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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 14 | S.R.)

Summary: Separated and terrified, Spencer and Reader rely on their unique skills to survive. The team, minus Penelope and Derek, don’t know who the strange girl in the bank is, but they find out very interesting things about her history.

A/N: I don’t know how banks work. Idk how heists work. I know nothing. I hope you enjoy it anyway! Couple: Spencer/Fem!Reader   Category: ANGST. Just. All of it. All of the angst. Every bit.   Content Warning: Gun violence, discussions of death and dying Word Count: 10k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

“Hello, my name is (y/n)(y/l/n) and I’m calling from the Bank of America on K St. Northwest to report shots fired. The shots sounded like burst-fire from multiple semiautomatics.”

When adrenaline kicks in, there are a lot of things that don’t feel real. Time seems to warp into some ominous presence weighing down on you, but your body has never felt lighter.

“Ma’am, where are you?” Her voice sounded so far away. My own just felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else entirely.

“I’m inside the bathroom. Listen, I might not have a lot of time. There’s a federal agent inside the bank. His name is SSA Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. Call...”

My mouth blanked on the names of the two men Spencer talked about the most. I’d met them both, why couldn’t I remember?

Several more shots rang through the building as an answer. It was enough to shake loose the names, which flowed from me before I could even comprehend where they came from.

“Call SSA Aaron Hotchner and… Derek Morgan.”

“Can you remain on the line?” She sounded insistent — which is against their protocol by the way. My eyes were glued to the bathroom door’s hinges.

“Only until the door opens.”

The sentence conveyed my thoughts without actually forming the words. Once that door opens, I’m probably going to die. It wasn’t a completely irrational fear.

“Okay. I need you to remain calm. Did you see any of the gunmen?”

Jesus, it was like everything I’d just told her had gone completely over her head. “No, I’m in the bathroom.”

“Does the agent have his service weapon?”

“No.”

If she didn’t ask me a question I could say yes to soon, I was going to lose my fucking mind.

I tried not to think about Spencer outside, but I couldn’t help it. All of my thoughts were on him, even before the commotion.

Was he even still alive?

“Help is on the way, Ms. (Y/l/n).”

“Please hurry.”

My entire body shook from the hormones, my instincts telling me to do anything besides sit crouched on a toilet in a bathroom stall. I don’t even know why I bothered hiding. They would definitely kick them in, or just shoot straight through the doors.

“We’ve contacted Agent Hotchner and he’s also on his way.”

Finally, some good fucking news. I released my breath as quietly as I could, closing my eyes for just a moment to compensate for the fact I hadn’t blinked in several minutes.

“Thank you,” I whispered, clutching the phone like it could actually do something for me past this point. But it couldn’t. No amount of breathing exercises would help me through this one.

Suddenly, there was movement outside the door. A crowd of people were shuffling past the door, and I heard the distinct sound of a toddler wailing.

“I have to go.”

“Wait, don’t hang up—“

I couldn’t wait, though. With trembling hands, I erased the evidence that I’d ever called them in the first place. And then I resumed my position as a sitting duck; quietly and as ready as I ever could be.

I listened for his voice, but I never heard it.

—————————————————

Three seconds.

Did you know that a semiautomatic weapon can fire up to three rounds per second, depending on how fast the user can pull the trigger?

After the first shot is fired, no one moves. Puzzled and alert, people are paralyzed. Your first reaction is to look for the source of the sound. It’d been a second before I turned to see the three armed people and two dead security guards behind me.

It takes the average person one and a half seconds to cognitively process that they're in a potentially life-threatening situation. It takes another .7 seconds for a physical response to kick in.

Three seconds.That was long enough for a maximum of nine shots per person to be fired- twenty-seven shots in total; it was long enough for the air to be filled with the sudden outburst of helpless screams the patrons of the bank, and it was long enough for me to realize that I didn’t have my gun and that my girlfriend wasn’t by my side.

“Everybody get down on the ground!”

Amid the chaos, I felt that all too familiar twisting sensation in my gut that begged time to reverse just enough for this to be a dream. Enough time to reverse the decisions that led us here.

But time was a cruel mistress, and she did not plan to bend to the whims of mankind, no matter how desperate.

Another deafening burst of sound rang through the air, shots fired into the ceiling now as myself and the others fell to the ground.

My gaze was fixed on the bathroom entrance. I couldn’t breathe. Please, I begged, stay hidden.

“Listen up! If everyone does what we say, you can all go back to your boring fucking lives.”

Injuries occur in less than two percent of bank robberies. Deaths occur in less than one. Saturdays are the second to least likely day for a robbery to take place. In the past 5 years, less than 10 people have been killed in bank robberies, and most of them were the perpetrators. Statistics usually calmed me down and helped me focus.

But these people didn’t care about statistics. They were defying the odds I had just recited to myself. They had already killed two people. Our luck was already stacked against us.

“Take everything out of your pockets and put it in front of you.”

As soon as the order was given, I was running through an inventory of everything in my pockets. It didn’t take me long to realize that with a cursory inspection of the items, they would figure out who I was.

But what were the odds that they would actually scrutinize them? I figured they were fairly low; you don’t rob a bank to get cheap jewelry and petty cash, even in a bank. What were the odds they would notice if I left something in my pocket — especially if my wallet was in front of me. If it wasn’t large enough to be a weapon, and I put out my objects of value, why wouldn’t I put out the rest of the contents?

So I decided to take the risk, removing my wallet while retaining my separate identification.

Luckily, the attention seemed pretty far removed from me. If I wasn’t too busy being extremely grateful, I might have been offended that they didn’t consider me a threat in the building.

“Alright ladies, all of you get up and follow my lovely friend here. You’re going on a little trip. Fellas, you stay right where you are.”

The sound of my heart pounding drowned out the instructions that weren’t intended for me. It was fine, I hadn’t planned on moving, anyway. As long as I could see the door to the bathroom, I was perfectly fine right where I was.

But I still felt for the terrified women that were shakily rising to their feet. To my right, I saw a woman struggling to hold a small infant. My heart was fracturing at the struggle, wishing I could help her. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk doing anything that might draw attention to myself.

I felt like a traitor. I felt useless. I was quite literally trained to handle this exact situation, but now that I was here, I couldn’t move. I wasn’t thinking about strategy or how to maximize efficiency; all I was thinking about was her.

“Jake!” A woman’s voice screamed from the other side of the room. When I turned, I heard the sound of a rifle cracking against bone before the man hit the ground.

“Jake, huh?” The man above him laughed, using the business end of the rifle to turn the disoriented man on his side. “Well, Jake, how would you feel about your girlfriend watching you die?”

“Please don’t hurt him!” The woman sobbed, scrambling up off the floor that she’d resisted leaving. I wondered if (y/n) would have refused to leave me, too.

The man prodded the woman with the gun, urging her to follow the rest while simultaneously providing easy enough instructions. The man apparently named Jake made a few noises of desperate protest as he watched her leave.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“I’m sorry,” Jake pleaded, “I’m sorry, please don’t hurt her. I’ll be quiet.”

Smart man. I understood his hesitancy, though. His girlfriend kept her neck craned back until she was no longer in sight, gazing back at him for as long as she physically could. I closed my eyes just for a moment, to try and combat their current strain.

Unfortunately, just like it always seems to happen, that’s when they spoke the words I had been dreading.

“Hey, you check the bathrooms yet?”

“Nah, I got it.”

I closed my eyes tighter now, scared that if I opened them, I’d give myself away. There was no possible way that I could hide the terror I currently felt. To be fair, I think it was only natural to be scared — but not like this.

There was a loud crashing noise of doors slamming, and the voice I knew better than I knew my own reached my ears, making sounds I’d never heard from her before.

Don’t fight them. I pleaded again, Please, don’t fight them.

“Let go of me!” She screamed as the door to the bathroom swung open. Unable to keep my eyes shut any longer, I opened them to see her clawing at the ground as she was dragged out by her ankle. “I can walk by myself! Let go of me!”

I wasn’t sure if she didn’t see me in the commotion, or if she’d just made the decision to act like she hadn’t. Either way, I was grateful. Still, my worries were justified as one of the three unsubs walked over to me.

“Why are you looking at her like that? You know her?”

Craning my head up, I shook my head no. It must not have been very convincing; the rage in my heart at them for thrusting her into this situation evident in my eyes.

“You wanna play hero, kid?”

“Sorry. No.” I muttered, taking a deep breath in a failed attempt to regulate my heart rate or my voice, “She’s… very loud. I get headaches.”

“Yeah well, deal with it.”

That might have been the end of it, if I’d played my hand better. But it turned out that the risk I had previously elected to take was woefully miscalculated. I didn’t meet their eyes anymore, knowing that doing so might threaten whatever frail illusion of masculinity they possessed.

It still didn’t stop them from holding the gun to my head.

“Empty your pockets.”

“Okay. I can do that, but I have to put my hand in my pocket.” I explained, moving my shaking hand to my back pocket, “It’s not a weapon.”

For once, I was grateful that I was the resident wimp when it came to stressful situations. Sure, I could handle myself, but I definitely didn’t look like I wanted to be there. Had I been any more of a visible threat, I was certain they would have figured out my identity long before this point. They might even have killed me right away.

“Hurry up.”

Swallowing hard, I pulled the identification from my pocket, flipping it open and holding it up for him to see, my gaze aimed fully forward. He snatched the badge away, a cheeky chuckle and a smile in his words.

“FBI, huh? Well, aren’t we lucky. You just became our most valuable player.”

—————————————————

Morgan arrived on the scene relatively unhurried and mostly just curious. The information Garcia had sent over text message was vague, likely due to the crime being a local one. Nothing about this seemed to be the BAU’s usual fare.

It took him almost no time to find Hotch, dressed in casual clothing, surrounded by the massive response team swarming around the bank. But Hotch hadn’t spotted him yet, fully involved with SWAT.

“What’s going on?”

Finally turning to notice his arrival, Hotch gave his normal matter-of-fact report in his simple, succinct manner. “Three people stormed the bank approximately 20 minutes ago and killed two security guards. There are 19 confirmed hostages inside the bank.”

But there was one significant detail that seemed to be missing, and Morgan started to scan the crowd for familiar faces as he spoke. “Hotch, this doesn’t sound like anything we’ve been working on. Why are we responding?”

“The caller alerted us that Reid is inside.”

The words were so unexpected that Morgan actually did a double take, his eyebrows furrowed and bowed as he replayed them in his head. “Wait, how did the caller know that?”

“I don’t know,” Hotch said with an equally perplexed look, gripping tighter to the communicator in his hand, “but she referred to us and him by name.”

‘She?’ Morgan thought, his heart stopping for a second as he excused himself from Hotch’s side, pulling out his phone and frantically calling Garcia, who had already made her way to the BAU.

“Hey there handsome.” It was a mild nickname for the famed Penelope Garcia, but Derek knew that she was probably already in a tough spot. After all, it’s not every day that one of their own is in these situations. At least, not unexpectedly.

“Hey Garcia, do you have eyes on the people in the bank?”

He could hear the feverish click-clacking of keys on the other end, followed closely by her equally frantic voice. “I’m working on it but so far I can only see the main lobby. They separated the women and the men for some reason. Why would they do that?”

“Just focus,” he calmly reminded, “Can you see the women?”

“No. All the women and children were moved to the back.”

Rubbing his face to try and relieve the tension that had quickly made its home over his jaw, Morgan glanced over at the entrance to the bank. It was strange to think that so much had happened so quickly.

Garcia had mentioned twice now that the women had been moved to the back, and he was trying to figure out why they would do that beyond the usual control mechanisms.

“I’m trying to see in the back now, but apparently banks take their video surveillance far more seriously than everything else. Last I checked, a camera never stole money or fired a gun!”

“Focus, babygirl.” It was an instruction for himself just as much as it was for her.

“Sorry, I’m nervous, and you know how I get when I’m nervous!” She squeaked, “I don’t like seeing you guys on my screens. I’d much rather see you in person, safe and sound and preferably smiling.”

Trying not to lose his patience, Morgan just sighed. It wasn’t her fault. It was no one’s fault, except that of the bastards who just had to go and ruin a perfectly nice weekend.

“Can you at least tell me who the caller was? Did they call from inside?”

“They were inside and, one second, let me check, it was... oh.” Her voice cut off abruptly, dropping into a high pitched, desperate whisper. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“It’s... the girl from the movies,” Garcia’s voice got faster and more panicked, “Derek, it’s (y/n). It’s Reid’s girlfriend. Reid’s girlfriend is inside the bank.”

Now that his suspicions had been confirmed, he wasn’t really sure what to do with the information. Because now that he knew Reid wasn’t alone, he felt the need to tell Hotch.

A profiler with a loved one involved was in dangerous territory. It wasn’t just Reid, but Morgan had personally seen just how unhinged Reid could get when it came to (y/n).

“Can you see her?” He asked, his voice lower than it was before.

“Oh, god, yes! I can!” It was not the kind of excited exclamation Morgan had hoped to hear, but at least he had confirmation she was alive. “She was in the bathroom but… They’re dragging her away…”

Morgan had tried not to pry too far in his best friend’s life before, and he took a moment to consider whether his next request was honestly necessary, or if he was just trying to find a reason to snoop.

But he wasn’t. There was something off about that girl. It wasn’t that she was bad or wrong, but she was far too comfortable in situations that didn’t call for it. The way she carried herself told him that she had held her own hand too often.

“Garcia, I know I’ve already done this to you once but... I need you to tell me everything you can find on her.”

—————————————————

My entire body ached; the sensation of an unfamiliar hand clenched tightly around my ankle burned long after I was released. It was definitely sprained, at the very least. I didn’t dare try to touch it, though. It wouldn’t be worth the trouble, and the bristling discomfort kept me where I was.

Which, for now was on my knees in the backroom of a bank lobby. Beside us was a large, heavily reinforced steel door with way too many different contraptions. I decided then that this whole arms race between burglars and corporate America had gotten a little fucking ridiculous.

But however annoyed I was by that, I was far more irritated by the hushed bickering between the man and woman holding rifles on the other side of the room. I could only hear every couple of words, but I got the gist of what they were arguing about.

Apparently, they’d never heard of an alarm system that’s connected to locks, which seemed extremely stupid for people who had gotten this far. In hindsight, that should have been my first clue that something was off about this entire situation.

Still, I couldn’t deal with them making the same fucking arguments over and over, so eventually I blurted out what I’m certain any millennial in the room would know. “The keycard won’t work if they’ve sounded the alarm.”

The statement earned me a gun to my face, and after a brief second of confusion, I flinched away from the cold metal of the barrel.

“What was that, sweetheart?” She was clearly looking to gauge my reaction rather than actually ask me to repeat the information. That was fine. I wasn’t exactly a talented actress, and I didn’t see the point in pretending to be meek.

If she was going to kill me, she was going to do it. Although I was certain Spencer would disagree, I chose to believe that our fate is dictated long before it happens. I was not a profiler; if I survived, it would be because I had been taught to survive through brute force and spite rather than calm negotiation.

“The keycard system is linked to the alarms,” I said, slower now, “Someone hit the alarm, so the cards aren’t going to work. You’ll need to use the old school keys.”

Her eyes narrowed, her voice dropping to a much lower register as she crouched down to my height. “How would you know? You work here?”

“No, my dad worked security.” It wasn’t a lie as much as it was an understatement, but she didn’t need to know that. I guess that’s one of those good things growing up with the dad I did; I got very comfortable speaking in vague generalities. Spencer hated it.

“Well, your daddy isn’t here to help you now.”

Wasn’t that the damn truth. But that didn’t mean I was alone, I reminded myself. Despite being dragged and my vision turned literally upside down, I had caught a glimpse of him in the lobby. He was alive. That thought alone was keeping me sane right now.

“The different keys you need for an override are probably kept on separate people so one person can’t do it alone. Probably the different managers.” I muttered, nodding to the side where one of the employees flinched at my words. Anything to get away from the fucking gun in my face.

“Is she right?” The woman sneered to the manager, turning her full attention to someone else. I felt a little guilty, since the poor manager seemed a lot less put together than I was. But hey, they needed her, too.

“Yes, I already gave you my keys,” she squeaked, holding her trembling hands up, “Th-There’s another set behind the desk I think.”

“Would you look at that...” It was the first time the man in the room addressed me since he had pulled me out of the stall, and I had to admit I wasn’t exactly a fan of his. But at the same time, I knew that he was going to be remarkably more receptive to me than the woman. She seemed to be the one who was actually in charge.

“Little miss problem was actually helpful,” he cheered, raising his weapon to point to the ceiling as he approached me. I chewed nervously on my cheeks, trying to meet his eyes but finding them uncomfortably bare.

“You should turn off the camera too, I’m just saying.” This time I didn’t nod, using one cautious finger to point to the small device that was currently staring right at me. I understood that it was probably helpful to Spencer’s team to be able to see, but I wasn’t really keen on my death being videotaped... as well as anything else I might end up doing.

‘Never leave a trace.’ That’s what I’d always heard.

‘Keep’em guessing. Even if you think it’s gonna kill you, because you don’t want to live with that over your head.’

“Fine. Do that and go get the keys.” He sounded intrigued, and I felt his searing gaze against my face.

“I think you should do it.”

The tension from before, when the two were arguing, had quickly resurfaced. She clearly didn’t trust him to be alone in the room, which solidified my belief that she was calling the shots, and he was just being dragged along for the ride.

In another life, I might have respected her ability to order stupid men around.

“Why the fuck is that?” He snapped, earning a bored roll of her eyes. The next thing out of her mouth was expected, but unfortunately the last thing I wanted to hear.

“I want to talk to her alone.”

Great. And naturally, her idea of ‘talking’ to me included weaponry. Using the end of the gun to tilt my head up to her, she gave a suspicious smile.

“Why are you helping us?”

“I want to go home.” It was my immediate and instinctual answer. It was the truth. I was helping them because I wanted to get the fuck out of here.

But you know, people expect everyone to have a squeaky-clean moral compass, so I decided to give a few more reasons.

“And I don’t give a shit about a massive corporate bank. I was just here to go to the bathroom– I don’t even have an account here.”

Maybe that was too many reasons, because just as her hesitance waned, it was back in full force. Shoving the barrel against my throat, she sneered, “I don’t believe you. You’re too comfortable with a gun in your face. You a cop, too?”

Cop?

I tilted my head to the side, baring more of my throat to her as I drawled, “Who’s a cop?”

For once, I was glad that Spencer had made such a point of reassuring me that he was not ‘a cop,’ because otherwise I’m certain the terror would have been obvious in my eyes. But for now, I could trust the numb apathy that was washing over me.

Please don’t be talking about Spencer. Please don’t know that. Good things never happened to law enforcement in situations like this. Hell, the two security guards had been dead in seconds.

“I think you know.” She was smiling, and I realized that this fucking psychopath was sharper than she wanted me to think.

“I don’t.” The words were said through clenched teeth, and I prayed that she would see them as insistent anger over the fear that lie beneath them, “And why would you kill me if I was helping you?”

She smiled, drawing the weapon up and down my throat until it landed lower at my chest. The movements were slow and light, a playful glint in her eyes when they met mine again.

“For fun.”

I didn’t move a muscle, my body remaining tense under her ministrations as I forced myself to hold my gaze steady. If she wanted fear, she wouldn’t get it from me.

“Then do it.”

The look she gave me told me she had seriously considered it, probably a little annoyed with my presence. But there was something else there, too, that same soft recognition that in another reality we might have been friends. I’m sure she saw herself in me a little bit; or at least somebody useful.

This confirmed my suspicion that I’d never really be able to read a psychopath. I didn’t understand how Spencer could do it every day. It’d only been a few minutes alone with her and I could feel myself losing the happy memories of the day.

Luckily, the man returned at the same time I saw a plan developing in her mind.

“Hey, come help me,” he called to her. Her response was surprisingly swift, the metal that was tracing over my collar bones disappearing without another word. He was holding a small bag of money, which seemed to seriously irritate the woman.

“Did you get that money from behind the counter?” I asked it before she had a chance. I wanted him to trust me. Or at least look at me more. It wasn’t that I wanted his attention as much as I knew I could distract him fairly easily.

He looked over at me, a dumbfounded look on his face. Men are so fucking stupid, I thought. The pissed off expression on his partner’s face told me that she agreed.

“It’s going to explode if you mess with it or it leaves the area. Probably with tear gas. If you’re escaping in a car, you’re not gonna want it.”

“Yeah, we know about dye packs, bitch.” She snapped, grabbing the bag of money and tossing it to the side of the door they intended to use.

I stared at the locks they hadn’t even bothered trying to touch. The same locks they apparently didn’t look up or know anything about when they came. Suddenly it hit me why this all felt so very off.

It was strange enough that no one was wearing a mask, and as far as I’d heard, no one was really trying to get out of this situation. I was certain that by this point there was a large crowd of armored men outside.

“Just trying to help,” I muttered as I started to scan the room, looking for telltale signs of tampering. The anxious whispering of the man distracted me just long enough to get more information.

“Won’t that set off some shit? Chain reaction shit?”

“Shut the fuck up,” the woman responded with a swift elbow to his gut as she started to walk away, “you are an absolute moron.”

As soon as she was out of earshot, I heard the faint curses that fell from his lips. As he picked up the bag just to toss it away again, I noticed the presence of odd packages in the corner of the room. He really did not want exploding dye packs near those boxes, which seemed remarkably out of place.

“Why does she think she’s in charge?” I asked, finally ripping my eyes away from the objects that now seemed glaringly obvious. “You two guys outnumber her.”

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you.”

Relaxing my body as much as I could, I shifted back and forth on my knees, rubbing the tired muscles of my thighs. “I may have been told that once or twice.”

He actually chuckled; his eyes drawn to my legs like the absolute moron he so obviously was. She definitely had gotten that one right. The other women in the room were watching me, but I tried not to pay them any mind.

I didn’t know when or why they decided to let me do whatever I wanted, but I appreciated their apparent comfort in letting me try to kill myself. He made his way over to the boxes, each a specific size and shape. He carried them so carefully.

“I figure there’s no point in being scared if I’m going to die anyway.” I finally said. Shocked gasps and whispers filled the room, but I didn’t divert my attention to them– No matter how much I wanted to tell them to shut the fuck up.

They would distract me from the way his mouth curled into a smile when he closed the gap between us, his hand sliding down my head and over my shoulder to follow the braid Spencer had meticulously woven an hour before.

“How about you just shut up and sit pretty for me, sweetheart.” I tried not to let the disgust show as his hand slid behind my neck, holding my head so that I had to look up at him. “You seem like you’d be real good at that.”

Ha! If only Spencer could hear him say that. But I could play the good girl for just long enough.

“Do you need help?” I asked with a tiny shrug, “I might be little but I’m pretty strong.” Strong enough to break your fucking hand if you don’t get it off of me.

“Nah.” He ordered, his hand on my neck getting tighter. “But I don’t doubt that you could be useful. You look real good on your knees.”

My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might be visible through my ribs. I just needed an excuse to move. If he could give me an excuse to move, I could do so many things.

“Please let me help,” I begged, raising my hand to his forearm against my shoulder. His eyes began to shift, moving just enough to tell me that he wanted to look to the hallway. He could hear her footsteps, too. She was coming back, and I only had a few seconds left.

Once both of my hands were on his arm, I got the feeling he knew something even worse was coming for him.

“I’d love a chance to get to show you how helpful I really am.”

—————————————————

Hotch had spent the past five minutes on the phone with the male unsub in the lobby, and the conversation was going absolutely nowhere. For whatever reason, they just seemed to deflect any opportunity provided to them.

They didn’t seem to give a shit about anything beyond pushing the buttons of each person they interacted with. Which, they did quite successfully.

“Didn’t realize one pig would bring the whole flock of you here,” he laughed, clearly motioning to Spencer on the video, “How bad do you want him back?”

“What do you want?” He responded without hesitation or a surprise. It was such an expected question to ask that he’d barely even thought about his words before they came out.

“Easy. A chopper, and for you to fuck off.”

That was the equally stereotypical response, meaning it was entirely unhelpful to them. From what they could deduce, they were equally confused as to why this heist seemed to follow all the rules, but match none of the motivations. It was like it was a show, a game, rather than an actual attempt to maximize profits.

“We can do the helicopter, but we can’t give you a pilot.”

“That’s fine,” he responded with a shrug, “Don’t need one.”

It was the first piece of useful information he’d gotten so far on the call. Because if they didn’t need a pilot, it meant one of two things: either one of them possessed the skill themselves, or they weren’t ever intending to use the helicopter.

Briefly pulling the phone away, Hotch turned to Morgan. “Tell Garcia to check our list with people with pilot’s licenses or any other connection that might provide them the skills to fly a helicopter.”

He returned to the call, continuing the usual script for these situations, trying not to act like he’d learned anything new.

“Can you release the women and children?”

“Nah,” the guy said with a chuckle, “I’ll wait.”

Hotch listened to the sound of the receiver for a moment, staring at the entrance to the bank like it would provide him the answers he still needed. He had his suspicions of what might be happening, but with no eyes in the back anymore and the trigger-happy group that had formed around him, he wouldn’t have the resources to convince them not to go in guns blazing.

“We’re ready to move in.” Which is exactly what they had requested.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He stated before finally moving to look at the man next to him, “Something isn’t right here.”

“Yeah, a lot isn’t right here. There’s 19 innocent people in there.”

It didn’t really matter how many times he went through this situation; the results always seemed to be the same. No one listened, even when it wasn’t one of their men inside.

“Storming the building isn’t going to help them. There are three armed perpetrators inside, and they’re each in a different area. It would be impossible for us to take out all three at once. Especially now that we can’t see in the back. There could be explosives in there for all we know.”

The man was unpersuaded.

“If we can’t save them all, minimizing casualties is the name of the game.”

“Wait a few more minutes. I’m waiting to hear back from our analyst. If they have the capability of flying a plane, its highly likely they also have the knowledge and skills to create weapons that we aren’t currently prepared to handle.”

Although still unconvinced, the man grudgingly gave in to the request. Hotch closed his eyes, trying to be grateful for the extremely small victory; they’d gained a few more minutes. But the relief was short lived, with Morgan putting his phone aside for a second to mutter the same thing Hotch was thinking.

“Hotch, these people are way too confident. It’s like they know there’s a way out.”

As soon as he said the words, the two just looked at each other.

“Garcia, can you also check for any other way out of the bank?” He asked, walking back over to the table laid out under the nearby tent. This would have been a great time for Reid to be here, he thought as he stared at the ridiculously complicated schematics.

