit you in the face like a slap, but nothing hurt as much as knowing Spencer was happy without you. He didn’t need you and he didn't want you. That was fine, but that didn't mean you had to go along with it. Since he'd been back, he'd barely spoken to you. On the plane, he had sat at the other end of the room, and he had actually switched rooms at the hotel just so he wouldn't have to be near you. He'd even started shoving files back at you instead of handing them to you, like he'd burn if he touched you.

The lights in Hotch's office were still on when you came into the office. It was just after midnight and you knew he would still be there. When you knocked on his door, he invited you in. "What can I do for you?" He hadn't even had to ask. He knew why you were there. It was written on your forehead. "Are you sure about this? I'll write a recommendation, but only if you really want me to." You nodded silently. "It's because of him, isn't it?" he asked, his usually hard expression softening.

"Yes," you answered curtly. There was nothing to add.

"I'll make some calls. You get a week to pack. I'll call you tomorrow," he said, getting up from his desk. Surprisingly, he pulled you into his arms. "We're all going to miss you terribly, Y/N. And you're welcome here anytime."

It didn't take long for your things to be packed, and it didn't take long for the others to notice the following day. Your desk was empty, the files had been processed, the pictures of you and the team were gone, and your mug with a picture of Spencer and you on it that he had once given you was gone, too.

"Where is she?" asked Emily Derek, who didn't have an answer ready either. They looked around uncertainly and as the rest entered the bullpen, Hotch came out of his office. He looked like he hadn't slept. He walked down the steps and stood in the circle of confused team members. Even Spencer was puzzled.

"Agent Y/L/N left us last night," he began, sounding very composed. The others didn't know how to respond, so they just gave each other confused looks. "She has asked for a transfer and will start there next week. Please refrain from trying to talk her out of it. The transfer has gone through."

It took everyone by great surprise when Spencer dropped his bag and stormed out of the office. He didn't need to explain where he was going. It was obvious. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried to call you, but it went straight to voicemail. It wasn't long before he arrived at your complex and shot up the steps to your apartment. He took two steps at a time. He stopped in front of your door and pounded his fist against the wood, hoping you would open the door for him and explain what you were doing. When nothing happened, he dialed the number again. Again and again, until the voice in the phone said to him, this number was no longer in service.

He ran his hand through his hair before sliding down with his back to the door. He put his head between his knees and cursed himself.

You weren't there anymore.

part two

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid blurb #criminal minds #criminal minds one shot #Emily prentiss #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #Jennifer jereau #Matthew gray gubler

2K notes · View notes

squishneedsahero · 4 years ago

Text

Shattered

Broken Things to Mend

Part 1 of 1

Word Count: 5998

A soulmate au where you have the first sentence your soulmate will say to you tattooed on your body in their handwriting.

TW: Abuse, neglect and starvation mentions (I’m sure theres more pls let me know if I need to add anything)

You were roughly thrown into a cell and the door shut behind you with a snap, exhausted you fall to your knees and stay on the floor rather than trying to fight your way back out. You were tired, so, so tired. Your body ached, cuts and bruises littered every inch of your skin, mere hours ago you had felt invincible but now you were nothing but broken. You collapsed to your knees and cried on the floor wondering how you had fallen so far.

Here you were locked in a cell on Asgard, and here was where you were going to stay until the humans had something properly set up to contain you. Why you had tried to take over that planet you weren't quite sure, tired of feeling weak had lead you down a dark path. A path from which you couldn't return, and had been regretting as you walked down it. But you couldn't stop yourself and now it was too late.

Broken was the only way to describe yourself, you had been broken for millennia and had finally thought you could piece yourself back together when you'd found the infinity stone. The power stone. You'd thought yourself strong enough to use its power, to stop those who had hurt you and others who wanted to hurt innocents in their paths. You had soon found you weren't strong enough, you were alone and it had corrupted your mind, having no one to anchor you to reality. That's when he had shown up. The purple Titan set on reforming the universe, making it a better place, and in your broken state of mind his plan had made sense, you had agreed to help him, to take out the biggest threat in his way.

You had failed, you had lost to that group called the Avengers and soon enough Thanos would be coming after you himself to remove any loose ends. You weren't the first he had sent but you were most likely the last he'd send on their own without him to lead them directly. He'd only kept you because you were able to hold the power stone in your hands and not be destroyed, someone broken who he could control who could keep the stone safe until he was able to wield it himself.

As soon as he'd seen you failing to take earth he had taken the stone from you and left you for dead. Once you were no longer in possession of the gem you had come back to your senses, seen all the havoc you'd wreaked upon that innocent planet. But it was too late, you were already the enemy and they'd never understand if you tried to explain. So you had fought, continuing to try and protect yourself and your life until they had finally overcome you.

Now you were sitting in a cell, back to yourself but now shattered rather than having just a few chips on your broken soul. You'd ben controlled and manipulated your entire life, by those who claimed to be your friends and family, but it was only ever for the power which you had. Seemingly the last of your species, dark and wraith-like nothing more than a wisp of what you could be and easy to control. A child who could wield the power of the infinity stones, any powerful person would want you in their control.

All of that manipulation had left you more than a little broken, to the point that as soon as you had actually been able to get your hands on that gem you'd instantly turned on them. Then you'd gone after all the others who had manipulated you and dictated your life. You'd been passed from hand to hand as a slave would be, malnourished to keep a leash on you. Sometimes you were sold, other times traded, but mostly those who had been holding you were attacked and killed so that somebody new could control you.

Despite having wielded the infinity stone less than a day before you were back to that state you had been in. The stone had been the only thing sustaining your life and making you seem to be anything more than someone who'd been a broken child and was now a broken adult. You fall asleep on your place on the floor in that cell on Asgard, you were powerless to do anything and you knew it, sleeping was the only way you'd be able to ignore the crushing guilt you felt for all you had done.

All too soon you're woken up, the drapes over the glass door of your cell being opened wide and exposing you to the glaring lights. You preferred the dark as any wraith would, it was your natural state to be in the dark, so natural that the light almost hurt. Once you're awake you look over your thin arms and legs, the bruises and cuts from the fight before all healed, thats why they'd opened the drapes, you'd had enough time to heal in the dark but they didn't want to leave you in the dark. The darkness brought you power, not as much power as that gem had, and not as Much as any sort of nutrients would but it had allowed you to heal.

After your eyes finish lingering on the elegant script on your forearm you pull your sleeve to cover it and look up. Across the hallway was another cell, this one containing a raven haired man, his gaze fixed on you and not breaking even when you meet his stare with your own. He looks to be in good shape and everyone else there would think so as well, but you were able to see the haze of magic over his room. You couldn't see through it, you didn't know what he was hiding but there was something he was keeping from prying eyes and you could only applaud him for being able to protect himself in such a way.

~~~~~

Loki had looked up from his book when the drapes across the prison hall were drawn away from the cell they'd been covering from his view. Inside was a person most unusual, a wisp of a being, with grayish skin and sunken eyes which had seen so many things. What were they? He asked himself, intrigued as he'd never seen anything like them before. He's surprised when they meet his eyes and don't look away immediately as anyone else would. The few moments of eye contact are brief as the figure gets up off the floor and seemingly drifts over to their cot.

Peculiar, a long dark robe covered their grayish form, ending a foot or so from the ground revealing no legs or feet touching the floor. There was a faint cloud of dark mist that seemed to surround them, which pooled around where their feet should have been. This was their natural form, no magic concealed who they were as he did with himself. He watches as they take a seat on their cot, the mist around them gathers and forms some spindly legs. Intriguing, now that he had seen that he couldn't unsee it, their entire form seemed to be made of mist, there but not really there, but by the way they sat thy definitely has a solid form in there somewhere.

~~~~~

You'd moved to your cot, hoping that movement would break the stranger's eye contact but when you sat and turned around his gaze was still fixed on you. You hated being perceived, anytime someone looked at you there was a thirst to their gaze, a desire as they wanted to own you. His gaze was different though, more curious than wanting to control you. It eased you ever so slightly, but you still hated it, so you stared back.

Most wouldn't hold your gaze for long before breaking it, they found you horrible to look at with your grey skin and sunken eyes. You weren't always like that though, when you'd had the power stone you had found your true form, what you'd look like if you had been properly taken care of and healthy. Even then, in your true form, people wouldn't hold your gaze, you were no longer the disgusting monster you were currently but they could see the inside. Your grace and power which flowed off of you in that form intimidated them and they'd look away, but this man didn't.

You stare back at him, allowing yourself to break eye contact knowing intimidation and fear would get him to stop, so let him look at the monster you were. You were the most horrible creature someone could set eyes on in their lifetime, if he wanted the sight of you burned into his retina who were you to stop him? So instead you take your own turn to observe him, taking in his features, taking time to notice more than just the raven hair that flowed to his shoulders. His emerald eyes were the first thing which you noticed besides the hair, but it wasn't so much the color that intrigued you it was the pain and loathing you could sense behind them. He did well to hide it but not from you, you had seen that look in your own eyes too many times to not recognize it.

Who knows how long the two of you spend staring at each other across that hallway, but you both allow it to go on. Him, intrigued by never having seen anything like you before and you staring as the face before you feels familiar. You hadn't spent much time around other beings, recognizing faces was not your strong suit but picking a voice out of a crowd was easy. Finally you place it, you place him. A face you'd seen many times in your nightmares. He was the one Thanos called Laufeyson, the one who had gone before you to earth to try and take over. The other one who had failed. The other one Thanos would come after in his rage. The other loose end was sitting there across the hallway from you.

For some reason the fact that he was also here brought you peace, it brought you hope. Maybe, just maybe he had also been controlled. Maybe he would back you up and make an attempt of explaining who Thanos was and what his plans were worth it. But you could be wrong. He could have done nearly the same thing you did but all of his own accord. He could've enjoyed hurting those people.

It was that thought that prevented you from trying to talk to him through the glass. You keep quiet except for when you're being questioned, then you give nothing but honest answers and they aren't believed so you're questioned again and again, tortured and punished for what they take to be lies. At least they allow you to sit in the dark after you're through with the torture, only long enough to heal, but it's long enough to bring you some solace and block the prying eyes.

The constant pain wasn't anything new to you, everyone who had kept you before this had done the same thing if only for different reasons. They had been scared of you, wanted to hurt you to keep you weak, the Asgardians though, were not scared of you. They wanted information and not to keep you on death's door, so their torture was nothing to you.

It becomes routine for you, one day of torture, one day of darkness and one day of nothing before the cycle begins again. One day you find yourself waiting for the guards to come get you, able to guess nearly down to the minute they would arrive each time, but today they don't come. Why they don't come you haven't a clue, until an hour later when a soldier comes storming down the stairs and the man across the hall gives him directions to somewhere.

Then after more hours pass then another guard, this one a guard of Asgard comes down the staircase and talks to the man across the hall. You watch as the magic haze over his room flickers before steadying out once more, whatever he had just been told upset him, and you could only hope it wasn't Thanos coming for the two of you.

The next morning you gain somewhat of an answer, the broad shouldered blond comes down and speaks to the raven haired man, Thor you believed his name was. He was one of the heroes who had protected earth from you. You're surprised when Loki's illusion is lifted from his cell, revealing the state he is in along with all of the broken furniture that had seemed pristine moments earlier. Then even more surprisingly Thor opens up the cell to release him before turning to face you and making your glass cell wall melt away as well.

"You are a wraith, yes?" he ask and you merely nod.

"A wraith you say?" Loki asks, his curiosity piqued once again by you.

"Brother, I need your help to watch her, she tried to take over Midgard as well, but we need her help," then Thor shoots you a look, questioning silently if you'd help.

You couldn't help but wonder how stupid he was as you nod, signaling you would help. He didn't know you, you were nothing but a monster so how could he so willingly trust you? His hand resting on your shoulder startles you, "very well, Wraith, I can see there is good in you-"

"Even with all those people I killed?" You ask, breaking your silence.

"Yes, I have heard the reports from the guards. You've remained steady in your story that you were manipulated into doing all of that and at this time we need all the help we can get and I'm willing to take the chance," he responds confidently.

You nod, once again, thoroughly confused but willing to follow him and his brother through the halls of the palace until you meet with a woman. "Loki, Wraith, this is Jane Foster- the dark elves are here because of her, the aether as fused with her body and they are trying to take her and destroy the nine realms."

"Are you serious Thor? You think that we stand a chance against the might of the dark elves?" Loki asks, irridiculously with a glance in your direction.

"We do, we have you brother and Jane is stronger than she seems," he tries to rest a hand on Loki's shoulder but the other man dodges the hand.

"What does the Wraith have to do with it?"

"When she tried taking over Midgard she carried the power stone in her hands and did not crumble to dust. The aether is much like the power stone and she should be able to protect it from the elves-"

"And you're just going to trust the fate of the nine realms to two criminals?" Loki asks, sounding like he just wants to argue.

"Yes. We must be getting out of here though," Thor says once again with that same confidence.

He leads the group of the four of you through the halls of the palace, taking some sudden turns and winding your way about until you come to an odd looking ship which he has all of you get in before he starts it up and begins flying all of you out of Asgard to who knows where. Once in the ship Loki turns his attention to you for the millionth time and you, as always, maintain eye contact. For some reason Loki's frustrations seem focused on you as he turns once more to Thor, "you've heard tales of the Wraiths and their power how can you trust this one so easily?!" he sounds outraged.

You turn away from him and take a deep breath, despite not having a reaction to all of the torture the sound of him yelling terrified you more than anything. So many times you'd been shouted at then beaten, scolded then thrown in a room lit so brightly it burned your skin. You needed to focus, try and figure out if Thor was being truthful in his trust of you, or if he was trying a different tactic of manipulating you. All you knew he was telling the truth about was that the woman, Jane, has an infinity stone bonded to her and it is slowly killing her.

You don't even realize that she has taken a seat next to you where you have your head in your hands and tried offering words of comfort. You shake your head, "no, Loki is right, it is foolish of Thor to trust me. I'm a monster who has never left anything but pain and destruction in my path. It may not have been my choice to attack earth but I was so filled with pain that I allowed it to happen and even if I can contain the power of the Aether I do not know how it will effect my mind."

"Useless," Loki spits at you.

Then you stand up, feeling anger as you face him, "I know who you are Loki. Thanos is coming for you just like he is coming for me because we failed to take down his enemies, do not act as though you are better than me, the power stone corrupted my mind because I am weak but I was never given a chance until now to do good and I am taking it even if you doubt me. I've learned the hard way I don't need other's approval."

You were going to continue but it is at this point you realize Loki's expression has changed from one of nearly disgust to shock. His masks had fallen down as he stares at you and you glance at Thor who is also looking at you in shock and by the time you're back to Loki his expression is stone cold once more. "What did you say?" he asks in a low tone.

You'd thought his shout had been bad but this terrified you so much more, he was far too calm. You take a shaky breath and say, more gently this time, "Thanos sent me when you failed. I was easy to manipulate because the power stone took ahold of my mind and he used that, I wouldn't doubt if he did the exact same thing to you-"

"Not that-" he says, that angered tone returning as he snatches your right wrist and lifts your sleeve to reveal your soul mark on your forearm. There, shining gold and beautiful against your grey skin was one word, "Useless."

~~~~~

A much as he hated to admit it the Wraith intrigued him, but the part that hurt, the part that made him feel angered towards them was that Thor had so easily trusted them, a complete stranger. Loki and Thor had been brothers, and sure Thor was an idiot for trusting Loki to help with this situation but him showing trust to a total stranger in the same minute he'd offered a second chance to Loki stung.

This is why he questions Thor, why he snaps at you, it's all a test to see if you truly could be trusted. You much like he had had tried to take over Midgard, you could be a good ally but with the situation at hand how could he know he could trust you. So he pushed, working quickly to find what things set you off, what things got you to break the state of silence you were always in.

He had found it, the one thing that made you angered enough to lash out was him spitting that single word at you. Your reaction had surprised him, how quickly you'd been on your feet and in his face. How your entire countenance shown with a deeply hidden power that it seemed even you were unaware of. But the part that surprised him the most were the words that left your lips as you faced him.

"I know you Loki." You hadn't said it with malice, but as a fact, now you knew him he hadn't a clue. He's in too much shock to hear the next words you say, stating how you won't be useless any longer.

He quickly masks his face once again when he realizes you had stopped speaking. He can't stop the hint of anger that crept into his tone. He was far from angry now, but anger was the only thing that kept anyone from getting close enough to him to see through his walls, "what did you say?" he asks in a low voice.

He sees the hesitation in your eyes as you go to respond, "Thanos sent me when you failed. I was easy to manipulate because the power stone took ahold of my mind and he used that, I wouldn't doubt if he did the exact same thing to you-"

"Not that-" he says but doesn't have the patience to explain. He catches your right wrist in his hand and lifts your sleeve to reveal your soul mark. He doesn't realize that his masks once again drop before you as he stares at the elegant script that covered your forearm. His cold finger runs gently over the word written on your soul, "useless," the first word he had uttered to the one who was his soulmate.

~~~~~

It's as his index finger runs over the mark on your arm that you realize what he has said. The first word he had spoken directly to you, the one that had brought you hope in some of your darkest moments, the one that had also broken you completely, even your soulmate thought you were useless. You can't help it as you snatch your arm away from him, how dare he- How dare he call you useless then stare at your soul mark- Even if he was your soulmate.

