#I doubt they'd announce it like that but a man has fears | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cherry-lipbalm · 4 years ago

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survival of the fittest. spencer reid.

5.3k words.

masterlist

“ If they were to somehow get out of here alive, she was certain it would only be one of them. ”

three hours earlier

Y/N was ready to go home - more than ready. They'd gotten back from a hard hitting case in Boston, touching down by early afternoon meant they were expected back at the HQ, which henceforth meant piles of paperwork were in their future. Y/N knew her complaining would only go reprimanded by Hotch, so she kept to herself in her cubicle, shoved into the corner of the bullpen, and desperate to get the documents out of the way.

Over the scribbling of her pen, she heard the mutterings of Morgan and Reid's conversation beside the latter's desk not too far away from her own. She sighed in defeat, because she knew she wouldn't be able to resist joining them, especially when the opportunity arose to take the mickey at Spencer.

When it did inevitably arise, she pushed herself away from her desk and allowed the wheels on her chair to escort her over to the men. At the sound of jagged rolling, Morgan stepped aside to make space for her to insert herself, a snide smug painted on his face.

"Did I just hear the word 'Spencer' and 'girl' in the same sentence?" She asked, leaning on the armrest to shove her shit-eating grin into Spencer's face; he only rolled his eyes and gave an insincere 'ha ha'.

"Your ears did not deceive you, baby girl," Morgan said, receiving a smack on the arm from Spencer. The warning stare he gave him almost made Y/N stop pestering him. Only almost.

"Oh my! Spill the beans, who is she?" Y/N gushed, steering her chair even closer to the Doctor while Morgan watched on amusedly.

"There isn't a she," he grumbled, head bowed to his paperwork in the hopes that if he ignored the Agents they'd just go away.

"...a he?"

"No!" Spencer exclaimed, snapping his head upwards.

"Hey! It's no skin off my nose, Spence."

He groaned, then turned back to his work and allowed for Morgan and Y/N to exchange a glance as they both tried to hold back snickers at their friend's flustered existence.

She stayed huddled around with them for a few more minutes, but as soon as she saw the clock hit 5, she jumped from her chair and kicked it back to her desk. Announcing that she was off, she began to gather and pack her things. While she did so, she heard Spencer make the same announcement.

"You're off earlier than usual," she called back, "let me guess... Doctor Who marathon?"

Spencer's smile gave him away; Y/N chuckled and draped her coat over her shoulders, standing by his desk while he adjusted his satchel.

"Busy man," she commented, then proceeded to listen to whatever sci-fi related ramble Spencer was emitting, interjecting with exclamations of intrigue or surprise whenever she deemed suitable (they were all timed guesses, but she didn't waver once).

"...Christopher Eccleston is actually the second favourite, despite the fact that a lot of people skip his season, but he has a 52% popularity–"

"Wait, why do people skip his season?"

"Oh, because he preceded David Tennant. He's the favourite, with a 69% popularity."

"Ha, 69," Y/N muttered under her breath with a crude smirk. Spencer only gave a restrained smile and raised his eyebrows. The two fell into a silence, except from a 'thank you' Y/N said softly when Spencer opened the door for her.

The elevator button illuminated under her touch, and they stood in front of the steel doors, awaiting their opening. Y/N tapped her foot senselessly, and Spencer rolled on the balls of his heels.

In amidst the silence, Y/N looked up to Spencer and they exchanged a warm smile. The beep of the elevator distracted them, and after stepping aside to let people out, they ambled in and finally relaxed when the doors closed on them again.

"Today was relentless," Y/N sighed, checking her watch.

"Have any plans?" Spencer asked, out of courtesy.

"Well, I have to head to the repair store to pick up my phone, but after that there's leftover Chinese food in the fridge with my name written all over it," she chuckled.

"What happened? To your phone?"

"Morgan happened," was all she said. Spencer joined in on her judgement even though he didn't know the story, he did know that 'Derek Morgan' was simply a reason in itself that didn't warrant an explanation. Then, they lulled in the return of silence.

It wasn't until the elevator jerked and came to a sudden stop that the two spoke again.

"That's not right," Spencer muttered, and he immediately began to jab at the ground floor button before Y/N smacked his hands away, because she was already deep in a panic, so it was even worse when the next astounding jerk hit. She screamed when they were thrown off balance, and hoped she hadn't got a concussion from where she collided with the back wall upon the motion.

"What the hell?" She panted. They came to a still, but it made her even more nervous because she knew they hadn't been in there long enough to reach their floor. That, and the fact that they had just ripped through the air at about a hundred miles per hour.

Spencer's eyes furrowed, and he licked his lips in the way he did when he was focused on something. Judging by the way he assessed the doors, Y/N thought he was about to pull some thwarted stunt, or more likely reel off some facts about steel.

"I think something's wrong," he mumbled.

"No shit, Sherlock,"

"Ah, elementary my dear Watson," Spencer replied so quickly that Y/N was almost inclined to believe it made any sense.

"Did you know that Sherlock Holmes never actually said that? Sir Arthur Conan Doyle never wrote those words, they were only adapted into the movies years later-"

"Oh my god, Spencer, are we stuck in this elevator?" Y/N shrieked, her knuckles whitening under her tight clutch of the hand rails on the wall: half from fear and the other from frustration.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I think so."

Upon Spencer's bluntness, she stepped forward, desperate for any attempt of an escape plan, she began pressing the ground floor button repeatedly; when that didn't work, she resorted to aimlessly smashing all the buttons on offer.