He understood they didn’t want people to be able to figure them out (so they couldn’t rob the bank), but this was just ridiculous. It looked ancient.

“Sure thing, but… Morgan, I think there’s something else you should see.” The nerves dancing in her voice told him that they were about to switch subjects. “You know how the guy disabled the camera feed in the back room. I was reviewing the footage we do have and it looks like… (y/n) told him to.”

“Why would she do that?” He asked, furrowing his brow as he glanced over to the ornate bank doors. Part of him wanted to joke that things would’ve been a lot simpler if he didn’t have to worry about Reid’s weird girlfriend, but it didn’t feel as funny when they were both in danger.

Maybe later, he thought hopefully, when they were all together again.

“I… don’t know why. But I did what you asked, and I went through her record and found a ton of sealed files on her and also her dad…”

Morgan’s attention was definitely piqued at that point, but he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. In the stunned silence, Penelope spoke again.

“Should… Should I unseal them?”

It was the same question he was debating in his head, and he honestly didn’t know. Although a long shot, he hoped that she could provide at least the bare minimum of context before they made that kind of decision.

“What kind of files are we talking about?”

“I can’t be sure until I unseal them b-but, I mean, they’re sealed for a reason and I’m talking scary sealed. Like, it might take me a minute sealed. Giving me the heebie-jeebies sealed.” She grew more frantic as she continued. Morgan knew they were running out of time.

“I get it.”

“Is Reid okay?” She switched gears, recognizing that Morgan’s hesitance meant it was probably a bad idea. She wasn’t going to push it unless he did. They didn’t even know if she could help even if they unsealed the files. Especially without a visual.

“They know he’s with us,” Morgan sadly admitted, “I don’t know what’s going on. Did you find another way out of the bank?”

“Right.” The conversation was going to give everyone involved whiplash at this point. “Yes! There is an access way through tunnels underneath the bank but it would take a massive distraction for all three of them to be able to get out of there without us meeting them on the other side. I’m talking earth shatterin–.”

She didn’t finish the sentence, her tongue halting the second her mind caught up with her voice. Morgan was equally concerned, recognizing the kind of distraction that this might require and the perfect way to escape with maximum damage.

But that wasn’t what got his attention. There was no fiery explosion or shouted epiphany, because at that same time there were the muffled sounds of gunshots coming from inside.

“Oh my god, what was that?!” Garcia yelled, accompanied by frantic clicking as she filtered through each individual camera to try and locate the source of the noise.

“Garcia, do you have eyes on the main room?”

“Yes! But it wasn’t in the main room, Derek, it was in the back!”

It was a difficult and necessary job, to consider what those sounds might mean for the young girl they’d met only a few weeks earlier. Morgan’s thoughts went even further, not only worried about her safety, but his best friend’s sanity. Lord knows Reid didn’t need another thing weighing on his conscience. Especially not about her; it just might destroy him.

“What does the unsub in the main area look like? Does he look confused? Surprised?” The words were coming, but he didn’t know where from. His body was on autopilot, desperately seeking any validation that they could still save everyone.

“I-I don’t know! He looks grainy! The image is like an inch wide!” She was clearly growing frustrated, which was a feeling they all shared at this point. “This camera is from before I was even born!”

“Try, Penelope,” Morgan pleaded, “Give me something.”

But the other men weren’t willing to wait.

“That’s it. We’re moving in.”

Morgan turned to them, his hand clutching tighter to the phone just in time for her to speak.

“He’s calling for them but they’re not coming out. He looks… Oh no. He’s yelling at Reid now. And... And it looks like someone is coming down the hallway? But he’s not looking–”

It was impossible to focus on everything that was happening, heavy boots and massive commotion as people began to take their positions. But if someone was coming down the hallway, and the unsub didn’t know, that could only mean a few things. Either he was about to be proven disposable, or someone else had fired those shots.

Either way, one thing was clear.

“Wait! We can’t go in there yet!”

—————————————————

There was a point in time where I might have questioned whether I would ever get used to a gun in my face. There was also a point where I actually had gotten used to it. But nothing could have prepared me for this moment, this terrifying realization while staring down the barrel of an assault rifle that I didn’t want to die yet.

I used to think that my life was somewhat disposable. Sure, I was helpful and useful for my job, but ultimately, I considered myself replaceable. The next person to come might not have the same credentials, but they probably wouldn’t also have half the flaws I do.

But now I wasn’t thinking of work. I wasn’t thinking about how replaceable I was, because it wasn’t my life that mattered.

I didn’t want to die yet, because I wanted to see her again.

So I just stared at the weapon, trying to remember that it was still a great possibility that I could. I tried not to think about what was in front of me, choosing to use most of my brainpower to picture what it would feel like when I had her in my arms again.

The vision inside my head ended swiftly, with the sound of rapidly fired weaponry coming from down the hall. Through the commotion of screaming, I surmised that at least two guns had been fired.

Silence followed. It was a stifling, exhausting, painful silence.

What broke it was even worse, with the gun in my face smacking into the side of my head as the man holding it lost his grip at the sound.

“What the fuck was that?!”

He looked at me like he expected me to have the answers, but I didn’t.

“I don’t know. I-I don’t—“ Not only did I not understand why two guns would fire, I didn’t know who had shot them or for what reason. There was one thing I did know. “It sounded like your weapons.”

“Hey, what’s going on back there?!” He shouted, twisting his body just enough to see around the corner.

There was no reply.

“Did your people get in here somehow?” The panic was obvious, and I didn’t know how to calm him down without arousing suspicion. He was continuing to devolve, stepping closer to me as he stuck with his original thought, “How the fuck could they have done that, huh?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is there anything you do know?”

It was a question I’d been asking myself. The longer the silence continued in the back, the more rapidly my anxiety rose. There are only a few reasons why we wouldn’t hear more screaming.

Either someone had managed to get remarkable control over the situation, or all of the hostages were dead. Including (y/n). I forced myself to consider the far less likely, but still possible third option: She was dying, and I could still help her.

“I know that there is still a way for you to get out of this.” I barely recognized my own voice as I rambled, “Is it possible your partners… Is it possible they were planning on leaving together?”

“What?” He sounded disgusted and exhausted, but simultaneously insecure. It didn’t take much effort to realize that he was the weakest of the crew. I’d already had my suspicions that whatever the next step in this journey was, he wasn’t going to be making it with them regardless.

“It was their decision to leave you out here, right? In the place with the most windows and the first access to the door? They put you with all the people most likely to fight back. And now it sounds like…”

I paused, my lips unable to make the next words without a deep breath. “It sounds like they killed the people in the back as a diversion to send in SWAT. Does that sound like something they would do?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

That was enough confirmation for me. It was definitely something they would do, and he knew it. He probably suspected it himself. Thankfully, it gave me enough courage to push back for the first time in this encounter. “Then go back there and see if they’re still there.”

“And just let you be hero and save all these guys? No chance.”

I wanted to laugh; if only he knew the real reason I wanted him to go back there. As terrible as it was, I didn’t care at all about the rest of these men right now. As far as I knew, they were relatively safe. In fact, they were in a better position if what I’d deduced was true. This man, while violent, wasn’t the kind to murder everyone in sight, even when cornered. He’d more likely be shot by SWAT.

“I’ll come with you.” It was a plea, a desperate attempt to get more information that I both wanted and feared. He watched me carefully, trying to read the terror on my face to determine where exactly it was coming from. He knew the hostages were useless to him if he had me, so I wasn’t particularly scared for my life.

At least, not just yet.

“Fine. Get up.”

I willed my legs to stop shaking; to just carry me far enough that I could see her face. I just needed to know that she was okay.

But then I felt a fine mist over my skin— it almost felt like the noise happened after, but I knew logically that couldn’t be true.

A gun fires before the bullets hit their target.

Time seemed to move slower as his body fell to the ground in front of me. My eyes followed him to the floor, but only until I saw the person holding the gun through my peripherals.

“...(y/n)?”

And there she was, clutching tightly onto a rifle, her body barely upright as she staggered forward. There was something remarkably off-putting about the sight of her holding on for dear life to something so morbid. A jarring contrast I would not soon be able to forget, if I ever could.

There was something even more unsettling about the ease with which she carried the weapon, and the fact that she had managed to fire something that powerful without a single stray bullet.

“They’re dead!” She boomed across the room, dropping the weapon onto the floor before she yelled again, “Everyone get out! Hurry!”

No one moved. All of the men, myself included, stared at the tiny girl who’d just saved all of our lives.

“Get out now! There’s a bomb in the back!”

Those were the magic words to stir a panicked crowd into action, people stampeding to the single double door at the entrance, but my eyes were fixed on her. She staggered forward, her arm around her waist and her eyes beginning to roll back.

Perhaps I was just clueless, my one-track mind too slow to navigate the scene in front of me, but it took me that long to see it. My brain rioted against the visuals it took in, the dark crimson dripping down her body. It looked like it would swallow her whole.

I tried to will my body to move, to run to her and do something, anything to help her. But I couldn’t, frozen in place as her small steps got weaker. It wasn’t until I saw her begin to sway that I lunged forward just in time to catch her before she hit the ground.

“Wait!” I screamed to anyone who would listen, my eyes frantically trying to meet someone in the crowd, “Someone get a medic!”

The woman with a child was the last one to pass. She stopped among the commotion, looking down at the carnage in my lap before bolting towards the door.

I had to trust that she would care enough to do something, because from that point on my attention wouldn’t be leaving (y/n). Her eyes were glassy, staring off into the distance and wandering aimlessly despite my face being in view.

“Hey, hey little girl.” My voice crackled as I held her cheek, “Hey, look at me.”

She was finally able to meet my gaze, her eyes filling with love with a small, delirious smile gracing her lips.

“Hey old man.”

The grin didn’t last long, the sounds of her choking and coughing replacing it as blood filled her mouth. I tried to turn her enough that she could spit it out, but it was obvious she was struggling to get any air at all.

“We’re gonna get you some help, okay?” I said with a false confidence, the twisted curve of my lips not even barely resembling a smile.

“It hurts,” she sobbed, her hands slipping in the blood on her stomach.

“I know.”

There wasn’t anything I could do; all I could do was sit there and stare, trying to decide where my hands should be. She was applying pressure to her wound on the front, but I could see the wreckage that was once her back. My hands wouldn’t be enough.

“I’m sleepy.”

“I know.” I was trembling, tears dripping from my face and mixing with the bloody mess; they still couldn’t dilute it, somehow make it vanish. “I know you’re tired. But you’ve gotta stay awake, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll try.”

At first, I wanted to say the innocence in her voice was surprising, but it wasn’t. She was innocent. She was just a young girl, trying to live a happy, normal life before she met me.

“You’re doing great.” I tried to convince myself this wasn’t my fault, but it didn’t work. She had said it herself — she wouldn’t have ever come to a bank on her own. The statistics of the rarity of this situation kept playing on a loop in the back of my head, but it was just a low hum beneath the sound of her pained whimpers.

“Spencer, I need to tell you something.” The newfound insistence in her voice twisted in my gut, and my hands held tighter to her arm.

“No, don’t,” I begged, already anticipating what was going to happen. “Please, don’t do this.”

“I have to tell you right now.” And then her voice was calm, a smile on her face as her blood-soaked hand left her stomach, trying to raise to touch me. It didn’t make it.

“No, you can tell me later.”

The words were so slurred and pathetic, I’m surprised she understood them. But she did, taking a deep, whistling breath. It was clear it hurt her to speak, and I wanted to tell her to be quiet, but the masochist in me needed to hear the words all the same.

“Spencer, please. Just listen to me.”

This sounded too much like a goodbye.

“I love you.”

Our bodies rocked as I realized I hadn’t taken a breath of my own in too long, the pain in my oxygen deprived lungs not nearly enough to distract me from the genuine softness of her voice.

“I love you so much,” she whispered, “Do you know that?”

I don’t know how she wasn’t crying, her eyes barely open but too tired to blink. That rosy complexion had faded, her skin blanching the longer she lay in my arms.

“Yes, I know.”

“I love you with my whole heart.”

My mind was flashing images from only a couple hours prior, her warm laugh as she laid on my lap, the way her hair slipped between my fingers while I wove it together.

‘You think you’ll still be around?’

‘If you’ll have me.’

The memories were blurring together, creating a symphony of promises that were about to be shattered in front of my eyes.

‘Forever,’ she’d said. ‘Forever.’

‘A white picket fence. Two little bratty genius babies. Just a normal, domestic life with Dr. and Mrs. Reid.’

Rejecting the thought, I shook my head, “You’re going to be fine.”

“I understand what you meant when…” Her voice was too quiet, too distant, to be this warm. “When you said it was nice to be able to say it.”

The heavy footfalls and sound of a transport bed wheeling across the floor alerted me that I would have to let her go soon. Whether this would be the last time I ever held her, I couldn’t be sure.

“They’re gonna come take you now, but I’ll be right behind them. I promise.” I barely got the words out before their hands were all over her, those tired eyes shooting wide open as unfamiliar hands replaced mine.

“Wait, Spencer!” She cried out, her body too limp to make a meaningful attempt to stop them, “Don’t leave me!”

Her screams and sobs were ringing louder than the gunshots had, my body slowly making its way upright as I watched them place her on the bed.

“I’m not leaving you, I promise.” I tried not to let the panic bleed through, raising the volume as she started to be taken away from me, “Stay awake as long as you can.”

I couldn’t see her, but I could hear her attempts to scream. If she was calling my name, it wasn’t recognizable. I’m not sure which hurt worse— the sound of her tired lips butchering my name, or the silence that followed.

She wasn’t able to scream anymore.

When I emerged from the bank, the sun burned my eyes just as much as the sight of my team shocked to see me covered in blood. But I couldn’t focus on them at all, immediately bolting after the paramedics without another thought.

The extra time it took them to carefully load her allowed me to jump into the back of the vehicle before the doors shut. There were no words to describe this situation, nor make it any better.

So I just stared in horrified fascination, trying to gauge her odds as they rapidly changed in front of me. Of 107,141 firearm injuries last year, 31% died. How many of the 69% had assault rifle wounds? I couldn’t remember any other statistics. My brain had turned itself off, focusing only on the frantic beeping and scrambled voices.

“Where is he?” Her tiny voice cut through both the internal and external noise.

“I’m right here.” I nearly shouted from my precarious position standing in the back of the rattling ambulance. I wanted to move closer, but I was too scared. There were so many hands on her, and I didn’t want to get in the way.

“I’m scared.” She said, mirroring my exact thoughts.

“I’m right here.” I repeated, closing my eyes to hide from the carnage long enough to put words together that might make her feel any ounce of comfort, “You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.”

Taking an experimental step forward once the paramedics seemed settled in their places, I came to stand behind her. My hands were tinted red and trembled as they reached out to touch her cheeks.

She took a sharp inhale at the sensation, just barely holding her head up straight. I couldn’t tell if she was leaning into my touch or just couldn’t control her neck any longer. Her skin felt like ice, and although she was still beautiful, the blue tint creeping over her face struck fear in my heart.

“How much longer until we get to the hospital? Her body temperature is dropping.”

If she heard me, she didn’t respond. I stared at the paramedic who was obviously more concerned with other things at the moment. They were kind enough to give me a response, even if it wasn’t a satisfying one.

“Just a few more minutes. We can’t do anything until we stop the bleeding, sir.”

“Spencer…” Each time she spoke was simultaneously terrifying and comforting. It was confirmation she was alive, but also troublesome, because I knew that she should be reserving her efforts for staying alive.

“Hang in there, little girl. We’re almost there.”

She opened her eyes, staring up at me with clouded vision. I could see the pain so clearly it might as well have been me on the table.

“Please help me,” she sobbed, “help me.”

“I-I can’t.” They were the two hardest words I’d ever had to say. Frustration mounted in me, but none of it was directed at her. She didn’t do anything wrong. Myself, on the other hand, I hated myself in that moment.

She was begging for me to help her, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything but stand here and watch as she bled out in the back of an ambulance, a stranger’s hands practically inside of her stomach.

“I don’t want to die.”

The way her voice cracked took whatever was left of my sanity with it, and I felt my fingertips slip in the blood as I pressed against her face.

“You won’t,” I tried to assure her, “You’re going to be fine. Just stay awake.”

“I can’t.” The usual spunk in her voice had faded, leaving behind the sound of a twenty year old girl with no fight left in her. “I’m so sorry, Spencer…”

‘Sorry?’ I thought below the horror, ‘for what?’

When her eyes shut, they couldn’t even make it all the way. It was an expression I’d seen before on the field. I wasn’t meant to see it on her.

“No. No, no, wake up.” I urged, patting her cheeks softly before closing my hands around them more tightly, “Wake up, little girl, please.”

I was talking to no one, because I don’t think she could hear me anymore. Absolutely nothing in her body changed, even as the paramedics became more rushed.

“I’ve located the bleed!” The woman beside me yelled as the ambulance began to rapidly slow down. “I’m sorry sir, but we need you to move.”

“Whatever you need. Please, just help her.” I’d said the words, but my actions didn’t follow. She stared down at my hands that were still tethered to (y/n)’s face, trying to provide the warmth that she desperately needed.

Somehow, I was able to wrench them away, only then realizing the bloody handprints I’d left behind. Her face still wasn’t moving.

“Please, I—“

Before I could say another word, they were already out of the ambulance. I followed as closely as I could behind them, trying to focus enough to ensure that every word said could be played again in my mind. Because the second she crossed the threshold into the surgery suite, I wouldn’t be able to hear them anymore.

I would have to wait. I would have to wait for her to be better, or wait for a declaration. And in that vast silence, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop from torturing myself with every single word uttered in this building before the doors closed.

The doors were ahead of us now, and I wished time could slow down enough that I could give her one more kiss and tell her to be strong one more time before she went into the Schrodinger’s Box that was the emergency room operating table.

I wanted to tell her that I loved her, and when the thought crossed my mind, I realized that I’d never said it back. She’d said it three times, but in my adamant denial I’d failed to return it.

It was so much like us, I’d almost laughed. She’d made such a point of worrying about me leaving her, neither of us had ever stopped to think about how I’d live without her.

How would I live without her? The only person I trusted to have an answer was wheeled into the room, the door shutting abruptly in front of me.

In the reflection of the metal door I saw myself, drenched in the dark liquid. I tried to clean my face with my hand only to realize that they, too, were dirty with her blood.

The world had fallen silent, and I let myself be crushed by the overwhelming loneliness of an existence without her.

‘Don’t miss me too much, Dr. Reid.’

It was too late.

—————————————————

| Part 15 |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid series #reid series #dr spencer reid #h2m #spence reid #spencer reid request #reid request

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All At Once, This Is Enough - Ethan W..inters x Me

A/N: ~In light of the announcement I just made~! Surprise! I've been working on this. For several days. My apologies if I've seemed quiet, all my energy was going towards this! This is kind of long, but it's... actually kind of important to me, so I forgave myself on that front, haha. This follows the timeline of my RE AU, which I intend to continue writing out more in depth, in which the events of the 7th game occur and then I ignore the events of 8 even though I love it as a game because I just can't stop thinking about an average life with this man 😭 I do still intend to set this up for a bit of angst, because that just feels like how this needs to go, but it will be resolved shortly! Anyways, my over-explaining aside, I hope you enjoy the beginning of our story. More to come soon ❤️

Warnings: Vague references to alcohol. Allusions to a notable age gap. Mention of divorce. Me being intensely socially awkward.