You're surprised when he actually lets you walk away to the other end of the ship without stopping you. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you stare at those beautiful yet painful letters on your arm, somewhere in the back of your mind you register Thor and Jane having a whispered conversation. Without turning around you know that Loki hadn't moved from his place and was still staring at your back, damn him why did he have to be like this.

You had only shared looks across that hallway for months, you'd never done anything to warrant him being rude to you in this way and now, knowing as well as he did that your souls were linked hurt. If you weren't already so broken you're sure it would have broken you more, would have been the final straw to tear you apart... There isn't time for you to dwell on that as the ship rocks back and forth, coming into contact with the turbulence of an atmosphere, you were landing and it was time for you to take your chance to do something good with your life. With that thought in your mind you pull your sleeve down to cover your arm again and turn to stride past Loki to the front of the ship.

~~~~~

Loki could only gaze after you when you walked away, he recognized a broken soul when he saw one, it was what he saw in the mirror everyday. He had seen the disdain and hurt in your eyes as you ripped your arm away from his grasp, and knowing you were the one he was meant to spend his life with, the one most likely to love him back and he had already hurt you. The feeling was so much worse than any torture that Thanos could think to inflict upon him.

When they were going in for a landing and you strode past him without a glance it was like a punch in the gut. He had ruined any chance he had of gaining you favor in less than and hour, just because he had to play stupid, stupid, mind games. He just had to try and push your buttons and test you as he always did with anyone he saw a possibility of being useful.

~~~~~

You look at Jane for a moment before gently resting your hand on her shoulder, "I'm going to try and take the aether from you..." you glance at Thor, "if I loose control I want you to do whatever it takes to keep me from hurting more people even if it means killing me." You make eye contact with him for a few moments before asking, "can you please promise me this?" You ask in barely more than a whisper, letting your shields down for once as you ask, you don't care you just don't want anyone to use you anymore.

"I will promise you Wraith, I will not let you bring harm to anyone else," Thor says confidently, though you do notice his glance at Loki.

That allows you to relax, you take your time as you come to a landing on the red desert planet below you to focus your attention on taking the Aether out of the human. By the time you all land you've been able to take it from her it's power flowing through you. This stone is much more subtle than the power stone, you're able to keep control of your own mind when the reality stone latches itself to you.

~~~~~

Loki can only watch as you take the Aether from Jane, hearing you didn't care how Thor stopped you only confirmed his fear he had scared you off with his childish games. Nevertheless as he watches he's amazed with the transformation your body goes through as you harness the power of the infinity stone.

Your grayish skin changes to a more human color, your body fills out, your wispy figure disappearing. The years of abuse disappearing from your form, revealing your true beauty and the confidence someone with your abilities should. He can only stand in awe of you and your appearance as you turn to then step off the ship onto the desert planet.

When he hesitates to follow Thor walks over to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, "brother, it is not too late. You can see through lies, you would know if all that the Wraith has said is true or not. They are clearly as broken as you are, Brother, but they are willing to change. I'm sure that if you do, they also hold forgiveness in their heart." Thor gives him a firm pat on the shoulder as he turns to also leave the ship, "now let us go, and defeat the dark elves before they can take the Aether."

~~~~~

You stand and can see the ship of the Dark Elves' in the distance. If this was your end then so be it, you could finally rest with peace knowing you had aided Thor as some level of recompense for the damage you had caused. Jane comes to stand next to you, breathing deeply as she gently says, "thank you."

"I'm just glad that I am able to help the universe in some way," you respond, your eyes can't help but linger for a moment on her soul mark, on her right forearm where everyone's was. Part of you hoped that Loki wasn't your soulmate, it was only one word and not specific enough to guarantee anything, but you knew that wasn't the case, with the way he had reacted you knew the words on his arm were the first that left your lips when speaking to him.

"I know that you will," Jane says, removing you from your thoughts.

Thats when Thor makes his way down to the two of you, "Jane, you stay here but not on the ship, it is where you will be safest."

"Thor I am not going to just sit back and watch all of this happen, I might not be as powerful as the rest of you but I will be doing my part."

Thor can only nod, and you can see the fond smile he has on his face as he looks at her, "very well, but as soon as the convergence begins I will be placing you back on earth to do your part there." With that he leads the way towards the other ship, not waiting to see if his brother would be joining them. It would be very helpful to have the trickster at their side during this but after the words which had been spoken it made sense that Loki would need a moment.

As you walk Thor asks you if you know what you are capable of. "No, I don't I have been told of the things I can do as a Wraith but I have been kept subdued my entire existence so I haven't learned anything more that what you saw on earth... But I do have control of my own mind at this time," you add trying to make sure he wouldn't misunderstand you.

"It will be enough," he says and once again places a hand on your shoulder, but quickly removes it when you flinch. The group of twenty or so Dark Elves stand a few hundred feet in front of you when Thor speaks again, raising his voice to shout, "Malekith! Today is the day you meet your end, I will not allow you to destroy the nine realms."

"Thor," Malekith responds with a eerie smile on his face, "I thank you for delivering the Aether to me, unfortunately you won't be around to see the realms brought to perfection." It's with that that he points a finger towards your group, signaling for his followers to attack you.

Everything happening flies past, much like it had on earth, you fight alongside Thor using the power of the Aether to aid you, but then you come face to face with Malekith. The Elf has some sort of hold over the Aether and by extension you, he lifts you into the air and begins to take the Aether from you. No matter how you struggle you can feel not just the Aether but also your life slipping away from you, he wasn't taking just the infinity stone but all the power your weak body held. You try and fight, and try to hold on but before it your vision goes black.

You didn't expect too but you're able to open your eyes again hours later, the Aether has left you so you are back to your grey wispy form but your body doesn't ache as badly as you had expected. This planet was dark so it made sense, you'd been able to heal yourself in the shadows. You sit up, your eyes already adjusted to the dark, but just now noticing that there was nothing on the planet around you. There was some rubble of the ship nearby but besides that nothing, no Dark Elves, no Thor, no Jane. You were alone and how exactly you felt about that you weren't sure, you'd never been left so completely alone before.

Your reaction comes slowly, you can only assume that since you are alive you had done your part but it doesn't stop you from crying as suddenly everything sets in. You'd been able to do something good with your life, finally, but as you always had you'd left a trail of loss and destruction behind you. Sure, it was fine the Elves were gone but Thor and Jane had abandoned you here, on purpose or not was unclear. Though, the thing that hurt the most was that you had met your soulmate and you had instantly pushed him away, just for him to do the same. Sure, he had hurt you but you turning your back so quickly once you realized had to have hurt him as well and now you were on this barren planet where you'd eventually die of starvation.

You sit up as you let the tears roll down your cheeks, your hand naturally grasping at the floor for any sort of stability. You're shocked when you don't find that though, you lift your hand to your tear filled eyes and look at the dirt filling your palm. You were outside for one of the few times in your life and something about that calmed your tears, they were still present but weren't flowing as freely. You continued to let the feeling of dirt running through your fingers to ground you, you were finally free even if- no don't think about the long slow death awaiting you here just enjoy the fact that you are free that you could stand up right now and take off running without anyone hunting you down. Thats it- thats what you'll do, you'll run for the first time in centuries and just let the wind blow around you. You stand up, wiping the tears from your cheeks as you take a shaky breath, let out an excited laugh and look ahead of you.

Standing in front of you is him, Loki. You hadn't noticed he was there, how much he had seen of you crying on the ground you had no idea but the fact that he was there created a strange sensation in your chest. "I- Loki I didn't-"

Once again he cuts you off but this time it's much gentler, "no, I need to apologize. I've been captivated by you since the moment I first laid eyes on you then when we were finally able to speak I lashed out with childish games, Wraith-"

It's your turn to cut him off, "my name isn't actually Wraith, it's y/n," you pause and decide to extend an olive branch of your own, "you can just call me y/n."

"Y/n," he says thoughtfully, letting the name flow off of his silver tongue, and once again that strange tightening sensation strikes your chest. "That is a lovely name, y/n," he concludes.

You bite on the tip of your tongue as you look at him for a moment, "I need to apologize as well. I walked away from you without giving you a chance to explain yourself. I know we are little more than strangers and you calling my trustworthiness into question is only logical."

He seems a bit taken aback by your honesty but he smoothly take your hand in his, lifting your sleeve once more to look at your soul mark. "Would you be willing to give me a second chance to make up for my mistake? I have a feeling we are both broken and bruised, similar yet different with much to learn."

You cant stop the small smile that tugs at your lips. You take your hand back from his and take ahold of his right arm, taking your turn to lift his armored sleeve and view the words written there in gold, "I know you Loki," you read them out loud then meet his eyes once more, "I'd be happy to give you a second chance as you call it, as long as you are willing to give me one as well."

The relief behind his eyes is clear to you, but what isn't clear is why he cups your cheeks in his hands. He gently wipes away any remaining tears on your face, "of course I will give you a second chance," he states it gently, but firmly and once again your chest tightens. It was then that he made his intentions with his hands on your cheeks clear, as he used them to pull you into a cautious kiss, that becomes more sure when you return it.

119 notes · View notes

moon-light-jukebox · 4 years ago

Text

see? - [Reid x Reader] - Chapter 3

masterlist

previous chapter // series index // next chapter

Summary: Months after Reader left, Reid has tried to put his life back together. He’s never stopped trying to find Reader, but he may find her in the worst way possible.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.3k for Chapter 3

Content Warning: Normal Criminal Minds stuff. Mentions of drug addiction. This series has a villain, and he harms women. There is no s*xual assault, but there is brief talk of torture, and then the death of the victims. Spoiler: Our unsub targets pregnant women, one of the infants does not survive. Reader and her baby are fine. I don't go into detail, but if you need to skip this, I understand.

A/n: How can I ever thank you all enough for being so patient with me? That being said, this chapter does end on a cliffhanger that you probably saw coming if you read “River” by @yours-truly-r. She shared this plot with me, so this is my version. I’ll try my best not to make you wait too long for chapter 4. Chapter 3 & 4 are in Spencer’s point of view, but the remainder of the series will be in Reader’s POV.

-- Linear Progression --

(Spencer’s POV)

The night we came back from my first case with the BAU, Morgan declared that he was going to a bar near his apartment to "get lucky." When I pointed out the fact that it was almost 2 am, he had told me, "time is an illusion, Pretty Boy."

That was the first time he called me pretty boy, along with the first time I tried to explain a theoretical concept he had no interest in hearing.

He was right to a degree. The way we understand time is an illusion. Time doesn’t happen in the linear way that we as a society perceive it to. The physics of time are still widely debated, but the running hypothesis is that everything that has ever happened is still happening right now. Every single moment in time is happening all at once, and it always will be.

Morgan didn’t “get lucky” that night, but he did give me a ride back to my apartment. I think that was the beginning of our friendship; I had never been able to understand the social constructs of relationships and friendships, but I think he felt some sort of responsibility for the skinny kid with glasses who was babbling about the physics of time at 3 am.

My friendship with Derek Morgan was one of the most important of my life.

Which is why I wasn't going to murder him for banging on my door at 7 am.

“Open up, Pretty Boy!”

Grumbling, I got out of bed and padded down the hallway towards my living room where Morgan was pounding on the door so hard, I was concerned it was going to fly off its hinges.

“If you break my door, you’re gonna fix it,” I muttered out when I finally pulled the door open.

The man who was the closest thing to a brother I had just smiled at me. “I restore houses, kid. It’d be an improvement.”

Smirking, I waved him into my apartment. In the months since…Since February, Morgan had made it a habit of coming by several times a week whenever we were in town. I don’t know if the rest of the team knew he did it, I don’t know if they were as worried about me as he was, but it wouldn’t have surprised me.

“Coffee?” I asked, making my way into the kitchen.

"We'll grab some on the way," he said, flopping down on my couch. "We have a case; I told Hotch I'd swing by and get you. It's wheels up as soon as we get there and finish the briefing."

I frowned. “I didn’t get any message.”

“I know. I asked Garcia to let me wake you.” He turned his head around to look at me. “You haven’t been sleeping, kid.”

He wasn’t wrong. “It’s…I’m trying, Derek.”

I didn’t need to say it, because he knew it. Much like time, recovery isn’t a linear process. You start, you stumble, you go back, sometimes you go up then down. It’s an imperfect journey because there isn’t a finish line; addiction can’t be beaten, only beaten back.

Derek Morgan had been beside me through every step of my recovery.

Lumbering off the couch, he walked over to stand before me. “Reid, you’re doing the best you can. Everyone stumbles.”

I shook my head. “It’s different. I can…I can still see it. I can still see it all, Morgan.”

I could still see the look on Ben’s face when he found the vials of Dilaudid I had hidden all around my apartment. I could still remember the look on Hotch’s face when he told me she was gone. I could still see the anger on Garcia’s face when she refused to help me find her.

Most of all, I remember how y/n looked when I told her I would kill her, give up her precious life, for one more moment with Maeve. Every morning, right before I wake up, that memory flashes behind my eyes.

I’ve called in every favor I’m owed, reached out to every connection; no one could find her. She vanished.

I quickly realized the only way she could vanish like that is if she had help from inside the bureau, and if I had to guess, I’m sure I know who helped her. If she went to all these lengths, she didn’t want to be found, least of all by me.

"We'll find her, Spencer," Morgan said gently, pulling me from my thoughts.

He said the words to comfort me, but even he knew they weren’t true. No one would find y/n y/l/n until she wanted to be found.

Nodding my head, I made my way back towards my bedroom to get ready for the case.

Making amends is very big in the recovery process. I wanted to make amends to y/n, and while I wanted that to be in the traditional sense, I settled for a symbolic one.

I tried to make myself into the man she thought I was before that night. Every time I felt the itch crawl up my spine, I thought of her face. It didn't make the craving go away; it just made it easier to bear.

I didn’t deserve to have her back in my life, but I wanted to be someone who did.

After I had finished getting ready, I made my way over to my bedside table to pick up the coin I carried with me everywhere, running my fingers over the edges before placing it in my pocket.

Two hundred and forty-seven days sober, and each one of them was for her.

We never made it to the bullpen that morning. Hotch called and informed us that it was wheels up "immediately," and that we would debrief on the plane. Morgan and I were the last members of the team to arrive. He took a seat on the couch beside Callahan while I opted to sit at the table across from Hotch and JJ.

“Garcia is going to be out for the remainder of the week. She has the flu,” our unit chief informed us, his eyes fixed on the tablet in front of him.

Morgan toyed with his phone, no doubt trying to text his ‘baby girl’ before take-off. “Who is going to be running things from here since she’s out? Kevin?”

Hotch nodded, but I couldn’t help but notice he seemed distracted. “He’s the most familiar with Garcia’s systems.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days,” Rossi muttered just a bit too loudly, earning a mock glare from Hotch, a confused look from Kate, an eye roll from Morgan and JJ, and a soft huff of laughter from me.

“Let’s get started,” Hotch ordered, drawing all of our focus back to the present. “The Oregon State Police have requested our help.”

I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose at the tablet in front of me, further proof Garcia wasn’t on this case. Despite how mad she was at me over Y/n, she still always accommodated my wishes for paper files.

The state police?” Morgan asked. “Not the locals?”

"No," Hotch answered, right as I brought up an image on my screen. "He's not sticking to one county."

I heard a strangled gasp from JJ, but I didn't need to look up to know why. “How many?” I asked.

“When the original request was made two women had been abducted. Both of them were pregnant, days from giving birth, and both from the same town of Silverton, Oregon. The first victim was Iris Jenkins. She was a 31-year-old woman, and she was 40 weeks and 2 days gestation when she was taken by the unsub. The M.E. estimates he held her for less than 24 hours before she died.”

“The baby?” JJ asked, her voice thick with emotion.

“He was left outside of a local hospital in Silverton. He was completely unharmed. The next intended victim is Nancy Williamson. She was abducted outside her workplace. Also 40 weeks pregnant with a boy.”

“Could that be a coincidence?”

Hotch still didn’t look up from his tablet. “It could have been before the latest victim.”

“But Nicole Williamson escaped?” Morgan asked. “That’s lucky. Did she give a description of the guy?”

“No, she said he kept her blindfolded and bound to a chair.”

That caused me to pause. "That doesn't make sense. Why would the unsub blindfold them if he plans on killing them anyway?"

Rossi spoke for the first time. “Psychological torture? Sensory deprivation?”

I thought about that as I swiped through the crime scene photos; pausing when I saw a photograph of a letter on the screen. "He makes them write letters?”

“Just the first victim and the third. The one that got away was only held for 12 hours.”

I frowned. “Is this blood? Or just red ink?”

“The first is red ink, the second letter is still being processed.”

It was obvious based on the letter spacing and how many loops were in the letters that a woman wrote this letter. Based on the contents of the letter, I could also assume she was under duress.

Hotch spoke again, pulling my focus. “Morgan, I'd like for you and JJ to drive up to Silverton. Visit Miss Williamson and ask if she's up for a cognitive interview, then visit the M.E., ask him if he remembers anything about the first victim.”