"That's– that's really not gonna do anything," Spencer said in the background.

"Do you have a better idea?" She snapped, turning to him with a glare before resuming her actions.

"Try the - try that one!" He pointed to the red button with an alarm bell engraved on it, and Y/N felt stupid under his stare for not noticing it before. She pressed it, and the ringing noise that emitted from it seemed to do nothing but that: ring. She was certain someone was supposed to come to their aid through a speaker, so she pushed it continuously, but derived nothing further. At least she gained some comfort in the panic of Spencer's voice that told her he was shitting himself as much as she was.

"It's not doing anything!" She cried, and when he leaned over her and pressed it too, she bit her tongue and raised her eyebrows to tell him 'see?', infuriated at the fact that he thought she could be somehow pushing a button wrong. But, then again, she'd have been even more angry if he'd done it and it had worked.

When it didn't, she alternated to the next best thing.

"Help!" She yelled, slamming her palms against the doors. She didn't know what floor they'd been wedged at (or even if they were just floating in some space between levels), but someone had to hear them; they were bound to...right?

Spencer seemed to think so at least, because he was joining her in pounding his fists on the steel. Sooner rather than later, the harsh echo made Y/N's ears ring, so she stopped and took a step back.

"Well, this is great," she sighed, slumping in a lean on the wall as she rubbed her temples.

"I'm gonna miss Doctor Who," Spencer whined, pouting.

Y/N just rolled her eyes at him and told him to call somebody. She was sure she'd seen JJ just before they left, still huddled in her office; hopefully she'd be able to call maintenance and they could be released from this death trap of a machine.

"I can't, my phone died. Use yours."

"What?"

"My phone's flat, can you use yours?"

Y/N just stared at him. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt because the adrenaline rush of panic can make memories a bit hazy, but her skin was flustering under the rage she was feeling, her forehead was already beginning to perspire and the walls were so small and entrapping and - is it hot in here or just her?

"My phones at the store," she reminded him through gritted teeth, and watched his composure fall in both comprehension and defeat.

"Great," he remarked.

"Oh, like it's my fault?"

"Well, it's not mine."

"And it's not mine either so don't talk to me like that!"

It was only a short exchange, but it made Y/N's blood boil; if they were to somehow get out of here alive, she was certain it would only be one of them.

Spencer gulped, and Y/N was sure that had he the opportunity to he would be storming away right about now, but unfortunately for the both of them that wouldn't be happening anytime soon. The wonderful reality of this hitting Y/N, she kicked off her shoes and planted her bum down on the floor.

Spencer looked at her curiously while she did this, then quirked his lip and proceeded to do the same. He used his satchel as a pillow to support his head, and sighed loudly (it seemed deliberate just how exaggerative it was).

"No one is ever gonna find us here," Y/N said.

"We're not dying–"

"You don't know that. We could be suffocating as we speak-"

"Suffocation is impossible in elevators: the cars are designed not to be airtight and there's vents that allow air to move in and out," he pointed up at the grated opening above Y/N's head. At being proved wrong by Spencer and his big, unfathomable brain, she crossed her arms much like a stroppy toddler and even pouted her lip.

"We could still die," she mumbled.

"The statistics of that are still very unlikely; in fact, the people that die the most in elevators are elevator technicians themselves. An average of 26 people die in elevators every year in America–"

"And you're ready to be one of those 26?"

"We're not going to be. We won't suffocate, and it hasn't fallen."

"Yet," she said. "Plus, theres other ways to die. Like, I don't know, murder perhaps?" She said with a potent glare in his direction. He gave her a blank stare partnered with a sarcastic smile, one that only made Y/N more devoted to her other-ways-to-die initiative.

"We just have to wait a while... Did you know the longest duration of time someone was stuck in an elevator was 41 hours? Nicholas White. And all he had to eat was a packet of Rolaids."

More than accustomed to tuning out Spencer's rambles, Y/N barely heard what he was talking about, in a dazed trance where she was focused intently on where the paint didn't match the wall, she was so invested she almost missed what he said.

"Wait... oh my god. Do you have food?" She asked, sitting up from her subsided posture.

Spencer's face softened in dread, which didn't bring any aid nor optimism to their situation.

She watched him sit forward, shoving hands into the pockets of his blazer, coat, trousers and pulling out nothing but a few crumpled pieces of paper. Y/N matched him with an empty gum wrapper and a Walmart receipt displaying a concerning amount of pregnancy tests she had purchased last month.

"Do I even wanna know?" Spencer asked, chucking it back to the ground with a grimace as if it was riddled with germs (it probably was but, still).

"All you need to know is that I'm not pregnant," Y/N scoffed, almost amicably, but her eyebrows creased and she was back to a fuck everything this sucks expression in less than a second.

"Well we can't survive on this."

"You really haven't brought any food?" Spencer pestered.

"No, I had Chinese leftovers on the cards for tonight. And I don't see you offering anything up; what's your excuse?"

Spencer only groaned, again. He kicked his feet out and let his head fall onto the wall back in the same place. He ran a hand through his hair, and the scarce gel he had used to keep it in place disassembled around his face in random strays of curls. The sight of him relaxing like he was settling in for the night didn't appease Y/N one bit.

While Spencer closed his eyes, Y/N got to her feet and decided slamming on the door again was a better pastime. Spencer, however, did not agree.

At the banging, Spencer's eyes shot open and his body shook in alarm. His eyes darted around the space frantically until they landed on Y/N's figure aligned with the doors on which she was unleashing hell. If yelling could open an elevator, they'd have been out in a jiffy.