Word Count: 1738

Tag List: (Thanks so much to everyone who wanted to be added, and as per usual, if anyone wants to be added or removed, no problem, just let me know <3) @sacredempressnatlyia @crowandking @solomates @ship-trek @nekociapek @blueberryships @ariesselfships @lysandthunder @queenvonhresvelg

~~~

As I stepped out of my car and made my way into this building, I took a moment to acknowledge to myself that I was not looking forward to the evening in front of me. Simply to brace myself, if nothing else. Sure, I didn't have anything against fancy events - I'd always actually been rather fond of getting dressed up - but the idea of being trapped in a room full of mostly strangers filled me with a level of unease only an introvert of my level could feel. I shuddered in horror at the thought of the polite small talk that awaited me.

Alas, some events were simply too large to miss, especially when they required the booking of a large venue, and so I found myself taking small, hesitant steps through the large, decorated archway that led to this event hall. I was almost certainly early, as I always was, and it was already too crowded for my liking, filled to the brim with people mingling, and a pianist on stage getting ready to play for a formal dance floor that would soon be filled as well. At least the open bar looked inviting, so I made my way in that direction, hoping it would provide me some small amount of protection from anybody who would be determined to say hello.

I reaffirmed to myself that all I needed to be here for was a quick appearance. Some brief greetings to those who extended my invitation to me, once I could find them, and then I could bolt faster than a startled rabbit. It brought me a modicum of strength, to know I wouldn't be here for too long.

As I made my way through the room, I had to admit that it was dazzlingly decorated, and I felt quite lovely all dressed up, like I adequately fit in with the impressive scenery. If there was going to be any upside to the night, I supposed it would have to be that.

It was a vaguely familiar voice calling out my name that caught my ear, almost certainly someone I had met through work. As I begrudgingly turned to meet them, I did find myself slightly recalling their face. I smiled as they approached and we shared greetings, and it was pleasant enough, even as they rushed into their next words like they knew I would exit the conversation as soon as I could in a panic and were desperate to say their piece, “Wallace, I really wanted you to meet a colleague of mine, he's a systems engineer my organization works with, I thought I could recommend him for… Oh, where did he- Ethan! Wallace, meet Ethan-”

In the following moment that I remained coherent, I was able to process two things. The first, being the features of the man before me, all short dark blond hair and light brown eyes, and slightly boyish features on a face that somehow still managed to convey his status as middle-aged, and a smile soft enough to take my breath away. Two, as I gazed upon the features striking me so, and stuck my hand out to meet his for a handshake, I became quite sure, more than I had ever been sure of most things in my life, that I was about to be an absolute goner for this man.

It took me a moment to come back to my own body, and so once I did I rushed to say, “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr…?”

“Oh, just Ethan, please.”

“Of course. Ethan. My name is Wallace.”

“Then the pleasure is all mine, Wallace.”

The familiar voice from earlier cut in again, and I could vaguely make out something being said about a previous project that had been worked on, but I couldn't quite bring myself to tear my gaze away from the man in front of me. After a moment, to my shock, it occured to me that he didn't seem to have any intention of looking away either, nor did he seem particularly bothered by that fact.

After that occured to me and made my head spin from the sheer realization that he was content to hold my gaze, I was struck by mortification as I realized that I still hadn't dropped his hand from our handshake, and I rushed to let go. To my relief, he seemed shocked by the revelation of the discrepancy in decorum as well. In the corner of my perception, I heard a small laugh, and something like the words “I'll let you two talk!” Suddenly, fear struck me again, but this time over the thought that I would have nothing interesting to say, now that the official introduction was over, and that Ethan would depart as well.

But that didn't happen, and he smiled at me again, and in a meek tone of voice he began, “I'm sorry, I was sure it looked like you were heading somewhere before we stopped you. If it was a bother I could go-”

“No! No, I had just gotten here. Just making my way over to the bar.” I cringed at myself internally upon realizing I had confessed to heading straight for the bar as soon as I entered the room, but once again it didn't seem to bother him. His deep chuckle made my knees weak.

“Great. Don't suppose you'd want to dance with me instead?” The pianist had started to play a light tune a moment ago, and a few people had come together on the floor. I quickly thought back to the single formal dancing class I had ever taken, knowing I very well could not dance.

“I'd love to.” His smile made my mind go blank for a moment again. By the time I had come back from autopilot, we were on the floor, and he was leading me in a light, easy dance.

“How does a systems engineer learn to ballroom dance?”

He gave a small shrug, “A class or two. I needed some for… an event once.”

I laughed lightly, “Well you clearly took them more recently than me, the one and only dancing class I ever took was a one day requirement in high school. I'd be done for without you right now, I'm sure.”

“Then I'll be happy to guide you with what knowledge I have.”

Our conversation lagged into silence for a moment, and I internally kicked myself for letting it. What was I supposed to say in a situation like this?

I defaulted to the one conversation trick I had, “So, Ethan, tell me about yourself.”

He shrugged again, but he was still smiling, “Well, you know my occupation. Um, I'm 37.” I noticed him watching for my reaction on that one, but when I simply nodded, he continued hesitantly, “I'm from California.” He paused again, this time for longer, but I could tell he was simply working his way up to his next point. “Divorced, relatively recently. I'm a father, I have a little girl, Rose.” He stopped again, watching for my reaction once more. I hoped I was managing to keep my face as neutral as I felt it was.

“Wow. You're honest.”

He cringed, “Too much?”

“Much appreciated, actually.” I swallowed heavily, hoping I wasn't about to overstep or show my hand too early, and lowered my voice just a little, “Lets me know I'm not reading this completely wrong.”

He looked down at our feet, but I could have sworn I saw him break into a grin before he did.

He cleared his throat, looking up at me again, “So? What about you?”

And so I gave him the run-down on me. Occupation, location, age - I saw his eyebrows raise just the slightest at that one, but got a similar non-reaction to the one I gave otherwise - and matched most of what he told me, minus the personal bombshell. I supposed there were some things we each had yet to uncover about each other, and I was saving mine for later.

Upon the end of my self-pitch, he nodded, “Interesting.”

“Oh, is that all I get?” I did my best to make my tone playful, so he would know I was joking, but I had a feeling he would have understood me anyway even if I hadn't put in the extra effort. Our entire conversation, I had held the feeling that he was rather good at reading me already.

“You want more of a reaction, give me more to react to.” His tone was equally playful. I'm quite sure I would have caught the joke even if it hadn't been as well.

“Sir, this is still our first meeting, if you'll recall. We don't need to go dropping all our bombshells at once, do we? And besides, I wouldn't consider a rented event hall the best place for sharing all our deepest secrets, would you?”

He once again let out that chuckle that made me swear you could see the hearts forming in my eyes, and he darted his gaze around the room before meeting mine again, drawing his tongue across his lips nervously, and I could hear the uncertainty in his voice, “Then… do you want to get out of here? Go find something else to do that's better suited for getting to know each other better? Or sharing all our deepest secrets, as you put it.”

It briefly occurred to me that maybe this was a bad idea. I deeply understood the uncertainty he displayed. I knew damn well I probably wasn't in the best place to pursue this, and I had the deep, unshakable feeling that if I left this place with this man, I would be in far too deep to let go easily. I was drawn to him, even if it wasn't the most conventional, or even if it didn't seem like emotionally the most sure-fire, secure decision. Something about him signaled to me that he was probably in a very similar boat. I had a feeling we each had some emotional baggage to unpack. And besides, I still hadn't even made a round to say hello to the hosts yet, either. That was all I had even come here to do. I was supposed to have gotten here, said hello, been awkward, and left. It was supposed to have been a bad, short, night.

“Yeah, absolutely. Let's get out of here.”

#otp: all at once this is enough #my writing #okay to rb!#psa from wallace

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adventuresloane · 5 years

Note

"I told you you'd get sick", because it is such prime fluff starting material..

((So I made this way longer than originally intended and followed the prompt in the most tangential of ways. No one should be shocked at this point.))

As was her wont, Lup knocked on the front door, didn't wait for a response, and phased into the house through the two inches of wood. "Alright, I'm here to make chicken soup and accidentally scorch your petunias," she said, "and I've already...well, sorry about that."

Rather than remarking that he had planted those all of four days ago, Kravitz skipped over her greeting altogether. "You know, Lup, this is going to be your home in a few months anyway." Not to mention that she dropped by just about daily regardless. "You don't have to knock every time."

She shrugged, causing the flames that rose from her shoulders to shiver upwards before falling again. "Still gotta wait until I get my body back before I enjoy that bedroom you got picked out for me. How's Taako?" This was usually one of the first things she asked, although it was a particularly relevant question today. "That doofus had better be sleeping."

"He's trying, I think. It's hard for him, though. He says he hasn't slept in the past decade. I'm sure he's out of practice if all he does is Trance."

"Right, right," she said, then turned her black, featureless face inside her red hood back towards him. In the same tone that she'd had when she'd floated in, she continued, "Well, he's lucky he's capable of lying in a bed at all."

"Yes," Kravitz said, right before he said nothing. For a few moments that felt too long and slightly sweaty to him, he stared at Lup, and presumably she stared back, in spite of the fact that he couldn't tell where her eyes were. Her spectral form bobbed slightly up and down in the air, and flames with dark red centers licked off the char-black bones of her hands, and suddenly he was rather glad she always knocked rather than, say, floating up through the floor unannounced when she felt like it. And now the silence was decidedly awkward. He pushed aside one of several unopened cardboard boxes with his foot. "Um, it's his own fault, really. Taako's been spending all his time trying to unpack and organize the house at the same time he's getting things organized to start his school. It's no wonder he's fallen ill--"

"Language." He turned to face her when she piped up. "Just say 'got sick.' No one says 'fall ill' anymore."

He huffed.

"Hey, you were the one who asked me to correct you when you talked like an old geezer."

This was true. It was also true, he was sure, that she enjoyed chastising him for a change, when normally he was the one telling her what to do during reaper training. He moved on. "So I did what you said. The chicken's been slow-cooking for several hours now."

"And you put all the seasonings he likes under the skin like I said? You got the rosemary in there?"

"Yes."

"And the parsley?"

"Two teaspoons of dried."

"And the oregano?"

Kravitz balked and gawked at her. She only kept waiting expectantly. There was no way. He had double- and triple-checked the list she had given him in the knowledge that this had to be made perfectly. How could he have concentratedpassed over something like--?

She laughed. "I'm fucking with you. Lighten up, dude." She attempted to pat him on the shoulder as she floated past him into the kitchen. Her hand passed right through him a couple times, but eventually she hard enough to make contact. Sometimes she spent a lot of time trying to touch corporeal things. Maybe that was how she'd burned the flowers. "Anyway, who's gonna use oregano when you've already got a buttload of rosemary in there? Come on."

But that was what he was here for today, to be her hands. According to her, there was precious little room for error when making this soup if they wanted to do it The Right Way, no leeway for her to accidentally drop in too much celery or pepper. There was precious little room for error, Kravitz reminded himself as he followed her instructions to strip the chicken meat from the bones.

"I bought a few different kinds of noodles, since I wasn't sure what was best," he said. "There's those twisty egg noodles, thin pasta, the flat ones--"

"Flat," Lup answered rather like a patient schoolteacher, "and don't break them up when you put them in the soup. He'll slurp them up one-by-one when no one's watching, but he'll never admit that. That comes later, though. The noodles cook separately, and it doesn't take long."

"Oh. Sure," he responded quietly.

"We used to make the noodles from scratch back on the ship and save them for rainy days, but store-bought's gonna have to do. Hey, do you have a pepper mill?"

"A what?"

"You know, for grinding up fresh-cracked pepper. Taako likes a lot of it."

"Oh, right. I think we do, but it might be in storage." Kravitz clumsily tried to get his nails under the papery skin of a garlic bulb, trying to peel it off. "Did he tell you he likes it fresh-ground better?"

Lup cocked her head a little. "I don't think he told me, per se. He just...well, he always used to like it that way, at least."

He nodded, stiffly. Then he continued nodding through a litany of other questions and corrections from her, about how much water he's already added and how much he needs to reduce the broth later and how to extract the flavor from the bones and how much salt was needed. There was a temptation to remark that he could, in fact, operate a stove. But he would say this for her: for someone who came across as so impulsive sometimes, she was surprisingly fastidious when it came to cooking. She knew everything about this dish. About what Taako liked about it. Given that he didn't feel hunger and as such hadn't done much in the way of cooking for hundreds of years, he had little choice but to listen to her. Although it would be nice if she could stop instructing him long enough for him to try to absorb what he was doing, so that he could remember all these details himself, for the next time Taako got sick.

He was so busy trying to keep up with her that he barely registered it when she abruptly switched to praise. "You're not half-bad, Skele-friend."

"Huh?" he responded, all dignity. "Oh, well, I'm just doing what you tell me. Or trying to."

"Yeah, well, you're doing a good job of it. Especially since you haven't taken orders from anyone less than a goddess for, what, a few centuries?"

"And you haven't made this recipe in quite some time. It's incredible how well you remember it."

She paused. "Taako's the one who always used to make it, actually," she murmured. "I'd be the helper. Unless I was the one who was sick. Then he'd do it himself. I feel like it's about time I returned the favor."

Kravitz couldn't keep from grinning at the thought. "I had a feeling he'd be a caring older brother."

"He's not my older brother. We're twins."

"Who's older, though?"

"Neither, we were born at the same time!"

"So you're the younger one."

She attempted to give him a playful shove. "Of course you'd take his side," she said in an exaggerated grumble. "I suppose you've had siblings?"

"Yes," he said quietly. He returned to stirring and said nothing else. Mercifully, she got the hint. After a moment, she materialized a white wand of sharpened bone into her hand (one of Barry's ulna's that he'd gifted to her, she'd told Kravitz once, which...said something about their relationship, alright). He watched her point it into the broth.

His side-eye must have been more obvious than he'd suspected, because she huffed when she could sight of him staring. For someone whose face was little more than a black void with an ember-like glow of red at the center, she could give quite the eye-roll. "Relax, Mr. Death Cop. It's healing magic." She stopped for a moment, apparently to judge whether she could push her luck. "Though, you know, necromancy is hardly different from the stuff clerics do every day."

"I'm no arcanologist, Lup. I just take down cultists. And you know that whether or not clerics do it doesn't matter to the Raven Queen. Whether it's Vampiric Touch or Revivify, it's still a corruption of fate."

"Alright, spare me the speech, please. I'm just saying," she said with another shrug. "I am an arcanologist, and I can tell you that it's the same kind of magical energy to heal or hurt, just flowing in different directions."

There had been an eon when he had felt that as opposed to simply knowing it, back before he'd had a scythe or a home in the Astral Plane. When he could ease his mother's headaches with a song.

"Shit," she shouted out of nowhere, as the blue flames from the gas burners shot up suddenly. Kravitz scrambled for the heat dials. "Shit, wait, doesn't everything he eat taste like Gogurt now? What if he can't even taste the soup?"

"It's okay, Lup," he responded before she could go on. "I've asked him about that. He said soup doesn't count for the curse. He'll be able to taste it."

"Oh." She sounded as though she'd let out a sigh of relief, though she lacked lungs. "Okay, I just wasn't sure. Magnus had to tell me that, you know. I wouldn't have even known Taako was cursed otherwise."

Kravitz glanced her way. "Does that bother you?"

"It's not like he has to tell me," she said quickly. Everything else came out much less enthusiastically. "It's just weird that I...don't already know, I guess. I've just--you'll want a chef's knife for that."

"Which one is--?"

"Curved blade. And it's easier if you don't move the knife back and forth. Just pass the carrot under the blade while you chop." She sighed. "Anyway, I just missed things. A lot."

Kravitz bit his lip. "Well...you still know him like no one else. You realize that, don't you? I feel like I'm playing catch-up with all the rest of you. You all had a hundred years to figure him out. And you in particular had quite a few more."

"You're not doing too bad on that front already, bud." He could have sworn he saw a smile peek out from under the hood. He didn't recall her ever calling him "bud" before. "Not from what Taako's told me, anyway."

He stopped stirring the wooden spoon through the golden fluid for awhile. "I guess it's good you'll be moving in with us before too long, huh? We can bring each other up to speed."

"Listen, this shit's gonna be done before long. Why don't you take it up to him yourself?"

Kravitz looked her way. "You sure? It's your soup. You don't want to come up with me?"

"I'll see him plenty later. I'm sure I will."

Minutes later, he was knocking on the door of Taako's bedroom--their shared bedroom, now, with a new king-sized bed and mattress. There were a few instances of throat-clearing before Kravitz heard a croak of "Come in."

He pushed through the door, steaming bowl in both hands. "Hey, darling, have you slept at all?"

"Can't sleep at the best of times, babe." Taako followed up the answer with a snort. "This cold's some bullshit."

He chuckled. "I told you you'd get sick if you kept working like you've been."

"Can it, Bone-Hands McGee." He sat up and struggled to sniff some air through his stuffed nose. "Hey, is that--?"

"Lup helped." He lifted his shoulders in a way that he hoped would come across as self-effacing, as if the soup in his hands didn't smell like absolute heaven.

"That so?" He wiped his nose with a tissue, though not before Kravitz saw the blush creep into his warm cheeks. He saw that blush a lot, and just at the moment that the two of them met eyes. Each time was a gift just for him, whether Taako meant to give it to him or not. "Let's give it a whirl then."

Kravitz sat next to him on the bed and watched the whole while as Taako held the bowl under his nose, let the steam waft up into his sinuses, tipped his head back to show his smooth neck and closed his eyes and drank the broth slowly. Then he licked his lips abruptly and said, "Not bad for someone who considers fancy wine to be an entire meal. Hey, get out of my bed of contagion. You're the one who's gonna get sick next."

He chuckled and ran a hand through Taako's already pillow-ruffled hair. "That's the nice thing about being dead already, sweetheart. I can't really get sick." To prove the point, he kissed his cheek.

He kept doing it, in fact, as he and Taako sat together and as the soup was slowly consumed. He hummed softly, then sung more so. And a few times, when he touched his lips to his boyfriend's skin, he tried to dredge up the kind of magic that he hadn't hadn't used for centuries, for the majority of his life. Not since he'd been alive. It felt far different from the kind he used to electrocute or grapple a necromantic cultist, and at first it felt like trying to run water through a pipe that hadn't seen a drop in decades. But he felt the warmth of the magic like he felt the vibration of his vocal chords, energy coming from deep inside of him, from nothing. Taako seemed to breath more easily as the Healing Word took effect.

It was after the bowl had been sitting empty for awhile that Kravitz felt Taako's breathing slow next to him and take on the rhythm not of meditation, but of sleep.

#taako #kravitz #lup #taakitz #taz balance #taz #the adventure zone #the zone cast #taz fanfic #fan fiction #fluff #sickfic #food cw #lup taaco #taz kravitz #anonymous #ask meme

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anotherdayinchuckletown · 4 years

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They’re Funny That Way, Chapter 2

A/N: Hey, guys! I’m pretty happy with the feedback I received on Chapter 1, and I’m so so thankful to everyone who took the time to read it (especially those of you who offered me kind and encouraging words, ily!) So, the story continues!

I’ve found over the years that dialogue is my biggest strength, and scenes with little to no dialogue stretch and challenge me a bit. So this chapter was a touch longer in development than the last. But I hope to get a consistent update schedule going pretty soon here because I have a very fleshed-out plan for this fic.

That said, I hope you enjoy! Please like, reblog, and comment if you do!

(cross-posted to my AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/users/marie_deneuve)

______________________________________________________

Arthur Fleck has seen an angel. There is no other way to describe it.

Things are especially tedious since he returned from his latest stint at the psychiatric ward. The same things, day in and day out, until each day begins to blur together like a watercolor painting. No clear lines separating one grueling day from the next, every shape hazy and undefined beyond the smoke of his cigarettes. He himself disappears into the smog and goes about his life unseen. Unknown. Not to mention, he's now on thin ice at work – Hoyt, his boss, made that much clear to him right off the bat. "You've missed a lot of days, Arthur," he had said the morning he came in to pick up his belongings. "Just try not to be a pain in the ass. No fucking up, you got that?" Arthur can't remember how he responded, if he responded. Only that the voice in his head (it's his mother's voice that time) told him to Smile. At least you got your job back. It's so much easier to smile when he's Carnival, and not just because the expression is painted on for him. He loves his job, honestly, he does. Every once in a while, when he's working gigs at birthday parties or at the children's hospital, when he's able to make the kids laugh, it seems worth it. For just a minute, it seems as though he's good for something after all. As though maybe when his mother used to tell him his purpose was to spread joy and laughter in the world, she was right. And maybe he could actually do it. Then he takes off the wig, the brightly-colored clothes, the greasepaint...and the illusion is broken. Sometimes it's easy to forget the husk of a man that lies underneath the makeup. Arthur Fleck. Who is Arthur Fleck? Hard to say. Carnival is easier. And so Carnival stays that evening as he walks home. Also because he's just so fucking exhausted. Not changing out of his clown costume at work means a little less dealing with his coworkers and a little more getting home to sequester himself from the rest of the world for the remainder of the evening. The woman on the elevator is not part of the plan. She holds the door open for him and retreats silently into a corner. The air between them is still as death as they ascend, her eyes burning holes in the back of his coat all the while. Arthur initially avoids looking back at her, afraid that if he does, she'll vanish into thin air. He's becoming too used to his lonely, damaged psyche playing such tricks on him. She never even pushes any of the buttons for a specific floor – if she's a hallucination, she's not even a convincing one. The trip is not smooth by any means – surprise, surprise – and the woman seems more than a little perturbed. "Does...that happen often?" Her voice, gentle and feathery, suddenly drifts over him, covering him like a weighted blanket. He turns to face her fully, intending to respond, but pauses when he feels his heart stop. She is undoubtedly the most beautiful creature he has ever laid eyes on. She instantly evokes images of those actresses in the black and white films of his youth. The same powerful air of sophistication as Grace Kelly. The same allure as Rita Hayworth. Only she's in vivid color, and they're not separated by a screen, and she's so close. Even in the elevator's dingy lighting, her blonde curls glow like a halo. Her full lips are pulled into a concerned frown, and her icy blue eyes are trained quizzically on him. Right, that's because she asked him a question. And he's so far done nothing but stare at her like a depraved creep. Carnival, his work persona, doesn't generally speak - and thank fuck for that. Arthur doesn't think he could power out a single word if he wanted to, his mouth has gone so dry. In the end, all he manages is a shrug. Idiot. She must not think he's a total loser because she keeps talking to him anyway, even pays him a compliment – a compliment! When's the last time that happened? He's definitely glad he kept the clown costume on now; interacting with her this way is safer, gives him less of a chance to screw it up. Less of a chance for her to see how pathetic he really is underneath it all. All good things must come to an end, however, and they do eventually reach the eighth floor. And when they do, she surprises him yet again. "I'm new to the building, by the way – my name's Emma. It's a pleasure." Emma. Emma. Emma. She extends a perfectly-manicured hand, and for a moment, Arthur just stares. This is most likely when he finds out that this woman, this magnificent vision in his hallway, this Emma, is nothing more than a fantastic dream. And if she is, in fact, a dream, he's not so sure he's ready to wake up. Nevertheless, he gingerly returns the gesture. Their hands connect. Soft and tentative, but tangible. Warm. Light. So light that Arthur feels as though he's floating, hovering just above the tiled floor, and he could continue to float forever, as long as he just holds on. To his disappointment, she is the one to let go. Arthur crashes back down to the floor, a chill running through him at the sudden loss of contact, simple though it was. She bids him good night and takes off down the hall, the click of her heels in perfect sync with the thrumming of his heart against his ribcage. Emma. Emma. Emma. He gets the feeling he won't forget that name for as long as he lives. Arthur Fleck has seen an angel. And she is so, so beautiful. _____________________________________ "Hey, you look like shit." "Thanks, motherfucker." On her way to the kitchen, Emma totters past the open bathroom door, where Eddie is busy shaving his face. Apparently not too busy to comment on her fresh-out-of-bed appearance, though. She will admit, she's not surprised if she doesn't look her best at the moment. Almost a week of sleeping on a rapidly-deflating air mattress on Eddie's living room floor has not done her back any favors. The bags forming under her eyes make her look like she hasn't slept since the seventies, and her hair has become stringy and unkempt since the last time it was washed. To top it off, she still has none of her clothes or other belongings. So she's currently sporting an oversized Creedence Clearwater Revival t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, both borrowed from Eddie. They hang off of her smaller frame, giving her the appearance of a sickly child who will be hard-pressed to survive the coming winter. "You making breakfast?" her brother asks, poking his head into the foyer. A glob of shaving cream drips onto the tile below him, and Emma grimaces. She returns her focus to her previous mission of rifling through the freezer, pushing past an assortment of cheap vodka and TV dinners until she finds his deposit of frozen waffles. "Eggos!" she calls out. "Cool! Pop an extra one in the toaster for me, yeah?" Emma complies, setting an extra plate out for him as well. As the toaster whirs quietly atop the kitchen counter, she begins her morning ritual of planting herself on the sofa and burying her face in the job listings section of the local newspaper. The job hunt so far has yielded results that are...less than stellar. So many applications, so many interviews, and so far...nothing. "We'll call you if something else opens up" here and "we'll keep you on file" there. Even a "your educational background is good, but we're looking for a little more experience". It's starting to take a toll on her self-esteem. The only real offer she's gotten is from a dive bar across town called The Harlequin. She's familiar with the bartending world – it's how she put herself through college. And she likes to think she's damn good at it, too – hell, she had mastered the Bloody Mary with only a couple weeks' practice! Run-of-the-mill margaritas and martinis? Piece of cake. Not to mention, studying psychology at the same time has granted her an uncanny ability to manipulate a conversation, bend it to her will. Sniff out how to get the biggest possible tips from each kind of patron. Yes, she's a master, all right. But she's really hoping to move on to something with a more...prestigious title. "Any new prospects today?" Eddie emerges from the bathroom just as the toaster lets out a soft 'ding!' He quickly joins Emma on the sofa, a plate of waffles in either hand and bottle of syrup under his arm, completely bypassing the dining room table as per usual. She hasn't seen him eat a single meal at that table yet, instead opting to bring his food into the living room and spill his goddamn crumbs all over the furniture. "Nothing yet, besides The Harlequin thing," Emma grumbles, taking the fork he offers and muttering a quick "thank you" as he sets a plate down on the coffee table for her. "I'm tempted to accept it, just so I can end the madness." "Didn't Sophie recommend you at the bank?" Eddie goes to town with the syrup, drowning his breakfast until the golden-brown liquid threatens to spill off of his plate and onto the coffee table. "She tried. Nothing was open." Emma puts down the newspaper for the time being, feeling the beginnings of a migraine creeping along her scalp. She instead grabs the remote and flips on the TV across the living room, the background noise helping her to relax her mind. Eddie shovels in a forkful of his syrupy concoction. "Sorry we couldn't get you on at the record store. We had a spot last week, but Ron's back from rehab now..." he says with his mouth full. "That reminds me, you still thinking about medical school?" That gives her pause. Honestly, she hasn't thought about medical school in quite a while. More pressing matters to attend to. Besides, it's been years since she last studied. Who's to say that she could pick up where she left off now, even if she were to apply? In the end, after a moment's hesitation, she shrugs. "Maybe. I'm a little rusty, you know?" She takes a meager bite of her own breakfast, chewing carefully. "Aw, come on, that's a cop-out!" Eddie abruptly stands and rushes to the kitchen, leaving his plate behind. As he begins to rummage through the fridge, he continues. "You gotta at least try! You're smart and talented, you work your ass off – where the fuck? – oh, there it is..." He returns with a can of whipped cream and unleashes about half of it onto his plate, and the other half directly into his mouth. "Plus!" He grins. "You look like me, so you know you've got it goin' on." The fraternal twins did bear a striking resemblance to one another as children, but age has individualized them greatly. Where Emma remains on the shorter side, Eddie is now a solid six feet tall. Eddie has also experienced a little more horizontal growth; although Emma suspects his rampant drinking (more so than his atrocious diet) is the cause. "I'm not sure what looks have to do with anything..." Emma scans her brother's plate for the waffle. She can't see it - it's forever lost to the sugary onslaught. Maybe it is his diet after all. "Looks have to do with everything, Em. Not fair, but true." His eyebrows furrow, and he scrutinizes her face. "Speaking of which, you really do look terrible." "You mentioned." "No, like...have you been sleeping at all?" His eyes narrow with concern, meeting her own sunken ones. "I know that air mattress is a piece of shit - you can get yourself something nicer if you want." Emma sometimes forgets how observant Eddie can be when he focuses. She really hasn't been able to sleep a wink since she arrived in Gotham several days ago. He's right, the air mattress is an awkward and lumpy piece of shit, but that's not the real reason sleep evades her. The walls of the tiny apartment seem to cry in anguish at night. Sirens blare outside the window near constantly; they're sometimes accompanied by flashing red and blue lights, the colors piercing through the curtains and waltzing unsettlingly across the floor. People wander the streets until the wee hours, shouting at each other, their combined voices drifting toward the sky in an unpleasant cacophony. Emma can easily understand why folks here on the East Side are so exhausted. The only person who sleeps less than she does is the man who lives next door. She's never seen him, but she's definitely heard him. At least once every night, when she least expects it, he bursts into sudden uproarious laughter. Normally, Emma would march right over and ask the man what could possibly be so fucking funny at three in the morning (only a bit more tactfully, she's not an animal), but she never brings herself to do it. Truthfully, she's scared to. Something is not right about that laugh. It's discordant and jarring, as if clawing its way into the apartment like a demon prying frantically through the drywall. It lacks joy, and in fact, actually sounds pretty damn miserable. A part of her wonders if the man is all right. Regardless, a better mattress couldn't hurt. "Yeah, I might do that," she says. "I probably should prioritize getting some clothes of my own first." Satisfied, Eddie returns to demolishing his waffle creation. "Get whatever you want, as long as you can make the space for it. Want you to be comfortable while you're here, however long that is." He chuckles. "With your money, I'm sure you can spoil yourself much better than I can." Emma snorts, gesturing wildly at herself and at her surroundings. "Money? What money?" "You kidding?" He looks genuinely surprised for a moment. "Your ex is a millionaire! You mean to tell me you haven't hopped on that alimony pony?" "Oh, don't be ridiculous, I don't give a shit about Daniel's money." Emma rolls her eyes. "Not to mention, we only separated a week ago. We have to set a court date, fill out the paperwork-" "Yeah, yeah," Eddie drawls, waving her off. "When that check comes, you remember who took your ass in, no questions asked. Got it?" It's nice to know his sense of humor hasn't changed. Emma nods once. "You got it." They eat in peaceful silence for a while, the distant voice of the news anchor on TV the only sound in the room. Something that doesn't happen often for the siblings. After a few minutes, Eddie speaks up again. "Hey, Em?" "Yeah?" "...Glad you're back. Missed you." "Hm." A faint smile plays along her lips. "Missed you too."