“Where was the…” JJ’s question trailed off when he got to the same image Kate’s hand had been frozen over for the last 47 seconds, the same photo that was described in the incident report that Hotch had on his screen.

My unit chief, my friend, cleared his throat before he spoke. “Kayla Whitmore was found an hour ago in Eugene, Oregon. The autopsies are already underway, and the scene is being processed.”

“The cause of death seems pretty apparent,” Morgan said with a look of disgust on his face.

"The time between this most recent kill and the last abduction is much shorter. We need to move fast," Hotch said, his voice grave. "Kate, I'd like for you to come with me to the FBI satellite office in Bend, that's where we're landing. Kayla Whitmore's credit card was used to buy gas right outside the town limits. Rossi, I'd like for you and Reid to ride out to Eugene. It should be undisturbed."

"I already don't understand this guy," Rossi muttered. "The first baby survives, the third doesn't. The second victim is blindfolded, but it doesn't appear the others were. He makes them write their own letters. Then he uses the third victim's credit card. This behavior…it's erratic."

“Is the message on the wall the same in both crime scenes?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes.”

The media hadn’t named our unsub yet, but I was sure it wouldn’t be long, especially once word of Kayla Whitmore reached the public. This type of violence always draws attention.

Rossi was moving around the room, silent, but his eyes moving rapidly over everything. “He’s a cocky son of a bitch, I’ll give him that.”

I nodded. “Do we have the original note?” One of the deputies brought over an evidence bag, inside of it was the wrinkled piece of paper. “Have we analyzed this yet?”

The man nodded. “It’s red ink, just like the last.”

"It makes sense; blood might start to coagulate and make it more difficult to work with. Rossi, come here." I called, offering him the note.

“Give justice to the weak and the fatherless; maintain the right of the afflicted and the destitute. Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked,” he read. “It sounds biblical.”

“It is. It’s Psalm 82, verses 3 through 4.”

“Was the first note biblical?”

“The first victim was made to write, ‘Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead expose them.’ That’s from Ephesians. There are similar themes in both letters.”

“So, he’s perverting the bible to fit his own fucked up narrative? How original.” The older man handed the paper back to me. “We have to find out how he’s choosing them.”

My gaze moved over to the right wall of the room. "Did the unsub leave any prints when he wrote on the wall?"

It wasn't the first message I'd seen written in blood, but I don't think it's something you ever get used to. “’Do you see this, son of man?’ could be another biblical reference. It’s Ezekiel chapter 8, verse 17. “Do you see this, son of man? Yet you will see still greater abominations than these.’”

“So, are the children abominations? Or the mothers?” The deputy said quietly.

“The mothers,” I answered. “He doesn’t harm the children. I think it must go against his…moral code.”

The deputy scoffed behind me, and I was inclined to agree; the idea that someone could do something like this and have a moral code was almost impossible to imagine.

But devils hide in plain sight all the time.

“His rage is escalating,” I pointed out.

I heard the deputy ask Rossi what that meant.

“This guy is a bum,” the man who developed the art of profiling explained. "He can't get a girlfriend, and he has this idea in his mind that it’s the women’s fault. He thinks women owe him sex, love, whatever he wants.”

I walked away from the wall, turning to face the two men. “He thinks they’re dirty, unclean. It’s why he makes them write the note. By making them say they deserved what he did to them, he’s humiliating them even after death.”

The deputy’s face was pale as he survived the scene around him. “Why does he make them leave the messages in their own blood?”

“Only one message is from them,” I replied, gesturing to the evidence bag. “The message in the blood is from the unsub.”

Before we exited the room, I turned back to that message again, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Both victims had been discovered in the exact same way. The women were naked, stabbed multiple times, but with no signs of sexual assault. They were positioned in the middle of the blood-soaked mattress, their arms spread wide.

He had left the same message on the walls of the room, written in the blood of the woman he killed.

“Do you see this, son of man? Do you see?”

“The media is calling him The Prophet.”

Rossi scoffed. “I bet it was that wet behind the ears deputy who leaked the note and told him the kid’s biblical theories.”

Rossi and I had arrived at the FBI office in Bend, Oregon about an hour ago. Kate and Hotch had already set up; JJ and Morgan were on their way back from Silverton now.

“So, what do we know about this jag-off?” Rossi questioned, staring at the evidence board.

Hotch came to stand at the head of the conference table, his eyes sharp, his voice clipped. "Reid, Dave, what did the M.E. say about the Eugene autopsies?”

"He said he suspected it was a botched c-section. Kayla was just over 40 weeks pregnant, but he said it's not uncommon for first-time mothers to go up to 42 weeks.”

“I know that’s right,” I heard JJ mutter from the speaker placed in the center of the table.

“Indicates a lack of medical knowledge,” Morgan offered. “Because we know this guy isn’t squeamish.”

I agreed with my friend but didn't comment on it; my mind already on another topic. "What's interesting is that Kayla had an anterior placenta, meaning it attached to the front of her uterus. Usually, the placenta attaches to the posterior wall, meaning it's more towards her back. Because of the unusual placement of the placenta, I think that the death of this fetus was accidental."

“It wasn’t a fetus, Reid,” Kate snapped. “It was a baby.”

I cleared my throat, meeting her angry gaze. I knew Callahan was the guardian of a young girl, and based on my years working with fellow agents who were also parents, I knew it was best not to argue about definitions and semantics. "I'm sorry, Kate," I murmured.

Her gaze softened. "It's fine. Sorry. This case is just…this is a lot." She looked down to swipe across her tablet screen. "This child was a boy too?"

I nodded. “All three of the victims were pregnant with boys.”

“So, he wants boys?”

Rossi turned to Kate. “He wants mothers of boys. Probably his way of killing his mother over and over again.”

“But how does he know the babies are boys?” JJ asked.

“So, what do they have in common?” Hotch asked. “Let’s add Nicole Williamson into the mix too, what do we have?”

“There were quotes from the bible in the two complete notes. Those specific verses are often referenced when they speak about protecting children,” I said, my eyes moving over the files. “The women were all in their 20’s. They were all at least 39 weeks pregnant, and...huh, there’s not a father named in any of the medical charts.”

“But how does he know that!” JJ huffed again in frustration.

“And are we sure this unsub is a guy?” Callahan questioned. “There was no sign of sexual assault.”

“If we follow statistics, women take babies, and men take children. With that in mind, it would be safe to assume this was a woman, but the amount of rage we’re seeing makes me think it’s a man.” I turned my back to the team, my eyes moving over the crime scene photos. "The letter was written under duress, but the language is very misogynic. Based on the information Kevin gathered about Kayla's online life, she had a normal amount of self-esteem. It's out of character that she'd talk about herself this way. By all accounts, she was excited for the baby. It's also incredibly difficult to stab someone 54 times. All the women would have fought him until the end. He'd have to be stronger to subdue her. It's a biological instinct, mothers' will stop at nothing to protect their children."

Hotch had pulled out his phone before I finished speaking, dialing Kevin Lynch to give him the criteria of the person we were searching for. "We need women in the Bend, Oregon area that are close to giving birth. There will not be fathers listed on the medical charts. She'll be at least 39 weeks into her pregnancy."

“Alright, so that would leave us with…” Kevin wasn’t able to finish his sentence before an alarm started blaring over the speaker, almost drowning out Kevin’s yelp of surprise.

“What is it?” Hotch asked. “Did something happen?”

"I…I don't know, sir," Kevin answered after he had finally gotten the alarm to quiet. "I was running the search, and…it triggered some sort of system-wide alarm. It completely locked me out of Penny’s system.”

Morgan clicked his tongue. “That doesn’t make any sense. Penelope wouldn’t set some alarm without a reason.”

“Wait. Kevin, was there any sort of message that came up when you triggered the alarm?” Hotch asked, his tone urgent.

There was a weird tension on Hotch’s face while he waited for Kevin to reply. “Yeah, uh, just a dialogue box that says ‘Nightingale.’”

“Nightingale?” Kate asked. “Isn’t that the…”

Hotch didn't reply; he hung up abruptly while Kevin was still speaking. I felt a chill run down my spine when I noticed his hands trembled slightly.

“What is it, Hotch?” Rossi asked urgently.

But he never got a chance to answer; a deputy stormed into the room. "We just got a report of an abandoned car outside of a grocery store about half a mile from here. It's registered to a young woman, and there was an empty infant car seat strapped in the back."

Hotch took the paper from him but didn't look at it. His eyes were screwed shut, and his shoulders were tense.

I heard when the voice spoke on the other end of the line. I heard the deep breath Hotch let out before he spoke.

“Penelope, I need to know where y/n is.”

----------

Permeant Taglist : @rachelxwayne @pinkdiamond1016 @sickeninglyshoujo @justagirllookingforherplace @nanocoool @andiebeaword @imjusthereformggcontent @rainsong01 @violentvulgarvolatile @mys2425 @al3xmnd @imfalling-inlove @cielo1984 @shadyladyperfection @kissingvalentino @goofygubler14 @levylovegood @diesinspanishbcimhispanic @criminalmindzjunkie @addie5264 @hopefulfangirl24 @vellichor01 @ellegreenawayapologist @mcntsee @eevee0722 @peacedolantwins2 @ashwarren32 @goldencherrymooon @pumpkin-reads @mood---board @gublersbooblers @lesbian-emilyprentiss @badkittybang @quxxnxfhxll @jessayln-jpeg

All Spencer Reid: @mediocre-writer @haihappen5 @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist

See? Series taglist: @bluegoopplaidsalad @notasofti @bisoner @haylaansmi @ameliamonster @amirahroronoa @gredvb @riley-the-pan-nonbinary @solangeltorres @gwendolyn02 @sallyjacksontheweirdauthor @fangirl-nonsense @immahotmess @falcon-arrows @obsessivereaderchick @flor-sin-petalo @rexorangecouny @keomoon @hermanthewormman @sakurashortstack @criminallminds @boiled-onionrings @sierraraeck @t0xicllama @thequeerishere555 @lexiessimagination @blameitonthenight21 @abbyg217 @lil-roaster @wooya1224 @faesyl @tessa-laurel @little-blue-fishie @fandomyfangirl @youaremyfiveever @evelyncade @sunshine-ncs @maikanna @wishiwasabook @swiftingday @thelastfirerbender @alligatorrampage @notebookgirl30 @forever-a-cynical @alligatorrampage @samayoshito @readandreid @mvlanchqly @odetobeetlebum @notebookgirl30 @meowiemari @calm-and-doctor

Let me know if you’d like to be on any taglist.

#Spencer Reid #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #Spencer reid fic #Dr Reid #Reid #Spencer Reid x y/n #Spencer Reid x you #Reader insert #Dr Spencer Reid x Reader #Reid x Reader #Spencer Reid imagine #Criminal minds imagine

333 notes · View notes

markberries · 4 years ago

Text

what we do in the dark┊draco malfoy

• anon requested: Hey! If you do story requests can I get draco and yn in a secret relationship (yn is also slytherin but muggleborn) and then draco gets tired of hiding, kisses her in public and smut ensues? Thank you in advance love your writing!

• info: having a secret relationship with hogwarts’ troublemaker was difficult, especially when all he wanted was for everyone to know that you were his.

• warnings: cursing, fingering

• genre: fluff, angst if you squint, smut, fem reader

• word count: 2346

• a/n: HOLY CRAP i actually finished a wip!! anyways sorry that i haven’t posted much hp in awhile </333 i hope u guys enjoy!

being a model student was difficult; having the endless stress of keeping your grades above everyone else, the constant studying and time you spent in the library, and most importantly, keeping your relationship with draco malfoy hidden.

it had been 6 months since the day he asked you out, the classic “bad boy” and “nerdy girl” couple, you were surprised by his confession, and he was surprised by your agreement. the secrecy part was a mutual decision, being brought up by you, when someone had told you that hanging around draco was a bad idea.

draco, of course, didn’t mind, for he had a reputation to keep up with his friends, and that is what settled it. you liked it, the sneaking around, the excitement of nearly being caught hiding in the prefect’s bathroom together, it was fun.

in public, you two were rarely seen together. you acted like you didn’t know each other. people never got suspicious; the only thing that could get you two caught was draco’s inability to keep his hands to himself. when guys would hit on you, unbeknownst of the steady relationship you and draco had, it made malfoy’s blood boil.

he would watch them walk up to you confidently, where you would sit in the dining hall, intently writing notes and eating the nicely placed food that lay in front of you. he would watch your eyes look up to the boy, who would politely ask you on a date. you would decline, saying that you were too busy to date.

he would lock eyes with you, you would shrug your shoulders and smile at him, but being cautious of the people surrounding you. the only thing that irritated him was the fact that these boys thought they had a chance with you. they thought that the only reason you wouldn’t date them was because you were merely busy, when the truth was that you were taken. by him.

the reason you liked draco was because he made you feel different, like you were taking risks. people used to call you boring, but draco changed that. he thought of you as unique, he liked you for you, and he had never tried to change you. he was just a sweetheart hidden behind his bad boy facade.

“you looked so pretty today,” he whispered to you, arms engulfed around you as you two curled up in his dorm. usually, you would be worried about someone catching a glimpse of you two, but today, you had decided to skip potions class. it was the second time you had ever skipped a class (the first time was also with draco), and people may perceive that it was his influence on you, but you thought differently.

“we didn’t see each other today,” you laugh, pinching his cheek. he winces slightly, before giving you a soft smile.

“yeah, but i know you looked pretty.”

you raise a brow, “oh? what a flirt you are.”

he buried his head in your shoulder, breathing in deeply to get a whiff of your sweet fruity scent, “only for you,” he says, voice muffled by your grey pajama tee.

“mm,” he pauses, entertwining your hands. “the yule ball is coming up.”

you hum, ruffling his hair and offering him a kind smile. “i know.”

“we could attend it.. together.”

“i know,” you kiss his cheek, his cheeks turning a soft shade of pink, “but everyone is gonna be there..”

there’s an evident frown that forms on draco’s face, his thought process remained unknown to you, and there’s a slight pang of guilt that washes over you, after all, you didn’t expect draco to want to sneak around with you forever.

“right,” he clears his throat, turning away to lay on his back, eyes glued to the ceiling. you bite your lip, sitting up and running a hand through his blonde hair. his eyes then stare back at yours, and you offer a pity smile.

“i’m sorry, let me just get through my finals and then we can tell the others, okay?”

there’s a pause of silence, before draco speaks up again.

“are you ashamed of me?”

your expression softens, lying back down and caressing his face, making him turn to you. there was nothing that could make you ashamed of draco, you just didn’t know if you were ready to face lectures from your parents, knowing well enough about them, for dating someone who constantly torments people of the muggleborn status. you wanted to tell them that he was different, that he was capable of accepting people for who they are.

“no, i could never be ashamed of you, you know that,” you reassure, placing a kiss to the tip of his nose. he smiles, brushing a piece of hair out of your face lovingly.

“i know love,” he admires your face for a brief moment, studying your features, “sometimes i just can’t help myself when i’m around you.”

a giggle escapes your lips, followed by a raise of your brow. a grin creeps it’s way upon your face, as malfoy rolls his eyes at your own silliness.

“you’re so weird,” he comments, enveloping you into his arms.

“draco, people are gonna be wondering where we are in the great hall,” you remind him, as the time for dinner approaches. skipping classes together was already risky, not showing up to dinner would be the frosting on the cake.

“alright alright,” he sighs, getting up and picking up his robe that hung from your desk chair. your heart clenches — in a good way, thinking about how it would be like to tell everyone about your relationship.

there were always pros and cons, as you knew there were a few female students who found draco undeniably attractive, and if they were to find out, you knew that you would always be a topic of conversation, but on the contrary, they wouldn’t try to spark up conversations with him. you knew your parents wouldn’t be happy, but you would be able to openly spend time with him, you’d get to kiss him whenever you wanted, and your parents would eventually get used to your situation.

you were torn between two sides, even if you were to tell everyone, what would be the right occasion to share your story? and when was the right time?

you shake your head, snapping out of your own trance.

“you ready, love?” draco asks.

you smile, looking at him and nodding, “yeah.”

—

“hey y/n,” a voice says to you, causing you to stop drinking your water mid sip as you stare up at the culprit.

“cedric,” you say, placing your glass down with a smile. he looks uneasy, nervous even, as he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. cedric had been the first hufflepuff to make contact with you, as no one really engaged with slytherins unless it was to start a harmless argument.

it was a year ago, and he had approached you in hogsmeade, your green scarf in hand, that you had lost an hour before. you had accepted it with a simple smile and a “thank you”, wrapping it around your neck again. he made sure to point out how different you were compared to the other slytherins, even saying that you belonged in ravenclaw or hufflepuff. you laughed it off, being proud of your house and who you were.

“is something wrong?” you ask with a tilted head, his cheeks turn a soft pink while they heat up. he clears his throat, finally looking at you in the eyes.

“do you want to maybe.. be my date to the yule ball? of course, you don’t have to say yes, it’s completely up to you.”

you nearly choke on your own saliva, your eyes widening in surprise. you’re at a loss for words, what should you say to let him down softly? that you’re busy?

“she can’t,” a familiar voice calls out to him, and draco takes a seat next to you confidently. you snap your head towards him, and his jaw is clenched, not a single hint of playfulness in his voice.