"I think we've established that doesn't help," Spencer said.

"Then you help!" She shouted, continuing the thrashing of metal.

"How?"

"I don't know!" Her shriek echoed, and she yet again gave up on the violence. "Use that big brain of yours and find us a way out of here."

"The 7 steps to surviving being stuck on an elevator are fundamental; we've already done them. They include pressing the open button, the alarm and call button. We still have our light source, otherwise finding one would have been number two. We've tried yelled for help. The only one we haven't done is stayed calm," he said with a heavy emphasis in her direction. Currently, she was the epitome of panic.

Y/N furrowed a brow at him, "That's six. What's number seven?"

She watched Spencer inhale deeply before he told her, "wait it out."

Y/N felt her heart sink. The possibility of her going insane while being confined within this space was only increasing as the minutes passed by. And with that, she felt like oxygen was depleting alongside it. She took a big breath to remind her that there was still air to breathe, and Spencer caught sight of it.

"Are... are you claustrophobic?"

"No!"

His eyes widened at her outburst, and he even raised his hands in defence should the situation present itself, which was looking pretty inevitable.

"I'm not, I just... get a little... panicked, that's all."

"You don't say," he murmured, and —with a grunt— got to his feet again. He treaded towards the damned doors. Y/N thought he was going to bang on them again, and she took front-row seat on the floor to watch the imprudent, futile attempt. Instead, Spencer's long arachnid-like fingers dug into the crevice of the doors and he tried to pry them open. This was an even vainer approach; his strained groans showed such.

"It's no use. We're gonna be here for a while. I can offer you a juice carton," Y/N spoke, making Spencer turn attentively at the word 'juice'. He looked down to where she was rummaging through her bag and depositing a few random objects while she did so. In a very Mary Poppins like fashion, the entities incessantly kept coming and coming, gathering in remarkable piles on the floor. There seemed to be more things than space available, but then they were trapped in an elevator and space was one of the many luxuries the agents realised they had taken for granted. Despite his astonishment at the growing belongings, there seemed to be a concerning lack of food present.

She was, however, holding out an apple juice carton, and Spencer figured that you get what you're given. So while her attention focused to the remnants of whatever was in her bag, Spencer punctured the carton with the straw, and began sucking. He made a squeal of surprise and relief when he saw her pull out a feebly wrapped, half eaten bag of crackers.

"Oh, I forgot about these," she announced, with the first smile Spencer had seen from her since the elevator had broken down.

He leaned down to grab the bag, dusting off the sprayed crumbs and then took a seat to Y/N's left. He left space between them for chivalrous purposes and also to allow space for the bag of crackers to sit.

They made attempts to ration the snack, but it soon developed into an every man for himself situation when Y/N noticed Spencer had started to take two at once.

She wasn't even hungry anymore, but the hunger for beating Spencer at something prevailed and disregarded any logical thought that they ought to save food, so she dove in again for another cracker. Unluckily, she did so at the same time as Spencer, so it made for an awkward encounter when their hands collided but neither was willing to give up their slot in the bag.

Eventually (because they didn't want the other to notice their blush), they gave up when time ran too long and reached a compromise with halving the cracker. Y/N gave Spencer the bigger half of her failed equal snap, but neither of them addressed it.

Neither of them addressed anything actually, for the next... god knows how long they were cooped up in there. They sat in a pleasant silence, free from any awkward glances or trepidations: it was both from the fact that they were in their own heads, and a serendipitous comfort in one another.

"I'm sorry you're going to miss your Doctor Who... thing," was what broke the silence.

"Oh, it's okay. I can just watch it on repeat tomorrow."

"Okay," Y/N laughed softly, and they floated into another quiet.

"I'm sorry you're stuck in an elevator."

"Ha! Me too."

"When we get out of here maybe we can go for Chinese food," Spencer suggested, craning his neck to look at her with a discreet smile.

"Sure," she agreed. "By the time we get out my food at home might have rotten anyway."

And then time after that just... passed. In Spencer's satchel he had an uncanny assortment of reading material to thrive on, and amid her odd collection of pretty much everything she had ever owned, Y/N found an old MP3 player and some earphones (only the left ear worked, but it was as good entertainment as she was going to get).

There comes a point, though, when one person can only listen to so much music from their teen years; Y/N's taste back then was... questionable, to say the least. And her earphone seemed to agree with her, because it gave out just when the unmistakable sound of an NSYNC song began.

"Ugh, just when it was getting good!" She complained, tugging the bud from her ear and throwing it onto the miscellaneous pile.

Spencer's head quirked to Y/N, but his eyes only followed after he had finished a sentence on his page. When he did, he saw her curiously leaning over his shoulder and squinting at the words.

"You can borrow it if you want," he said. "This is my third time reading it and I have others."

He gestured to his pile, which had evolved into a makeshift bookcase in the corner of the elevator. A few pages were torn, and the spines were so worn down that she could barely make out what the titles were. Not from a lack of TLC, but rather copious amounts of it; having been read over and over again.

"No, it's okay. You continue, I'll just... meditate, or something."

"It's a good book," Spencer said, and he sounded like he was trying to persuade her, so she gave in and nodded. Readjusting her posture, she focused again on where the paint didn't meet the wall as she listened to the one thing she thought she wouldn't ever be able to stand: Spencer Reid's voice.

———

Which, to her and Reid's surprise, she found quite calming. Her hidden envy and not so hidden annoyance with his ability to reel off facts and wisdom like he was only recalling what he had for dinner hindered any fondness Y/N could associate with his voice. Until now, that is.