#joaquin phoenix joker #Joker (2019)#joker 2019 #joker film #arthur fleck #Harley Quinn #my fic #they're funny that way

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missbugaboo · 4 years

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Marimag Mayhem (1)

As a fourth year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Marinette was sure that life could no longer surprise her. And yet, even she could hardly believe her eyes when she first laid them on the blond boy she met, in the Requirement Room that she had not expected to find. The boy with cat eyes. The boy with cat ears. Chat Noir.

Marichat May, Hogwarts AU.

fanfiction.net / AO3

@marichatmay

Day 1: A Witch

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was hiding.

Again.

Not like it was anything new or surprising to her, nor would have it been for any of her friends. This game of hide and seek had become a daily occurrence by now, a most unwelcome and yet most necessary habit, what with the vendetta Lila and Chloe had against her these days. She couldn't even tell what it was she had done that had enraged them so much, except maybe the fact that she was a Gryffindor student and they were not.

Those darn Slytherins, always focusing on people's backgrounds instead of their deeds.

Marinette shook her head firmly as she realised how cliché, how cut-and-dry her own opinion was. She was not going down that road, lumping people together simply because they'd happened to end up in the same House. It drove her insane; she could not repeat that hideous behaviour herself.

Even if most of the Slytherin students she knew really were spoilt, chauvinistic brats.

Her thoughts turned back to the two particular girls that had made it so difficult for her as of late. She'd had a long history with Chloe, of course—the two had never really got along, but it didn’t usually go any further than an occasional jab here and there, which wasn’t much more than she'd done to any other student. And even if she had bullied Marinette a little more than the rest, it seemed like the only reason for it was that Marinette was also the one person who bothered to react.

Ignoring her had soon turned out to be the best way to make the Bourgeois girl lose her drive significantly.

With Lila, however... It was different.

Chloe was an open book, and not only to those who cared to learn its contents. She was mean and she showed it; she felt superior to those around her and never missed the chance to remind them of it.

Lila, on the other hand, never stopped pretending. She was nice, she was sweet, she was the most considerate person in the whole world—or at least, that's what she wanted you to believe. And what was worse, she usually succeeded.

Four years they'd been in this school together and Marinette still appeared to be the only one who'd managed to see through the fabric of her lies.

Which was exactly why Lila hated her so much.

She sighed wearily, leaning against the cold stone wall behind her back, and raised her hand to rub her face. She was so tired of avoiding them, tired of having to constantly look behind her back to ensure that they weren't following her in order to prank her again. She didn't even know when the two had teamed up—for most of their time together at Hogwarts, the girls seemed to have been hostile towards one another at least; as hostile as Lila allowed herself to appear, anyway. Chloe had just been her usual self.

It had all changed around Christmas, however. As per usual, Marinette had gone home, ready to enjoy her time with her only half-magical family as well as spend some with Alya's very non-magical one. It'd been as much fun as always, walking around Paris with those dearest to her, remembering that there still was a world where witches and wizards were nothing but an old wives' tale. She'd been more than glad, with her energy recharged and her faith in others restored...

...until she had returned to school after New Year and found that in her absence, Lila Rossi and Chloe Bourgeois had become allies.

"Why did Chloe even stay at Hogwarts back then?" Marinette muttered under her breath. "She'd never stayed before, always bragging about how very much awaited she was or how the travelling fees were nothing to her, especially when there were people like Nathaniel or Mireille around. So why not this year as well?"

Her question lingered in the air, with no one but herself to answer it. And yet, silence wasn't the only thing she heard.

She pricked her ears and paled instantly, realising that the not so distant noises she'd detected were none other than the voices of the two tormentors she'd been thinking about. They were calling her name, and she could hear them better and better each time, which could only mean that they were approaching her, and quick.

And...

...were the voices coming from two directions now?

Gosh, she really didn't want to encounter them again, and certainly not when there was no one else to witness such a meeting.

"Think, Marinette, think," she urged herself, simultaneously trying not to think about how much her hands were trembling. "There must be a way out of here. But there isn't! Alright, so maybe if I play it cool and pretend that I'm not actually afraid as hell, they will let me get away with it this time. Just-"

She was cut off but a noise of a cracking stone and a quake of the wall behind her. Before she knew it, she was falling down, as if the steady, sturdy thing she'd been leaning on had suddenly ceased to exist, vanishing into thin air.

Taken aback, she closed her eyes reflexively, before she hit the ground with a thud, shrieking in surprise like the clumsy idiot that she was.

There was no way her oppressors hadn't heard that; she was done for.

Except when Marinette finally opened her eyes, it turned out that neither Lila nor Chloe were anywhere to be seen.

There was no one.

And the place was different, too.

Where on earth am I? she wondered, astonished, as she picked herself up hesitantly. It's not like there was a door behind me, and that wall was also a very real one until about ten seconds ago. So how did I...

She trailed off, her attention caught by the sight of narrow wooden doors in front of her, so exactly where she had been just a few moments earlier.

So there was a door there after all.

"Guess I'm even less observant than I thought I was," she commented wryly. "Well, that wouldn't be the first time. But still... What is this place?"

She looked around curiously, eager to solve this new riddle life had so unexpectedly thrown at her. With her fears put aside for now, she had nothing else to do; after all, she had enough reason in herself not to leave her safe haven so soon, when those she was hoping to avoid were bound to stay nearby.

She needed to wait it out. She might as well do some sightseeing while she was at it.

It didn't take her long to realise that the chamber she was in was not a particularly spacious one, though at the same time, it could hardly have been called small, either; and it certainly wasn't cramped. In fact, it looked very similar to the Gryffindor Common Room she knew so well herself... if only it hadn't been so terribly cold and bare.

It looked as if someone had taken their Common Room, reduced the size of it by half and then took away all the silly, unnecessary trinkets that were what made said chamber so cosy to begin with.

And yet, it was obvious that whoever had decorated this room had intended to make it as comfy as possible.

Only they clearly had failed.

"They really don't get the Gryffindor aesthetics, do they," she mused with a soft smile, sliding her hand against the back of one of the armchairs. "You could change the colour and fabrics and it would be a Slytherin room in a flash. But if so... Why is it trying to mimic ours? Why is it golden and red and not silver and green?"

"Maybe they simply like the colour scheme more," someone answered her. "Who can tell?"

The shriek Marinette had let out before was nothing compared to the one she produced now. She turned away abruptly, reaching for her wand and pointing it at her mysterious companion in defense.

If it wasn’t for his incredible reflexes, she would have taken his eye out without a single spell to support her.

"Woah, woah, easy there!" She heard him cry out but she couldn't help but think that there was as much amusement as there was astonishment ringing in his voice. "I'm not going to harm you, so put that thing down, will you?"

"You scared me!" Marinette screamed back, her eyes closing once more, even though her wand remained pointed at him. "I'm not to blame for my reactions!"

"You are the one who barged into my Requirement Room, and yet you don't see me pricking your face with a stick, are you? Really, you could have crippled me for life with that swing. How do you cast spells with movements like these?"

"How I cast spells is no business of yours," she parried. "And what do you mean by a Requirement Room? And your Requirement Room at that?"

The mystery boy in front of her sighed.

"I'll answer all of your questions and more, but only after you've lowered that weapon of yours," he said evenly. "Also, please open your eyes. I'm not a basilisk, one look at me won't kill you."

Marinette did as she was told, though hesitantly. She didn't know this boy; the way he spoke to her wasn't familiar, and she prided herself in knowing most of the fourth years, and more than a few other students as well. She should have been able to recognise his voice or guess to whom it belonged... and yet, just this once, she had no idea who it was that was speaking to her.

Was he a fourth year like her, but secretive enough to have successfully evaded her attention so far? Was he older than her?

Was he younger?

"Come on, you're dragging it too long. I told you I wouldn't bite."

She finally looked up at him and found out that she was in for yet another surprise.

Because the boy in front of her didn't seem like a regular boy at all.

He wasn't a regular student, either. Unlike her, he wore no uniform (therefore making it impossible for her to determine what House he might possibly be from), dressed up in black from head to toe instead. Black shirt, black tie, black suit and shoes. An epitome of elegance and grace, with just a hint of darkness hovering around him.

That's what Professor Malfoy must have looked like twenty-five years ago.

No, she added in her thoughts after a moment, as her eyes stopped at the boy's head. No way Malfoy would have let his hair fall into such disarray. Such a mess.

And yet, as disconcerting as seeing her own professor with a hairstyle like this, it seemed more than suitable for the boy before her.

Somehow, she thought that he couldn't have looked well in anything else.

"Like what you're seeing?" he asked her straightforwardly and winked, his own lips curving up in a lopsided smile. "That's good. Perhaps -"

"That's not it!" She cut him off and dropped her gaze, abashed, her fingers tightening around the wand in her hands. "You just... You're not wearing a uniform, and it is a normal school day. So I was surprised, that's all."

"I don't think my hair has anything to do with a uniform, though."

She chanced a glance at him and saw that his smirk grew even more bemused. He was taunting her, no doubt about that... However, the look she saw in his eyes suggested that the little jabs were nothing but an innocent, friendly game.

His eyes.

There was something about them, something she couldn't quite point out at first. It wasn't only that they were so incredibly, intensely green or even that they seemed too big to be real. It wasn't even his gaze, curious but longing, playful but earnest, as if he'd known her for years (which was pretty confusing on its own, for she sure as Azkaban didn't know him) and yet still wanted to get to know her even more.

He was...

...lonely.

And still, that wasn't what had been throwing her off. She focused her own gaze, boring her eyes into his, despite the growing embarrassment she felt at the very thought of what she was doing, and gasped when she finally realised what it was she was looking at.

"Cat eyes," she whispered foolishly. "You have cat eyes. Wait—why do you have cat eyes?!"

"Ten points for Gryffindor, ladies and gentlemen!" her companion called out with mock admiration, stepping back and gesturing at her with his arm. "A wonderful deduction, my friend. It only took you... Well, a little longer than it should have."

"Oh, shut up," Marinette retorted without thinking, her cheeks flushing even further. "I was surprised, okay? By being thrown here, by finding you. Who are you, even?"

He opened his mouth to answer her but before he could, she added, "You know what? It doesn't matter. I'm just a dumb Gryffindor, so I obviously wouldn't understand anyway. Guess I'll go and check if Lila and Chloe are still camping on the other side of the door and if not, I'll be on my merry way. Hopefully I won't come across any more jokers like you. I'm sorry to have intruded your sanctuary. It wasn't done purposely."

She turned around and set off towards the door that—fortunately—was still firmly in place. She missed the change on her new acquaintance's face, the smile that disappeared as soon as he realised what she was about to do. She walked on, one step after another, annoyed; she reached out her hand and put it on the heavy brazen knob.

And then...

"Wait!" She heard him call and looked back, instinctively. "I didn't mean to make fun of you, I swear I didn't. I'm just... Not that good with people. Haven't had much practice as of late, if you know what I mean... But I'll be more than happy to work on it, if only you agree to help. Just... Please don't go yet."

The pleading look he was giving her was more than Marinette could expect and quite frankly, more than she was able to take, as well. She remained frozen for a while, eyeing him carefully, trying to determine whether he really meant the things he'd said or if it was just another joke at her expense.

He seemed sincere enough, alright; but better than anyone else, Marinette knew how misleading appearances might be.

Then again, everyone deserves a chance.

"You did make fun of me, though," she replied reservedly. "And you obviously enjoyed it. Don't tell me that you didn't, I know what I saw. And I hate liars, if that's of any meaning to you."

"Of course it is. But I'm not lying. I... I didn't mean any harm. I'm sorry if I did any."

Marinette rolled her eyes; that guy really looked like a lost puppy, cat eyes or not.

"It's no big deal, but I recommend you don't repeat that. It's how you talk to close friends, not to people you see for the first time. Also, like I said: you did enjoy that."

"Well, if I told you I simply enjoyed having someone to talk to, would you believe me?"

There it was, that look of sadness and heartache, of pining for a contact in any amount or form. He wasn't trying to trick her, or humiliate her like some people had.

He was asking for such a small thing, too—who was she to deny him that?

"Fine," she said at last. "I won't go immediately. I still don't have much time though, my next class starts in less than an hour now. And I still haven't had my lunch, mind you."

"Wish I could help with that," he replied readily. "I'm afraid that a place to sit is all that I can offer for now."

"A seat will do, as long as you let me out reasonably early for me to still grab something afterwards."

She raised an eyebrow at him and grinned mischievously. "You're not planning to keep me locked up here, are you?"

"No! No. Of course not. I wouldn't dare," he stammered in response and this time, Marinette couldn't help but giggle. It was nice to know she wasn't the only one getting flustered easily. Meanwhile, he continued, "And I'm sorry if it seemed like it before. I mean... I don't want to be pushy. If you want to go now, I won't stop you."

"And where's the fun in that?"

Their gazes met again; this time, it was Marinette's turn to wink at him, and she even went as far as to pat his blond head playfully. Her eyes widened when she realised that the fair locks were not the only thing that adorned it... and she needed all of her strength to stop herself from screaming for the third time in the short while since they'd met.

"Something wrong?" he asked, visibly confounded.

"No, just-" she stuttered, shifting her eyes from his face to the top of his head and back. "You have cat ears, too?"

She half expected to receive another witty comment on how unobservant she was, however, her words only seemed to agitate him more, if his hand rubbing the nape of his neck was any indication. Once again, she stepped back, this time intent on having a good look at all of him, and maybe even looking for...

"A tail, too?!"

Just who was this guy?

"What happened to you?" she asked, her tone showing more than a little concern. "Were you messing with the Polyjuice Potion? Or was it someone else who brought this on you? I swear, if this was another prank those good-for-nothing fools-"

"It's none of those things," he hastened to reassure her then. "No one poisoned me, or pranked me, or cursed me... Or whatever it is you might have thought of. It's something... Something I brought on myself, but it wasn't polyjuice that'd caused it. Just... Just a little spell that has gone wrong, that's all."

"That's all?" Marinette asked, her eyes wider still. "But it's a huge thing! You should at least go to the infirmary or contact a teacher. It's not something that will just go away on its own."

"Actually, it is," he contradicted her again. "Really, I've done this before. An hour or two is all it takes for the spell to stop working... And it's already been about forty minutes since I cast it."

"Did it work last time?"

"N-no. It didn't. It actually was way worse than it is now. But hey, that only means that I'm improving, right?"

Now Marinette could do nothing but facepalm.

"It means you lack common sense," she said. "You know, at first I was sure you were a Slytherin, with all that high and mighty attitude and the 'ten points for Gryffindor' jokes. Now... I'm starting to think that you may be a Gryffindor after all. That would certainly explain the decorations here."

"Because I'm brave?"

"Because you're a moron."

He said nothing to that, too busy gaping at her after her sudden retort. Marinette saw his reaction but said nothing, either, even though her behaviour was in fact much more calculating than his was. So she shrugged and set off towards the armchair, sinking down against the soft cushions as soon as she'd reached it.

Well, she mused, Guess that's one way to spend your lunch break.

Little did she know that it was only the beginning of it.

#marichat #marichat may 2020 #day 1: witch au #hogwarts au #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #no kwamis

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twinklysmiles · 4 years

Text

A Ticklish Predicament (McCoy’s POV)

Star Trek Tickle Fic

Fandom: Star Trek TOS / AOS Characters: Leonard Bones McCoy, Christine Chapel Warnings: Tickling (non-con, sort of, at least at first) Word Count: 5,497

Summary: The one where McCoy gets tied to a biobed by an alien, and Chapel accidentally discovers how ticklish he is while trying to untie him. (McCoy’s POV)

So, as per request, here’s what it was like for Leonard McCoy. (If you’re interested in Chapel’s POV, you can find that here.)

When the alien grabbed him and pulled him into the exam room, locking the door behind them, McCoy was livid. Even more so, when he was forced to strip down to his boxers at gunpoint, just to prove that he didn’t have any weapons hidden inside his clothes.

Not one to idly sit around, he attacked the alien with the nearest hypo as soon as the latter was focused on making demands through the comm on the wall. Unfortunately, however, he’d underestimated both the alien’s strength and reflexes, and, to his utter horror, soon found himself strapped to the biobed, hands tied together above his head and fastened to the monitor.

McCoy was greatly relieved when the alien just left him alone after that, not in the least interested in his captive other than preventing him from making further trouble and holding him hostage to use as leverage over the captain. But even so, he couldn’t bring himself to relax. Of all the things the alien could have done to him, McCoy felt that putting him in this vulnerable position was probably the scariest. For the doctor was terminally ticklish.

Having suffered his fair share of tickle torture by the hands of eager friends and family throughout his childhood and into his marriage, ending up in a position like this, restrained and defenceless, with all his worst spots completely exposed, had always been his ultimate nightmare.

The alien, of course, had no idea of the nature of the doctor’s fears. Probably didn’t have any concept of that particular human weakness at all, or at least didn’t care, but McCoy still flinched in ticklish anticipation every time the alien so much as looked in his direction or took a step towards him.

The worst thing, however, was, that much as he couldn’t wait to be rescued, he feared it at the same time. Because he just knew that whoever came in to free him, with – perhaps – the exception of Spock, would take one look at his predicament and not be able to resist ‘a little tickle’. It was just human nature, he’d learned that the hard way long ago.

See someone raise their arms? Drill your fingers into their armpits. See someone take off their shoes? Rake your fingers over their soles. See someone’s shirt ride up? Scrabble your fingers all over their belly and sides. It was almost like a reflex action. And today, someone was inevitably going to find out how lethally ticklish McCoy was, and then would proceed to take full advantage of the knowledge.

Oh how Jim would be delighted to find out something like this about his friend. The doctor shuddered at the mere thought. He’d never hear the end of it. He’d be mercilessly teased and tickled until the end of his days. And not because Jim was a cruel person, but because he just wouldn’t understand how torturous tickling was for McCoy.

The captain was ridiculously ticklish himself, at least on his belly and sides. McCoy knew that from his physical exams. But unlike the doctor, he wasn’t shy about it and even seemed to enjoy it, squirming and giggling freely every time McCoy touched him there.

So, when Kirk and Spock finally found a way to overpower the alien and take him away, McCoy was immensely relieved, if also a little embarrassed, to see Christine Chapel coming to his rescue. He’d always had a soft spot for his gentle head nurse. And apart from being a real beauty, she was the least malicious person he knew and would certainly not take advantage of his predicament.

As Chapel approached him, he saw her give him a quick once-over, checking for injuries as a good nurse should. But when she smiled at him, quite obviously relieved to find him unharmed, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d also been checking him out. Chapel had certainly seen him in his underwear during his own physicals before, but finding her boss tied to a bed and practically naked, still appeared to make her feel a little awkward. Nevertheless, she seemed to like what she saw, and the doctor couldn’t help feeling flattered.

After only a moment’s hesitation, obviously a little unsure about how to proceed, she finally stepped to his side and asked, “Are you all right, Doctor?”

“Yes, I’m okay,” he replied, and was sorry that it came out much more gruffly than he’d intended. “Can you please untie me already, nurse?”

He really hadn’t meant to snap at her, but having her standing so close to his exposed underarms, filled him with ticklish discomfort and made him tug impatiently at the ropes.

“Of course, Doctor, right at it,” Chapel smiled, reaching up to untie his arms from the monitor, thankfully seeming not in the least tempted to test his vulnerable armpits for ticklishness.

Regrettably, however, she had to stretch up to reach the ropes, her uniform dress hitching up a little, and its hem lightly grazing McCoy’s side in the process. The doctor jolted, as the ticklish sensation flashed through him like lightning, and all he could do was bite his lip hard in time to suppress a startled squeal and the ensuing giggles, as he yanked desperately at the ropes, reflexively trying to pull his arms down to protect his sides from the ongoing tickling.

To his relief, when Chapel looked down in surprise and found her dress brushing against his skin, she just assumed that he’d been startled by the unexpected touch.

“Sorry,” she murmured, straightening out her uniform and reaching back up to the monitor.

Unsurprisingly, of course, the tickling started anew, seeming almost worse now, and McCoy couldn’t help jerking again, this time even letting out a startled gasp, while well aware that his involuntary yanking at the ropes was not helping Chapel untie the knot she was working on.

“Naughty skirt,” the nurse chuckled, straightening her dress again and resuming her task.

“Hurry up, dammit, I’m getting really uncomfortable here,” the doctor grunted, the strain of not letting on how unbearably her dress tickled him making his words sound sharper than he’d intended.

But he knew that he couldn’t hold out very much longer and needed her to be done before he exploded into ticklish laughter.

It was pointless. The faster Chapel tried to work, the faster her skirt skittered all over his sides and ribs, occasionally even finding its way to the impossibly ticklish skin on his stomach. Scrunching up his face and pressing his mouth tightly shut to keep from making any sound, the doctor lost all control over his movements, yanking hard at the ropes, his torso frantically arching and bucking against Chapels thigh to escape the intense tickling.

McCoy was just about to lose it, when Chapel finally noticed his distress and immediately stepped back. This time, however, a slow grin spread across her face as she straightened the skirt of her dress down once again, and McCoy could tell the exact moment she finally realised the true nature of his predicament. He didn’t like the way her eyes lit up at the discovery at all.

“I’m sorry, Doctor,” the nurse laughed, “I didn’t realise I was tickling you. You should have just said!”

Hearing her say the t-word nearly undid him.

“You just startled me,” he snapped, trying to get his expression and his breathing back under control, because there was no way he was going to admit his weakness. “Now get on with it, Christine. Please. I’ve really got better things to do than lie around here.”

“All right,” she smiled, “but if I’m ever to untie this knot, you’d better stop yanking at the ropes.”

“Just don’t take so damn long then,” he growled, hating how much she suddenly seemed to enjoy this.

Chapel turned her attention, and her hands, back to the ropes, and, naturally, it didn’t take long for the cursed tickling to recommence. More gasps and undignified moans escaped him, as he desperately tried to suppress his laughter. But in the end, it got so intense, that he simply couldn’t keep from bucking anymore, and was helpless to stop the yanking.

“Oh, come on, Doctor, don’t be a baby,” Chapel scolded, unashamedly enjoying this. “We’re never getting anywhere unless you manage to hold still for a minute.”

He couldn’t hold still, of course, thus making the nurse’s task impossible. When the tickling wouldn’t stop, and got so bad that he just couldn’t take another second of it, he ground out an embarrassing "Stohohop!" from between gritted teeth, a whole bunch of helpless giggles escaping along with the word, and he knew that he’d just said goodbye to his dignity.

If only he’d known that Chapel had just been about to take mercy on him and stop, anyway.

Instantly dropping her hands to her sides and stepping away from the bed, the nurse scrutinised him, probably trying to gauge how ticklish he really was. Or maybe already seeking out future tickle targets. Still twitching from residual tickles, McCoy knew he was probably looking a mess by now, sweating and flushed from exertion and embarrassment.

“So, what’s it going to be?” Chapel finally asked, a wicked glint in her eyes, and an animated pink hue to her own cheeks.

He’d never seen his head nurse like this before. So flustered. She was usually so calm and restrained. But, damn, did she look hot. He sure hated the tickling, but he certainly wouldn’t mind her doing other things to him.

“Can you handle my dress on your tummy a little longer, or do you want to stay tied to the biobed?”

Uh! McCoy cringed. The cheek of her! That woman could tickle him even with her words.

“Just give me a break, will you?” he panted, and for a horrible moment thought she was going to drill her fingers right into his exposed armpits.

Instead she just smirked.

“That bad, eh? You could have just told me that you’re ticklish.”

McCoy felt himself blushing furiously at her words. Lying here, almost naked and bound like this, completely exposed and vulnerable to anyone’s touch, was a complete nightmare in itself. But Chapel calling him out on his ticklishness tripled his embarrassment.