“oh? do you already have a date y/n?”

you say in a hushed voice, “draco what do you think you’re doing?”

he doesn’t reply, he merely wraps an arm around your shoulders confidently, eyes locked with cedric’s.

“yeah, me,” he says nonchalantly, and this time, it’s your turn to blush, staring down at the ground intensely. everyone at the slytherin table is paying attention to the conversation, quietly talking amongst each other as they stare at the two boys who are glaring at each other.

cedric scoffs at him, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue and looking away from you two for a moment.

“alright then, see you around, y/n.”

without a word, draco harshly tugs you throughout the hallways, towards the prefect’s bathroom. his expression is unreadable as he lets go of your hand when you two finally arrive at the destination.

“what was that about?” you finally exclaim, more shocked/surprised than angry, but draco takes a step towards you with a huff of frustration.

“i did what i had to do,” he replies, staring down at you with hooded eyes. “unless, you wanted to attend the ball with diggory.”

“you know that i would never do that, i love you,” you say softly, and draco takes another step, your bodies almost touching.

“we’ll just have to show diggory that, then,” malfoy then begins attacking your neck with his lips, pressing you up against the wall with a small thud. he sucks harshly, leaving obvious marks on your hot skin. he trails kisses along your jawline, and your hands find his way to his blonde locks, tangling in them as you let out small whines.

he uses one of his hands to snake its way under your shirt, massaging your left breast. his free hand presses against your clothed core, harshly rubbing to get a reaction out of you, and of course, it worked. you were moaning, all whilst draco hummed against your neck.

you grip at the fabric of his robe, panting heavily as you wrapped your legs around his waist. he places both hands on your ass, carrying you to the nearest surface and setting you on it, the marble feeling cold against your body.

“your moans are like music to my ears,” he says, lust dripping off of his tongue. at this point, you didn’t care if anyone walked in. you wanted draco now, and it didn’t seem like draco wanted to stop either as he eagerly lifted your grey sweater vest above your head, pressing his soft lips against your own.

he removes his robe, carelessly tossing it to the ground and loosening his tie. he slips his tongue into your mouth, harshly sucking on your own, and you knew better than to fight for dominance with him. the heat between your thighs continued to grow, a wet patch forming, and you knew your underwear was done for.

you wrap your arms around draco’s neck, deepening the kiss as he unbuttoned your shirt, leaving you in your black bra, skirt, and pantyhose. he broke the kiss, ogling at your breasts.

“take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you tease him, which was definitely the wrong thing to do.

“what a brat,” he grunts, unhooking your bra and exposing your boobs. he then began pinching your right nipple, making you yelp out in surprise and grab his shoulders for balance.

“got anything else to say?” he asks confidently, and you shake your head.

“fuck you’re hot,” malfoy groans, tugging your skirt and tights down. you kick the articles of clothing off, while draco dips a hand into your panties, collecting the gathered wetness and pulling his hand out to admire it.

“all for me?” he smirks, rubbing his fingers together. you quickly nod your head.

“use your words,” he says.

“y-yes, it’s all for you,” you reply in a small, innocent voice, causing malfoy to shove the fingers that were coated in your wetness into your mouth. you suck on them, making him satisfied. he then takes his other hand pushes your underwear to the side, shoving his slender finger into your entrance without warning.

“oh, ah!” you cry out. he takes the hand that was in your mouth out, using it to grip your face.

“look at me while i finger fuck you.”

unlike usual, he doesn’t start slow. he’s already curling his finger inside you, pumping it in and out at a fast pace. he stares at you with the same dark eyes he had earlier, and you bite your lip to prevent yourself from being too loud.

draco adds another finger, the room being filled with the joyous sound of your pleasure. your breath hitches, and you begin to uncontrollably moan.

“god, i could do this all day,” draco groans, the imprint of his boner beginning to look painful. “who makes you feel like this?”

he adds a third finger, making you arch your back in euphoria from the sensation. “it’s you! fuck draco, only you.”

“you’re such a good slut,” he praises, picking up the pace as you clench around his digits. the lewd sounds were so loud that you were surprised that no one had busted you two, but even if someone were to walk in, you don’t think you would’ve stopped.

“cum for me,” he whispers into your ear, pressing his thumb against your clit. you screw your eyes shut, moaning draco’s name as he kisses your neck. you swear you can see stars behind your eyes, exploding in a sense of ecstasy from malfoy’s fingers.

your eyes flutter open, a seemingly never ending chorus of pants leaving your mouth. you smile through it, resting your head on draco’s shoulder.

“that was so hot,” you say.

draco chuckles, bringing his mouth close to your ear, “you thought we were finished?”

you shiver.

maybe some things aren’t meant to be kept as secrets.

#draco #draco imagine #draco fluff #draco smut #draco oneshot #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy oneshot #harry potter

194 notes · View notes

imaginethebeautifulworld · 4 years ago

Note

Please please please, may i please request a prussia/reader drabble (oneshot?? what ever is easier for you honestly) for the prompt: “Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.”?? thank you so much and i love your writings <3

Hello, Lovely~ Wanted to thank you for your patience. Couldn't quite get the perfect scene in mind till about 1:14 am this morning. Hope you enjoy, and thank you for the request!

In a world that never seemed to rest, tranquility had become an elusive mistress, an antiquated ideal that was valuable for its rarity alone. There were many who would never find such a thing, or would be cursed with just a brief glimpse before it slipped away once more, never to return.

Tranquility was a gift, and you had been blessed in multitudes.

A light breeze was rustling the pines towering above you, scents of the nearby stream, forget-me-nots, and the wisps of smoke from the campfire dancing with it.

So tucked away from everything, you couldn't hear any engines, noisy neighbors, or- most fortunately- the impatient pings from your cell demanding your attention.

It was quiet, as quiet as Nature could be when one is sitting near a babbling brook, their swing squeaking on hinges decades older than themselves, birds of all ages serenading the small patches of sunlight reaching the forest floor.

Your foot trailed along the ground beneath you, a path carving in the soil from the steady back-and-forth of the old wooden swing, your head resting comfortably against Gil's chest.

He had one arm loosely draped on the back of the swing, the other extended as he read his paperback, folded over itself to spare himself a little freedom.

You shifted slightly, just a little, and he instinctively followed, adjusting the blanket across your legs and shifting his own to accommodate your new position, all without once removing his attention from the page.

It was approaching midday, and while you had both agreed on a short hike to visit some waterfall or other, you were finding you had no desire to leave just yet, perfectly content and cozy as you were.

You let yourself relax further, eyes closing as you rested your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady refrain of his heartbeat.

The familiar, unconscious dance of fingers against your upper arm made you smile, his decision to shift his free arm almost as reflexive as your decision to open your palm and rest it directly over his heart.

In a time not so long ago, the very thought of being alone in the same room as him would have been laughable, and now you were alone together in some ancient hunting cabin, leagues away from civilization, and completely at peace.

It struck you in that moment just how ingrained he was into your life, your sphere, your thoughts. You never could have anticipated this level of intimacy, and the unexpected epiphany of just how vulnerable that made you left you reeling.

"It kind of scares me sometimes," the words slipped out in a sigh, a wisp of a murmur that faded as easily as woodsmoke. They hadn't even been loud enough to disturb a trio of hares near the truck, and when several moments passed, you were beginning to hope Gil hadn't heard them at all.

It was more a rumbling than a fully coherent query that finally answered you, his eyes still firmly affixed to the Greek text before him. "What's that?"

Without fully lifting your head, you shifted your angle, giving you the chance to study his features- the small indents on his nose from wearing his glasses so much the past week, the single, nearly invisible freckle just by his left eye, the patch of chapped skin on his lower lip, the intoxicating and inexplicable gradients of indigoes and crimsons in his irises.

He hid nothing from you, every perceived flaw and weakness completely at your mercy. And to know that he could see through all of your own barriers, knew you in-and-out more than you perhaps knew yourself-

But there was trust there, and something so strong that- even years after first naming it, after first defining it, exploring it, embracing it- still left you breathless, still rendered you speechless.

For a moment, it did exactly that, overwhelming you in a wave of emotion so strong that you could scarcely think in the face of it.

But it was a familiar feeling, one so commonplace that you simply sighed again, letting it settle over you like an additional blanket, warmth settling in your veins as you relaxed once more.

"It scares me sometimes how in love I am with you." You traced a pattern with your finger against his shirt, eyes focused on the lupine family enjoying vegetable scraps from the night before. "It scares me how vulnerable you make me feel."

But no. Scared wouldn't be quite the right word for how this vulnerability made you feel. Intimidated, perhaps?

Irregardless, it was such a good feeling, so freeing to be so fully exposed to someone, to know they saw the worst of you and still-

He was resting his head against your own, silence patiently resting between you, the quiet of the forest yet again remaining undisturbed. He had even ceased powering the swing, apart from a small movement with his toes that was likely from his muscle spasms than anything else. You let yourself relax fully, because no matter how suddenly and aggressively this wave of realization had swept you away in its riptide, he would always keep you safe, always anchor you in the face of whatever storms may come.

"You know it's a two-way street, right?"

As if further testament to his knowing you, the words went straight to the core of it all, exposing his own vulnerability to you, proving just how much he had placed his faith in you.

What a perilous place to be, putting so much faith and trust and hope and care and control in someone else's hands, wholeheartedly believing that they will never bring you any harm, that-

"You're not going to leave me, right?"

The question was so sudden, so unexpected, that you took yourself by surprise, not accounting for the deep, tired exhale of the man so gently holding you. "How could you even ask that?"

You started to try taking it back, wishing for all the world you could keep your thoughts more thoroughly reined in, but he was plowing ahead, the arm that had been resting on the swing coming around you, fingers slipping in between your own. "Do you really think I could leave you?"

By all accounts, yes. Yes he could.

His claim to immortality was shaky at best, and there was no guarantee that he wouldn't get bored of you, that someone pushing near 1,000 would wake up one morning and realise that-

"Where the Hell is all of this coming from anyway?"

You gave it a half a moment of thought, and soon found yourself melting in defeat. "I wish I had an answer, but I honestly have no idea."

He resumed his earlier motion, putting the swing back into a steady glide. When he spoke again, it was as if he were reaching across centuries, finding just the right words out of billions to try to comfort you. "To quote some book I read in some teahouse somewhere quite a long ass time ago: 'Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own.'" Here he paused, a good six seconds of silence as he rooted himself once more to the present, voice lowering to a whisper. "Leaving you? Losing you? It would be like losing a part of myself, like losing the best parts of myself."

He paused again, a seriousness that was only just familiar to you making an appearance, a depth to his words that made your toes curl. "I was lost for centuries, Schatz, never realizing or accepting just how alone I was, how fucked up I was. I waited for you for ages, and didn't even know how badly I needed you until I finally met you. It was like everything I had done, everything I had gone through, suddenly made sense. You were- are- the very thing I was fighting so hard for."

For claiming to have not a hint of romance in him, he still always seemed to have the perfect strategy for disarming you, for charming you, for leaving you even more infatuated with him than you were mere minutes before.

But this pedestal that he had carved for you, these expectations-

"I'm only human, Gil."

"I know," he murmured.

"I could still get sick-"

"I know," he sighed.

"Or hurt-"

"I know," he growled.

"Or di-"

"I know!"

His exasperation was so unexpected that you swore the whole world had frozen around you, as if the tranquility of the forest had finally been disturbed.

But no-

Everything was still exactly as should be; it was only your surprise that had affected your perception.

In actuality, his interjection had been scarcely more than a rasp, so damaging to you alone as it cut straight through to your soul, piercing through what little armor you still had against him.

He squeezed your hand, an apology conveyed simply through touch, an armistice accepted and strengthened through reciprocation. "'Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own,'" came the quiet refrain, each syllable accented through the dance of his thumb against your palm, each syllable a soft breath that tickled your scalp. You expected him to stop there, his point well made, but soon enough he was murmuring again, words nearly a hum. "'In pain and sickness they would still be dear.'"

You couldn't place the words- who knew if a copy of that book even existed anymore- but it didn't matter. They were exactly what you had needed, the balm for a restiveness that you hadn't even known was plaguing you till a few moments ago. And what's more, you never knew Gilbert to exaggerate, not when it came to matters of the heart. He knew no other option than complete sincerity, maddening some days, endearing most others.

Thoughts shifting, comfort once more reestablished, you shifted slightly, turning your attention to the few clouds you could see through the canopy. "Every atom, huh?"

There was a huff of a laugh, an accentuated exhale that highlighted his exasperation, but the amusement in his reply was tempered by fondness, highlighted with a small kiss above your ear. "Every proton, neutron, electron... Every single quark, if you need me to get technical," he finished in a whisper, slowly, gently, reassuringly, practically an embrace on its own.

You melted against him, giving his hand a small squeeze of gratitude, thoroughly reminded now of exactly why it was okay to share your vulnerabilities, how lucky you were to have found him, to be found, to trust and fall and grow together.

Tranquility eventually, quietly, made her reappearance, bringing with her the blessing of the midday sun.

Thanks for reading!

90 notes · View notes

weepylucifer · 4 years ago

Text

Tosses another dinluke at you. This one’s about caring for each other

Luke awakens from uneasy sleep filled with nightmares, and immediately can tell that today is going to be terrible.

The occasional phantom pain in his wrist, that he can take. The old, flaring ache, the strange feeling that the hand is still there, which somehow makes both wearing and not wearing the prosthetic feel uncomfortable - well, it’s a drag, but it’s only one part of his body. With meditation to aid him, he finds he can usually sequester it off, away from the rest of him, and go through his day more or less like normal. But sometimes, each and every scar caused by the Force lightning clamors in pain, especially when he’s been dreaming about how he got them. This is the worst, because he hasn’t found a good way to cope with it yet. He can’t make the pain stop, and it’s driving him up the walls.

There’s no way he can teach his padawan like this.

Fortunately, Grogu’s father is visiting, and will probably be more than happy to entertain the kid for a day.

Luke hasn’t gotten the measure of the Mandalorian yet. He talks little, projects an aura of intimidation, being covered in armor all over like that, but he seems very attached to his child, so attached that Luke reckoned upon getting Grogu that breaking their bond would do a lot more harm than good. He’s come over for a few visits to far, and he practically curls over Grogu like a loth-cat over its young. But Luke doesn’t exactly know anything about him besides that.

Also, it’s dawned on Luke that he knows nothing about Mandalorians. He knows Boba Fett is one, but that’s pretty much it.

So he’s not exactly comfortable admitting his plight to the man. What if he perceives it as weakness? So when he emerges from his bedroom to greet him, he is brief, almost curt, making himself speak through the pain.

“I’m sorry, but there’ll be no lesson today. Can you just watch Grogu for me? I’m... something else has come up.”

The Mandalorian looks... like an expressionless helmet on a suit of armor. But his voice betrays some surprise when he says, “Um, yeah. Sure. Not a problem.”

He’s justified in his surprise; Luke has never cancelled Grogu’s lessons before. “Thanks,” Luke says and repeats, “Sorry this is on such short notice.”

The last thing he sees before beating his retreat back to his room is Grogu cooing and reaching a little hand out towards him in concern, doubtlessly feeling in the Force that something is amiss with Luke. He closes the door but can still hear the Mandalorian reassuring the kid to the best of his ability, “Sorry, buddy, your bajuri seems to be busy. No floating stuff today.”

Grogu emits the sad coo again.

“Hey, it’s okay. Wanna go to the pond and look for frogs?”

...

“We can take the Phoenix over there.”

A happy squeak tells Luke that the plan has met approval.

“You like flying with the jetpack, huh? Yeah, me too.”

Their voices recede, Grogu babbling happily and his father talking back pretending to understand him, and then the temple is silent. It dawns on Luke that the Mandalorian is attractive, the juxtaposition between the gleaming armored fighter and the father so gentle with his kid intriguing. The thought is brutally cut short by another sharp flash of searing pain.

He whines and flings himself onto his bed, curling up and tugging at his hair with both hands, hoping beyond reason that the pain in his scalp will distract him from the pain in his everywhere else.

Luke has been trying on and off to meditate or at least nap for several hours, when he hears a knock at the door. It can only be Mando.

“Um. Master Jedi?”

The Mandalorian has never asked Luke’s name, maybe he reckons Luke goes by his self-assumed title, just like he seems perfectly comfortable going by Mando. Yes?, Luke wants to ask, but he’s scared it’ll come out an undignified whimper.

“I made some dinner for the kid,” the Mandalorian continues. Is it dinner already? “I thought maybe you’d want some, so I’ll leave it out here.”

Luke blinks at the door. He wasn’t expecting this.

“I don’t know if you’ll like it, it’s, ah. Aruetiise usually find our cooking too spicy. So I made some bread to go with it, it. Helps. With the spice. I used some stuff from your storage for it, hope that’s okay.”

The silence persists.

“Putting it down now. Okay. Good luck with your... Jedi business.”

There’s a sound of, indeed, something being placed on the floor, then footsteps walking away.

Luke opens the door. There is a tray of food waiting for him. An amazingly delicious smell wafts from it and his stomach growls loudly, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten today.

So this man can cook. This man baked bread for him. Luke tries to imagine him, in the kitchen, doing that. Maybe he put Luke’s apron on over the armor. The thought makes him giggle for the first time today. Truly Grogu’s father is full of surprises.