He was reading Strangers on a Train, supposedly his third favourite book, and they were reaching "the best bit" according to Spencer, but then every bit within the past forty five minutes since he'd started reading had been "the best bit", so Y/N wasn't sure.

But she's pretty calm, as calm as she can be stuck in an elevator, so she's actually thankful she has Spencer of all people beside her. She knew that if Morgan was in his place they'd have attempted murder at least a couple times by now; not to say that Y/N hadn't considered stabbing Spencer at all, but there's only so much damage a blunt pencil at the bottom of her bag could do.

So, she's calm. She's barely following the story because she only joined in halfway through, but she's grasped the basis of it because Spencer reads so eloquently and so well that he's practically painted the vividness of the narrative for her, even though he vouches it's down to Patricia Highsmith's words, which is true, but Spencer has a role in it too.

One thing Spencer recites makes Y/N wonder why she's never had him read to her before.

"People, feelings, everything! Double! Two people in each person. There's also a person exactly the opposite of you, like the unseen part of you, somewhere in the world, and he waits in ambush."

The story portrays an uncanny resemblance to the plots of the abundant crime scenes they analyse daily (Y/N wonders how Spencer comes home from work only to read about the same gory instances): the same mannerisms, behaviours and intricate understanding of criminal attitudes. It's accuracy is so astounding that Y/N asks if the author was ever a profiler of sorts.

Although it's selfish, because Y/N is not the real victim, she wished there was some way Highsmith's words could spring into real life and provide tainted rose coloured spectacles to which she could observe reality through. In some sick way, Y/N needed to see beauty in things like murder. She sometimes forgot that what they were doing had a purpose, and they tended to be the good guys. But there was no writing beautiful enough for Spencer to read and glorify the crimes with.

But even Y/N thinks Spencer's reading could help her see life through more of the silver lining rather than shrouded by the dark cloud that accompanied it.

The moment of rare serenity within Spencer's words is suspended, however, when he suddenly stops with no obvious justification. Y/N wonders if she's missed something profound within the story again so she goes to read over them on the page this time (because she's been rather entranced in Spencer's voice rather than the actual words), except when she looks up she sees a look of horror depicted on Spencer's face: one that doesn't register with her primarily because what's happening in the story is rather quite mundane compared to the dismay on his face. It's so poignant that she thinks something must be fatally wrong.

"What is it?" She asks, sitting up (and away because she thinks he may be about to vomit. But no, the real reason is even more horrific).

"I need to pee."

Y/N gasps; she hadn't even conjectured this predicament. It was a basic human necessity, how had she not anticipated this would happen? At first she thought, hey it's not that bad, better him than me— he can stand. Until she realises that there isn't really anywhere to stand.

"Oh no," she whispers, and he looks at her dauntingly. "You shouldn't have drank that apple juice."

"What was I supposed to do, bathe in it?" He scorns, and the two connect in an unwavering exchange eye contact with one another. Y/N dreads looking away in fear of what he'll do when she has her back turned.

So, like I said, Y/N was pretty calm, and I'd say Spencer was too; reading was a delight, and he found Y/N almost as endearing (almost). Life was bearable until Spencer needed to pee.

And it is here that they throw all peace out the window (if there was one) and give up on step number seven, and instead say hello to their old friend step number five: frantic yelling.

The energy pent up from lazing around reading and being read to is released fairly effectively. Y/N thinks she's never screamed so loud in her life, and Spencer knows he hasn't: entrapment and a full bladder can take one hell of a toll on a man.

And when the profusion of footsteps and the clanging of doors sounds, it is glorious. It is what they imagine heaven to sound like and more. Y/N collapses to the ground in relief, and Spencer throws his hands up in a prayer of thanks (even though he doesn't necessarily believe, but he is just so high on adrenaline and the discomfort of needing a wee that he'd just about believe anything now if it meant he could get to a bathroom).

"You guys okay in there?" A voice calls in from above them (Spencer genuinely thinks it's God) and Y/N has never been more happy to hear Derek Morgan.

"We're good! We're good! Oh my god, get us out of here please!"

"Right on it, baby. Bet y'all thought you were gonna die in there, huh?"

"Worse," Y/N called, "I thought I was gonna have to see Spencer's dick!"

Morgan laughed (music to their ears: any voice that wasn't each other's fit that criteria in that moment), and then told her he didn't want to know. Spencer and Y/N heard him holler behind him, and even more footsteps approached. Y/N couldn't see much from the slither between the doors that had just been pried open, since they had fallen a considerable distance from their floor. What she could see was only half of Morgan's face while he knelt on the ground.

"What happened?" Spencer asked, trying to gain some understanding for the reason behind missing his Doctor Who marathon.

"Power cut. The whole city's in blackout."

"You're kidding," Y/N replied, then turned. "A whole lotta people just risked that 1 in 26."

"Us included," Spencer said.

They recognised the voices of the maintenance team, and even a few uniforms of firefighters that worked on opening the doors with as much force as they could muster. Y/N looked again to the wall and paint mismatch, finding it too unsettling to look at their rescue attempt (that had way too much potential to go wrong) and even more unsettling to look at Spencer who was practically cradling his crotch.

"Ladies first!" A fireman called, and his hand reached into the space they had managed to (barely) increase, hoping that it wouldn't prove to be too difficult. From what Morgan told them, Spencer wouldn't have any trouble getting through it if they had halved the space ("the kid's a sherbet stick, I'm telling you").