The doctor was just wondering if the kind and gentle nurse had a secret mischievous streak to her after all, when she suddenly reached out and dragged a single, devious finger down his ribs, her nail unbearably lightly scratching his skin.

Eeeeeeeeeeeek!

A most undignified squeal burst out of him at the excruciating touch, and he surely would have hit the ceiling, hadn’t he been tied down.

“Not ticklish, eh?” Chapel grinned evilly, and when he didn’t – couldn’t – answer, she repeated the vile one-finger treatment, this time fiendishly trailing her pointy nail across his stomach.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!

Another anguished shriek escaped the doctor. He hadn’t even recovered from her first attack! All he could do was buck and arch his back like crazy in a futile attempt to escape her vicious finger.

“Oh my, this is adorable!” Chapel giggled, not even trying to hide how much she enjoyed his predicament anymore, “you’ve really got it bad, haven’t you?”

“Just stop startling me!” McCoy shouted, getting really riled up now.

He hated it when people thought his ticklishness was cute.

“All right, I’m not startling you now, see? I’m giving you a heads-up,” she grinned, teasingly wiggling the fingers of both her hands above his belly.

“Don’t!” he bellowed, eyes bulging and trying to suck in his stomach.

His belly was insanely ticklish. He’d surely die, if she started to tickle him there in earnest.

“Why not?” she asked mischievously, wiggling her fingers even closer to his skin. “Because you’re ticklish?”

Oh, God, the teasing made it so much worse!

“Because I don’t like being touched there!” he exclaimed, clutching at straws and desperately trying to yank his hands free to protect himself.

“Okay,” she looked thoughtful, “So, if you’re not ticklish, this won’t be a problem.”

She dropped her hands even lower, her fingers almost touching his severely ticklish stomach now, and McCoy was getting really frantic.

“Don’t, Christine, I’m warning you,” he ground out between gritted teeth, trying hard not to move for fear of inadvertently brushing against her fingers.

“Are you now?” she asked, quite obviously getting a kick out of seeing the ship’s CMO so acutely afraid of being tickled.

They just stared at each other for several long moments, Chapel’s wicked grin getting ever wider while McCoy’s ticklish anticipation nearly killed him, until she finally started to viciously scrabble her fingernails all over his tautly stretched stomach and ribs.

His reaction was instant and violent, and he couldn’t believe that his restraints still held, as he threw back his head and thrashed and twisted around wildly, hearing his own booming laughter filling the room.

Ahahahahaha! Stohohohohohop! Ahahahahaha! Chrihihihihihihistihihihihihihihine! Plehehhehehehaheahahse!

Chapel kept up the tickling for only a few seconds, albeit excruciatingly, unbearably long seconds, during which he tried to beg her to stop through his helpless laughter. But even when she’d taken her hands off again to let him catch his breath, she kept gazing at him, completely mesmerised.

She seemed downright amazed by the intense reaction even just the lightest scribbling of her fingers had provoked. McCoy briefly wondered if Christine was ticklish, too, but judging from the way she stared at him in wonder, she’d probably never encountered anyone even close to as ticklish as her boss.

“What was that, Doctor?” she had the nerve to ask, feigning surprise, when McCoy’s breathing had finally calmed down again. “Can’t handle a little tickle?”

God, the teasing made his humiliation complete.

Still twitching and panting from the agonising tickling he’d just endured on his sensitive belly, McCoy squeezed his eyes shut, and his heart sank when he heard Chapel quickly crossing the room to shut the door and engage the privacy lock. He could almost hear her thinking how this whole scenario was just too good to pass up. With her savagely ticklish boss, naked and tied up in front of her, she probably couldn’t resist exploring some more.

The doctor suddenly remembered that this room was soundproof, and didn’t know whether to be grateful for or scared by that fact. If Chapel started to really destroy him, and nobody could hear him howl and scream with laughter, he was certainly done for. But if she got bored or took mercy on him soon, he’d rather not have the whole ship hear his demented laughter and find out about their CMO’s crucifying ticklishness.

With his eyes still closed, McCoy didn’t see the nurse’s devilish hands descend on him once more, and was completely taken by surprise, when she suddenly tore straight into his armpits.

OOOOHAHAH! he screeched, his eyes flying wide open, as her fingers started to madly poke and scratch his helpless hollows. Within moments, he fell into uncontrollable laughter again, shaking his head from side to side, and arching and twisting his body as much as his restraints would allow.

AHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHOTHEHEHEHEHRE! NOHOHOHOHOHOTHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHRE! STOHOHOHOHOP! PLEHEHEHEHEAHAHAHAHAHSE! CHRIHIHIHIHISTIHIHIHIHINE! IHIHIHICAHAHAHAHNT! AHAHAHAHAHAHAH! TAHAHAHAHKEHEHEHEHEIHIHIHIT! AHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHOHOMOHOHOHOHORE! TOOHOOHOOHOOMUHUHUHUHUCH! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!

McCoy was in tickle hell, screaming and laughing himself hoarse. His belly was definitely a weak spot, but his armpits were lethal. And now Chapel knew it, too. This was exactly what he’d been dreading from the moment the alien had tied his arms above his head. Only so much worse.

Chapels deft nurse’s fingers were absolutely wrecking him. And even though it killed him to admit how much this was getting to him, and he could hardly get the words out through his cackling anyway, the doctor couldn’t help begging and crying out how, and especially where, he couldn’t take it.

He thought he was going to die from the terrible assault, but just like earlier on his belly, Chapel stopped after a few seconds. When she took her fingers away from his sensitive pits, he sagged back onto the bed, panting so hard he was almost coughing, sweat dripping off his forehead, and tears streaming down his cheeks. And all of that after only a few seconds of armpit tickling. He was really pathetic.

But it couldn’t get any worse than this, could it?

At least Chapel was granting him breaks to catch his breath. Come to think of it, no one ever before had ever stopped after so short a time. People usually went into a veritable tickling frenzy, once they discovered his weakness. Jim certainly would have gone on to devastate him. But Chapel was still the same, kind woman. She really just wanted to have a little fun, not torture him. Christine actually seemed to get that he could only take so much.

Then something strange happened. It was almost like a switch had been flipped in his mind. He felt himself growing hard, his erection twitching inside his boxers, a puddle of lust pooling inside his belly at the thought of her tickling fingers.

McCoy was a man in charge. Tense and anxious, yet confident in a highly responsible job. He certainly didn’t take shit from anyone. And yet, suddenly being so out of control, completely at the mercy of this gorgeous woman, was turning him on beyond belief.

“So, the rumours are really true,” Chapel broke into his thoughts, grinning mischievously, and tilting her head to look straight at him.

Almost more embarrassed by his sudden arousal than his ticklishness, McCoy glowered at her from half-closed eyes.

“What rumours,” he asked, trying to sound disinterested.

“Oh, about one of Starfleet’s CMOs possibly being the most ticklish person in the galaxy,” she replied, and he could only imagine the deep shade of red creeping up his neck and onto his face, as he started to anxiously pull at his restraints again.

The words sent chills down his spine. Did people really know? What if word got around on the Enterprise? He suddenly had this vision of Starfleet officials looking up his file and smirking when they found Dr. McCoy’s extraordinary ticklishness explicitly mentioned there.

He wracked his brains to think of anyone who’d found out about his cursed sensitivity since he’d joined Starfleet. Not even Nancy had known. She might have had her suspicions, of course, but having learned the lesson from his marriage, somehow the doctor had always managed to keep this particular weakness from her.

“I’ve never given it much thought, to be honest,” Chapel continued, and McCoy genuinely hoped she was just making all of this up to tease him. “And I certainly couldn’t imagine anyone being as excruciatingly, horribly, deathly ticklish as people are gossiping about. I was sure the stories were highly exaggerated, and it certainly never occurred to me that they were about you. But, my God, they are!”

God, this was so humiliating. The doctor felt hot and cold shivers alternating down his spine. The words were pouring out of her now, and she seemed to enjoy herself immensely, embarrassing him like that. Why was this woman affecting him so much? He could feel his erection straining against his boxers and almost wished to feel her hands on him again. She wasn’t trying to hurt him, it was only tickling after all, wasn’t it?

Shuffling around on the bed, he tried to get his arousal under control. If only she would touch him there!

“All right, Christine,” McCoy finally said, “you win. I’m ticklish. There, I said it. You’ve had your fun, now untie me.”

“Oh, Leonard,” she grinned, “That’s what I wanted to do in the first place, remember? Only I couldn’t. Because someone was too ticklish to keep still. But I’ll happily try again. Ready?”

Oh God, not that devilish skirt again!

Chapel stepped closer to his side and reached up again to untie the ropes, and, of course, with his defences now completely down, McCoy immediately erupted into ticklish laughter the moment her dress skittered over his skin again. He writhed and thrashed uncontrollably, yanking furiously at the ropes, as her skirt tickled him much more intensely than before, not just teasing his ribs and sides this time, but somehow getting his hellishly ticklish stomach as least as good.

Once again, the doctor was lost in ticklish agony, as peals after peals of forced laughter burst from his wide-open mouth.

Aaaaaaaaaaahahahah! Oooooooohohohohoho! Aaaaaaaaahahahah! Ihihitihihihcklehehes! Sohohohomuhuhuhuch! AhaHAHAhah! Sohohohobahahahahad! Ihihihihcahahahahant! Nohohohohohmohohohore! IhihihihihitihihihihihcklehehehesTOOOOhoohoohoomuhuhuch! Ihihihicahahahntahahahkeihihiht! Uh! UH! AAAAAhahahahahaha! Ahahahahaaaaaaaaha! Ihihihihcahahahahantahahahahahkeihihihihihtahahahahanyhyhyhyhymohohohohohore! CHRIHIHIHIHISTIHIHIHIHIHNE! AAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEHEHEHEHEHEAHAHAHASE! STOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOP!

And she did. Thank God, she did. Just one more second of this diabolical tickling would surely have been the end of him.

Taking a step back, Chapel looked at him, her eyes twinkling with obvious glee as she regarded the skittish mess he was, still twitching and giggling even long after she’d removed the hem of her skirt from his ticklish skin.

But the nurse wasn’t the only one who’d discovered a secret today. So had McCoy. When Chapel had been standing so close to him, making him roar with tormented laughter, her skirt more than probably not accidentally tickling him so much worse than before, he’d recognised, even through his tears of ticklish laughter, an unmistakably wet stain between her legs. Surprising proof of how tremendously turned on she was by this whole tickling business.

“This is useless, Doctor,” she smirked, and he was hardly listening, so absorbed was he in mulling over this unexpected turn of events while trying to shake the lingering tickles off his sensitive skin. “Can you try to keep still for half a minute at least? That should be enough.”

McCoy just shook his head, totally debilitated. With his level of ticklishness, he clearly wouldn’t be able to hold still for half a second. They both knew it.

“I could get Scotty and some guys from engineering,” she suggested, grinning wickedly, “but I’m not sure if they could do it without touching you.”

“Just cut the ropes, Christine,” he pleaded, when he’d calmed down enough to speak again, his voice hoarse from laughing and screaming, and panicking at the mere thought of anyone else coming near him while he was still being so vulnerably exposed. “I really can’t take any more tickling. You have no idea how bad this is.”

“Leonard, I’ve barely touched you. This is called having a little fun. We’re talking about tickling here, not torture.”

“It sure is torture to me, Christine,” he needed her to understand. “Why do you think I don’t want people to know? Apart from being embarrassed about it. I mean, come on. Is there anything more humiliating for a man of my age and in my position than being so ridiculously ticklish? You’re the kindest woman I know, and a nurse to boot. And even you’re getting your kicks out of reducing me to a giggling mess.”

She was silent for a minute, contemplating his words. It was clear that she didn’t mean to hurt or torture him, but had a hard time imagining that anyone could really be so savagely ticklish. And apparently finding it an incredible turn-on, she would probably not want to stop the fun just yet. But seeing as she’d always stopped the tickling as soon as he’d begged her to, McCoy was hopeful that she would at least continue to respect his limits.

“Oh come on, Leonard, now you’re exaggerating. No one’s that ticklish,” she said, suggestively swaying her hips from side to side and probably not even aware of it, but making his hard-on strain painfully against his underwear.

“I am,” he sighed, surprised to find himself suddenly almost enjoying sharing this information rather than feeling embarrassed by it. “Always have been. I can’t help it, I’m completely helpless to fight it.”

It was almost like dirty talk. He enjoyed that. Tickle talk. He could do that, too, if it was to turn on a hot, beautiful woman.

“I still think laughing is healthy,” Chapel smiled, oblivious to his lustful thoughts. “And as uptight and tightly wound as you always are, you could certainly do with a good laugh.”

She might even have a point there, McCoy thought wryly.

Then, taking a step closer, she beamed, as an idea hit her.

“Maybe that’s it! Maybe you’d be less ticklish, if you were a bit more relaxed!”

And totally ignoring his horrified look, she put her hands to his ribs on either side, just below his armpits, and clawed at them. Once. It was awful. Evil. Unbearable. Exciting.

McCoy went through the roof, or would have, if he hadn’t been restrained, and let out the highest-pitched squeal ever to be heard in sickbay.

EEEEEEEEHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEH!

“See? Much too jumpy,” Chapel grinned.

It had only been the shortest of tickles, but totally made up for the lack of duration in intensity. He had completely forgotten about this heinously ticklish spot that Jocelyn would viciously exploit to tickle the shit out of him, and it took him almost a minute to catch his breath and stop the giggles again.

“Please Christine, no more. It’s not funny.”

He really didn’t think he could endure any more tickling.

“But it is,” she giggled, “you should have seen yourself jump.”

McCoy just looked at her.

“Okay, only a little funny,” she relented, then got curious. “What did the alien do to you, anyway? Why did he strip you off your clothes? Just imagine he’d discovered your weakness!”

“Don’t even say it,” the doctor still shuddered at the idea. “I haven’t been thinking about anything else the whole time I’ve been lying here, believe me. I certainly couldn’t think of a more vulnerable position to be put in than this. All my worst spots completely exposed.”

“Talking about worst spots,” Chapel jumped at the chance. “Anything worse than what I’ve already discovered?”

“I’m certainly not telling you,” McCoy scowled. “You’re turning out quite the sadist.”

“Knees? Thighs?” she prompted, watching his face closely for giveaways and he tried hard not to clench his teeth.

She’d just nailed two of his worst spots, and judging from her face, she knew it, too.

“Mhm! Your back, as well, maybe?”

His eyes involuntarily widened at the mention. There were more tickle spots on his back than he could count. He couldn’t even get massages, no matter how much people insisted on them being relaxing. He’d tried, but ended up far more tense after the ‘relaxing’ treatment than before. He’d spent the entire time just writhing under the torturous touches, trying to stifle his laughter and keep his most sensitive spots out of reach.

“Aha!” she grinned, quite obviously having caught on to his back being another deliciously ticklish target area. “Oooh, your neck! What about your neck?”

McCoy’s eyes grew even wider, and he couldn’t suppress a reflexive shudder. Even a fly crawling across his neck could devastate him. He clearly recalled a gruesome incident still at the Academy, when this little bug had got trapped inside his collar during a ceremony. It hadn’t been pretty.

How did Chapel do that? Singling out all his death spots. Or maybe he just had too many of them?

“Your neck, then, huh? Even worse than your armpits?”

She didn’t really expect an answer, did she? He just hoped she wasn’t going to try and find out now. He’d been tickled enough for one day. There was only so much tickling he could take.

“I’ll make you a deal, Leonard,” she suddenly suggested, trying to sound all business while her dilated pupils told him exactly how whatever she was going to offer aroused her. “I still think you need a good laugh, so you let me explore one more spot, and your secret will be safe with me.”

He couldn’t believe she was practically blackmailing him.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“A little.”

God, was that naughty grin hot. And that sass!

He just couldn’t let her tickle him any more today. He might die from sensual overload. Either from her nimble fingers targeting his most horrendous spots and afflicting such devastating tickling, or from the unbearable, ever-growing erection in his pants, that desperately needed attention. If his hands weren’t bound, he probably couldn’t keep from jacking off right here and now.

“I’m not really in a position to do anything about it, am I?” the doctor said defeatedly, referring not only to the deal she’d offered. “So, get it over with, and then let me go. I wouldn’t want to have to mention this in my report.”

“What would you write in there, anyway, Leonard? ‘I’m devastatingly ticklish, and Nurse Chapel took advantage of that’?” she laughed. “Or ‘my head nurse tickled me silly’? I thought you didn’t want anybody to know your secret?”

“You’re evil Christine,” he sighed, resigning to his fate and bracing himself for her attack, squeezing his eyes shut and scrunching up his shoulders to protect his neck as far as he could with his arms still stretched out over his head.

As it turned out, Chapel didn’t attack his neck at all, but unexpectedly whirled around, coming to stand at the end of the bed, and devilishly raked all five fingers of each hand over the bare soles of his feet.

Somehow McCoy had completely forgotten about his feet. The same feet that were currently bare and so tightly strapped to the bed that he could hardly scrunch up his toes. The same feet that not simply were his worst spot, but contained at least ten of those, ranging from unbearably to atrociously, unendurably, heinously, please-just-kill-me-already ticklish. The same feet that not even Jocelyn had dared to touch, for fear of accidentally killing him.

McCoy went completely berserk. The level of ticklishness on the soles of his feet surely went beyond the scope of everything. Compared to the tickle hell he was experiencing right now, the armpit tickling had been enjoyable.

The whole bed was shaking from the force of his thrashing and arching, as he desperately tried to escape Chapel’s evil fingers, and he practically exploded into agonised, ticklish laughter that was by no standards any kind of gleeful, happy laughter any more, but was cruelly, viciously forced out of him.

AAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! EEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAH! OOOOOOHOHOHOHO! CHRCHRCHRCHR! CHRCHRCHRCHR! HAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!

This was pure suffering, unadulterated torture, and his only hope was that Christine would realise that he was already way past his limits and stop. His ordeal was rendering him unable to even beg anymore. Because once his feet were tickled, there was no way the doctor could form even a single word through the gales of hysterical laughter.

HAHOHAHOHAHOHEEEEEEE! OOOOOOOHOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOO! AAAAAAAAAAARGH! HARHARHARHARHARHAAAAAAAAAAR! HOHOHOOOOOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA! HA! HA! HA! CHRCHRCHRCHR! HAHAHA! HOOOOO! HA! HOHO! HOHO! HEHEHEHEHEHE! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHA! HAAAAAAAAAAAAA! HAAAAAAAAAAAAA! HOOOOOOOOOO! HEEEEEEEE! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! HA! HA! HE! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

When Chapel dropped her hands from McCoy’s feet after what felt an eternity, but had probably only been seconds again, he just couldn’t stop laughing and squirming. His eyes squeezed tightly shut, his hair and tear-streaked face damp with sweat, he kept arching his back and twitching his feet long after her fingers had stopped their fiendish scribbling and scratching.

Never in his life had he felt so helpless and exposed, and yet, at the same time so aroused that McCoy was afraid he might just come in his pants without even touching his member. Blinking away his tears of laughter, it didn’t help to see Chapel standing there with half-closed eyes, sensually licking her lips and repeatedly pulling her hand back from reaching between her legs.

The thought that she felt the same aching need as he did, and could hardly keep from touching herself anymore, desperately wanting to slide her hand underneath her skirt and into her panties, almost sent him over the edge.

He’d been so angry when she’d first started to tickle him. Anxious and scared, because he’d always hated being tickled, always felt so humiliated by it. But being so completely at Christine’s mercy had not just excited the hell out of him, it had also been extremely liberating. And now, seeing this woman he’d been lusting after for months so incredibly turned on by it, he felt great.

When McCoy had finally stopped gasping and giggling, and had generally calmed down again, Chapel snapped out of her almost trancelike state to meet his eyes, and he couldn’t help grinning at her.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how wet your panties are, nurse,” he drawled, enjoying to be the one doing the teasing now, “and I might even be prepared to do something about it. But I’ll need you to help me out first. I’ve definitely earned it, don’t you think?”

The doctor felt almost giddy at the thought of what she might still do to him, and then, just to be on the safe side, added as an afterthought, “Oh, and never, ever touch my feet again!”

And as Chapel’s gaze fell on the enormous tent in his boxer shorts, a wide grin started to spread across her face, too.

----------

So, where do they go from here? If you want to know, read:

A Shared Kink (Chapel’s POV) and How (Not) to Tickle Your Boyfriend (McCoy’s POV)

----------

Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing of Star Trek

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awackyphdinadorkable · 5 years

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Cherik Moodboard: 27 Suits

This is based on one of my previous ramblings (all of which tend to clog up the tag, for which I apologize LOL) about a 27 Dresses AU. It wouldn’t leave me alone, so I ran with it a little further, and I’m making y’all suffer with me. ;)

The basic idea is that Charles is playing best man (and secret wedding planner) at most of his friends’ weddings - some of which are definitely out of the norm (underwater, while on skis, mafia-themed weddings, all the way to animal print all over the place). Erik is a journalist wanting to get into investigative journalism to finally have a chance to talk about mutant rights violations instead of handling the Commitments section of his newspapers.

Stuck on yet another stupid wedding (he hates them with a burning passion for a number of reasons), one of the guests catches his eye because he realizes the man is rushing off to another wedding and drives back and forth with a taxi, always getting changed back and forth in the back of the cab.

Charles, as per usual, is the BEST best man, talking a nervous bride through a near breakdown, saying just the right things to a wedding planner who mislaid his seating plan, telling him all he needs to know to get back on track. However, despite his perfect performance, Charles does not possess the power of foresight, which is why he is knocked out cold by an eager bridesmaid trying to catch the flower bouquet.

Erik, the gentleman he is, takes care of things and offers Charles a ride home. Charles gratefully accepts. The two enjoy a pleasant conversation, though their differing views about weddings become clear rather fast. Charles is an enthusiast, and quite vocal about it, whereas Erik would rather be anywhere else than a wedding reception ever again, if he could help it. Charles forgets his notebook - where he meticulously puts down notes on all weddings he went to and intends to help with in the future. Erik can’t believe it as he reads through the planner on his way back home. That man must be some wedding addict.

However, it is not just his interest that is piqued at this - Erik hopes that this may be his ticket out of the Commitments and into Serious Journalism. When he proposes a segment on this strange best man, his editor in chief agrees under the condition that he will keep working on the next big section he is supposed to handle - for the wedding of Raven Darkholme and Hank McCoy. Evidently, Erik agrees.

Though the surprise is big for both men when they suddenly run into one another - because Raven is Charles’s adopted sister. Charles, while happy to see the handsome man again, is not particularly pleased in Erik handling his sister’s Commitments section after he learned Erik’s true feelings about weddings. To top it all, he has troubles with his sister. Ever since she returned from her travels, Raven seemed changed. She announced out of the blue that she and Hank are getting married - and that quite fast, he will add - and that Charles please take care of the preparations for her. She seems so different from the girl he grew up with.

The biggest issue lies in her wish to leave Hank unaware of her true nature - because she and Charles are both mutants. She can change shape while he is a telepath, which makes him the perfect best man he is. While Charles was the one to tell Raven since a young age that they must be careful with whom they let in on their “secret,” he hoped to have made clear that he wouldn’t want her to hide herself from someone she cares about and loves deeply. Yet, Raven cannot be wavered and insists Charles plays along, so she can have her shot at normal with Hank.

Erik uses the lucky circumstance of Charles happening to have to work closely together with him for the sake of the Commitments section for his ticket-out-story. Though the closer he works together with Charles the more he has to realize that Charles is more than a sensational cover story.

As it turns out, Charles is a mutant, for one, but he is also Professor X, a man whose articles Erik devours whenever a new one is published. Professor X is one of the elite forces in the mutant rights movement, arguing with scientific reasoning to convince people of the chance of peaceful cohabitation between humankind and mutantkind. While Erik views some of those things very differently, he always felt a deep respect for that man and his ongoing fightfor their kind. And now that same man turns out to be this quirky, smiling wedding addict who uses his telepathy to guess the perfect dress for a bride or come up with the best speech a groom can give at the reception. Unbelievable.

The two continue to clash not just on their opinion regarding the merits of weddings and marriage altogether but also the situation revolving around Raven. Erik is an out-in-the-open mutant - which may or may not have made it as difficult as it is to get a firm standing in the investigative journalism section of his newspaper - and he finds it a shame that Charles is hiding himself behind the alias of Professor X and thus shouldn’t be surprised that his sister does the same.

Charles is forced into some realizations of his own, not just regarding that particular problem but also how his relationship with Raven and the people he lets close to him is affected by his fear of being himself, that is being a telepath in the open and not constantly restraining himself whenever it is asked or using them when it is convenient for others.

However, it is not just Charles who is forced into some introspection, since Erik finally has someone in Charles he trusts enough to open up to about his true reasons for detesting weddings. They all remind him of the family he lost because of peoples’ prejudices against mutants. And yet, Charles’s hope and perspective start to make Erik see that there is more to silky dresses and flower arrangements, that it is about the promise made, and celebrating it with close friends and family.

It’s about no longer being alone.

Animosity turns to admiration turns to amorousness after a particular situation involving a broken down car, a shabby bar, and a lot of heavy rain drenching them both to the bone.

However, drama strikes soon when Erik tries to withdraw his article, which would have put Charles and Raven in a light Erik knows would not reflect them at all, but his editor in chief goes ahead anyway. Charles finds out from reading the article, absolutely mortified.

For Charles, it doesn’t end there, however, as he has a slip-up in front of Hank, and thus exposes not just himself but most importantly Raven as mutants, which ultimately fractures the relationship between the two and threatens to end Raven’s marriage before it ever truly began.

And how it all concludes? Who knows? (Okay, I know, but I am not spoilering LOL).

#cherik #charles x erik #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #cherik au #x men au

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glassworkspiderlilies · 5 years

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giyushino week wrap up!

aaaaand that’s a wrap!! thank you to the moderators of giyushinoweek, and to everyone who liked/reblogged/commented on/sent me asks about my fics!!

it was a wild ride to write 8 fics in basically a week or so; i keep saying the fics were hastily or frantically written but LMAO considering how little fic i put out nowadays and how long it usually takes me to write because i edit as i go (which means i take f o r e v e r ), i was seriously just screaming like I JUST GOTTA DO IT I JUST GOTTA GO WITH IT I DON’T HAVE TIME the entire time haha. it was really good to be able to just think of a thing and run as far as i could with it, though!! it’s been quite a long time since i was able to do that, and it was really nice to have a project to work on in the back of my head. <3

ideally, if i work myself up to it, i’d like to revisit all of these and spruce them up to post to ao3, but we’ll see. :’)

under the cut is just some thoughts on my process during this and also writing each of the fics, if you’re interested! favorite prompt, the most difficult parts to write, what the fic was originally was, things like that.

thank you again, everyone!! back to hibernation and occasional slow snail pace writing i go, haha.

re: writing process -i tried writing a fic per day during the week before the actual event, which...kind of worked!! ideally, i was going to write a mostly complete fic each day, and then spend the week of the event editing each one before i posted it. what really ended up happening was that i partially wrote several, but not all of them, during the previous week, and then spent the week of finishing up, editing, or writing the whole thing more or less the day before the prompt was ��due”, LMFAO. my weekday schedule is pretty structured because of work--I have maybe an hour or two of free time before i have to sleep--so i doubled down a bit more on the weekends. i know like it wasn’t imperative that i meet the “deadline”, but i really, really wanted to!! i figured i’ve written a fic per day for fandom weeks before so why can’t i do it again, but BOY i don’t know who i was back then. i mean, i still did it (yay!) but it seemed so much easier then?? either i was just writing more back then or less afraid or...something, or it’s just been so long that i don’t remember what i felt, LOL.

-i was really quite nervous in the beginning to post the fics, since again, they’re pretty hastily written and my usual writing process is much more “careful” and drawn out. but, it was also freeing as the week went on to just post and not worry, because the point of the week was to have fun, and not necessarily to write the best work i expected of myself within a limited time. (oh, how the perfectionist in me still hisses, though.) still, i’m glad people liked them, and even the extra notes that i just kinda spit out for some of them. :’) i do wish that some had gotten more attention than others, but those ones don’t show up in the tags and i’m not sure why, so. alas.