It’s already getting dark out when Luke carries his empty plate back to the temple’s little kitchen. He finds Mando there with Grogu on his lap, as always in complete armor, simply watching as Grogu plays with a small silver ball.

Luke clears his throat. “Hi,” he says eloquently and carries his plate to the sink.

The Mandalorian nods in greeting. “All done in there?”

“Not exactly.” Somehow, Luke can feel Mando refocus on him, even through the helmet. He knows he must look rumpled, his hair mussed, his face drawn, and using one of his robes as a shawl. He wishes he had the ability to suffer more attractively, or at least the energy to make himself up a bit.

He sighs and sits down at the table with them. Somehow he feels like, as fair payment for the meal, the Mandalorian deserves his honesty in return. “Full disclosure, I wasn’t doing... Jedi stuff in my room. I just... I’m unwell.”

“Oh.” For some reason, Mando’s head tilts towards Grogu. It becomes apparent why when he asks, “Anything catching?”

“No. No, Grogu will be fine.” Luke folds his hands on the tabletop. Well, he’s already at it being honest. “Do you ever get the feeling of... old scars, hurting again? Like they’re new?”

“Your hand?” the Mandalorian asks. Ah, of course, he’s perceptive, he’s noticed the fake hand.

“Not just the hand. Everywhere. All over.” Luke grits his teeth as his nerves alight again along the lightning patterns. Maker, he hates this. It’s like the shrivelled old prune continues to torture him from beyond the grave.

“All over?” Mando repeats. The helmet’s modulator dulls emotion, but Luke guesses it’s concern he hears.

“Yeah. Look.” Following a sudden impulse, he gets up and shucks his robe, unbuttons his shirt and slips that off too. “Here, see?” He turns himself this way and that, catching the warm lamplight. “And yes, they go all the way down.”

Helmet or no, he can hear the Mandalorian’s breath catch. His hand, the one that’s not keeping Grogu from tumbling off his lap, twitches... rises... reaches out... Luke keeps himself very still. For a breath or two, he thinks that if the Mandalorian were to touch him, trace the lightning bolts on his torso with his gloved hand, then he might feel better. Might be soothed.

The hand is lowered to the table again as if embarrassed. Luke lets out his breath and tries not to slump in disappointment. “I’ve never seen scarring like that before,” the Mandalorian says. “And I’ve seen my fair share.”

“Force lightning,” Luke explains, before remembering that his companion knows nothing about the Force. “A Sith torture technique.”

“You were tortured?” Mando asks, then amends, “You don’t have to tell me.”

Luke sits back down, hugging his knees to his chest. “Pffft. It’s not like I’m not already thinking about it.” He rubs his hands down his arms at another shiver of pain. “The Emperor did this. When I went to confront him on the second Death Star.”

“It was you on the Death Star?” the Mandalorian asks.

“Yeah. The Emperor wanted me to join the dark side. I refused. I had no idea he’d just start frying me with lightning. I had no idea this was something the Force could even do.”

“But then you... killed the Emperor?” The Mandalorian is clearly guessing, and Luke finds himself astonished that there’s someone out there still who doesn’t know the whole Luke Skywalker Saga.

“I did not,” he says. “My father killed the Emperor. All I did was lie on the ground and be tortured.” He picks at his wrist where the synthetic skin joins the organic. “I’m not even bitter about that. It ended up saving my father’s soul. But sometimes, I have nightmares about it, you know? And in those dreams, my father... doesn’t help me. He just stands and stares at me and that’s worse than the pain. Because, when it actually happened, there was... a moment when I thought he wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t care and he’d watch me die. For a moment there, I lost hope, and that’s the worst of it really, knowing that about myself.”

“Why was... your father on the Death Star?” the Mandalorian asks, and huh, apparently he hasn’t heard about the Luke-and-Vader-connection either.

“It’s a long story,” Luke says, because it is, and he’s tired. His scars still hurt, not in these sudden flashes anymore, but as a pulsing, bone-deep, constant ache. But his chest feels a bit lighter for having talked about it.

The Mandalorian now gestures at said chest, instead of asking for the story again. “Can you take painkillers for those?”

Luke shakes his head. “They don’t help much. The pain’s in here.” He taps his temple. “I’ve just been trying to sleep it off, but it hurts too much to get to sleep.”

Mando hisses out a breath, and Luke is by this point fairly certain he’s commiserating. “Phew. Sounds like you need a drink.”

This makes Luke laugh, and he appreciates that. “You know, I’d love a drink, actually.”

After Grogu is put to bed, Luke gets a glass of spotchka and Mando’s company (he tilts the helmet off just far enough to free his mouth in quick, almost furtive gestures and takes tiny sips). His head’s starting to feel pleasantly swimmy when he says, “You know, I’ve just bared all my troubles to you - well, not all, but some, and pretty hefty ones - and yet I know... three facts about you, maybe.”

“Hmm. Yeah, that doesn’t seem fair,” the Mandalorian says amusedly. “What would you like to know?”

“Your name would be a good start,” Luke suggests.

The way the Mandalorian fidgets with his glass, he looks almost flustered. “Ah... Din. Din Djarin.”

“Luke Skywalker.” Luke grins and reaches across the table, ignoring the pinpricks of pain up his arm, to grip Mando’s - Din’s - hand. “It’s nice to have met you, Din Djarin.”

-----

In the following months, these flare-ups return occasionally, but none in such intensity. Luke knows that it’s only a matter of time, though. He’s beginning to suspect that this might stay with him forever. But he’s not as horrified at the prospect as he once was, after talking about it to Din and being neither judged nor pitied. After Din didn’t look at him worried like Leia, or attempted clumsily to walk on eggshells around the topic like Han, and didn’t think less of Luke, and didn’t act like Luke’s admittance to his issues tarnished some sort of larger-than-life image of the glowing Jedi hero. How odd it is to think of a future that has someone in it he can rely on in such an uncomplicated manner. He hasn’t had anyone in his life to rely on - or dared to think of himself as needing this - since... well, since Aunt Beru, probably.

During these months, Grogu has steadily progressed in his studies. Din has visited the temple with some regularity, but Luke has yet to get used to him. How could he, when there’s so much new and exciting to discover about Din still? He finds himself looking forward to these visits, and missing Din when absent, almost as much as Grogu does. Din can only ever stay a few days at once, and Departure Day is a sad one for all two inhabitants of the makeshift Jedi school. (Luke’s not sure what Din does when he’s not here. It can’t be so important, right? Surely not more important than spending time with Grogu? Than talking to Luke?)

This time, though, when Din shows up at the agreed-upon time, it’s weird. He speaks even less than usual, he seems to retreat into his armor even more, he opts to sleep in his ship instead of one of the many empty bedrooms in the temple that Luke has yet to fill with more students. And he barely holds or even touches Grogu, and that tips Luke off. These other observations he could chalk up to paranoia and his own desire to coax Din out of his (figurative!) shell. But that last one tells him that something is off.

Grogu can feel it too, and confusion and worry is seeping off of him into the Force. Luke tries to calm him and get him to sleep, but in the morning, Grogu’s still a bit anxious, and their collective worry mounts when breakfast passes by and Din fails to emerge from his ship. The two of them are reflecting their worry back off each other, and it’s getting aggravating, so Luke gets up and resolves to investigate.

“Okay, Grogu, can you go in the garden and play with Artoo? I’ll go look what’s up with your dad.”

Grogu immediately calms now that he knows the matter is being taken care of, and it warms Luke’s heart to see how much the kid has grown to trust him.

He gains entrance to the ship - it’s not the same one that Grogu has shared memories of with him, but similar enough in layout. The cockpit is empty, so he descends down a narrow ladder into what probably passes for crew quarters here. Peering around a corner, he finds Din hunkered down with his back against the durasteel wall, his threadbare cape wrapped around him as a blanket. He hasn’t noticed Luke come in yet, and that’s wrong in and of itself, and he’s shivering so hard it makes his beskar rattle slightly. As Luke lays eyes on him, he breaks into a horrid wet cough beneath the helmet, the modulator rendering it rasping and metallic.

Okay, something must be done.

“Din?” Luke asks, peeking his head out into open view. “It’s Luke, I’m in here now. You sound like my dad, kriffing-- how long has it been like this?”

Din’s head whips around in Luke’s direction, and he probably only doesn’t flinch because he’s trained to not flinch at things. “I’m fine,” he claims - outrageously lying - and tries to drag himself to his feet, hands bracing against the wall behind him.

Luke is already rushing to his side. “No, no, just stay down. There, that’s right, just sit. Are you wounded? Sick?”

Din tilts his head back against the wall. “Not wounded.”

“Well, that’s... good.” Luke squats next to him, unsure how to proceed. In the Force, he can feel exhaustion and pain radiating off of Din, but that doesn’t tell him what exactly is wrong. He tries to touch his wrist and, of course, meets beskar.

“Din, I realize this might be a... big ask, but can you remove your helmet so I can check your temperature?”

A stuttering sigh comes out through the modulator. “I don’t...”

“I’ll close my eyes,” Luke hurries to add. “It’ll just be for a few seconds. Oh, oh I have a blindfold back at the temple! I can run back and get it.”

Din shakes his head. “It’s okay. You’ve seen it before.” He reaches a shaking hand up and with a hiss, the locks on the helmet disengage. He slides it up and off and Luke takes in his face. It’s flushed, his hair matted and sweaty, his eyes bleary, and yet. It’s as attractive as Luke remembers.

Shaking these thoughts off, because there certainly are more important things now, Luke reaches out and puts his ungloved hand on Din’s forehead.

“You’re burning up,” he hisses. “I’m taking you back to the temple, I have medicine there.”

He’s already in the process of wrapping an arm around Din’s torso to help him up when Din shakes his head. “No. Gotta stay here.” His speech is washed out, his eyes glassy, and Luke’s concerned he’s not talking sense.

“You’ll be more comfortable at the temple.”

Din tries to brush him off with alarmingly feeble hands. “No. The kid.”

Ah. “I don’t think Grogu can catch anything off of you. Different species and all that.”

“You don’t know.”

Well, strictly speaking, Luke doesn’t. Yoda never mentioned anything like that. For a moment, Luke looks around the room, but his old mentor’s ghost is unhelpfully absent. He settles for promising, “I’ll make sure he keeps his distance.”

Din shakes his head again. “Kid’s going to...” He’s interrupted by another coughing fit. “...try to heal me. Don’t want him to overdo it.”

Even miserably sick, Din’s first concern is for the child. It makes something warm swell in Luke’s chest, and he realizes with no small start that Oh, this might be something a lot more than attraction he’s dealing with.

It doesn’t matter now. “I’ll make sure Grogu doesn’t overtax himself then. I’m his teacher, it’s what I’m here for.” Not at home to any more protests, Luke uses the Force to help him lift Din up in his arms. “Try to have a little faith in me, okay?”

“I’m fine here on my own,” Din insists.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Luke says distractedly as he starts off towards the exit ramp, bridal-carrying a whole Mandalorian warrior.

Din is not cooperative, doing his damndest to make himself a dead weight. “I’m Mand’alor,” he mutters, eyes half-closed. “I don’t have to take that tone from you.”

Luke doesn’t know what that word means. Maybe it’s a special type of Mandalorian. He’ll ask later, if he remembers. “Right now, you’re sick, that’s all,” he says, taking them at a brisk pace back to the temple. “You need attention.”

Din’s answer is a displeased groan. “My own damn fault for taking off the helmet.”

In the moment, Luke wonders if he means that in a metaphysical sort of way, like he’s being punished by the ancient Mando gods for his heresy. He’ll later discover that it’s much more prosaic than that: Din has worn the helmet since he was a child, and it’s protected him amiably against any airborne diseases. Now that he’s decided to start taking if off occasionally amongst other people, his immune system is being thrown into a panic by all these new unfiltered things to be breathed in, and he has prompty caught some kind of space flu.

For now, he gets Din into bed, armor and all, and heads for the ‘fresher and the aid kit he stashed there.

Din is burning.

Din is glacier-cold.

He sleeps irregularly in this soft bed he doesn’t recognize, and wakes himself with fits of coughing. He gropes for lucidity and gives up on it again in intervals. At some point, someone took his helmet - no, he remembers taking it off, or was that a dream? He has a memory of being carried in somebody’s arms, but who would carry him in full beskar? Who would care to? He’s not on his ship and he’s not alone and this is wrong. He’s been sick before, even with the helmet: from infected wounds or bad food or bad water or being out in harsh weather too long during a job. He’s always ridden it out by himself, if he was too far off to stumble his way back to the covert. But this isn’t the covert - that’s long gone, isn’t it? - and someone is here.

The person, at some point, helps him sit up and removes his armor, and Din would panic - does - but the person’s hands on him are gentle, and there’s some voice telling him that “It’s just to make you more comfortable, I’m putting it right next to the bed, I’m not taking it away, see? It’s right here waiting for you” and he’s too exhausted to put up a fight, and why would they lie? If they wanted the beskar for themselves they would’ve killed him already. But the person doesn’t. The person gives him water when he’s coughed his throat raw. The person drapes a blanket over him, which he shucks off during the hot spells only to grope for it again during the cold ones. The person puts a hand on his forehead and it’s even more cool and soothing than the damp cloth they also provide.

At some point, the person puts something in the bed with him - some alive thing, some small and fussy thing, some important thing with small green claws and wide moon eyes and large ears that are the softest thing that Din’s ever touched. He reaches out for it on instinct, just to pet the downy white hairs on its little head, and the person’s voice says from somewhere far above, “Okay, Grogu, I promised your father to take this slow. We’ll do this gradually, so you don’t tire yourself. You understand? Small healing. Easy.”

The small and precious thing makes a displeased sound, and Din wants to soothe it again. The voice replies, “I know how you feel, I know you want to fix it all right now, but I promised, okay? Your father will be very disappointed in me if we don’t do this just like he’d have it. And we don’t want that, hm?”

Din hears a coo close to his ear, feels a tiny, three-clawed hand touching him, and then there’s a sudden warmth spreading in his chest, not like the clammy heat of the fever but different, pleasant. Suddenly it seems easier to lie back and get some real, truly restful sleep, and this he does.

This instance repeats several more times, over days, until there is a point at which Din wakes - still sore, shaky, and with his muscles aching from having trembled so much - but with the fever broken and his head clear enough to string a coherent thought together.

He’s vaguely aware of a warbling voice a short distance away that he can’t quite yet discern. The room is dim, with only a singular lamp by his bedside spreading a warm light. There is a window above the bed but no light is coming in. It must be late in the evening - Grogu’s bedtime, is what Din’s inner alarm clock tells him without fail. And indeed, when he raises his head, he spots a small crib across the room that can only be Grogu’s, and Luke is there, rocking it in gentle motions. It is him who’s doing the crooning - singing Grogu to sleep, Din realizes abruptly. As he focuses, the lullaby slowly starts to make some sense: it’s in Bocce, which Din is about as conversant in as Tusken. He’s actually heard the tune before; it’s a nonsensical little ditty that settlers on Tatooine sing to their children.

He stretches out an arm and points a shaky finger at Luke.

“Hick,” he accuses, his voice gritty like he gargled a mouthful of sand.

Luke spins around, his blue eyes widening. “If you’re trying to insinuate that only sand-encrusted, desert-dwelling hicks speak Bocce,” he says, “then you are correct.” He smiles. “It’s good to see you back with us.”

“You’re from Tatooine,” Din says, and wonders why this is so important to him. Maybe it’s because learning things about Luke is like putting a puzzle together. There’s somehow a whole bunch of people that Luke is - he’s fascinating, he’s vexing, he’s confusing, and Din has no idea why he’s this interested in the first place. Well, he does have some clue, but it’s best not dwelled upon. Luke has his Creed and his life, Din has his wholly different Creed and life, and it’s not like the interest can be mutual anyway.

Or can it? Luke seems to have been here for days, watching him heal. Din’s mind veers away from phrases like “nursing” and “caring for” because, well, it implies a needing and a being needed that’s not usually extant for him. He takes care of himself, mostly, that is how it’s been for years. Decades...

Luke nods. “Anchorhead represent. Go Womp Rats.”

Din wrinkles his nose. “Anchorhead? There’s nothing there.”

“You’re telling me! Come talk to me about it when you’ve lived there for nineteen years.” He crosses the room to come perch on the edge of Din’s bed. “Which you won’t, you’re the king of Mandalore.”

Oh, shit. Yeah. He’s probably missing a council meeting right now. Wait. “Who told you?”

“You talked a lot when you were feverish.” Luke passes a hand over Din’s brow. He’s done that before, but it’s very different now that Din is awake for it. “It seems to have broken.”

“You had the kid heal me,” Din surmises. He can’t waste breath right now on wondering what else he said to Luke, when the fever had him. “I told you not to do that.”

“I had him heal you slowly, step by step, so he wouldn’t exhaust himself. Just a little every day,” Luke explains.

“He okay now?”

“He’s-” Luke begins to answer, then stops himself. A truly mischievous smile spreads on his lips. “Prince Grogu is resting, your highness. But yes, your majesty, he’s perfectly fine and healthy.”