"No, we've got a man here who's about to explode," Y/N joked, forgetting that the word 'explode' is a term one should use lightly within the headquarters of the FBI. She was blissfully reminded of this when the few surrounding agents brandished their guns. They almost didn't let them out until Spencer yelled that if he didn't get to a bathroom that instant he would give them a real reason to get their guns out.

So he was lifted out first, falling into Morgan's arms the chance he got to. He, somehow, managed to wait until he saw Y/N definitely leave the elevator before racing off down the hallway. Maintenance didn't even bother telling him that the doors have been locked because officially work finished three hours ago; they figured he had enough vigour in him to knock a wall down, never mind a door.

"Are you alright?" Morgan asked Y/N, lifting her up onto her own to feet. She's given a shock blanket, which is a pretty cool souvenir.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Miraculously. I don't know how you survived in there with him; I'd go insane."

"Eh," she chuckled, "he's not too bad."

———

After gathering their belongings, Y/N and Spencer make their way to leave work, again.

Morgan's nonchalant explanation of the blackout is in no way accurate to the genuine portrayal of, what Y/N can only describe as, a thriller movie come to life. She's looking out the wide scale windows in the bullpen room and can only see her reflection. It's creepy. Skittishly, she jumps when Spencer's image shows up behind her own.

"Jesus, haven't I had enough near death experiences tonight?" She asks, holding a hand over her heart that she's sure just kickstarted (for various reasons).

"Sorry," he laughs. Placing his hands in his pockets, Y/N can sense he's more relaxed now that he's peed and no longer trapped within the restrictions of one metre.

They smile, then look out again to the darkened abyss before them. Y/N has never seen the city so quiet, yet she knows it's anything but. Once she steps outside it's bound to be hectic central.

"You normally get the subway, what are you gonna do?"

"Oh, I guess I'll just walk," Spencer shrugs.

"Absolutely not. I'll drive you home."

"Oh, no, you don't have to do that—"

"Spence, I just spent the last three hours in a confined space with you, I'm sure I can do twenty minutes more," she said. "Get your stuff ready, we can head off now."

She swung her bag over her shoulder and turned to walk out the bullpen, her heels reverberating throughout the room. Spencer watched her stride out by her reflection in the window, as to not be caught staring.

"If my car breaks down I'm gonna commit murder!"

Spencer laughed loudly, which made Y/N smile as she passed the kitchenette. When he continued to chuckle to himself he realised he wouldn't mind another three more hours stuck with her— at least he'd have an excuse if the car broke down. Maybe if he set off now he could get there in time to beat Y/N to her car and slash the tyres. He kindly reminded himself that that's illegal while he retrieved his satchel off the back of his chair and strutted out the office.

He wasn't too far behind Y/N when he suggested getting a Chinese on the way back.

"Is that a date?"

"If eating a Chinese takeaway in your car is your idea of a date," he sang.

"It very much is," Y/N grinned irrefutably.

He held the door open for her, she said thank you, and their giddy (dare I say lovesick) smiles dropped when they faced the elevator.

They've taken the stairs every day since.

fin.

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fangirl-ramblings · 4 years ago

Text

Pairing: Charles Smith x Female Readee

Word Count: 3222

Summary: Love is in the air around camp, but has Cupid's arrow somehow missed you and Charles?

Notes: The fluffiest of fluff, Reader POV / Charles POV

This @rdr-secret-cupid gift is for one of my favourite people - @12timetraveler. My sincere apologies for this Valentine's / birthday present being so late, but hopefully it's well worth the wait 😘

~* Tumblr Masterlist | Stories on AO3 *~

Cupid's Arrow

Reader's POV

14th Feb 1899

You looked around to see Dutch sitting in his tent, whispering sweet nothings to Miss O'Shea while Sean was trying his hardest to win over Karen, whose icy demeanour was starting to thaw with each passing drink he was plying her with. Hell, even John had had a little too much to drink and summoned the courage to pick a small posy of flowers and present them to Abigail as a small Valentine's gift.

You liked seeing the camp happy like this, all relaxed in each other's company; the likes of Javier and Tilly sitting next to each other as the former strummed on his guitar and filled the air with a sweet melody, or young Mary-Beth, enjoying the latest romance novel she acquired, only to tear her eyes away from the page to gaze lovingly towards an oblivious Arthur before continuing her story.

And while Micah's grumbling about it "not bein' right, someone like him talkin' to a fiiinnnne woman like her," as he watched young Lenny saying something to make Jenny giggle from across the way, was enough to for everybody to tell him to shut up, it certainly wasn't enough to dampen the mood around the place.

It was even nice to see Miss Grimshaw laugh and smile as she joined the older camp members in their reminiscences about previous Valentine's days with their own past loves, soon followed by raucous singing of filthy songs but as you took your makeshift seat of a crate at the poker table, you couldn’t but help feel Cupid’s arrow had struck everyone and somehow bypassed you.

You had secretly hoped that Charles would have joined in with the party, but the minute Dutch wound up his gramophone Charles had disappeared into the woods to take his position on guard duty.

While you'd taken many opportunities to try to make conversation and try to get to know him better over the last few months, you still found him to be a man of few words - but you liked that about him. The camp was full enough of loud-mouthed characters like Sean and Uncle that any moment you found yourself sitting in a comfortable silence with Mr. Smith was bliss.

As the night drew on and more and more alcohol was heartly consumed by all, you felt your eyes growing heavy and couldn’t summon the energy to sing along with the lyrics of “The Louisville Maid”.