re: the fics -confession: as of now, i feel pretty neutral about all of them, since i wrote them in a frenzy. at some point i’ll probably go back and read them and feel differently (and catch my mistakes! oh no!), haha. -a lot of them ended up being AU, which is...??? unexpected?? but i think it was just easier to put them in an entirely different setting, so i could play a bit more loose with their characters, haha.

day 1 - glance (or hug) -this one...im pretty sure was one of the ones i waited until the last possible minute to finish up. it’s pretty basic event-wise, one of the few more regular slice-of-lifey ones for the week. it was surprisingly hard to get down the “movement” of it all; a glance is hard to describe in detail and in any other way, but i had really wanted to create kind of this...fleeting, almost nostalgic atmosphere in the back and forth of “he keeps looking, she keeps missing”, if that makes any sense. oof, it’s still hard to describe what i had wanted to achieve even outside of the fic!!

day 2 - soulmate (or family) -this one was SUPER HARD to write!!! originally i had wanted to go with a “A sees flashes of what B sees” soulmate prompt, because i figured that would be SO disorienting and would be fun to play with. but i ended up not being able to run with that one. i had also wanted to do the “soulmates write on themselves and the words show up on the other’s arm” idea, based off of what i had started in a 100 word drabble i did, but that deserved wayyyyyy more exploration and angst i was able to write in the time i’d allotted. i do like the “tattoo” soulmate aus the best, i think, and i did want to explore the one i did more, buuuut. alas. soulmates aus are something i prefer to read rather than write, i think, they can get so complicated!!

day 3 - AU (or touch) -i’ve already made enough notes on this haha, but this ended up being a little too ambitious!! it wasn’t originally supposed to stop where it did, but i just...kinda got stuck and couldn’t bring myself to continue it, because i knew it would just keep going and needed more thinking out. so i just stopped it at the scene break, and hoped it would be decent enough. :’) surprisingly people seemed to enjoy this one most of all????? or maybe it was just the au itself that was a appealing, haha. regardless, i was surprised at the amount of notes this got!

day 4 - demon & wedding -soooooo this might’ve been my favorite prompt LMAO, like when i realized what i wanted to do for this day, i got excited because like, oooh yeah, pain. definitely wanted to go in on this to flesh out and explore various aspects more than i did, but i think of all the ones i wrote, i might be the most pleased with this one so far.

day 5 - moon (or angst) -honestly, it’s a surprise i didn’t choose angst for day 5. writing about shinobu’s death would’ve been so easy, but i’ve seriously been putting it off since i started writing for kimetsu no yaiba. both “a blade of honey” and “if not cut at dusk”, which are my longer fics, were intended to be about shinobu’s death scene and turned into something completely different, and i ended up avoiding it for day 5 even though it could’ve been so easy. it’s denial, probably! anyway, shinobu’s MAD BOLD here. she would never. maybe. there’s two shinobus that i think about--the "usual” one, modeling herself after kanae, and one who’s more in line with her younger self/inner feelings. i think i went with the latter for a lot of these fics, because i didn’t have to be as careful with dialogue. giyu might’ve suffered character-wise, though, woops. but again, maybe shinobu would, in the vein that she wants to win and have the last laugh, haha. still, i feel more like she wouldn’t. :P oh, also, do you remember ages ago, when AMVs were still widespread, that scene that was everywhere in naruto where hinata’s bathing/training at the waterfall and it’s like really pretty and cool and stuff? yeah. that’s what i wanted this one to be, a little, LMFAO. genuinely surprised that people thought this one was pretty spicy!!

day 6 - kiss (or ocean) -confession: i wrote all of this while i was at work LOLLLL. it was a slow day, i promise. this might’ve been the easiest one to come up with, because the “quick, kiss me!” to escape situation is a classic. the characterization is preeeetttyyyyy loose here, but it was also kind of fun, honestly. my day 5 and day 6 run in pretty similar veins though, so i had kind of wished the endings were a bit more distinct from each other.

day 7 - date (or crossover) -honestly i had wanted to do like, a soul eater crossover!! really i was planning out an au, but i think a crossover specifically has characters of two series interacting, and then i was Tired and was like, i can’t do that. crossovers aren’t something i usually read, either, so the planning got too complicated and i gave up. the date idea was also one that came much later and one that i finished up last minute; i’d wanted to make it a little more cohesive and come up with better things for sabito’s list, but. eh. it got longer than i expected too! ideally there would’ve been more of the college life, and sabito and makomo. i thought about doing another additional notes for this, but there was wasn’t enough i had wanted to add on. really it was just the majors for them i’d been playing with--shinobu as a med student (possibly a minor in horticulture/botany, SOMEHOW), sabito & giyu as hydraulic engineering majors (sabito more on fieldwork, giyu more on research), and makomo as a marine veterinary student. shrug!! the lines of “you do realize we were set up, right” and “this was a date, tomioka-san” were the highlight for me, haha. and i’m inordinately fond of the title.

day 8 - halloween (or n*sfw) -sexy stuff isn’t my forte at all!!!! so halloween it was, but. i was thinking of skipping out on this one, and then was like, oh what the hell, you’ve come this far, of course you’re going to go the last leg, too. already wrote enough notes on this one too, but yeah, this one really was quick, and just barely meets the prompt, i think, lmao. ended up being more of a fantasy au, which was fun, though there was a lot left unexplored. ultimately just glad that i was able to come up with something for the last stretch. :)

please feel free to drop me an ask if you have any thoughts or comments! i’d love to hear your thoughts on the fics for the week, if you’d like to share. :)

thanks for reading!!

#author's notes #giyushinoweek #thank you!!#spitting out more notes without proofreading ayyyy

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improvidence318 · 5 years

Text

IT IS TIME

To talk about my survey results!

Remember when I asked y’all to fill out a brief survey about 2 months ago? I was hoping to get enough submissions to equate to about 10% of my follower count. I got 71 people who took the survey (thanks everyone!) which is pretty close to 10% of my follower count when I first posted the survey.

Anyways, on to the results!

This is why I really really appreciate reblogs more than likes. I’ve noticed a direct correlation between reblogs and new followers.

I’m glad that my current content output seems to place me ahead of other audio blogs. I don’t follow any other audio blogs myself, and I’m not really an audiophile, so I have limited knowledge of how others handle their stuff.

Cranking out lots of short content seems to help me stand out. I try to be consistent in my upload rate, or else I run the risk of slacking off and falling behind. Gotta move forward!

Speaking of moving forward...

And of course the only one of these I’ve done so far is Twitch game streams, the least voted-on choice...

If I had more than 1-3 people tuning in, freestyle voice streams could become a thing. I’ll probably send out another survey regarding the best time to do that if I really commit to it.

I’ve had a few people ask if I do fanfiction readings. The answer is “Yes, but unless it’s My Immortal (I do that for free), you gotta commission me to read it.” As a general rule, if what you’re asking me to do is personalized, or would run longer than about 2 minutes, you should probably commission it instead of request it.

As for RP LPs, well, I’m hoping to get something started related to that soon. Stay tuned...

I thought maybe my page could use improvement, but it seems like I’m really the only one that has issues with it.

I appreciate everyone being as honest as possible about this.

A lot of the answers were something along the lines of “your voice acting” or “Daddy Sans gets me hot”. Which seems par for the course around here. I wouldn’t want it any other way. A lot of people, in PMs and in the survey, seem bashful to admit they get turned on by the voices I do. Don’t be! Dangerous and sexy is specifically the kind of voice I’m delivering.

There was also mention that they appreciated the consistency of posts, and how most of them are short and easy to listen to. That’s definitely what I strive for, so hooray, it’s working as intended!

Some people also noted they like the casual, more goofy approach to the voices and how I run things, and I’m glad that has its appeal. IRL I’m much more like UT Sans than MF Sans. The sexy funny is here to stay.

There was also praise for the various other voices I do. I really do try to think of other characters I can do audios for, but 90% of my stuff is still Sans for a number of reasons. I already have his character figured out quite thoroughly, he doesn’t need any heavy sound editing (unlike, say, Optimus), and he’s definitely why people are here in the first place.

Mercifully, the vast majority of responses were “Nothing, you’re good”. There were a few responses I’d like to respond to directly:

If you know any better themes, please please PLEASE PM me and let me know. I’m fine with paying for one if it improves the experience.

I’d love to add a tag index or something, but Tumblr really sucks at page customization. If anyone can offer formatting assistance, I’d be ever so grateful

I know... I have requests from months ago still sitting in my inbox. There are a number of different reasons I haven’t completed your request yet. Could be that I just haven’t figured out a good way to deliver on it. It might be that they’d take longer than normal and I haven’t taken to time to really work on it. On average I get more requests per day (2-5) than what I post per day (1), so a backlog is inevitable.

Audios are tricky to price. When you commission an art piece you usually get charged by the amount of characters, complexity of the background, and the overall detail of the art. Those are easier to standardize than audios. Or maybe it’s because I’m still inexperienced at pricing. Either way, I’ll try to get a commission page up once I get better at it. In the meantime, feel free to PM me and I’ll try to work with you on it. If you have a budget, let me know.

A lot of people suggested I use way more tags, which I have since started doing. Thankfully Xkit has autotaggers that makes it so much easier to keep track of everything.

Some suggested using Twitter, which I already do.

A lot of you recommended being more involved on Youtube, a la ProZD. It’s definitely something I’m considering. Youtube is much easier to share around than Tumblr pages.

Comic dubs were also suggested. I enjoy dubbing comics, but it’s hard for me to find good ones to dub. I’m not nearly as into Undertale and its associated AUs as all of you are, and I don’t really follow UT artists. If you guys find comics you think I could voice, please submit them to me!

About what I expected.

I was a bit surprised that I had a few male followers. This is why I try to keep my audios as gender-neutral as possible.

And that concludes my analysis of the survey results. I really, truly do appreciate everyone who took the time to give their opinions about my blog. I want to improve y’all’s experience and also improve my own output and follower base. My end goal is to get professional voice acting roles, and my work here helps me move forward towards that goal. When I first started this blog, I had no idea how it would develop. I’m so glad I started, and I only wish I’d started sooner.

Love y’all!

#survey #improvidence318

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sickandtideeeee · 6 years

Text

By Bast - Chapter One (Erik x reader)

so I tried my best to make a self-imposed deadline. Hopefully this is good!

** also in order for this to make sense, please read the prologue*

“For Bast’s sake, why are you guys so loud?!” Amina hissed loudly, all but drowned out by the music booming out of the overhead speakers almost directly above your table. You noticed out of the corner of your eye a couple turning to give you a dirty look and grimaced, raising your glass to your lips. Across from you, your other two girlfriends paused their raucous laughter for a split second before breaking out into more giggles.

“Please madam, can we not laugh?” Kali said, pushing back her long Senegalese twists, fallen to her face in all her excitement.

“What’s funny?” Amina pressed on your behalf. You personally were unbothered, but Amina, now recently being accepted as a late term Dora Milaje, was a lot more serious about keeping the going-ons of the palace under wraps. You, however, were content to let them talk as much as they wanted, and your friends usually did just that.

“Well…” Kali began, rolling her eyes.

“It’s just that after all the years of Ms. Scientific Revolution here yelling ‘ritual is antithetical to progress’, ‘ritual makes us slaves to habit’, or ‘ritual is overvalued in our culture’, now she’s in the temple bowing like she met her god personally.” Asha chimed in, her deep alcohol-induced blush apparent on her face, pale from albinism. She threw back the rest of her cup, and as she met eyes with Kali again, both immediately both burst out laughing.

You sighed, and Amina, seated by your side, frowned at the two but eased back into her seat, crossing her hands over her chest. She watched your expression with a sympathetic look. You raised an eyebrow back at her, wondering what she was so concerned about.

“What?”

“Did something happen?” she asked.

You shook your head no, but internally acknowledged that something truly had stirred inside you over the months since that night. Although your daily routines were the same, you now found yourself staring too long into the faces of strangers, and praying every night to a goddess you were sure for years never existed for an explanation. You even found yourself now enjoying the weekday mornings you spent tending the Herb Garden with your adoptive father, and had started to spend half-hours meditating in the spiritual compound on the weekends.

Working in the garden was initially a chore you loathed growing up, even more so than the one-on-one spirituality and divination classes Papa Zuri had put you through every weekday. You had all but escaped a true apprenticeship thanks to King T’Chaka, who found that you were better suited for the department of science and technology division, as it was before Shuri revamped it. (Later on, you had found out per Asha that part of the reason you were removed from some of the temple duties was because some of the older medicine women had begun to complain about your irreverence and thought you’d eventually set off some catastrophe if the gods got angry.)

Unfortunately for your adoptive father, the side effect of the dual appointment was your insistence on lobbying him for less discretionary use of the Herb. What he insisted was sacred, you insisted was simply mutated and could be mass produced for common use the same way vibranium was.

Now that you were pretty sure you had been visited by Bast, the Heart-Shaped Herb was no longer simply as a symbol of how the monarchy monopolized an organic resource that could be shared with many. You wanted to know what kings truly saw when they ingested it, and if it felt like anything in your own dream, apparition, whatever you called it.

Kali scoffed, rolling her eyes. “That’s what she says every time. Oh, definitely nothing happened, but all of a sudden, she’s respecting our religion.”

Amina gave her a dirty look, and Kali retorted with a cheeky grin, but her eyes revealed a faint nervous glimmer. Amina was at least six feet tall, with a large, muscular frame, and she looked intimidating with her originally full head of back length freeform locs now freshly shaven and ceremonially tattooed along the sides of her skull. Kali’s 5’1 waifish figure didn’t stand a chance if it truly came to blows.

"Are you really going to start taking the priestess work seriously?” Amina asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity, deciding to disregard Kali’s comment, which overheard could have actually had some serious implications. Religion and spirituality were paramount to most, if not all, of the townspeople, especially considering all the blessings Wakanda had presumably received from Bast. You had too often been protected by the fact that your father was the high priest, such that no one actually believed the rumors that his daughter was everything short of sacrilegious.

That, in addition to having immigrated from the outside, was a recipe for disaster.

You shrugged. “It’s probably too late to become a priestess, but I can at least take the time to learn the rituals for real. Who knows, maybe I could do the one for Prince T’Challa’s coronation.” This last part you shared without looking up, instead focusing on the ice cubes swirling in your glass as you shook it. You knew Amina, who was particularly smitten by the prince, would take the comment as a humble brag no matter how it was intended.

It would likely be a long time until the next ritual combat for king would begin, but the preparation could be good learning.

Amina’s eyes widened in surprise at your response, and clapped her hands together in shock.

“See how she disrespects us!” Kali snorted. “Maybe she’ll crown Prince T’Challa.”

She jumped to her feet, and grabbed Asha by the arm, who had long since tuned out the conversation and by the look of it was busy undressing several men in the club with her eyes. “I beg, let’s go dance. My song is playing and these men in here are… how you say, fiiiiiiiine!”

Mad over You by RunTown was now coming through the speakers, and Kali and Asha went whining off into the crowd. Amina tapped your arm, and when she saw you weren’t about to go anywhere, smiled with understanding and ran off with the other two. You would join them in a few; it was the last night Amina would be able to move freely outside the palace anyway. The second they had disappeared into the crowd you locked eyes with a handsome stranger across the room who flashed a flirty half-smile at you. You smiled back politely and lowered your eyes, but as soon as you realized he was making his way over, Nope went your social anxiety and you threw back the last of your drink before making your escape to the restroom.

A haze was slowly starting to form in your mind as you sat in the bathroom stall, waiting out who-knows-what, until you caught the flash of your communication bead from the corner of your eye. It was a message from Shuri. You opened it.

My father is dead.

___

In less than a week, all mourning rites had come to a close and Prince T’Challa had become King T’Challa in a triumphant show of power over the Jabari tribe. You were amazed at how intensely your entire country could grieve and turn around to form the explosion of vibrant joy that was Challenge Day. But then again, your Wakanda was magical and blessed, and the whole country knew it.

Today, you were escorted into the throne room by one of the King’s guard and presented before your new crowned king. Shuddering as the entryway panels shut loudly behind you, you immediately bowed your head deeply to greet him before being walked closer to the throne. Amina, head now fully shaven showing her full induction into the Adored Ones, stood out proudly from the line of guards posted along the walls of the throne room, and shot you an excited look, eyes twinkling. Unfortunately, the general, Okoye, noticed her lose focus and shot her a disparaging look. Amina quickly faced forward with renewed stern expression. She wears that warrior face well, you thought to yourself.

You looked away from the guard and faced T’Challa, who regarded you warmly. The throne appeared to suit him naturally, fit him like a glove. Yet it was no true surprise as by your recollection, he had been regal from the very first day you met him as a child.

“Come on, you have known me for too long to be doing all of those formalities.” He said, chuckling softly, motioning almost embarrassedly for you to stand up properly as he walked closer to you. He seemed to tower above you more than usual, and you wondered if he had grown taller since the last time he had seen you or if his new title had encouraged him to stand a little more confidently.

“That’s probably true, my King. But customs are customs, right?” You responded, smiling.

“Ah, stop with the King nonsense, Nkiru.” His hand rested softly now on your shoulder, and you found your face growing hot in embarrassment. Not here, not in front of Amina, you thought.

“Would you rather I have your guard destroy me for showing disrespect?” you quipped back with a sassy grin, eyeing Okoye whose lips betrayed a small smirk. You made a dramatic show of raising your hands in surrender, but mostly to shrug his hand off you, and he sighed, amused but exasperated.

You weren’t being facetious, this truly was more comfortable for you. The fact of the matter was that for some unknown reason, you had always felt some emotional distance from him. T’Challa was always Shuri’s older brother to you, and regardless of how aware you were that he was handsome, intelligent and sweet, you had been relatively immune to whatever unconscious charm he had on most girls in his vicinity. Sometimes you suspected that T’Challa realized this and would put the charisma on overdrive. Most likely he just enjoyed being the most eligible bachelor in Wakanda.

Too bad for him that most everyone in the capital knew how he felt about Nakia, princess of River tribe, who had come back from a posting as a War Dog to witness his coronation. You had even overheard a few girls in coffeeshops lamenting his relationship and hoping he had a long-lost brother or cousin or anyone else they could set their affections on.

There was a pause, and for a moment you began to worry about the true reason you had been called so formally. Then you remembered a rumor circulating the gardeners regarding T’Challa storming out of the spiritual compound after talking to Zuri a couple days ago. If this had anything to do with that you knew nothing, and hoped to continue being ignorant.

T’Challa suddenly broke the silence, clearing his throat softly.

“I just wanted to formally thank you for taking care of Shuri that night,” he began. “When…,” he paused for a moment, knowing the next words would be painful. “When my father died, I wasn’t able to be there for her and my mother, and I appreciated knowing that you would be there as her friend to console her.” He smiled again, with the slightest twinge of sadness this time.

“It was my pleasure, Kun-, I mean T’Challa,” you replied. He looked almost relieved that you’d stopped calling him king. Satisfied, he placed his hands behind his back and walked whimsically back to his seat. “I will add that I was pleased to see you at the ritual, even partaking in it.” He chuckled, settling back into his throne. “Imagine my surprise when I woke up from the ancestral plane to see you among those watching me.”

You cocked your head to the side in confusion.

“I’m just saying it was nice, that’s all.” He mused. Okoye now walked up beside you, and declared to the king that there would be an impromptu strategic meeting in a few moments. With that, you prepared to bow out quietly. However, just as you began to make your way towards the exit, a parade of elders seemed to spill into the room, almost spinning you a full 360 as their attendants rushed in and lined the walls.

“What is the meaning of all this?” Nakia’s father, the River tribe elder, exclaimed as he entered the room. Flamboyant as he was, his attendants quickly rushed to place a chair beneath him and he eased into it without looking back, crossing his legs as he sat down. “I will have you know that I, too, have plans and cannot be rushed in to talk about any foolish man that wanders onto our territory.”

T’Challa’s jaw tensed, but he said nothing, allowing the growing commotion to build.

The Merchant tribe elder sucked her teeth as she was accompanied into the room by her own attendants, hands behind her back. The Queen Mother and Shuri came in together, muttering quietly under their breath.

As quickly as the rest of the elders entered the room and were seated, their attendants scurried out of the room. Whatever was going on was serious and private, you guessed. A fan of minding your own business, you attempted the same…

Until you heard the voice again, and your heart skipped a beat as a wave of panic crashed over you.

Stay a little longer.

Your legs were frozen in place before the door, but your interior felt like fire and flames and thunder. Something big was about to happen. The grumble and brouhaha of the assembly had quieted into a low hush and you could feel eyes on you as your back as you, the intruder, stood motionless before the doors to the assembly. But no one said a word. And if they did, you paid them no mind.

You soon could hear a multitude of footsteps on the other side of the entryway, mirroring your own fast heartbeat. You held your breath.

The doors slid open, and you saw him, the literal man of your dreams, in the flesh for the first time. As you matched this new stranger’s features to your recollection, time might as well have stood still. You felt the same cool wind without a source from so long ago blow past you, and then a new wash of that eerie calm. Your heartbeat stabilized, your breathing slowed, your muscles relaxed.

The stranger’s arms were shackled behind him, but those handcuffs may as well have been a fashion accessory. He held his head high, walking with a confident swagger into T’Challa’s presence as if he were giving the Border tribesmen a tour of his very own home. His eyes quickly surveyed the room around you, taking it in and then rested on you.

He gave you the same quizzical look you’d seen before. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was replaced by a smirk.

“You cute and all, but uh, you gon move out of the way so I can talk to ya King?” he said, voice low, smooth and flat with disinterest.

Like an incantation, your legs seem to unstick from the center of the room, and you ran out of the throne, overcome with a feeling between offense and minor humiliation, to let him do his damage.

Bast would have to help you out with this one.

@syndrlla97 @iwantsomethingeternal @1killmonger

[Prologue][Chapter Two][Chapter Three][Chapter Four][Chapter Five][Chapter Six][Chapter Seven][Chapter Eight]

#black panther #killmonger x reader #killmonger x oc #killmonger x you #erik killmonger x reader #black girl writes #erik killmonger x black oc #erik x reader

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thedeviljudges · 6 years

Note

Daddy Billy? Serious daddy Billy? Serious daddy Billy turning into a fluffy bear for his princess, Steve?

uhmm, so like i’m so sorry this took ages to get to, but!!! it’s finished, and this is a bit long. although, i really don’t think this is what you had in mind?? just know that i love this; i love this kinda stuff, and i should probably redo this prompt bc this wasn’t exactly what i was going for; it just kinda happened??/f jasldkf idk, but here ya go, babe.

The window to his studio overlooks the whole of New York, and Steve doesn’t miss the way the wind curls into the room like smoke, thick and heavy from air polluted by busy streets and the life of people.

There’s sirens in the distance and the honking of late cars – they’re always there in a place like this, too loud when he’d moved in, but a comfort that lets him know the world still spins. Steve might even hear the distant rattle of voices on a warm, breezy day if the flat wasn’t several stories above floor level.

Deeply, he breathes, inhales air and fresh paint. His fingers are stained blue and green, crust under his fingernails from the hours he’s spent in his studio trying to transfer the images from his head onto a canvas. Soft strums of music fill the room, too, mostly drowned out by city life, but the distinct violin and flute are pitch perfect alongside the orchestra he loves to listen it for concentration.

As Steve picks up a brush, he hums, dips it into the paint and smears it across the canvas in gentle strokes. Sometimes- and only sometimes, does he know what he’s painting. He likes his landscapes well enough, people, too, but often, he likes freehand, knows that it’s child’s play when he does it, as if he’d dipped his fingers into the paint and willed tacky into existence.

It’s still a form of release, though. It may not be anything special, but it cuts his anxiety right in two when he needs it the most.

“You’ve been in here all day?”

Steve jumps, watches helplessly as the brush slides across the canvas in an indecent stroke only to fall out of his hand onto the floor. “Fuck,” he says, climbs out of his chair, reaching for the brush. He delicately places it onto the table, the one that holds all his supplies, his brushes, his paints. He’s even got clay and watercolors, colored pencils and markers he’s still testing out because the texture runs different; the liquid is thinner, and Steve’s determined to understand the variety. “You could’ve made a noise, you asshole.”

“Forgive me for walking through my house.”

The tone is sharp, unexpected, and when Steve looks up, Billy’s leaning against the threshold of the door with a pinch in his brow and a curl to his lip. Steve’s not sure what’s caused it, thinks back to this morning when Billy smiled as he’d leaned over the edge of the bed to kiss Steve goodbye. Thinks maybe he could’ve left something out of place, then wonders if maybe something else has crawled up under Billy’s skin and settled there.

“Right,” he answers, not knowing what he could follow that up with. The tension is thick now, heavy and unsure, and Steve knows it’s one of those moods, the kind that isn’t deliberate because Billy’s only holding back his feelings like that’s the right thing to do.

Might have to coax it out of him, then.

Billy’s brow arches, pointed like he’s waiting for Steve to snap, and at that, he rolls his eyes, unimpressed. “You’re going to come sit down,” he starts, sees the way Billy’s eye twitches after being told what to do. “Sit. Down.” Then, he nods at the chair, turns and pulls open a few drawers until he’s sorting out a set of clean paint brushes.

When Steve turns around, he runs into a solid chest, Billy bracing his hips with the palms of his hands. He’s warm even through Steve’s clothes, a weight he’s missed all day. “Princess is getting a little too big for his britches,” Billy says, blue eyes amused as Steve attempts to wiggle free. He knows that Billy’s cornering him for a reason, for a fight, for maybe a good fuck to avoid the problem at hand, but if there’s anything Steve’s learned about Billy, it’s that his instincts to please win out every time.

“Daddy’s getting a little too serious,” he counters, tone like the edge of a knife. He smiles, makes sure Billy knows that he knows and that Steve’s only going to make him work for anything more than a deep kiss.

It takes a moment, but only that, for Billy to sigh, takes a step back, then another, until his hands are no longer on Steve. He almost looks disappointed, but Steve knows Billy’s insides burn brighter than any star, and if he can’t have his way now, he’ll certainly get it later.

Billy sits down, sort of plops into the seat with a huff like he can’t believe Steve’s making him do this. Really, Steve doesn’t have a clue what he’s intended, but he does have paints and stained hands, clean brushes and white canvases that take his mind off of the bullshit his brain conjures. Billy’s never one to join Steve on his quest, complains too much about the paint fumes and that there’s no point to this if I can’t draw jack, Steve.

Billy’s more of a reader anyway, the study a life of its own with the shelves extending from floor to ceiling. It’s how Billy usually relaxes when he needs it, if he’s not busy coaxing an orgasm out of Steve – which he very happily enjoys – but this time, Steve reaches for Billy’s palm, pries his fingers open and sets a single brush in his hand.

“I trust you know what to do with it.” Steve nudges Billy’s fingers, closing the hold around the wooden stem of the brush. Then, he glances at the canvas from underneath his lashes, back and forth until Billy’s frowning.

“You mean you’re not going to give me a lap dance? I sat down for nothing?”

Try as he might, Steve can’t contain his smirk, tilting his head like he’s talking to a child. “You haven’t earned that yet,” he says, cupping the underside of Billy’s jaw in a tender gesture of affection, only pulling away to grab the other chair he keeps in the corner of the room. “Show me what you got, pretty boy.”