“Stop.” Din swats a hand at him. “Not... ‘majesty’. We don’t even do that. It’s just ‘Alor. Actually, it’s just Din.”

Luke dodges his hand and almost falls back onto the bed, laughing. “Oh, dear. Please, your worship, accept this humble Jedi’s apology--”

“I mean it, stop--” He probably sounds petulant. He can’t bring himself to care.

Luke’s smile gentles. So do his eyes, impossibly blue. Huh. He’s beautiful. “I’m just teasing you,” he says, beautifully. “I know this doesn’t change anything here. Just another facet of the man I’ve been getting to know.”

“Ah. So you’ve been.” Din clears his throat. That feels awful, as it is still very dry. “Getting to know me. Huh?”

Does this qualify as flirting? This is probably awful. Din’s not good at this. And anyway, it’s still unclear if Luke is actually--???

The softest pair of lips in the galaxy (the galaxy!!!) is on his forehead. Din’s chest implodes. He can feel Luke’s smile on his skin. He’s never felt anything like it before. How is this happening? He’s most likely still sick, and this is a fever dream.

“I’d like to get to know much more of you,” Luke says, withdrawing, still smiling, his eyes like sun-streaked oceans. Din has no breath in his chest.

He delays his reaction two seconds too long, and Luke’s expression begins to falter. “I’m... sorry, you’ve just recovered, and here I am putting... this on you.” He gestures broadly at himself in his entirety. “I... hold on, I’ll go get you, um, a glass of water or something...”

Din would like a glass of water. He would not like Luke to leave. The latter wins out. “Wait.” He grasps Luke’s wrist before he can get up. “I didn’t mean... I would, um. Like to get to know you also.”

Luke stills, his face a turmoil of emotion. How is this the same man who looked so utterly serene to the point of expressionlessness when they first met?

Din figures it’s way past time he made a move. Luke’s already gone and bared himself so much. It’s only fair that he meet him halfway, Din thinks and kisses him.

#dinluke #skydalorian #hurt/comfort #sickfic #this one's about two guys who don't normally have people finding themselves having someone #it got longer than expected!#did i give din djarin the corner virus by accident #big yikes #posts by me

99 notes · View notes

callemreine · 3 years ago

Text

Brave face, talk so lightly(hide the truth)

'All my life, I've just wanted to make things easier for them.'

Au August

Day/Prompt: Day 26 - Soulmate

Ship: Prinxiety, brief logicality, creativitwins

Word count: 3k (I'm so sorry I got carried away)

Cw: swearing / brief murder mention / implied death / crying / nightmares(?) / anxiety mention / caps / claustrophobia(?)

A/N: the prompt is your dreams are your soulmate's memories. The title is from the song "Sick of losing soulmates" by dodie. I wrote the first 1/4 of this a few days ago and the rest in one sitting and I couldn't care less about proofreading it so Im so sorry if there are any mistakes ;-;

@tsshipmonth2020

I see a girl in the distance. She has her back turned. Long chocolate-colored hair tied in a low messy bun. My hand is reaching out to her. I feel this sudden longing to be held by this woman. Craving her caring and loving words. Telling me that everything is going to be alright.

Wait. Why is she getting farther away?

She looks back at me with a sad smile. Everything gets dark. I let my eyes stray from her to look around. When was I in a hospital corridor?

"I'm sorry, Pumpkin. You're gonna have to continue our adventure without me. But, fear not, Little one. I'll always be there by you. You just gotta learn to know where I am,"

She caresses my cheek, giving me the warmest smile I have ever received.

She's gone, suddenly. I touch my cheek, still feeling the ghost of her warm touch. Along with… something wet? Am- Am I crying?

"Roman!"

I don't move. I feel stuck. But, also free, somehow. Just unsure of what to do, I guess?

"Roman! Wake up. You idiot!

"Roman!

"Oh, thank all things unholy! I thought someone was in our room, trying to murder us! You were crying, and- and whispering stuff! And it's creeping me the fuck out! And I'm not easily creeped out, you know that" Remus exclaimed as he sat on Roman's chest, grabbing his twin’s shoulders.

"Man, you're soulmate must have some twisted memories," He continued, getting off of Roman and returning to his own bed across the room.

'Yeah. Twisted…' Roman thought.

~*~*~

"You okay there, Sweetie?" Roman heard from where his head was buried on the kitchen counter. "Yeah... Just thinking about my soulmate again," he admitted.

"Another bad dream?" His mom inquired as she sat next to Roman, patting his back. "It's not just that. It's about the move. Like, we're never really sure which of our memories they see, right? But, they've seen all my memories from this place. Like, they know where I've been my entire life…" he trailed off.

"I'm just not sure how they would feel seeing a whole new different place… They don't seem to be in a place to experience a big change right now. All my life, I've just wanted to make things easier for them. And, yeah, my dreams don't really change that much. But, I make an effort, y'know?" Roman looked up at his mom to seek at least some kind of reassurance.

"I understand what you mean, and I think that what you're doing is great. And I know that you're gonna be the bestest thing that's ever gonna happen to them. But, I'm really sorry. We don't really have any choice with this move. I know your soulmate is in a dark place right now, but you can't always do everything for them. You're also your own person," His mom hugged him.

Roman felt like he was hopeless in this situation. And, he was always hoping for the best. For his soulmate or otherwise. Maybe his mom was right about putting himself first sometimes.

~*~*~

Virgil was in his first period when someone he didn't expect to walk into his classroom… walks into his classroom… They were wearing an army green shirt, a denim jacket with neon green highlights and spikes at the bottom, ripped jeans, and platform boots with more spikes and vulgar words written on them. To say that this man was familiar was an understatement. He KNEW this man's entire life THROUGH his dreams.

Virgil felt like he was trespassing someone's life. Like, he wasn't supposed to know the man. And that, they shouldn't be in any way related. Especially to their sibling.

He wasn't really ecstatic about meeting his soulmate. IN SCHOOL NO LESS. It wasn't really an ideal 'meet-your-soulmate' place for someone like Virgil.

"Alright, students, I'm sure you've all noticed that we have a new student right here. Now, why don't you go and introduce yourself, Mister," their teacher said to the denim jacket guy.

"Umm. Sup? I'm Remus Duke Kingsley. Nice to meet you all. And, if you see a guy that looks like me but without the mustache and wears red all the time, he’s always loud, you can’t miss him. That's my twin brother, Roman. The boring one," Remus says, yawning by the end of his introduction.

'HOLY FUCK, TWINS?!' Virgil thought. Fortunately(or unfortunately, depending on which part of Virgil's brain you're asking), Remus already gave him a vague description of who to look out for.

~*~*~

Virgil continues his day and falls into his daily routine, which mostly includes attempting to avoid being perceived by anyone. It usually succeeds if you exclude his friend, Patton, from ‘anyone.’ He only hopes that his soulmate also sees Patton in their dreams cuz, to be honest, Patton is the ray of sunshine everyone needs. Yeah, he was also friends with Logan, but he’s more like a moon if you ask him.

Virgil goes into the cafeteria and sits at their usual table, his back facing the entire cafeteria. He takes out a paper bag from his bag and grabs the sandwich he bought earlier, not waiting for his friends.

A few moments pass before Logan and Patton reach his table. “Hey, kiddo! You alright?” Patton says as he sits down. Virgil just gives them a nod and continues to eat. “I heard this morning that there were new students,” Logan inquires before Patton interrupts “Oh yeah! They’re twins! I have first period with one of them. He’s really nice. Oh! Hey! Roman! Over here!” Patton shouts and waves his arm toward a student that just entered the cafeteria. “Hope you guys don’t mind that I invited him over to sit with us,” He continues and flashes both Virgil and Logan a smile no one could say no to.

“Hey, Patton.” The guy says to Patton. “Hope you guys don’t mind me crashing your table. I’m Roman by the way,” Roman says to the other two. “Pleasure to meet you, Roman. I’m Logan. And, no, we wouldn’t mind at all,” Logan answered him back. Roman looked over to Virgil who just nodded and said his name. Roman then proceeded to sit next to Virgil but not paying him any mind.

And, though Virgil seemed to be calm about the situation, his mind is currently in flames having his anxiety and his gay panic fight over each other. Virgil is currently waiting for who would win, that's why he seems so calm on the outside. After finishing his sandwich, he was trying to think of something he could do to keep himself from leaving and be noticed. He looked over to Logan, attentively listening to Patton talking about the dog he saw this morning. Roman was silently eating his lunch, also listening to Patton, but looking around the cafeteria every once in a while.

It seems that Virgil’s anxiety won the fight because he decided that he doesn’t want to stick around with his friends and his apparent soulmate without doing anything. So, he stands up and excuses himself from the group. "Hey! Wait!" Roman calls after him. Virgil stops a few feet from the table to look back at Roman who was already jogging towards him.

"Virgil, right?" He assures.

Virgil nods. "Ok, there’s just something I wanna ask you. Are those two soulmates?" Roman throws his thumb back, pointing at the two left at the table. "Cuz, as much as how adorable they look together, I kinda don't want to be stuck as a third wheel," he continues.

"Oh. Yeah, those two are soulmates. Sometimes, I wonder if they ever do notice me every time I leave the table," Virgil elaborates, looking back at his friends with a slight smile.

"Umm. Class doesn't start for a few more minutes. I was wondering if I could join you for a while? Wherever you were going…" Roman trailed off, realizing he didn't know where the shorter male was headed.

"Uhh. Yeah, sure. I was just headed to the courtyard to pass the time,"

'Shit. Virgil, why are you doing this?! Why did you agree?! You have anxiety!' Virgil mentally scolded himself.

"Ok. Cool. I'll just go get my stuff," Roman flashed Virgil a smile before heading back to the table.

'Fuck. I am so screwed,' Virgil thought.

~*~*~

"So, what's the deal with those two? I mean, how did they deal with the soulmates thing?" Roman finally spoke a few moments after they found a bench to settle on. "Uhh, well. Logan is my childhood friend and the first day we started high school here, they both had a dream of roll call the other had that day, I guess? They both heard each other's name and boom. You got your glasses gays," Virgil discussed, reminiscing the events that happened that day.

Roman let out a chuckle at Virgil's last words, causing the other's heart to skip a beat. They remain silent for a while, watching the other students passing by.

"What about you?" Roman spoke up.

"What about me?" Virgil glances back.

"I mean, what about you? Have you met your soulmate? Do you know who they are? You just seem like an interesting individual to me, having to stick around knowing you're third-wheeling all the time yet valuing your time with them and your time with yourself all the same. Well, either that or I'm just embarrassed that I think you're uncomfortable with me here…" Roman rambled, rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Virgil chuckled, "Nah. I just get anxious when meeting new people. Plus, I think you're a pretty nice guy." They smiled at each other, Virgil feeling his face heat up, and looks away immediately. "And, about the soulmate thing. I think I have a clue of who they might be, I just…" he trailed off.

"What's holding you back?" Roman muttered, lowering his head, attempting to catch the other's eye. "I… I just think that my memories aren't that… for them. They're just this amazing and joyful person… I just don't think they deserve to see my bland memories every night,"

The pair fell silent, Roman feeling sympathy for the other. Virgil felt Roman shift in his seat before speaking up, "I don't think anyone's memories are ever bland."

Virgil looks up at Roman who has a far-off look with a slight smile on his lips. "I think that our dreams are what shows us what we're missing in life. What our soulmate has that we need and what we have that they need. You know, what makes you both feel complete when you're with each other," Roman smiled.

Virgil pondered on the other's statement for a while. "Is that... Is that how you feel when you're with your soulmate?" He said, being careful with his words. Roman sighed but remained smiling, "I haven't met them yet. But, what you said earlier reminded me of them. I always think they're a little different. My moms said that dreams are supposed to show my soulmate's memories. But, no one is ever sure which ones we see. Well, my dreams always have one thing in common… There's darkness every time…" Roman trailed off, looking more sad as he continued.

"Sometimes, they walk out of their house and, suddenly, everything goes dark and I see pairs of eyes staring at me as I walk. Or sometimes, they lie in bed and, suddenly, it's dark again and I'm stuck inside a box too small for me. But, there’s always this one dream that always repeats itself. Though, I'm not sure my soulmate's gonna be comfortable with me sharing," Roman finally snaps out of his trance and looks up at Virgil, looking embarrassed.

At this point, Virgil is now entirely sure that the person in front of him is his soulmate. He feels tears cloud his eyes so he looks away to play off wiping them away before looking back at Roman with pity in his expression. This is exactly what Virgil was afraid of, having his soulmate also experience the darkness that clouds him every day he wakes up.

"Wow… They- I- I don't know what to say… What are you gonna do when you meet them?" Virgil glances at Roman, pity still in his eyes. Roman let out a sigh but smiled, "I'm gonna give them the biggest hug they've ever received and reassure them that I'm always gonna be with them and that they'll never have to feel alone all the time ever again." Roman looked at Virgil with a smile. But, before he could notice the tear that fell from the other's eye, a loud shrill of their school bell rang throughout the courtyard, signaling the start of their next class.

"Talk about first impressions," Roman said with a chuckle, standing up. "Well, see you around, Virgil. I got a few more 'Hi, I'm Roman' to do," he continued, leaving Virgil on the bench.

~*~*~

I hear my converse squeak as I walk through the hallway. There are people around me, but they're all just silhouettes of the same familiar darkness. I'm walking to what seems to be the cafeteria. I sit down and grab my lunch from my bag. A few minutes pass, two figures sit in front of me. There's something familiar about them despite being two black silhouettes.

"Hey, kiddo! You alright?"

Patton?

"I heard there were new students," Logan?

Wait. Am I…

"Oh yeah! They're twins!"

Oh.

"I have first period with one of them. He's really nice. Oh! Hey! Roman! Over here!"

Before I could look over to… me…

Darkness. Again.

I hear muffled voices. Too muffled to be recognized.

I stay in darkness for what felt like hours before I get surrounded by light.

Too bright.

There's a silhouette in front of me. It doesn't have any facial features but I can feel it stare at me. Slowly, the light around me doesn't feel too bright anymore. It feels… warm and comforting. Similar to the feeling I have in my chest, along with a squeezing feeling. I feel tears cloud my eyes, but I feel happy, somehow?

I feel someone embrace me. I look up to see the silhouette. Its arms around me, like it's protecting me. I feel secure. I feel loved.

I hug back, breaking down in its arms.

"You don't have to be alone anymore"

I hear my own voice. I break down sobbing, seeking more of the silhouette's warmth.

I stopped sobbing after a while but remained in the silhouette's arms for what felt like hours.

"You gotta wake him up!" I heard a distant voice say in a hushed tone.

"No, he hasn't slept like this since who knows when… Something must've happened yesterday..."

I feel myself slowly drifting from where I was standing.

"We can just tell the school he's sick"

"On the second day?"

I feel someone caress my cheek.

"You can stay too if you want"

"Hey, sweetie," Roman opens his eyes to his mom in front of him.

"What's going on? Why are you all in our room?" Roman asks as he sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He eyes Remus standing in front of their mama. Their mom is sitting on the edge of Roman's bed, facing him.

"Well, sweetie. You see, you just had a full night's sleep," their mom explained.

"You looked so peaceful too," their mama added with a smile. Roman stopped to let the events of his dream last night come back to him.

"Roman, is everything ok?" Their mama walked over to him, tucking a few strands of his hair behind his ear. "Yeah… Yeah, I'm okay!" He flashed a smile to his moms, meaning what he said.

~*~*~

Roman hadn't been able to sit still ever since he got to school. 'Late', he should add. Apparently, he overslept while Remus and their moms decide whether to wake him up or not.

When they got to school in the middle of first period, they were excused because their moms were there to explain. With a slightly bent truth, of course.

Roman had to wait three(and a half) classes to talk to Virgil. They didn't have any classes together, to which Roman was bummed to find out. When the bell rang, signaling their lunch break, Roman hurriedly headed to the cafeteria. When he got there, he spotted Virgil just about to sit down at their usual table.

"Uhh. Virgil? Can I talk to you for a sec?" Roman felt awkward, to say the least.

"Uhm. Sure," Virgil replied, standing up. Roman led them under a tree in the courtyard, away from other students. They stayed silent for a while before Virgil spoke up, "So… what'd you wanted to talk about?"

Roman just stared at Virgil for a few moments, examining him, before enveloping him in a tight hug. Virgil stood frozen for a while, surprised at the gesture. He slowly placed his hands on Roman's back, still confused at the sudden affection.

"You're not alone anymore, Pumpkin," Roman said in a gentle voice, cradling the other's head. Virgil froze when he heard the nickname. His expression then softens and hugs Roman tighter, burying his face on the taller male’s shoulder.

"How did you find out?" Roman heard, slightly muffled by his jacket. "Had a dream about yesterday," Roman simply stated, not elaborating more. "What about you? You said you had a clue. Oh! That rhymed,"

They both laughed.

"I have first period with Remus and I recognized him right away," Virgil replied, his face still buried on Roman's shoulder. "Oh, I'm so sorry you have to deal with him," Roman chuckled.

"No, I'm sorry you had to deal with him your entire life,"

"Well, we're not alone anymore now, are we? Roman asked with a serious tone. Virgil parted a few inches from Roman, still holding on to him. He smiled as he looked up at Roman, "No, we're not."