"Well as fun as this is, I'm gonna call it a night," you announced to your campmates, knowing full well that nobody was really listening. You sighed as they were caught up in their merriment and headed towards your tent… only to walk straight into Charles.

"Whoa, careful there," he told you, giving you a small smile as he placed those big, strong hands of his upon your arms to help stop you from falling over on the spot.

Your face burned as you felt your face grow redder and with each passing second as you enjoyed his gentle but firm touch, causing you to look away to avoid staring into those beautiful, deep brown eyes of his. You hoped that he thought your flushed appearance was a result of all the alcohol running through your veins and not the thought currently running through your mind; what it would be like if he suddenly dipped and kissed you with a fervent passion?

"Sorry Charles, I… I… I hadn't realised you'd finished your shift already. Want a drink?"

"I'm okay, thank you, I was gonna try and get some sleep… and I think you should too - big day tomorrow isn't it?" Your brow furrowed as you tried to rack your brain. Had you arranged to go on a job and completely forgot? Charles watched you, with a confused look. "Oh, I thought you'd mentioned the other day that it was your birthday? Maybe I got it wrong?"

"Oh my word, yes it is," you gasped in wonderment, "I can't believe you remembered."

"Guess I just have a good memory for special occasions," he grinned, brushing a loose hair from your face without thinking, making you weak at the knees.

He cleared his throat and moved his hand away. "Well we best both go get some shut eye before the sun comes up. Good night and sweet dreams."

You watched him walk to his tent, before heading to your own. Still smiling to yourself, you drew the flaps shut and fell on the cot, relieving that brief moment you just had with Charles over and over as you closed your eyes and let sleep wash over you.

15th Feb 1899

As the sun beamed through the gaps of your tent, you woke up to a very different camp atmosphere compared to the night before. It was eerily quiet; with everybody still in bed, sleeping off the hangovers they'd given themselves at the party.

Deciding to make the most of having a quiet camp all to yourself, you sat yourself up and stretched - your muscles and joints aching in a way that made you laugh. Another year older today and your body was certainly reminding you of that fact with all the aches and pains you suddenly started feeling.

A part of you doubted anybody else would be able to remember that today was your birthday but you smiled as you saw Mary-Beth hadn't forgotten; she'd wrapped a romance novel with one of her ribbons and left it on your trunk. Next to it was a little handwritten note from her, wishing you a very happy birthday and how "the way the heroine in this story reminds me of how you act around Charles, maybe if you read it you'll end up with your true love too. x"

You playfully rolled your eyes; ever the romantic, Mary-Beth had seen you gazing at Charles one day and decided you were destined to be together.

Pulling on some fresh clothes, you stepped outside and made your way towards the coffee pot, presuming nobody would have thought to wash it out and prepare it ready for the morning. Yet, to your surprise, you lifted it up to find it freshly brewed and still piping hot.

“I figured everybody would be wanting some when they woke up,” Charles chuckled, walking behind you carrying some logs for the campfire.

“I’d say; seems they all had a lot to celebrate,” you laughed, pouring yourself a cup. “You want one?” you asked, offering Charles the filled mug currently in your hand.

“I’m okay thanks, I had one before I made a start on tidying the place up.”

“Oh trust me, I wouldn’t worry too much about that today - Grimshaw will have such a headache, she'll be far more focused on getting all the quieter jobs done," you giggled knowing from previous experience how badly Susan seemed to suffer from next morning hangovers.

He carefully placed the chopped wood next to the campfire before turning his attention back to you. "Oh I bet," he grinned, his eyes twinkling. "Actually, I have an idea that might help keep camp running smoothly and stop people grumbling.'

"Oh?" Curiosity had gotten the best of you and you were intrigued to know what he was thinking.

"I saw supplies were running low and was thinking of doing some hunting later… a good hearty stew might be what the others need to recover," rushing his words out before casting his eyes to the ground. "I, erm… I was wondering if you wanted to join me?"

"What? Because I'm the only other person sober enough to safely use a weapon right now?" you teased.

"That's one reason, but I'd also like some good company."

You stood gobsmacked as he turned away from you, quickly making his way over to Taima, pulling something from her saddle.

"I… I'd like to spend time with you too, but I'm afraid my pistol is no good for hunting." You hung your head in disappointment, mentally kicking yourself that this could be your one chance to be alone with the man you'd admired for all these months - and you've lost it because you never took the time to invest in decent hunting equipment.

"I can help you with that," Charles told you, pulling out an ornate looking bow and handing it to you. "I made it… for your birthday."

"For me?" Shocked by his act of kindness, you traced your fingers over each of the detail engravings that ran along each of the limbs, tears starting to cloud your vision. "This is beautiful, but are you sure you mean to give this to me?"

"Of course… a beautiful bow for a beautiful lady.” A sudden flash of fear crossed Charles’ eyes as he realised what he had just said, his body tensing.

"You… think I'm beautiful?" Your eyes looking deep into his, searching for the truth.

He nodded. "The most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that. If it's too awkward, we can just forget the hunting…"

He stopped mid-sentence as you kissed his cheek, his body relaxing as he realised he hadn't made a mistake in telling you.

"It's not awkward at all, I've liked you for a long time but I could never work out if the feeling is mutual." You gently thumbed his cheek, "Let's go on this hunting trip and talk about this in private shall we?" You suggested as you signaled for Charles to see what you could see.

Stood behind him was a small audience of John and Mary-Beth, both of whom were grinning over to you both.

Charles playfully rolled his eyes and walked you away from their gaze.

"Sounds like a good idea, wanna head out now?"