“You using my lines on me is not doing you any favors,” Billy says, narrowing his eyes. He’s pretty good at reading Steve – they’re both good at reading each other now, but sometimes Steve still pulls one over his head, likes when Billy’s games slip from his control, right into Steve’s.

“Just paint, Billy.” And then he waits, stares at the other man until Billy’s grumbling under his breath. The brush rotates between his fingers, Steve watching as he attempts to find a comfortable grip before hovering over the paints like he’s scared to touch them, like he’s never seen them before.

“Weren’t you working on something?” he asks, let’s his arm fall down, elbow to his knee. He glances at the paining, half of it covered in paint, the other half white, and the one lone streak that wasn’t intentional. If Steve could give it one ounce of personification, it’d be the way it mocks him as it lies drying.

“Nothing’s as important as you,” he replies, turning his gaze away from the eye sore – though in actuality, the whole canvas is, but that’s neither here nor there – to continue staring at Billy, watches the way the corner of his lips drag into a frown, realizing that there’s no way around Steve’s stubbornness.

Billy blinks, still doesn’t look impressed and says, “You’re being a brat.”

Petulance is a word Steve would use to describe Billy sometimes, so used to snapping his fingers and people crawling on their knees for a moment of his time. His job – though more like his position – gives him that luxury, and Steve hates to admit that maybe he’d fallen for it too until he realized just how much he could bat his eyes and turn Billy into a puddle of putty. “Didn’t start it, babe.”

“I wasn’t-”

“You were,” Steve insists, gives a quick point to the project as if that explains it all. “So, now you’re going to paint me a picture.” It goes quiet then, the music in the background filling the room, the city outside rumbling as if it wasn’t listening to their conversation.

“You know I can’t paint, princess,” Billy attempts on more time, just one moment of reprieve. Steve doesn’t understand why it’s so difficult to follow simple instructions, but then again, he’s dealing with a man in a fortune five-hundred company who’s never rolled over for anyone in his life.

Except Steve, but even then, that’s not something Billy easily admits to. It isn’t out of weakness, per se, and Billy loves showing him off to all his friends. As if Steve found objection in the question the first time Billy offered because he hadn’t, but more to do with the fact that Billy and emotions have never gone hand in hand. Like pulling teeth, Steve’s been on the brink of frustration too many times, knows the reason, knows Billy’s past, but still doesn’t wholly understand.

So, out of playing stubborn, Steve shrugs. “Does that look like a masterpiece to you?” Failure has welcomed him too many times; Steve feels like maybe that’s the root of a much larger problem. The career he’d aspired for left no room for positive affirmations, not until he’d struggled for a few years and finally booked a gig big enough to have offers roll in, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deal with his fair share of personal torment over whether all he’s good with his posing.

Steve likes his looks well enough, uses that to his advantage more often than he’d like to admit, but that alone isn’t fulfilling as the time spent in between painting and creating something much more than an image.

He frowns, holds disdain in his eyes because some of the colors have muddled together in a particularly ugly shade of brown. Not what he was going for, but it’s not like he can’t start again. That’d always been a lessoned learned.

“You know anything you do is good enough.” Billy’s eyes are on him now, intense and blue under the streams of sun that shine through the window.

It makes Steve suck in a breath, reminds him of all the reasons he loves Billy’s attention on him. “Not the point,” he croaks, definitely not disillusioned with the idea that Billy knows how he affects Steve. “But thank you anyway. You’re stalling; now get to it or-”

“Or what?” Billy says, the arch in his brow back.

Steve plucks the brush he’d been using off the table, dips it into a shade of blue – bright like the sky and similar to Billy’s eye color; he’d never admit it, but it’s why he bought it, felt like maybe the deep reds and shades of purple he loved the most could use the contrast even though it never really matched.

He’s sure there’s a metaphor somewhere in there, hates how he’s always slow in understanding what his subconscious already knows, but Steve only dabs the canvas in the corner, knows Billy’s looking at what he’s doing, only to surprise him by lifting the brush to slide it down the side of Billy’s cheek. “That’s my favorite color on you,” he says. “For future reference.”

Billy stills, gone rigid by the gesture. The flick of his tongue is what gives him away, that he’s not mad but agitated with really? Did you really?

“If you get paint on this suit-” he says, voice dropping low.

“You’ll what?” Steve taunts. “Spank me, daddy?” And just as he says it, like a slow motion shot of a film, paint drips off Steve’s brush and lands right on the lapel of Billy’s suit jacket. Bright blue paint on a deep brown suit don’t really go together, but Steve is reminded, if only briefly, why he loves color theory so much. “That was not planned.”

He shrinks away, wide-eyed as Billy dabs the paint off with a finger, slides it across the canvas in front of him because Steve doesn’t have a rag nearby, and there’s no sense in it anyway. There’s a dark spot on the suit, and it’s going to be a bitch to remove.

“Wasn’t it?” Billy rubs his thumb and forefinger together, that maybe if he does it long enough, the rest of the paint will wither away. Instead, it just leaves the tips tacky and stained like Steve’s.

“No,” Steve replies, dumps his brush into the dirty cup of water he keeps only in case he runs out of clean brushes. It hardly happens because Steve has enough sets that he can wash and dry a pair without waiting to use them. “You should’ve taken your clothes off before coming in here.”

Now the tables have turned, his argument weak across the tongue. Billy certainly picks up on that with, “Is that so?”

“You know what I meant.”

“Do I?”

“Billy,” Steve whines, flush gradually fluttering across his cheeks.

“Hmm. See, that’s not my name, baby. Not when you have to beg.”

“Who says I’m begging?” But he’s not confident in that question either, pointed out by Billy’s lazy smirk.

“Well, if you’re not,” he pauses, thumbing the bristles of the brush in his hand, “then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I did this.” Billy then takes the paint brush and runs it straight down Steve’s forehead, between his wide brown eyes and stops just as he reaches the tip of his nose.

“That’s-” Steve falters, feels the cool breeze twice as much as the paint sits wet upon his skin.

“Not fair?” Billy’s brows raise, amusement hidden in the corner of his eyes, significantly lighter than when he’d entered the room. It’s a better look on him, as Steve takes him in, gently touching the tip of his nose, definitely checking that one line had been given to his painting and now another sits between his eyes. Billy must read his thoughts, pushes further by emphasizing his tone lighter and nowhere close to Steve’s. “Didn’t start it, babe.”

He makes a split second decisions - not even that, really - by dipping his fingers directly into the yellow paint, flicking them until little dots dance across Billy’s skin. “Then finish it.”

It happens within seconds. One moment Steve is propped up on the edge of his chair, perfectly pleasant in sharing his space with Billy upright, and the next he’s sprawled across the floor. His brush rolls across it, left to be found later, and his paints - including the canvas and the water - splash around them. It’s in this moment that Steve’s grateful Billy replaced the carpet with tile, but even then he winces until Billy’s got four fingers - all stained with paint - running down the curve of his neck.

“Gladly,” he say as he reaches forward, attaching his lips to the side of Steve’s neck that isn’t covered in paint. He nips, and he sucks until Steve’s wriggling from beneath him. His cock fills quickly, doesn’t take much when he’s around Billy anyway, and he lets him know by rutting against his thigh, soft little presses until Billy reaches for his hip to hold him still. “I’m thinking,” Billy says, slipping two fingers just past the waistband of Steve’s sweatpants. His cock jumps, the anticipation curling in his chest, but Billy moves no further. “That I probably shouldn’t let you cum.”

Steve swallows a noise of disappointment. This isn’t what he’d intended, had really hoped for more of a conversation of intent and resolution than Billy pinning him against the floor on the off-chance that maybe he’d get to come.

But now that he’s here, he’s shameless enough to admit his will power doesn’t proceed him. “Please, daddy,” he emphasizes this time, latching onto Billy’s tie to pull him down into another heated kiss. His tongue is rough against Billy’s, sliding past his teeth, tastes the cigarette smoke and mints, the cleanliness that lingers because Billy knows of nothing else.

Immediately, whatever tension was left lingering in Billy’s body, simply dissipates. Steve feels the extra weight of Billy on top of him as he relaxes, as he pushes Steve’s sweatpants down to expose his cock. Billy takes him in hand, rough at first with the callouses against his palm, but it’s a discomfort that makes him twitch, makes him grind up into the palm of Billy’s hand seeking more, seeking a release he knows will be quick.

Billy thumbs at the head of his cock, breaking away from Steve’s kiss to latch onto the underside of his jaw. Blurts of pre-cum swell at the tip as Billy slowly rubs it down the length of him.

Steve always gets embarrassingly wet, generally likes to use his slick to fuck his fist, and Billy knows this, too, because he’d watched Steve once, made him sit on the couch in broad daylight just so he could stroke himself to orgasm with only the touch of his hand. Billy’s blue, wanton eyes were the only thing he’d seen as he’d fallen over the edge.

So, this isn’t an exception, not when Billy takes him fully, strokes up in one swift movement and too slow - agonizingly slow - to calm the desire in Steve, to make him wet, to make it easier. He whines low in his throat while Billy smiles against the curve of his shoulder. The linger of a kiss remains as he pulls away, stares at Steve and tells him, “Fuck my fist, princess.”

There’s no hesitation from Steve, doesn’t crow over the tile against his back, hard underneath the tarp, and he doesn’t complain about how his pants restrict him from opening his legs wider, can’t use his feet as leverage to give a good thrust.

Instead, Steve’s movement’s are limited, sloppy and uncoordinated. Billy’s seated in desire, curled around Steve’s side as he tightens his fist, releasing it a moment later only to repeat the torture of not giving enough until Steve catches his wrist, holds him there.

The corner of Billy’s mouth twitches, reads Steve’s eyes as they beg, until he releases Billy in the hope he’ll listen. “You’re awfully haughty,” Billy whispers, though the thick of his voice gives away just how little control he has over it, how little he cares that Steve’s pushy when usually it’s the other way around. “Should let you take care of yourself.”

Shaking his head, Steve licks his lips, gives a particularly enthusiastic push of his hips before he tells Billy, “I’m too much of a sight to behold.”

With that, Billy squeezes around Steve’s cock, thumb curving just underneath the head until Steve’s hissing. Billy hums again, has a fond look on his face as he says, “You are, my darling. Watching you makes my day.” And then he’s shoving Steve’s shirt up, releasing his length for only a second to do it, sliding his hand down, down until he’s back stroking, quick sessions of his fist accumulating pre-cum, meeting the sharp thrusts Steve gives.

And then- then Billy’s lips are lower on his skin, as his shirt bunches up against the line of his collar. Billy gives a rough command, says, “Now cum or I won’t fuck you later,” then licks across the bud of Steve’s nipple, swirling his tongue until he gives a particularly hard bite that sends Steve’s head reeling, has his cock blurting thick strips of cum across his tummy, towards his chest.

He’s loud when the moan escapes, as Steve cries underneath Billy’s torture, feels his toes curl, limbs shaking. Billy presses kisses across the middle of his chest, laps at the cum that’s landed that far before taking Steve’s other nipple into his mouth despite the fact that he’s already cum. His hand is gentler now in his strokes across Steve’s cock, eases him through the after affects of release and only steps off when Steve whimpers, squirms away from sensitivity.

“You’re always so unfair,” Steve says after he few breaths, catches how easy it is to fill his lungs after the rise of his heartbeat.

Billy smiles, rests his chin on Steve’s chest lightly. The thick of his lashes make him look bashful, Steve staring down the bridge of his nose for a clear glimpse. He thinks, sometimes, how unfair it is, that all the small, pretty things about Billy always add up into one big picture of beauty, often made him wonder how he ended up here like this with a boyfriend who loved him good, fucked him good, too.

“If anything’s unfair,” Billy retorts, “it’s the fact that you got off, and I’ve yet-”

“Do you want me to-”

Billy’s quick to shake his head, places his cum-covered hand on Steve’s shoulder, which stops him from moving. “Told you I’d fuck you later. I meant that.”

“Like you also meant to snap at me?” Steve asks without a tone of regret. He slides his fingers across the back of Billy’s head, sinking them into his hair, rubbing his scalp with the blunt of his fingernails in light scratches. Steve looks away then, hates to be the bitch that ruins the mood, but he had intended for the issue to be addressed.

Besides, Steve might’ve been cookie-cutter perfect for a good chunk of his life, and that might’ve changed after years away from home, but the one thing that hasn’t left him is wanting to know the truth. No bullshit; no lies, Billy, he remembers telling him. You cheat, and we’re done.

It’s been years since that conversation, and they’ve never held each other to anything less. This is still no exception.

Billy sighs, turns his head so he’s ear is pressed against Steve instead. “Shitty day at work, that’s all,” he says, tired seeping through the vibrato. “Shouldn’t’ve snapped at you.”

There’s no reason to be mad, and Steve’s not, continues to sweep his hand through Billy’s curls, across the top of his head until he’s pulled away the tangles, and Billy’s eyes are fluttering closed.

“You do know I’m always down for a good, hard fuck if you ever need to let your frustrations out, Billy,” Steve eventually says when the silence stretches. “I’ve told you that, and I’d much prefer having my ass pounded than you angry and sniping at me.”

“Fuck, how’d I get so lucky.” Billy’s arm curls tight around Steve’s waist, warm and pliant. Steve can feel the rise and fall of his chest, maybe even feels Billy’s heart hammering away from another slight, like they’re all adding up until Steve finally penalizes him for it. He won’t; Steve will admit he’s stubborn, but he’s not scornful. Especially with Billy.

“You really did,” Steve says in agreement, lets the two of them rest there for what feels like ages, lets the music play and the paint dry and the wind breeze through the window until his back grows sore. “C’mon, babe.” He nudges Billy, almost would’ve guessed he fell asleep if it weren’t for him stirring underneath the shake of Steve’s palm. “Let’s get you into bed.”

Billy sits up, reluctantly, turning to help Steve with his pants, helps him stand. His suit is ruffled, has paint on it in random places. His hair’s a mess from Steve rucking through it, but he looks more than content, looks soft, at least, and much more like the person Steve likes to spend his time with.

Rough around the edges has always been, and will always be, Billy’s forte, but Steve enjoys this, too. Enjoys it when Billy sweeps him into his arms, presses their foreheads together, then kisses him softly. Enjoys it when Billy is sincere, when he tugs on Steve’s hand as he nudges a foot in the direction of their bedroom.

“I’ll buy you new paints,” he says absently as they walk down the hall. Steve regrets not cleaning anything, but the bed looks more than inviting, and more importantly, he knows Billy needs the sleep as he clings to Steve, hugs him from behind. Billy’s lips are delicate against his temple, hands caressing Steve’s hips.

“Good,” Steve says, finally urging Billy to untangle their limbs to sit down. Steve helps him off with his shoes, his socks, lets Billy remove the rest of his clothes until he’s in nothing but his boxers.

With his legs spread wide, Steve slots himself between Billy’s thighs, lays his hand on wide shoulders. “I’ll hold you to it.” And then he’s cupping Billy’s cheek with the palm of his hand, kissing him softly because once is never enough.

Soon, Steve’s balance fails him, the two of them falling into bed in the middle of the afternoon just because they have the time, just because they can, and just because Steve’s missed the way Billy curls around him when they’re together.

#x #harringrove #i hate when i fail so bad at prompts #like the intention was to go in a different direction but then characters take over #so this turned out differently than originally planned so :/

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jasenet · 3 years

Text

200320 | #backyard

( image cover. ) — location: seraph house.

CH: despite being an omega himself, chase wanted to help in whatever way he could. at least, until his own hormones became unbearable. it wore on his mind, truthfully, that he should be used to it by now, to being around so many other wolves compared to how he'd lived before. if he were the type to place labels, to accept labels, he knows it'd be deemed chaos but chase still thinks fondly of the time spent living in different places, trying to find home until he did. swallowing thickly, he looks at the few hot packs he's sewn up. they're nothing much, to be honest. smaller than he intended, the stitches lackluster and even his fingers show the failed efforts, prodded and pricked by the needle but with no complaints. it wasn't about how much comfort it did grant but maybe it could help knowing that they're not alone. ah, now to figure out how to give them out and how to explain himself. he lays on his back, making sure the hot packs don't touch the ground, giving them the blanket he'd brought out as a courtesy for when he gifts them. with a deep breath, he watches the clouds float by. it might still be cold but he couldn't help it, he's adored cotton candy clouds for as long as he could remember.

JN: the responsible thing to do was probably to stay in the medical room or nearby just so he would be available for the next wolf that came by. but having done his more mundane tasks earlier that morning, restocking and cleaning up twice, he'd taken to the outdoors. more specifically, the backyard where he could still feel the sun on him, the real sun, while not being too far away. it was a win-win situation. with so many wolves in the pack, it was unsurprising that he quickly found a resting omega and felt the thrill of companionship coursing through his veins. as soon as julian had a five feet distance on chase, he fell to his knees with a cheerful smile and crawled the rest of the way over to the tired-looking omega. "hey, chase. whatcha got there?" pointing to the poorly sewed, rectangular packs, the purpose was somewhat clear. however, as per usual, he was having a hard time remembering what they were called. "do you need any help?" the offer was more for him wanting the company, but he also thought that he might be able to fix the sewing given the chance.

CH: it takes him longer than expected to notice the scent first before anything else. it didn’t used to cross his mind until he finally became part of an official pack. chase used to think he was just imagining things but, this time, he’s a little more proud of himself that once julian is within a few feet, he can decipher it, recognize it, enjoy it instead of feeling confused. he sits up slightly when julian drops down, grinning as bright as the sun that bears down upon them both. “julian!” but bashfulness is a thing and he knows it well when julian points out his handiwork. it must be mad if it’s not obvious what they are. a rectangle was even a basic shape, tsk tsk. ah but maybe it’s not so bad. it’s a basic shape, could be anything! so his smile remains in place, reaching out for julian to hug him if he was allowed to. “i’d rather cloud gaze right now. would you join me? it’d be nice to have a pillow,” he jokes, but he’s never wanted to make julian uncomfortable. “we don’t have to! mm . . . i could go inside and get more blankets and a pillow that way.” he just wants company at this point, especially when afternoon hits and he feels that usual bout of weariness, his stamina still yet to be developed, if it ever will be.

JN: sitting on his knees with his hands rested on his thighs, he tilted his head and watched as chase recognized him and offered his arms out. a hug. a form of physical affection. without thinking about it too much longer, he leaned in and gave chase said hug; squeezing lightly before separating. having been used to the winter coolness, he was thankful to himself for still wearing thick sweaters right then. thankfully, too, hugging didn't hurt as much as it used to despite the evidence that still remained. as soon as he was given permission to join in, he eagerly positioned himself to lay on his back. unbothered by the possibility of dirt of his clothes. they were in the backyard, not the actual forest. julian turned his head to face chase and smiled at him softly; one hand rested on his tummy while the other reached over to hold chase's hand. truthfully, he was just happy to be there. but then he remembered that he wasn't speaking a word and quickly swallowed; looking for something to say. "how do you normally spend your afternoons?"

CH: chase basks in the affection that's given to him, grinning widely that, yes, julian didn't seem to hesitate long. anytime julian returns his affection and doesn't seem to hesitate quite as much as when they first met, chase feels a certain warmth wash over him, blooming on his cheeks and even fanning out to the tips of his ears. physical acts of affection are but the ultimate form of love to him, the only form of love he really knows, that he's truly known his entire life; a necessary constant for him to get through the weariness of the day, of any doubts or worries that he tries to shove away, wind fiercely blowing those clouds away in lieu of the ones he loves to gaze up at. when julian joins him, chase lays back down too, arm bent as he used it to prop his head up slightly, supporting his neck. he doesn't expect the extended hand and is practically aglow when he takes julian's hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing lightly with a smile still on his lips. "i like to spend them like this if i can but i should help out soon. they'll be preparing dinner soon." playing with their hands, chase goes back and forth between fingers, as if trying to figure out if he should rest his hand on top of julian's or vice versa when the only intention is to cling. "what about you? what brings you outside today?"

JN: for a long while, he just looked at chase. maybe just watched him as he made every bit of facial variance that he could make out. it all felt like new territory, new lessons, and most definitely new memories. julian would make as many of them as he possible could and catalogue them for not only the rainy days, but the sunny ones, too. the doom and gloom would never get the chance to overpower him if he had such peaceful and calm memories to keep him afloat. as every limb and bone in his body released themselves of any and all tension, the feeling of relaxation could finally overtake him and he was left to sigh out in relief. it almost felt like he could melt into the ground. the very inkling of a breeze that entered through the openings of his sleeves gave him goosebumps and tickled him pink; letting himself grin and giggle. turning to face the sky now, it was obvious why chase liked to spend his time here. the hesitation in his voice shone through so much he could feel the same. “you do so much for us, chase. thank you.” squeezing chase’s hand at the thanks, he blinked away his growing drowsiness. it was really that time of day again, where it wasn’t quite time for bed, yet something about golden hour and how it made everything extra beautiful made his heart flutter. “i’ve finished my tasks for today. to relax, i came out here. so i’m glad you’re here with me.” slowly letting his eyes close due to the slight change in brightness, he scrunched his sweater as the feeling passed. “stay here a bit longer. please?”

CH: he's been very go with the flow since he was young; it was how he was blown so far away from the wind that he'd yet to reunite with his first pack, with his parents, swept away and brought into a different sky, one without the same sun and moon he'd risen and fallen to but the stars and clouds remain, enough familiarity for chase not to panic. but none of that prepares him for moments like this, in which the praise makes him the most shy of all. it captivates him, really, each syllable a delightful tune for his heart to follow, the rhythm changing to match that of the words he's given so kindly, and chase can't think over the way his heart begins to pound, oh-so-easily overwhelmed. "ah, i can't take all of the credit! where would we be without healers like you, julian? your hands perform magic," he jokes and while the giggle emphasizes how entertained he is, a part of him truly means it. he doubts he could ever do what julian and boram do for the pack, no matter how helpful he wishes he could be. the squeeze to his hand makes his heart swell again and he'd fall over in adoration if he wasn't already laying down. turning on his side, of course he couldn't possibly say no. he wouldn't say no to anything if julian asked so nicely, so gently. "do you want to help with the cooking too? but yes, we can stay here!" nestling closer to julian, the top of his head brushing just barely against julian's shoulder, he points up at the sky with his free hand now. "doesn't that cloud look like a bunny? aah, it's so cute."

JN: there was a sense of ease in the way chase immediately corrected his compliment. and wasn’t that exactly what he admired? someone who would be so considerate of the rest of the pack that they wouldn’t want all the credit anyway? “at least you’re taking some of the credit.” the smile on his lips aimed toward the sky above and all its never ending beauty. it was the same sky that he saw two years ago. and the years before that, he was sure. the empty wander of whether there was anyone left in his biological family looking up at it with him stayed hollow in his chest. but it didn’t stop him from looking at it with more joy than melancholy. “as much as i hope that i’ve always been a healer, i think i’m a healer by trade.” his words came in soft whispers, as if it were a secret—and perhaps it was. there was no one else he’d think to tell it to than the wolf that seemed to praise him for it. perhaps there was more reward in the kind of environment it allowed than it was the practice itself. turning to look at the omega with delight in his blue eyes—so akin to the sky and water’s distance—he couldn’t place the light in his chest now. but he was safe. “i would love to help with the cooking, chase. you can count on me.” there was a small nod of reassurance, as if he had to be convincing. his eyes fell back to the sky and looked for said bunny-shaped cloud. “it’s got a friend.” jules pointed to the one nearby. “it looks like a baby elephant.”

#( unfinished end )

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champhangman · 7 years

Text

Reckless - Part 20

Part 20/?

Characters: AJ Styles, OFC, Baron Corbin

Summary: The newest woman on the roster finds herself making waves she never intended to, with men that are both off-limits to her.

"Break time," Kim gasped. She rolled away from AJ and sat up, reaching for the towel she'd left in the corner of the ring. Wiping perspiration from her face, she climbed to her feet. The man had certainly put her through her paces. Over the course of two hours they had worked on a variety of moves and holds. It had felt natural to her, the back-and-forth of submission holds. Her back still burned from the surfboard stretch he'd executed. She had been pleased to find he wasn't shy about dragging her to the mat during their grapples. When she had been training, most of the men had seemed to think it was either beneath them or politically incorrect. Grabbing a bottle of water, she took a sip, watching AJ get to his feet.

They were really going to do it. Unless Vince changed his mind, the match would be made official by Shane at the next Smackdown airing. After that she and AJ would have almost three weeks to build up the anticipation for the audience. Even though the audience was already clamoring for the match – she'd seen enough comments on Twitter, Instagram, and had even followed a link to a long Tumblr post about why the match needed to happen – she wondered if she was good enough to pull it off. Submission holds and fast-paced maneuvers in one of the practice rings at the Performance Center were one thing. Putting on a full-fledged match in front of thousands of people in an arena was entirely different.

"You okay?" AJ asked. Even though the Performance Center was empty, he spoke quietly.

Kim managed a smile. "The usual jitters and self-doubt before I do something new."

"Hell, sweetie, you don't have to worry about a thing. You're great. I'm pretty good, too." He grinned. "Phenomenal, some might say."

"Ugh," she groaned, rolling her eyes. "You really think I can do this with you?"

"If I didn't, I wouldn't be here on my night off practicin' with you."

"You should be at home with your kids," she sighed.

"I'll be with 'em tomorrow afternoon. And they're comin' on the road this weekend."

"Really? Is Jess coming too?" Even though she'd spent little time with AJ's cousin when she and his children had been on the road, she had liked the woman.

"She's comin' Saturday and takin' the kids back home Sunday." He glanced up at the echoing sound of a door closing.

"Papa H," Kim explained. Seconds later, Hunter entered the training room. She smiled as he approached. He exchanged greetings with the two of them, and climbed up onto the apron of the ring.

"Are you working on a program yet?" he asked, rubbing his chin.

"Just trying out moves. I don't think anyone knows yet how long we'll have at the show." Was it too much to hope they'd be given time for a great match? Or would it be a five-minute spot-fest?

"Can you come back tomorrow morning?" Hunter asked, glancing to AJ. When the other man nodded, he looked to Kim again. "It's an off day, so hardly anyone will be here. I'll get Regal, Sara, and Bloom to drop by. We can look at what you've done tonight and see what's working."

"How can you – Oh, right, your video feed." Kim had forgotten that Hunter had cameras set up to record all the ring training, so he and those in training could look back at their work.

"And if you want, I'll talk to Vince about giving you a decent match length."

She hesitated. Hunter was almost notorious for going to bat for those he'd brought up through NXT. His NXT darlings, they were called. She knew he had been instrumental in getting her the Money in the Bank win, not to mention all the other behind-the-scenes dabbling he had done to make his other NXT stars shine in the spotlight.

"I'll talk to him too," AJ announced. When she looked at him in surprise, he shrugged. "Wouldn't hurt if you approached him too, swe – Kim."

Chatting with Vince backstage before and after a match was one thing. Approaching him about an upcoming pay-per-view match was another. She was well aware that he wasn't a fire-breathing monster who wanted things done only his way, but he was still the main boss. The one person who could make or break her in the company. And she had heard that some who'd gone to him with ideas or problems had been either turned into on-air jokes or ignored completely.

"If you two are going to talk to him…" She hedged, looking from Hunter to AJ and back again. Their expressions told her she'd better talk to the old man as well. "I'll talk to him."

"Good girl." Hunter looked at his watch. "I've got to run. You two staying much longer?"

"I think we—"

"Probably another hour," AJ interrupted.

"I'll lock up, Papa," Kim promised with a quick grin. "And I promise, no wild parties."

"Little smartass," he muttered. "See you in the morning. Seven?"

"So early?" She wrinkled her nose.

"My flight's at twelve thirty," AJ pointed out. "I could come earlier…"

"Six thirty good?" Hunter asked him.

"But—"

"I'll probably get here about six to warm up."

Hunter had his phone out. "I'll let Regal and the others know."