This might be the last one I'll do for AU august but I'm also deciding if I should go back to the prompts I missed when I was sick hmm

I wish I included Remus more in this but it was already 3k words and thats the longest I've ever written so maybe its for the best XD

35 notes · View notes

cinnonym · 4 years ago

Text

kiss me or we'll never know (we can blame it on the mistletoe)

Written for Day 7 - Tree/Mistletoe of 12 Days of Supercorp @supercorpbb

Read on AO3

***

The first time it happens, it’s actually an accident.

One of her employees must have put it up, because they thought it would lighten the mood or because they had a crush on a co-worker, Lena doesn’t know. All she does know is that when she stops to talk to Kara during her daily check-up on CatCo, someone yells “kiss” and the whole bullpen falls silent.

That includes Kara, who freezes mid-sentence, then turns crimson, before she, very slowly, lifts her eyes to the ceiling.

And at first, Lena doesn’t understand. For one, two, several seconds, she waits for Kara to continue telling her about that new take-out restaurant she’s found. For a short, very short moment, she feels a tiny pang of annoyance at Kara’s sudden muteness, at her refusal to meet her eyes. For some, blissfully oblivious beats, she doesn’t feel addressed by the “kiss” or the silence, that is unfolding deafeningly around them.

Then she follows Kara’s gaze up. Then she notices the sprig of green that is dangling from the lamp above them. Then she realises that not only is everyone in the room waiting for her to kiss her best friend, but Kara is too, blushing and helpless and jarringly apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, low enough that only Lena can hear her, “I thought I’d memorised all the spots we’d put them, but I must have missed this one.”

And maybe it’s the trace of nervousness in Kara’s voice and the gauging expression in her eyes as she waits for Lena’s reaction, or maybe it’s the shine of lip gloss on the curve of Kara’s mouth and the fact that it has never looked more inviting. But Lena suddenly finds that as inane as she’s always thought this mistletoe business to be, she doesn’t mind it that much this time.

And so, instead of turning away with an eye-roll and a scornful smile, as she might have done two years ago, Lena straightens up.

“Don’t apologise,” she whispers back, and allows her hand to cup Kara’s burning cheek. “It’s not a big deal.”

Except when she leans in and sees Kara’s eyes widen, senses Kara’s lip quiver, hears Kara’s minute gasp – she finds that she can’t do it. Her heart rate is peaking from the closeness alone, her legs feel like jell-o. She is suddenly aware that kissing Kara might be something she will never return from. Something that will change her existence forever. Something that her body will crave until it disintegrates.

And Lena shies away. Presses her lips to a spot of Kara’s face that is not quite the corner of her mouth and not quite her cheek. Stumbles back as the office cheers and Kara ducks her head. And flees.

Turns out, it’s a big deal after all.

***

After that, things change for Lena.

Of course, she noticed Kara before. It is hard not to, when her best friend has a weakness for tight slacks, and plaid shirts that show off her shoulders just so, and a smile that lights up ball rooms. But after the incident that Lena likes to call heureka-moment in her head, well…

Let’s just say Lena is more aware now. Of too-big sweaters that really have no business looking as good on Kara as they do. Of careless touches that leave a burning trail on Lena’s skin, so potent she wonders how it isn’t visible.

Of mistletoes.

There really are a lot of them, once Lena pays attention. At CatCo especially, and the thought of Kara’s involvement in the circumstance makes Lena’s heart trip out of its rhythm. It must mean something, she catches herself thinking, over and over again. She doesn’t believe in fate, but then again, she didn’t really believe in mistletoes either.

But now she counts them. She memorises them. She recites their locations before she goes to sleep at night, and when she wakes up in the morning, she spends her breakfast coming up with excuses to wait for Kara under one of them.

Because now that she’s had time to think about it, now that there isn’t a room full of people watching her come to a conclusion, now that Kara isn’t looking at her with a beautiful melange of nervousness and anticipation in her eyes, Lena has made up her mind. She has weighed her pros and cons, tracked her thought processes, and decided that as far as life-changing circumstances go, she’s already way too far gone to go back now.

If she spends a lifetime longing for Kara, she might as well get a kiss out of it.

And so the second time it happens, it’s very much by design.

***

The day is Saturday, and the bullpen is empty safe for a few stragglers who are behind schedule with their pieces for CatCo weekly.

Kara is one of them, but only because she volunteered to help with the Christmas Extra on top of her usual articles. She’s told Lena all about it on the phone yesterday, and if it hadn’t complimented Lena’s plans so excellently that she forgot to breathe, she would have sighed fondly at the excitement in Kara’s voice.

The very same enthusiasm is laced through her every step today too, magnifies her smile, vibrates through her surprised “Lena!” as Lena strolls into the room.

“I brought doughnuts,” Lena says in lieu of a hello, and although she’s rehearsed this line in the car, her tongue trips over the words in anticipation of what she has set out to do.

It doesn’t matter. Kara has already spied the bag full of sugary treats, and her eyes light up.

“Guys!” She exclaims, just like Lena knew she would, “Come here, Lena’s brought snacks!”

“For all you hard-working souls,” Lena says, and although this is just a diversionary tactic, her heart warms at the grateful smiles she receives.

Of course, none is more grateful than Kara’s. Lena’s been counting on that too. With Kara being fully immersed in savouring her doughnut, her guard is lowered enough not to notice that Lena is gently urging her towards the nearest mistletoe.

Kara finishes chewing her last bite just when they are in perfect position. She licks her lip, sighs happily – and freezes.

Score.

“Lena…” She whispers, not even bothering to look up. Just like Lena, she knows the position of all the mistletoe in the room. Just like Lena, she’s fully aware they’re standing right below one. Unlike Lena, she probably wonders how they got there.

“Oh,” Lena says, and although she meant to sound surprised, her eyes are already so fixed on the smudge of powdered sugar on Kara’s lips that it comes out breathless and longing. “Oh no…”

And the bullpen is quiet again, not because they’re being watched, but because everyone’s too busy eating to pay them any mind. And Kara’s skin is soft under her fingers again as she all but leans into Lena’s touch, trusting, waiting. And Lena’s heart is going miles again, and now she’s stepping closer, and now she’s feeling Kara’s breath on her lips, and now she –

She can’t do it. She sways away at the last second. Kisses a spot that is marginally closer to the corner of Kara’s mouth than last time, but still a full inch away from where the sugar smudge seems to laugh mockingly at her. Jerks away before Kara or anyone can react.

And flees.

***

The third time it happens, everything is different.

For starters, they are completely alone at CatCo. That’s mostly due to the office being closed for the duration of the holidays. Lena’s a business woman, but she isn’t a monster, after all. In fact, she has personally come to shoo out the loiterers, workaholic interns that claimed to “just want to finish this one little thing, promise Ms Luthor, just this one – “

None of their defences lasted long against Lena’s warmest CEO glare.

And so she’s sent them packing, seen them out through the automatic glass doors, wished and received a hundred felicitations. Until only she is left, the key pressed into the soft plane of her hand, on the late afternoon of the 24th.

Outside, night is falling quick like raindrops, sweeping the city up in a dark embrace. Inside, Lena lingers in the bullpen, her eyes seeking out the sprigs of mistletoe in the room.

There are eleven of them, and each seems to have the shape of Kara’s smile. And although Lena has long since moved past the self-degradation, the late-night detestation of her very person, at this moment, she can’t help but curse herself a little. For missing her chances. For chickening out. For –

“Lena?”

She swirls around as if Kara’d caught her in an act of crime. For a brief second, she wonders if it is wrong what she’s doing, having this kind of thoughts about her best friend, sweet, kind-hearted, innocent Kara. But then she meets Kara’s gaze, falls into the pools of her eyes, into the longing that swirls through them, discernible even in the low light.

And how can it ever be wrong if it feels like coming home?

She’s so close to leaning in, the impulse throbs through her like physical ache. Luthors take what they want, and she’s never wanted anything like she’s wanting now. And yet she can’t. Stands petrified and breathless under the only door frame that isn’t adorned with green, while Kara Danvers smiles at her like she’s about to let her in on a secret.

“What…” Lena murmurs, and that’s exactly how far she gets. Before Kara’s fingers slide under her chin, lifting it up. Before her eyes focus on something Kara’s holding in her other hand, something green and prickly, holding it in the air right above them.

Before Kara kisses her.

And she doesn’t miss Lena’s mouth. She doesn’t flee, but pulls Lena closer, into her, until all Lena can perceive is Kara, Kara’s lips against her, Kara’s arms around her, Kara with her as she unceremoniously drops the mistletoe.

#supercorp #supercorp fanfiction #sc fanfic #sc #supergirl #christmas #christmas fic #my writing #mistletoe

197 notes · View notes

rinharu-purple · 3 years ago

Note

Emmm 👉👈 can i request Gavin's spring festival date analysis?! Ehem especially when Gavin said "I've waited a long time for today.." 💙

But Of course if you're not busy.. I'll wait patiently.. I just.. love read your analysis 💙 like i can feel your love and dedication for Gavin.. a lot of Gavin stan is very smart and loyal.. just like Gavin itself

Hello nonny and of course you can! Thank you for your lovely ask and reading my posts. It makes me really happy to hear this 💞 I can also double up what you've said, Our birdcop is smart and loyal and I really love being a part of Gavin-standom which includes so many talented writers, artists, analysts and it has @cheri-translates! There are so many great posts from various accounts and one can feel the love, passion and loyalty towards Gavin in all of them! 💫

An analysis on Spring Festival date is so overdue, so it is me who should apologize for not having written this before. I will more than gladly include your request scene, I hope you enjoy it ^_^

MC Testing Waters: Spring Festival Date

At the beginning of the game, MC is a young woman with lots of love in her heart, however without much experience in love. Fortunately this starts to change when she meets LIs as adults.

Spring Festival Date takes place after Firework Date and before the Romantic Date, although the timeline is quite messy, which I will come to by the end of this analysis.

If you look closely, you can see MC checking Gavin's romantic feelings towards her by using this "boyfriend game" and also uses the opportunity to get beyond his hardened exterior and touch his vulnerable side 💗

Spoilers start below this line

This date comes to, because MC lies to her aunt about having a boyfriend to avoid arranged blind dates and even promises to visit her on New Years with her boyfriend. Speculatively it seemed like a solid play, until...the time literally came.

Thinktanking about a way out of this with Kiki and Willow, they weight different options as to tell them she broke up with him, leave the city or call in sick but then the best wingman on earth Minor saves the way and suggests that she just takes a "fake boyfriend" with her, surely enough with Gavin in his mind.

MC goes through her contacts list to search for a suitable candidate, but her heart Whispers her the answer by skipping a beat as her fingertips scroll down to one name.

... Gavin

As such... MC has chosen her player for the game and Gavin's Heart Trial with MC's family commences...

---Press Start---

Creativity Test

Unluckily Gavin actually shows up for this highly important date late, with his phone off! From the storyline he arrives a couple of minutes late to MC’s aunt's place, thus starting the game one point behind. He was late because he was buying presents for the whole family! With the spot on gifts which are well received by the family because they're expensive, imported goods, limited products, cute and thoughtful he makes up for the lost points.

But it's just the first stage and he has 3 more stages to clear, the pressure is slowly rising.

This gray suit has a lovely story behind it, which you can find by the end of the story.

Decision Test

Gavin has passed the creativity test with flying colors, but in the second stage more challenging questions are on the menu. The eldest aunt wants to know Gavin's age, occupation, salary(?!) and possessions(?!). The last two questions are fairly over the line and is a no-no in my country. Asking people about their financial status as well as bragging about it is perceived as rude and insolent, that's why the way Gavin answers these questions skillfully without bragging about his wealth adds just another brick on my Gavin-temple.

Age: 24

Occupation: Police Officer

Salary: Covers the bills

Possessions: A flat in the city and a motorcycle.

In my Prank date analysis, I've mentioned about Gavin's ability to deal with impertinence and also here, he stays friendly, but only answers the questions necessary to get through with the situation. MCs family is checking whether he's wealthy enough to take care of MC (which is sad that in the 21st century that in some countries women need to be financially secured by men). So Gavin just gives them just the right enough of information to pass the test and pass he does.

There is another aspect to his way of answering though. You see, Gavin is an unmaterialistic man. He doesn't care about money or any other meta. He doesn't touch upon the fact that he's coming from a wealthy family, or that he inherits his grandparents house or that he can afford designer dresses, overseas travels or gems without giving a second thought. That shows just how humble Gavin is and I love him for it. What defines him is not his wealth, nor does he allow anyone define him on his financial status. It's his character, the values he stand for, the vision he embodies, the way he treats MC.. Ehm.. And.. His champion body and drop dead gorgeous looks (comes as an extra;))

But the game is far from over, because the family council is now going to challenge him on...

Affinity Test

This is where things get rosy as the family would like to know how they've met and whether they've been together since high school.

Look, Gavin is actually not playing a game, but living the moment. He is well aware of the fact that once he and MC become an official pair, he will be standing on the same spot a year later. He is serious...

So when they ask about their affection, he gives them his genuine answer and confesses his crush on her during high school and says that they've been going out since fall. This dazzles MC, as if she hasn't been dazzled enough lol.

The three glasses of drink he gulps surely has a role in this sincerity and taking three glasses of a drink as a punishment also becomes a tradition for MC and Gavin in the future.

And so, he proudly passes the Affinity Test with flying colors, effortlessly. Only one more stage and he's done it!

Execution Test

Every hero has his moment, when the fight takes a gloomier turn against his favor and the odds don't look good as before when he gets a strong blow, that is when the family hits him with the question "Don't you get alone well with your family?".

This is Gavin's weak spot, his cryptonite, his bleeding wound and MC's family just pressed on it. What makes this scene so heartbreaking is not just the topic itself and we know why it is a sensitive topic for Gavin but also that Gavin actually tries to signal them that this is not his favorite topic. He tells them he doesn't go home for holidays (friendly warning number 1), the aunties pushes by telling him to take some meal with him to which he replies "Thanks, but that's okay. I've been away for a long time" (friendly warning number 2) the family pushes further and as a one last resort he tells them that during college he rarely went there and spent holidays working afterwards (friendly warning number 3). Sadly the auntie than ignorantly ask whether his family doesn't worry about him and now because he's given three fair warning shots which, he downright gives them a brief and resolute answer:

- No.

That's usually the latest where people with common sense stop digging in further. Unfortunately then the auntie asks whether he doesn't get along well with his family to which Gavin no longer responds. This is the perfect way of dealing with such people and Gavin has a very intuitive talent for dealing different people from different mindsets. Give them three friendly and fair warnings, still pushing? Then give them a last chance by one final brief and to the point answer, they choose to ignore the signal? Stop interacting, you can only waste time beyond this point.

The only problem with this situation here, is that these people are not just somebody, Gavin wants to win these people over, so he cannot just ignore them. But also he cannot do it without a timeout, so he goes to grab some wine. (God it makes me so sorry everytime he has to face his family drama or is misjudged. I just wanna hug him bring him hot cocoa, give him a backrub and bring spicy food for him. Luckily he has MC ^_^)

But let's not talk only about about Gavin, because MC is struggling too. And we should recognize her stick up for him with the most cherishing words:

-Auntie, you got it wrong. He is a decent and pure man and has come to my aid many time and in quite dangerous circumstances.

When she comes back however cannot find Gavin, once she does, a heartwarming moment blooms between them.

This scene is very crucial in Gavin and MC's relationship because this is the first time MC sees Gavin tired and flustered. She feels sad for him but also happy for herself, for she feels as though she gets closer to him, thus seeing the real Gavin. By the way she show him her genuine care, Gavins heart melts and kisses the back of her hand as a gesture and so the first intimate moment involving them having a kiss ensues. Furthermore, they show each other their mutual care, which brings them one step closer and this gives Gavin the only courage he needs to tackle the situation.

When our hero gets the courage and the stamina he need from his girl, nothing can stop him now. Having gatherer his strength, Gavin returns to the dinner table:

“I am so happy to be here with you all today. In fact, I haven't felt this atmosphere of family in a long time. I have a very strict father and a brother I seldom see...I don’t even know when I turned into such a loner. Eating alone, sleeping alone, doing everything alone...until I met her. It was a beautiful autumn day. The gingko leaves were floating in the wind. I was also going through a pretty dark time. But she saved me before I hit bottom...It’s she who told me I could live a stronger life. And it’s also she who told me I could live a more tender life. I never felt lonely before, until I met her. I started to get used to star-gazing with her, having dinner with her, spending the New Year’s with her. In the future, I'll give it my all to stay with her, to take good care of her and love her. I wanna make up many times over for all the times I wasn't there”

MC’s heart stopped, aunties eyes teary, the elder Aunt want his actions to back up these words and thus Gavin has a pass from MC's family. Now that he's won the game, it's time to collect his prize.

After they leave MC's aunt's house, our lovebirds walk together in the night full of fireworks and Gavin tells Mc that Minor has mentored him on being the perfect son-in-law, hence he was late. He also asks her what she would do if he didn't show up, to which she says that her intuition says that he won't fail her and he murmurs quietly:

- I've waited a long time for today.

Of course he doesn't repeats himself when MC asks him about what he just said. But that's what kept him going all night long.