"Lead the way Mr. Smith." You held out your hand and he gladly took hold.

"Oh wait, you'll need some of these too" he reached back into his saddle to hand you a bunch of arrows… only to be confused as he heard you laughing.

"What's so funny?" Charles asked, trying to read your expression.

"Nothing… just looks like Cupid's arrows found me after all."

Charles' POV

14th Feb 1899

“I’ll take over here if you want,” John grumbled, clutching his face as he approached where Charles was currently taking up guard duty in the wooded area on the outskirts of camp. “I reckon my Valentine's night is as good as over.”

Charles turned to face his campmate, the moonlight showing a fresh red looking handprint across John's cheek. "You blew it with Abigail then?"

"Yep, I pushed my luck just a little too much," John chuckled lightly, "But I'm sure I'll survive. Go on, you go enjoy yourself… I saw [y/n] looking all lonesome up there, she could probably do with some company."

John waggled his eyebrows as Charles pretended to scowl; alcohol had given him loose lips one night and he had ended up confiding in Arthur and John about his feelings about the camp lady he'd taken a shine to. But he couldn’t hold the expression for long as a smile crept over his lips he thought about you.

"I'll probably just get some shut-eye instead, but I have been busy making this for her." He lifted up a beautiful bow that was resting against a nearby trunk. "It's her birthday tomorrow and she mentioned once she'd be interested in learning to hunt properly."

"You're a big old softie, ain't you Charles Smith?" John chuckled. "Well, I'm sure she'll appreciate the thought."

“Don’t you go ruining my reputation, John,” he laughed, making his way to the clearing where all the gang's horses grazed peacefully.

Taima looked up, nickering as she saw her owner nearby.

“Just a passing visit for now girl, but we can go out on a ride tomorrow,” he whispered to her, stroking her neck as she nuzzled against him. “In the meantime, I want you to keep this safe for me.” Charles lifted his saddle onto the hitching post that Taima was attached to, and carefully placed the bow into the holster on it. She watched her owner with curiosity, her ears pricking up as heard Charles rummaging in his saddlebag to retrieve an apple to reward his trusted Appaloosa for her loyalty.

The music was still playing as he walked back into camp, only this time it was Pearson’s accordion and Uncle’s banjo that filled the air as Miss Grimshaw sang a bawdy song. It was clear that the party wasn't ending anytime soon, but that wasn't going to stop Charles from trying to get some sleep. Heading towards his tent, he found himself looking around for a quick glance of his heart's desire, only for you to crash straight into him.

"Whoa, careful there," he told you, gently placing his hands upon your arms to help stop you from falling over on the spot. He could have swore he felt a jolt of electricity flowing through his veins as his skin touched yours.

"Sorry Charles, I… I… I hadn't realised you'd finished your shift already. Want a drink?"

"I'm okay thank you, I was gonna try and get some sleep… and I think you should too - big day tomorrow isn't it?" A flash of confusion crossed your face and Charles began to doubt himself. "Oh, I thought you'd mentioned the other day that it was your birthday? Maybe I got it wrong?"

"Oh my word, yes it is," you gasped in wonderment. "I can't believe you remembered."

"Guess I just have a good memory for special occasions," he grinned, brushing a loose hair from your face without thinking, before catching himself and moving his hand away.

Not really wanting the moment to be over but knowing he must tear himself away lest he stay admiring you all night, he cleared his throat.

"Well we best both go get some shut eye before the sun comes up. Good night and sweet dreams."

Making the short walk back to his own tent, his heart soared as he thought back over your reaction to him remembering your birthday. Now he couldn’t wait to see how you would react to your present.

Settling on his bed roll, he watched you draw your tent closed before allowing himself finally sleep and dream of you.

Charles found himself waking at the crack of dawn, just as the last few stragglers were stumbling towards their bedrolls . Realising he could effectively have the tranquillity of camp to himself, he gladly jumped up and set about getting ready for a new day.

Firstly he made his way over to Pearson’s wagon to grab a few coffee beans and started brewing a fresh pot. Noticing the meat supplies were running dangerously low, Charles made a mental note to go out hunting later and wondered if this could be the ideal opportunity to ask the birthday girl to join him.

While he waited for that certain someone to wake up, he had already stoked the fires back to life and disposed of the empty bottles that were scattered all around camp before finally enjoying a short break with a fresh cup of coffee.

It wasn't until he had made a start on chopping wood he had heard footsteps behind him and smiled to himself as he looked over to see [y/n] making her way over to the coffee pot.

“I figured everybody would be wanting some when they woke up,” Charles chuckled, walking up to her with an armful of logs for the campfire.

“I’d say; seems they all had a lot to celebrate,” she laughed in that sweet way that made Charles’ feel all warm inside as she poured a cup. “You want one?” asking as she offered the mug in her hand towards him.

“I’m okay thanks, I had one before I made a start on tidying the place up," he explained, walking over towards where the chopped wood was to be stored.

“Oh trust me, I wouldn’t worry too much about that today - Grimshaw will have such a headache, she'll be far more focused on getting all the quieter jobs done,"

Charles chuckled as he carefully placed the firewood down before realising this was his chance and turned his attention back to you.

"Oh I bet," grinning with a twinkle in his eyes. "Actually, I have an idea that might help keep camp running smoothly and stop people grumbling.'

"Oh?" you asked, tilting your head with curiosity.

He had noticed in the past that each time you asked a question about something that had piqued your interest, you would often tilt your head in this way and found it utterly adorable.