"That's way too—"

"You want to meet before for breakfast?"

Kim gave up her protests, looking on as the two men planned to meet at five for breakfast. They expected her to get there shortly after six in the morning? Were they insane? She opened her mouth to announce it was impossible for her, freezing when AJ turned to look at her with a smile.

"You could join us. And I won't tell anyone if you eat donuts."

All her indignation left her with a sigh. "Donuts?"

"If you can get up that early."

Before she knew it, she'd agreed to go to breakfast with them. At five in the morning. Which meant getting up no later than four thirty. She inwardly shuddered. On a normal day off she stayed in bed as long as possible, catching up on the precious sleep she missed while on the road. It was important to work on the match, though. And, selfishly perhaps, she would enjoy spending more time with AJ. Over the weeks he had become one of the constants in her life.

"Okay," she finally relented, aware that both men were waiting for a definitive answer from her. "I can do breakfast."

***

"Y'know, I really think your dog hates me."

AJ heard Kim snort and glanced to her while buckling his seatbelt. She was already buckled in, hugging the travel cup of coffee he'd brought for her. "Thumper? He doesn't."

"Growling at me when he saw it was me knockin' on the door? Pretty sure that means he doesn't like me."

"He doesn't hate you," she insisted, eyes closing briefly as she took a sip of coffee. "He just doesn't like his cuddles being interrupted."

"You said you'd be ready," he reminded her, pulling his gaze from her pleased expression and focusing on starting his rental car. Not that he could blame the pup. He didn't like cuddles being interrupted either. "It's not my fault you slept through your alarm."

"You said you'd text me when you were on the way."

"I did." AJ reached for his phone to prove he had done so, tilting it so she could see the message that had been sent, delivered, and read. She grumbled something under her breath, looking straight ahead and lifting her travel cup for a hearty swig.

"Anyway, Thumper doesn't hate you. He's apathetic towards practically everyone. Well, except—" Kim sighed, a wrinkle forming in her brow. "He doesn't hate you."

"Maybe if you keep sayin' that, it'll come true." He decided against asking who the dog wasn't apathetic towards. Not his business. The three words had become almost his personal slogan in recent weeks. He found it strange that, as determined as he was to stay out of her business, he had become entangled with her. He wondered if he should pull away before he grew to be more entwined. After all, he reminded himself, finally putting the car in gear so he could drive away, she was almost young enough to be his—

"You make a really great cup of coffee," she sighed.

When he glanced over, she had an expression of rapture on her face. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted and upturned. She sipped slowly, tongue darting over her lips. Tightening his grip on the wheel, he turned his attention back to the street. "A man's only as good as the coffee he can make, sweetie."

"Then you must be perfect."

The words slipped out easily, but he felt her tense after she'd uttered them. Keeping his gaze on the light traffic, he allowed himself a small smile.

***

"Alright Thumper, just let me get my robe on." Kim watched the pup dart back and forth from the door to the bed, wondering how he could be so energetic after a walk, a bath, and a rigorous session with his favorite toy. "We're only going down the hall so I can get a snack, not to the beef jerky factory."

Thumper, so excited to see her heading to the door, stumbled over his own rapidly moving paws and somersaulted, leaping upright when she gasped. Shaking his head, he pawed at the door and gave a soft whine.

"Okay, okay!" Grabbing cash and the room key off the dresser, she opened the door and watched him bound down the hall before rushing back while she closed the door behind her. She shushed him, not wanting him to get so excited he began barking.

When she returned to the room moments later, arms laden with more snacks than necessary, she let the door stay open while she dumped them all on the bed. She dropped the key and change onto the dresser, noting a bag of chips had fallen to the floor just outside her room. Shushing Thumper again, she stepped over him so she could retrieve the chips. Thumper yipped, startling her, and she felt the doorknob snag the belt of her robe as she leaned to get the bag on the floor.

"Calm down, Thump, honestly. I—" She tugged on the robe's belt as she straightened, a cry of dismay leaving her as the door snapped shut.

Leaving her in the hallway clutching a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips.

In nothing but a thin bathrobe.

Without her key, she realized after she snatched the belt free of the doorknob. Patting the small pockets again, she groaned.

From the other side of the door came a questioning whine from Thumper. Then absolute silence. She pressed her ear to the door, just able to pick up a faint rustling.

"You son-of-a-bitch," she hissed, recognizing the sound as that of a snack food wrapper being torn open.

Useless. He was absolutely useless. There was no way he could open the door from inside. And, because he had just seen her and was now undoubtedly feasting on the chips, crackers, peanuts, and beef jerky she'd splurged on at the vending machines, he would pay no attention to the fact that she was gone. Just the same, she knocked on the door, hoping he might start a raucous barking that would wake those in the next room.

But he made no sounds.

"Fuck," she muttered. The one time she hadn't grabbed her phone. She couldn't remember who had the room next to hers. She wasn't about to go traipsing up and down the hall knocking on doors looking for someone to call down for a spare key.

She had nowhere to go. She sure as hell couldn't go downstairs in her skimpy, short, thin robe.

"Fuck," she muttered again, thinking of which of her friends were on the same floor. Fretting, she began walking down the hallway.

Charlotte was out. Her boyfriend was on the weekend tour with her. Becky as well. Naomi was rooming with Jimmy. Carmella was rooming with Tamina and Nattie, so there wouldn't be room for Kim. Lana was, naturally, with Rusev.

"Great," she sighed. Leaning against the wall, she slid down until she sat on the floor. She twisted her lips as she thought of anyone she knew that was staying on the same floor. Other than the girls, she could think only of Shinsuke, who she barely knew. Baron, who was definitely out. Shane… Nope, she absolutely couldn't knock on his door at three in the morning wearing only a towel. AJ… She had a feeling that he wouldn't turn her away. He'd been nothing but a perfect gentleman since she'd joined the roster. In fact, after spending so much time with him recently, she had come to think of him as a friend.

But the thought of guessing which room was his, of asking him for assistance, after all he'd witnessed and all the things she'd thought…

She sighed heavily. She couldn't do it.

Kim pulled her knees to her chest. It looked like she'd have to shuffle downstairs after all. Then she could actually get some sleep, public humiliation be damned. Mind made up, she heaved another sigh. Nonetheless, she remained on the floor, slightly creeped out by the absolute silence in the hallway.

The door across the hall opened, and her eyes widened at the sight of AJ standing in the doorway. He couldn't have heard her. She hadn't made a sound. And she sure hadn't called or texted him. It was obvious he wasn't leaving his room. He was wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips. He leaned against the doorframe, rubbing one eye with the heel of his palm.

"What are you doin'?" he asked softly, hand dropping to his side.

She gave a shrug. "Sleeping in the hallway, apparently."

"…Why?"

"I locked myself out of my room. And I can't go downstairs like this. All the girls either have their boyfriends or husbands or they're rooming together, and… I'm not really close enough to anyone else to wake them up and—"

"Kim."

She slowly lifted her gaze to his face. For some ridiculous reason she'd been staring at his bare feet. "What?"

He gave his head a slow shake and gestured to the open door. "You wanna come in and use my phone or not? Your choice."

"Yes I want to come in but it's going to be awkward as fuck for me," she groaned. "I know you've told me I could come to you for anything but we both know that was just politeness talking. And how do you tell the man you've got a crush on that your asshole boyfriend threw you out and—"

"Kim," AJ sighed. "Get your ass in here already?"

She was on her feet and just about to step inside when she realized. Heart dropping, cheeks starting to flame, she placed a hand over her mouth. Had she really admitted having a crush on him? She hadn't. Had she? She heard the door close and felt AJ behind her, nearly jumped out of her skin when he lightly touched her hip as he slipped by. Ignoring him when he asked if she was alright, she forced her legs to carry her further into the room. She refused to look in his direction. Awkward as fuck was right, she thought.

"I'm so sorry about this," she babbled as she crossed to the desk where the hotel phone was. "I'll be out of here in just two minutes. I don't know how the hell I managed to do it. I'm beginning to think I'm cursed with a sitcom life. Next thing you know, I'll be coming through a door with a stack of plates right when someone's rushing in, and—"

"Kim, sweetie," AJ interrupted.

She kind of looked at him. He was lightly scratching his chest. His bare chest. "Hmm?"

"It's fine." She sensed rather than saw his smile. "We're… Friends, right?"

Friends. Right. She managed a nod as the desk clerk answered her call. Explaining the situation, she sighed with relief when she received a promise that the clerk would be up shortly with a new key. She replaced the receiver and turned to find him watching her. He gestured to the bed and she sat at the foot, gaze landing on his bare chest. Ridiculous, she thought, how his being shirtless seemed more intimate now, even though she saw it almost daily. Moistening her lips, she looked to the ceiling. "…AJ?"

"Yeah?"

"What made you open your door?" She couldn't stand it. Shifting so she faced him, she felt her breath catch. He'd moved over and sat next to her.

"I just had a feelin' that I needed to," he murmured.

She saw his hand resting between them. She watched her own hand slide towards it hesitantly. She knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't help the warmth that swept up her arm at the first touch of his fingers to hers. "I'm glad you did."

He smiled. "Me too, sweetie."

#aj styles #aj styles imagine #wwe #wwe imagine #multipart:reckless #this would have been posted earlier but I was taking a quiz to find out which Disney prince I should marry

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elizabethhamilton1780 · 7 years

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“I didn’t drive all this way to say hey” + “I made a mistake” for the eliza is a journalist and Ham is married au you just posted?

A/N: A bit of smut in the first half, if that bothers some of y’all. Send me more prompts pretty please! Also, started calling this my Political Hell AU :) Set more towards the middle of the plot where things start to heat up.

List of prompts: (x) Start of AU: (x)

Alexander should have known.

She had been acting a bit odd the past few weeks. He figured she was upset with him for being so busy. He was working so hard with his party to get his proposed bill finished for the Senate floor along with the already heavy workload of his cabinet position and attempting to keep up the charade with Maria. Eliza, of course, was the thing that fell through the cracks, even though she was the one thing he wanted to hold the most.

With their conflicting schedules, they had only met up three times in the past two months. They still texted daily and Alexander called as often as he could… but she had every reason to silent treatment him while they were together. He had no idea that something else could be wrong.

He was actually looking forward to this gala Mrs. Washington had thrown. He was obligated to go, and Maria would, of course, refuse to accompany him. Eliza would be there, either schmoozing her sources or just reporting on Martha’s charity. They would certainly be able to get a few hours in together. Maybe he could even convince her to spend the night.— he had already rented a room at a nearby hotel, feeling lucky.

He showed up to the event forty minutes late, as per usual. The party was in full swing by the time he arrived. Instantly, his dark eyes scanned the room for her face. She usually wore her hair up at events like this, which Alex had a love-hate relationship with. He was able to see her face better, the sharp yet somehow delicate curve of her jaw, the pretty pale skin of her neck. But it made it harder for him to pull on her hair when they got up to their less than proper activities later.

His heart stopped when he saw her.

She looked absolutely breathtaking, the loose, silver silk material cascading down her figure like a waterfall. A thick, black lace ribbon covered her torso and cinched the dress around her slim waist, the straps of the dress thick enough to cover the tops of her shoulders. Her raven hair was curly and styled loosely down her back. His eyes immediately fell towards her hands to spot the shiny rock he was anxious she wasn’t wearing anymore. But there it was, third finger right hand, a promise of what was to come, of his dedication to her. He was relieved to see she was still wearing it.

He knew he couldn’t approach her. That was one of the first rules they had put in place when they officially started their relationship. They couldn’t be spotted together anywhere where there were cameras or colleagues too close by. He thought about walking past her, brushing her elbow to get her attention, leave the crowded room and hoped that she’d follow.

He knew that before he could do that, he had some work responsibilities to attend to. His Liza was still wrapped up in a conversation, so he made his rounds through the room. He shook hands with the various senate and house members, chatted with George and Martha and somehow found himself locked into a conversation with Henry Livingston about the one thing he didn’t want to talk about— work.

He felt her gaze on his back, turning and looking over his shoulder, his dark eyes locking with hers immediately. He watched in delight as a pretty pink color flooded her cheeks, a smirk forming unwillingly on his lips. She took another drink from her glass of champagne before she set it down on a nearby table. She looked back up, making sure their eyes locked again, Alexander was sure, before she spun on her heels and made for the exit.

He felt a mixture of excitement and fear bubble up in his stomach. She was never the one to make the first move like that… Something had to be wrong. But he was just so goddamn excited to see her again.

“Mr. Secretary?”

He turned back to one of his conversation partners, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. I thought I spotted Justice Tilghman, we have a bit of business we have to attend to. Where were we?” He waited for a moment more before he excused himself from the conversation and maneuvered his way out of the crowded room.

She was waiting for him near the double doors, immediately turning and continuing down the corridor. He followed her a couple of generous paces back, not wanting to look suspicious if anyone did spot them. He frowned a bit when she turned right instead of left, where the exit was. He followed her anyways, he’d follow her anywhere. She turned down hallway after hallway, the White House being like a maze. Just as he was starting to get frustrated and a tad impatient, she stopped and Alexander realized they were at his office.

His secretary must have left his office unlocked because Eliza was able to get inside with no trouble while his own hands were starting to search his pockets for his keys. He shut and locked the door behind him, Eliza standing between the two chairs intended for guests on the side of the desk opposite from him.

“You’ve done your research,” he accused her, his voice a bit husky and unwillingly so, from the anticipation of what was clearly about to happen. “You knew exactly how to get here from that side of this insanely huge building. I’m impressed.” The small smile that graced her lips was breathtaking and made Alexander’s heart ache with love. “I love you,” he said. It had been too long since he had been able to tell her those three and very true words.

Her eyes softened and they met halfway to embrace each other. He held her tight against him, arms wrapped around her waist, her hands cupping his cheeks as they kiss. “I’ve missed you,” she sighed against his lips.

“I missed you too,” he whispered back before their lips crashed into each other again. After a too short amount of time, she pulled away just enough to work on unbuttoning his pants. He was already half hard as it had been over a month and a half since he’d last seen her, the feeling of her warm hand rubbing him through his boxers making him shudder. “Someone’s a bit impatient today,” he teased. proud of the fact that he managed to keep his voice even. One of his hands moved to tuck a piece of her long hair behind her ear before he started to kiss her jaw.

She didn’t reply to his teasing, her hand continuing to work between them as she kissed him again deeply. They made out longer than they usually did, Alex being painfully hard by the time she pulled her hand away. He didn’t mind, though. It had been a while since they had just kissed like that and Eliza seemed to be enjoying it by the soft noises that were muffled by his own mouth. She pulled her hand and pretty lips away suddenly, which made him pout.

Her breath was heavy, heavier than his. It was like he had been the one touching her. He frowned slightly, his hands running along her arms comfortingly, concerned. “Baby, are you okay?”

She nodded wordlessly, biting her lower lip. Alexander watched as she gathered the long skirt of the dress she was wearing, amazed and completely turned on by the fact that she was merely wearing a pair of lace panties the same color as her dress, nothing else under, her legs bare with no tights or the slip she usually tended to wear. She peeled her underwear off and let them fall to the floor. She turned around to shove the things on Alexander’s disorganized desk a little to the side, making him smile. She lifted the silky material of her skirt up again, bunching it around her waist before she rested her front on the table top of Alexander’s desk, completely exposed and waiting.

Alexander groaned at the sight of her, torn. She was needy and open for him, docile and sweet. It concerned him, this wasn’t like her. She usually made him work for it, no matter how desperate she was. She always tried to hide it, it was almost a game between the two of them. He liked to get her worked up until she was begging him and she liked playing hard to get. It wasn’t like her to skip that step. Maybe it was just because it had been so long. Maybe she just wanted him. He decided pretty quickly to quit looking at a giving horse in the mouth and just enjoy. They’d sort whatever it was afterward.

He fucked her hard, his clothed chest pressed against her back as he did so. His breath was hot in her ear, mumbling filthy things while his hips worked frantically against hers. He reveled in the noises she was making, soft “uh’s” escaping her lips with every sharp thrust of his hips. He eventually pulled out to turn her so he could see her pretty face. He tugged her into a sitting position, pulling her closer by her hips and kissing her firmly just as he started to fuck her again.

He made her cum first, grinning at the cry she let out. She sat up immediately after, still panting from her high. “Cum in my mouth, want you to cum in my mouth,” she requested sweetly, her lips pink and swollen, eyes wide and desperate despite the fucking she had received only moments before.

“What’s gotten into you?” was all he could think to ask. She ignored him and almost stumbled to her knees in front of him. She held her mouth open while her dainty hand worked at him expertly. He came in her mouth with a low grunt, watching in amazement as she swallowed without any hesitancy.

There were a few moments of silence afterward, his thumb running along her lower lip before he sunk to his knees in front of her. He gathered her into his arms, his back resting against the nearest chair. Her skirt was still exposing the better part of her legs, his pants still pooling around his ankles. They had stopped caring for propriety long ago. She cuddled into him, her breathing still heavy as she hid her face in his neck. He ran his hand up and down her back, leaning his head against hers.

“That was new,” he said once they both seemed to be a bit more composed, his tone conversational. She hummed in reply, making no effort to sit up. “Is something wrong? It seems like something’s wrong, baby. Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”

She let out a small sigh, pulling away to meet his eyes, wearing an unreadable expression. A smile graced her lips, but Alex couldn’t quite tell if it was real or not. “I’m fine, love. Just a bit tired. And I missed you a lot, couldn’t wait any longer.”

He hummed, not entirely convinced, but not wanting to push either. “I’ve missed you too. So much. Missed your smile. Missed that cute mole on your neck,” to prove his point, he kissed the mark on her neck, smiling when she laughed.

“You should be getting back,” she said all too soon. Alex sighed, wanting to protest, but he knew it was true. He hadn’t even talked to half the people he needed to. He nodded and she sat up, using the armchair for support as she struggled to her feet. He tucked his shirt back into his pants and buttoned them. He watched her slide her panties back on under her dress. Something was wrong.

“I actually think I’m going to head home. I’m afraid I’m a bit too tired to socialize anymore,” she confessed softly, avoiding eye contact with Alex as she fixed the skirt of her dress.

“Hey,” he said quietly. When she continued to ignore him and fuss with her dress, he stepped forward and tilted her chin up, making her look at him. He was horrified to find tears pooling in them. “Liza, tell me what’s wrong.”

She laughed wetly and shook her head, resting her palms against his chest. “It’s silly. I’ve just missed you, is all.” He felt his heart ache again, pecking her lips.

“Any chance I can convince you to hang around a bit longer?”

“Alex…”

“I booked a room. You can go and wait there for me?” he asked hopefully, resting his forehead against hers. “Please? I’m not finished holding you yet.”

“Baby, I ca—“

“Don’t say you can’t.” He shook his head. “Because you can. Please, love. I need more time with you.”

She eventually nodded reluctantly, taking a step back while Alexander searched in his suit pocket for his wallet that contained the room keys. She hesitated as she moved to take it. “You have another key, right? You won’t need me to get in… In case I fall asleep.” she added as an afterthought.

“Yeah, I have two.” He smiled sweetly at her, pressing another kiss to her lips. “I’ll have Lewis drive you there, hm?” She nodded and he took his phone out to text his driver. He winced when he saw the number of texts from his assistant. “Baby, I’m sorry but I—“

“Have to get to work.” She finished, offering him a small smile. “It’s alright. Duty calls.”

“I told him to pick you up by the back entrance,” he informed her, pressing one last quick kiss to her lips. He had just shrugged his suit jacket back on before her hands were on his face and he was tugged down to her height, her lips firmly against his. This kiss was probably one of their most passionate in perhaps their entire nearly two year-long relationship. The severity frightened him a bit. She was the one who ended it, her eyes still squeezed shut as she released him. “Eliza…”

“Go,” her eyes fluttered open again. “I’m alright, I promise. I’ll see you later.” When he didn’t move, she prodded again. “The sooner you leave, the sooner we’ll be together again, the more time we’ll have.”

He sighed, hating that she was right. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised, buttoning up his suit jacket, checking his hair in the mirror Maria had insisted on hanging in his office for decoration. Oh, if she knew what this mirror was usually used to fix his ‘just fucked’ hair the majority of the time.

“I love you, Alexander.”

“I love you too.” He pecked her lips again and then was off. The sooner he got back to the party, the sooner he’d be back with Eliza.

- - -

He was there for another two hours— much longer than he would have liked. But he was happy with the progress he had made with a few of the Republican senators that they were trying to get to agree to their bill. It looked like it had the majority vote, despite Jefferson’s best shots. He unlocked the hotel room door, the room dimly lit.

“I’m back, baby, so sorry that took so long. But Ria has plans tomorrow, so I don’t need to be home until the evening… Liza?” he frowned when he saw the bed was still perfectly made, not spying the head of dark hair peeking out of the sheets like he had thought he would. The light wasn’t on in the bathroom. He felt the panic rise in his chest, yanking his phone from his pocket. He quickly dialed her number, holding the phone to his ear. She wouldn’t do this, she wouldn’t say she was going to spend the night with him and then not do it. Something was wrong, something had to be wrong.

He noticed the note on the desk right as the automatic voice message ran in Alexander’s ear, informing him that the number had been disconnected. He dropped his phone and gingerly lifted the ring, still not quite understanding until he reads the note.

I’m sorry. - B

- - -

It took him a week to crack Angelica. A solid week of begging, annoying, and showing up unannounced at her office and home.

“Hamilton, she doesn’t want to see you. I don’t know how many more times I can say it—“

“It’s bullshit, Angelica, and you know it.” Alex interrupted her, leaning over her desk with both hands planted firmly in front of him. “She loves me. And I love her and she knows that.”

“Maybe she got tired of dating a man who is already fucking married.”

“I understand that but… Why now? Why after two years? Why after I gave her that ring? We’re closer than ever to being together for real, another six months and—“

“I don’t know, Alex.” She interrupted him, her dark eyes serious and completely honest. “I don’t know what happened. She does love you, yes, but something happened and she doesn’t want to be with you anymore.”

“If even you don’t know, it must be—“

“Bad. I know. She won’t budge, though. I don’t know what it is, the only instruction she left me was to send the rest of her boxes to her and to keep you in line.” She leaned back in her broad office chair, folding her arms across her chest. “So get back in line. You have an important job, go and—“

“I’m not leaving here until you fucking tell me where she is. She’s the most important thing in my life and she has been for two years. I know that’s fucked because I have a wife, but. I love her, Angelica, I love her with all my heart and soul and something’s wrong and I need to help

her fix it. And I can’t help her fix it behind my desk. So, tell me where she fucking is or I will start harassing your husband too.”

“Oh, please. I love John but he’s so weak, you really think I’d let—“

“Angelica.”

Angelica sighed, running a hand down her face. “Don’t make me regret this,” she eventually said, pointing at him with narrowed eyes. He nodded eagerly, his eyes showing nothing but gratitude. “She’s staying at our parent’s lake house while she figures everything out,” she paused and wrote down an address on a sticky note. “It’s a few hours drive from Albany.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” He took the paper and folded it, shoving it into his coat pocket. “I’ll text Gina and have her look up flights to Albany now…” he mumbled mostly for himself, thumbs already flying wildly as he headed for the door.

“Alex?” he turned around to face her. “I’ll help you break whoever scared her off.” He grinned at her and gave her a mock salute before he disappeared.

- - -

After a very long day and a half, Alexander found himself on the surprisingly quaint porch of the Schuyler’s lake house in Caroga Lake. The ring felt heavier than the first time in his pocket. He took a deep breath before he knocked on the heavy front door.

A few moments past, and nothing. If Angelica sent him on a goose chase… he knocked again on the door, louder.

This time, the door opened. And there she was. She looked tiny, wearing a baggy gray sweater, her face bare of any makeup, her raven hair straight and messy, framing her face like a halo. “Hey…” he breathed, suddenly getting choked up. He was so in love with this woman that it hurt.

She was obviously shocked to see him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. She moved to slam the door shut but he caught it with his foot. “I didn’t drive all this way to just say hey,” he said dryly.

“I don’t want you here,” she snapped, the tears almost audible in her voice. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted Angelica. Go away.”

“No. Not until we talk about this. Did you seriously think I was going to let this go with two lousy words? I’m sorry? For fuck’s sake, Eliza.”

“I don’t want you here!”

“Bullshit.”

“Yes, because anyone who doesn’t want you is lying to themselves—“ she said haughtily, her face still not visible.

“You wanna break up?” Alex snapped. “Fine, let’s break up. I’ll leave you alone for good if you can look me in the eyes and say you don’t love me.” He relaxed when she stopped pressing against the door and opened it slowly. There were a few leftover tears that escaped her eyes. Alexander wanted to kiss them away. He didn’t. “Tell me that you don’t love me, and I’ll disappear from your life. Tell me that, and we’ll be over.”

She let out a small sob and lunged forward, into Alexander’s arms.

He let out a sigh of relief and hugged her tightly against him. He gently pushed her more inside so he could slam the door shut with his foot. “Shh… shh, baby, it’s alright. I’m here. Just tell me what’s going on with you, hm? Let me help you. We can fix whatever it is.”

She sniffled and slowly pulled back to face him. “I made a mistake. A huge one. One that even you can’t fix.”

“Let me try.”

“I trusted someone I shouldn’t have. I trusted someone and I told him about us—“

His heart dropped. He let his arms fall to his side. “No. You didn’t. Liza, you—“

“He told someone else and that someone hired him to… to follow us. He has pictures.” Alexander groaned and turned away from her, panic rising in his chest. He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. “He has so many pictures and I. He planted a bug or something in my purse because he. He has a pretty explicit audio and… God, I’m so sorry, Alexander. I’m so sorry.”

“And you thought running away from me was your best option? You were going to let me deal with this alone?”

“No! I… I made a deal with him.” He spun to face her abruptly. “We were… competing for an editing position. He knew I was going to get it. He said if I quit, that he’d tell whoever hired him that he was wrong, that there wasn’t anything between us.”

He shook his head. “Eliza.”

“So… Yes, I did run. But I ran for you, not from you.”

“Okay. I… I understand why you… why you left. I just don’t understand why you thought ending things was apart of the solution.”

“You have enemies, Alexander. More then you know. And I’m just something they can use to hold over your head. Say I move but we continue. Next time it’s going to be someone hacking into your phone. There’s always a next time—“

“Come home.”

“What?”

He took a step forward, taking both her hands. “Come. Home.”

“Did you not listen to any of what I said?”

“I did. But. I promise Angelica and I will find another way to bury whoever’s been blackmailing you in the sand. Whoever he is, he’ll never work again in this town, alright? We’ll find a way. We’ll take care of this together. Come home.”

She shook her head. “I can’t ask you to put that much on the line for me—“

“You’re not asking me to. I know that. But you’re worth the risk, baby. You make me so happy. You’re worth the risk of Ria suing me for all I’ve got, you’re worth the risk of losing my job. You’re worth it. Come home. We can fix this together.”

She hesitated, looking down at their hands. “It’s… Andre. John Andre.”

“Him?! Dammit. He’s so pretty.”

Eliza laughed tearfully, nodding. “Guess that’s how they reel ya in.”

“That’s how you reeled me in.” Alex nosed at her cheek before pulling her into a tight hug. “We’ll take care of this. I promise. You’re going to get that editing position.”

“I don’t even care anymore. I just want you.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You already have me. Always. We’ll figure this out.”

#my fic #hamliza #political hell au #alexander x eliza #alexander hamilton #eliza schuyler #eliza hamilton #hamilton fic

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