He has waited for six whole years to meet her again, to stand by here, take good care of her and love her. Tonight, he could do them all by being her "boyfriend", giving his word to her family and having their blessings. He could see that she also cares a lot for him, worries about him and wants to be there for him. He landed his lips for the first time on her delicate skin and could give her warmth.

He could finally confess his feelings for her and say the genuine things he will only say to her.

So yes, he has waited for a long time for this moment to come and when it came, he made sure to grab it tightly.

----—----—---

Timeline issues:

- The order of the dates in the game doesn't always reflect the real course of events. The grey suit that Gavin wears is actually bought after Romantic Date, which takes place after this date.

-Even though MC plans this whole game to avert blind dates, but she still gets set up later on a blind date by another aunt lol.

Thank you once again for your patience nonny and I hope that the analysis proves to be worthy of your wait 💗

Masterlist

For MC's confession let me take you here

For Gavin and MCs relationship milestones here

For a fun trivia about this date you can click here

#Meeting the family is important #Gavin preparing for being the perfect son in law #And getting help from Minor #Anon asks #mlqc #mlqc gavin #mlqc bai qi #mlqc haku #mlqc baek gi #mr love queen's choice #koi to producer #Meta #Analysis #Saturday night #Saturday

25 notes · View notes

herinsectreflection · 4 years ago

Text

An Episode Within an Episode: An Analysis of ‘The Zeppo’

The Zeppo is one of those episodes that so consistently shows up on fan lists of “underrated” episodes, that I don’t know if it can really be considered “underrated” anymore, but I think it deserves a little extra appreciation. It’s definitely an episode that takes a second viewing to appreciate, thanks to how oddly it is constructed, in a way that isn’t immediately advertised to the viewer. Other episodes with unusual styles such as Once More With Feeling or Hush very much wear their concepts on their sleeve; you can’t watch them and not immediately realise what they are doing. That’s not a knock against those episodes - part of what makes them so great and iconic is that they get right to the point and so can do interesting things with the concept. The Zeppo is just a quieter kind of unique. It uses the limited perspective of both the characters and the audience themselves to show a cracked-mirror version of the world. It’s an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer told from the perspective of somebody looking in on another episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It’s fun and weird and I want to dig into it a little bit.

We start off with a very typical Buffy scene. In its third season now, the show is pretty aware of and confident in its own tropes, and trusts the audience to be too. We don’t need any build-up explaining exactly what Giles has found out and what spell Willow is performing and what these monsters are doing and exactly how Buffy and Faith know how to kill them. We’ve all seen an episode of Buffy before, and we can fill in the blanks pretty easily. This confidence in the show’s own tropes and what the audience expects of it is key to what makes this episode work. We know exactly how a typical episode of Buffy goes, so we can receive this barely-cliff-notes version of one and understand it perfectly. It’s an episode that can only be done in a show’s third year, when viewers have become fluent in the show’s language.

After the fight and exposition is over, Xander stands up from the garbage, as out of context as we are as viewers. As this is a Xander-centric episode, he becomes the audience identification figure. As the one character not supernaturally gifted or linked in any way (as the episode points out several times), Xander makes sense as the viewer stand-in. Xander comments on how he wants to be more involved in the fights but is firmly rebuffed - and it’s clear he wouldn’t be able to impact them anyway. All he can do is watch the fights and plots happen from a distance. In this sense, Xander is no different to the viewer, watching an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, unable to affect it in any way.

This is where the structure of the episode comes into play. The A plot is a fairly meaningless runaround with zombies, while the B-plot is a finale-worthy epic apocalyptic showdown. We only catch glimpses of it, but it seems to contain all the standard hallmarks of a Buffy apocalypse - an evil cult, opening the hellmouth, tearful Buffy/Angel melodrama. Specifically, it echoes the previous two season finales, with the final showdown apparently featuring both the literal monster from the S1 finale, and some kind of sacrifice that involved Angel (evoking the S2 finale). The very last bit of dialogue we hear during this plot is “Faith, go for the heart!” from Buffy, encouraging her to kill the demon in the library, which you could argue foreshadows the S3 finale, where Buffy will use the Mayor’s love for Faith to kill him in the library. This plot is a facsimile of a Buffy season finale, giving us everything we expect and have seen before, stripped of all context, the very bare bones of a story.

What this achieves is that it alienates the viewer from this story-within-a story, forcing us into an intentionally uncomfortable position, where it feels like we’re watching an episode through a keyhole. It intentionally exacerbates the divide between viewer and show, to highlight our inability to fully perceive or at all impact this world we tune into each week.

Xander is very purposefully chosen as the POV character for this experience. He is feeling very insecure and ineffectual - unable to help with either brains or brawn, and not having a whole lot of impact on the story. He feels alienated from his friends, fearful that they will leave him behind. The structure of this episode highlights this feeling of ineffectualness. Xander feels so alienated from the events and people around him that he, like the audience, becomes separated from them. A character from Buffy the Vampire Slayer becomes an outsider to the story, watching an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. We are encouraged to empathise with Xander because we are in the same position. We too have been robbed of our usual intimacy with this group of people, forced to perceive the shadows of an episode. This meta-emotion dovetails with the character’s internal mental state nicely.

I think my favourite instance of this meta-perception being played with is in the scene between Buffy and Angel, where we are dropped without context into a tearful, dramatic argument where apparently Angel’s life is in the balance, filled with declarations of love and poetic exaltations, backed by this sweeping orchestral score - and then Xander pops his head in. The music immediately stops, he exchanges a few awkward lines with them before realising they have bigger things to worry about. As he leaves, Buffy turns back to the melodrama and the sweeping music surges back in. It’s brilliantly funny - it feels like Xander put an episode on pause for a quick interjection, then re-started it where we left off. It’s a joke relying entirely on the audience’s expectations of the kind of epic melodrama we might get from Buffy and Angel, and it works really well. In this moment, Xander completely becomes the viewer, peeking in on these two actors, observing through glass.

The Zeppo is very concerned with meta references, TV, and the act of watching. Obviously the title is a reference to Zeppo Marx, and there is also a running gag likening Xander to Jimmy Olsen. We are encouraged to think of Xander in relation to his narrative function as a fictional character, and so to watch this episode through this meta lens. One key shot just after Faith and Xander sleep together shows the two of them literally reflected in a TV screen. We are literally seeing a distorted reflection of reality in a TV screen, which on one level is essentially all we do whenever we watch any television show, but is also what we are seeing within this episode - a fuzzy reflection of a Buffy episode within a Buffy episode.

There’s another shot later that I like, of one of the zombies pausing during the final chase scene to look through the library window at the demon emerging from the hellmouth. We see him looking through the glass at this apocalypse monster for a couple of seconds before continuing on with his chase, like a channel-hopping viewer taking a brief glimpse of Buffy, momentarily enraptured, before switching back to what they were watching before.

One thing that stood out to me on this rewatch was how the villains are described. We purposefully get very little on the group, but what we do get is telling. “’Sisterhood of Jhe. Race of female demons, fierce warriors...' Eww. '...celebrate victory in battle by eating their foes.’”

A race of all-female warriors sounds very much like Slayers. They apparently eat after battles too, which according to Faith is also a feature of Slayers. The villain in this story is kind of a representation of the central concept of the show, which makes sense since it deals with Xander navigating around a typical episode of the show. You could also read it as representative of Xander’s pathologies when it comes to women and specifically women who are stronger than him.

What I like about this episode is that it doesn’t conclude by giving Xander a big important role in stopping the apocalypse, proving his worth to the group. That’s what a lesser show might have done. I like that here, Xander never gets involved with the epic finale-esque plot. He carries on existing in the spaces around it, becoming instead the hero of the monster-of-the-week runaround episode he has found himself in. Xander cannot be the hero of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, because he’s not Buffy. But he is still a human being, and all of us as human beings are the protagonists and heroes of our own stories. He can be the hero of his own life.

S3 is largely about identity and forging one’s own path in life - obviously Buffy starts by having given up her name, then has to deal with facing off against her dark equivalent and making major decisions about her future. This season’s focus-episodes for the other characters reflect that: Giles is stripped of his role in Helpless, Willow rails against hers in Doppelgangland. This episode is all about Xander coming to terms with his narrative role within Buffy - as the non-powered comedic relief and occasional pep-talker. He could become frustrated with that, throw up his hands and let himself be at the mercy of his narrative function. But this episode allows him to find his own space, his own story. He accepts that he can’t colonise Buffy’s story, but he is still in control of his own decisions, and he can still have his own story. He can create a little one-off episode of Xander the Zombie Fighter that can co-exist peacefully with the episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer happening at the same time. It’s a smaller, quieter story without the same world-shaking melodrama - but that’s OK. As Xander says himself, he likes the quiet.

As viewers, we can never shape the course of the media we watch. That’s part of the appeal - we don’t always know what we want or need - a problem Xander faces himself when he clutches at things like “being cool” or “a car” for things that might make him happy - but a good show gives us what we didn’t realise we needed. But it remains an eternal frustration, that we can connect on a deep emotional level with these characters, but can never help them or solve their problems. A good set of characters can feel like family, but a character can never love you back. When Xander faces up against this same uselessness as he observes an episode of Buffy from afar, it is the same uselessness the viewer feels. When he accepts this and inhabits his own story, it reminds us that we can do the same thing. Television can be a great comfort, but it is not our lives. Because we can affect our own lives. We aren’t in control of them, but we can guide and impact them, and we can each be the hero of our own individual existences.

#xander harris #the zeppo #btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #meta #s3 #theme:meta #theme:identity #theme:choice

83 notes · View notes

romioneficfest · 4 years ago

Text

The Fallen Hero

Title: The Fallen Hero

Prompt/Day: Shell Cottage/Day 9

Tumbler Name:

Rating: G+

Brief Summary: An account of the night of escape from Malfoy Manor by the golden trio from Ron’s POV- Reference DH

cw: Character death

Beta credits: A*

********************************

When Ron was woken up by a soft caress on his face, he did not realize that he had just turned eighteen. He was tired by the day’s failed attempt to locate a Horcrux and almost dozed off as he leaned on to the hollow of the old oak tree near their camp while on watch. He opened his eyes to find Hermione adjusting herself to sit beside him, her side gently touching his, her chapped lips brushing against his cheek in the most delicate way.

“Happy Birthday, Ron,” she murmured against his ear as her hands dived into her pocket to bring out a chocolate frog for him. “This is all I could get for you,” she said hesitantly and dropped her gaze.

Ron’s heart filled with elation so deep that he was unable to mutter a simple ‘Thank You’ without choking. In a fraction of a second Ron had smothered Hermione in a tight hug. He held the chocolate frog to her and offered it to her, “You first please”.

They sat entwined in each other’s arms under the moonlight, pondering what their next destination for the Horcrux hunt should be.

“I’m sure it is hidden somewhere in the Ministry. It is heavily guarded by You-Know-Who’s puppets,” Hermione suggested.

“Or Malfoy Manor. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have a collection of dark objects like the Blacks did,” Ron chimed in. Hardly did he perceive then that he was foreshadowing the cruelest two hours of his life, which was crouching in time like a hidden dragon biding its time to burn them alive.

The day passed as usual. Harry kept on brooding and Hermione kept on arguing with Harry to stop his obsession over the hallows. Fortunately, they had enough food to eat for the day to preserve their sanity.

After their supper, Ron followed his routine of tuning his radio to Potterwatch and that night he succeeded in his attempt. The tent was filled with the banter of Fred, George, Lee and Lupin and it felt like home. Those moments of rare happiness came to end when Harry said the jinxed name.

The protective enchantments were broken leaving them exposed to the snatchers. Soon after, they were captured and dragged to Malfoy Manor. He thought they would never get out alive from there. And they probably would be dead if it wasn’t for Harry’s sheer luck and Dobby, the elf who became their saviour.

Ron transported himself and Hermione safely away from the cursed place, his panicked mind working on auto-pilot to keep them alive. Relief coursed through his veins when the echo of the familiar waves crashing against the shoreline hit his eardrum. Clutching Hermione’s limp body which was lifted over his shoulders in a fireman lift, he dashed towards the lights of Shell Cottage, Bill and Fleur’s cosy abode. The silhouette of his eldest brother rushed towards them, pointing his wand at him. Bill lowered his wand as soon as he approached Ron.

“Wat 'appened to 'er?” asked Fleur with concern and probably fear.

“She’s alive. Harry is on his way. Wait for him here. He’d never been to this place. Besides, we don’t want some bastards to come here on his trail. I’m taking her inside,” he gestured towards Hermione with his eyes.

He kept on running and climbed two steps in one hop to barge into the adjoining bathroom of the bedroom he inhabited only three months back.

“I’m sorry Hermione. Mobilicorpus!,” he muttered.

Lupin had used the spell to steady Snape at the Shrieking Shack, he remembered. Hermione was pulled into a standing position. She was still unconscious.

He wrapped a towel around her body and quickly removed her soiled clothes. Seeing her in the same clothes which were touched by the ugly hands of the bloodthirsty werewolf and the maniac witch was unbearable for him. When he saw her bruised body hopelessly swinging back and forth, tears which he had been stopping since he saw her lying at Bellatrix’s feet, started rolling down his cheeks. Her skin was almost purple because of the torture she had to endure. Rage bubbled up inside him, yet he couldn’t hold on to it when faced with the need to treat her injuries.

He took a deep breath and examined her body clinically to patch her up. He cleaned and treated her with dittany, using a washcloth, tapped Pettigrew's wand over her injuries and muttered incantations to heal her broken bones and extract shards of broken glass that got stuck inside her skin. He quickly covered her in a dressing gown he found in the room and gently placed her on the bed.

His head was still fuzzy, although he knew there was no imminent danger anymore.

“Say something. Please. Hermione,” he sniffed and kept on whispering again and again. He ran his fingers through her hair while desperately feeling for her pulse with his other hand.

Ron tried to shut his mind but the scenes of the night kept on replaying. It was the worst birthday of his life. He and Hermione had, like true knights, tried to protect Harry while concealing their identity. But they were way too infamous to have not been identified.

Ron cringed; he recalled how Greyback threatened to ..., how Hermione screamed in agony when she had been tortured, how Bellatrix wounded her neck and how she almost died under the weight of the chandelier. And Malfoy, the boy who had known them for seven years kept on watching silently. Every single time Hermione screamed, Ron experienced death snuffing away his heartbeat savagely, taunting him to take it back only to snatch it away more ruthlessly.

Bile had risen up his throat when he overheard Bellatrix’s devious plan of giving Hermione away to Fenrir, as a reward for capturing her prey, Harry. Ron had attacked Bellatrix to protect Hermione from more humiliation. He would have kept on defending Hermione till his last breath. But Dobby saved the day and he did not know how he could ever repay the little elf.

Hermione gasped in pain and Ron sniffed again. Ron felt a soft touch on his shoulder. He was not aware that Fleur and Luna were standing beside him until then. Fleur comforted him by rubbing his shoulders.

“I’ll look after her,” Luna offered. “Dobby is being put to rest. I thought you’d have wanted to know”. Luna’s words pierced through his heart like a sharp blade.

“Not Dobby!” Ron shook his head in denial. He didn't want to listen anymore. Placing Hermione’s hand gently on the bed, he jumped up from his seat. Dobby deserved a hero's farewell and he would ensure it.

“Ron!” Hermione croaked with labored breath making him stop in his tracks.

“I've got to go now,” he lowered his head to hers and whispered softly. She nodded. He kissed her forehead and left to say his goodbye to Dobby.

Fleur’s potions strengthened Hermione enough to stand beside Ron during Dobby’s funeral, albeit rather unsteadily. Ron carried Hermione back to the bedroom as she was still shaken. She did not protest but held snugly to his neck instead. He did not feel an ounce of awkwardness in the act. He felt like a man caring for his love. Hermione shifted to her side and extended her arms to him as he deposited her on the bed.

"You're brave and barmy; did anyone ever tell you that?" Ron whispered to her.

"Not as much as you, though. I might not have offered myself to Bellatrix," affection pooled in Hermione’s brown orbs. “Dobby was brave too. I wish he would’ve made it out alive.”

“Yeah, he shouldn’t have died!” Ron mumbled.

Ron quickly cleaned himself and settled his body next to hers. Sleeping by her side felt to him as the most natural thing in the world. Hermione nestled into his chest. Ron tried to drift off to sleep. However, with Dobby’s face flashing in his mind, he could hardly blink. He was cradling a living Hermione on the soft bed at Shell Cottage because Dobby saved them, risking his own life, defying his evil masters in the true spirit of a free elf, a hero. His heart was filled with gratitude and reverence for Dobby.

Did Dobby have a family or ever fall in love? Ron wondered. He had never thought deeply about the life of an elf. But his perspective had changed from that night. Henceforth, he would really care for them. That was the least he could do to honor Dobby’s sacrifice. Hermione hummed in her sleep as if reading his mind.

Ron realised that there was no more time to sleep as the first ray of the sun touched Hermione’s face. He kissed Hermione’s curly head and welcomed the new day.

#hpfic #romione ficfest 2021 #romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #Ace Safe #cw:#CW: Character Death #cw: aftermath of trauma #Queue up for the Dragon

48 notes · View notes