"I was thinking of doing some hunting later… a good hearty stew might be what the others need to recover," Charles rushed his words out before looking away bashfully. "I, erm… I was wondering if you wanted to join me?"

"What? Because I'm the only other person sober enough to safely use a weapon right now?" she smirked, and he felt his insides flip-flop. She was so damn beautiful.

"That's one reason, but I'd also like some good company," he told her, quickly turning to go fetch the bow from Taima’s saddle.

"I… I'd like to enjoy your company too, but I'm afraid my pistol is no good for hunting." She lowered her head in what seemed to be disappointment.

"I can help you with that," Charles told her, carefully placing the bow in her hands. "I made it….for your birthday."

"For me?" He watched as she traced her fingers over the engravings he spent so much time on, hoping the tears brimming in her eyes were because she was overjoyed. "This is beautiful… but are you sure it's for me?"

"Of course… a beautiful bow for a beautiful lady.” He kicked himself inwardly for saying it aloud,

"You… think I'm beautiful?" Your eyes looking deep into his, searching for the truth.

He nodded. "The most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that. If it's too awkward, we can just forget the hunting…"

He stopped mid-sentence as you kissed his cheek. The feeling of embarrassment replaced by one feeling like he could soar into the sky right now.

"It's not awkward at all, I've liked you for a long time but I could never work out if the feeling is mutual." Gently thumbing his cheek, you suggested, "Let's go on this hunting trip and talk about this in private shall we?"

He followed your gaze to see Mary-Beth and John grinning at you both as they stood by their tents.

Playfully rolling his eyes, Charles guided you away from their gaze.

"Sounds like a good idea, wanna head out now?"

"Lead the way Mr. Smith." You held out your hand and he gladly took hold.

"Oh wait, you'll need some of these too" he reached back into his saddle to hand you a bunch of arrows… only to be confused as he heard you laughing.

"What's so funny?" Charles asked, hoping thewhole entire moment wasn't a set up so camp could make fun of him

"Nothing… just looks like Cupid's arrows found me after all"

#fangirl writes #charles smith x f!reader #charles smith x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #rdr secret cupid 2021 #fluff

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frustrated-writer-skyeknight · 4 years ago

Text

A High School Story, Chapter 50

Not mine. You can read the actual work here. Posting for an Ao3 friend since they don’t have a Tumblr and can’t be bothered to make one.

Listen to Rewrite the stars by SkyeKnight on #SoundCloud

https://soundcloud.app.goo.gl/qW4KK

After Sharpay's performance, Vance stood from the table and started to move towards the sides of the stage. Frowning, Derby followed him, while Sharpay and Peyton made their stage exit.

"Honey, please don't make a scene."

Vance turned to his wife, his expression softening at the tone his wife used. After days of cold fronts and only being spoken to if he had to discuss something of immediate concern, like the case they filed against Dalton, hiring the best therapist to help Ryan deal with the trauma, or the talent show preparations.

But her tone had mostly been void of emotion, almost deadpan at times. This was the first time that she was speaking it in softer tone. Almost pleading. How could Vance go against it?

Of course, he wasn't intending on making a scene. He just wanted to talk to his daughter, about allowing her relationship with Peyton once more. That would mean allowing Peyton to be able to interact with Ryan as well, though they would need to talk about him not making himself a bridge for his son and Jack's boy.

Before he could respond though, instead of Fulton's voice coming next to announce the next performers, another song he's never heard before started to play. And when he looked to the stage, he gawked at the sight of Troy Bolton taking the stage, with a starry background similar to what was used during their winter musical. Troy cast his sights towards something above.

Vance gawked as well when his son was shown overhead, being held up by a harness of sorts.

Troy took a moment to look out to the crowd, towards Vance Evans. He figured it might not be in his best interest to single him out pointedly, but the man needed to know it was wrong of him to keep him and Ryan apart just because they were both boys.

He trusted that his mother was right; Troy did nothing wrong, and neither did Ryan. And that was what they were here tonight to show him.

Everyone.

Ryan started being lowered to the stage, holding his hand out to Troy. And it took much self control from both their parts not to pull each other in for a kiss. It's been weeks, and this is the first time that they've been able to see each other, much less touch each other. But something more important was on the line right now, and they needed to focus on that.

Because that same thing was fighting for the right to be able to do that.

For now, they settled for taking in each other in an embrace before waltzing across the stage. Though admittedly, compared to what Sharpay and Peyton had done, it mostly looked like simple slow dancing and turning.

Of course, for both of them, it was more than enough to be able to hold the other close after being denied it for so long.

They held on to the last note, till Zeke and Jason came on stage with a rolling wall prop.

Vance's blood ran cold, and he immediately made a dash to the side of the stage exits. Like his wife asked, he didn't make a scene. But there were more than one way to put a stop to the show.

Which was something prepared for, it seemed.

"Daddy, please wait." Sharpay was blocking the way back stage, with Peyton just behind her, where the ropes were to pull the curtains close. "You need to see why it's wrong of you to keep them apart; that they aren't any less meant to be than Peyton and me."

Vance gave her a hard look. "I could ground you for this young lady," he said. And to think he was considering on going to let her date Peyton again.

"Then ground me afterwards," The heiress didn't budge, and Vance was astounded at the fact that she didn't even try arguing "But not until you see how they work well together. And if you'll still keep them apart after this, then you'll be no better than the kinds of people you fear would hurt Ryan just for liking the same sex."

Vance frowned, and felt a touch to his arm. He looked to find Derby, looking at him imploringly as well. "Please dear," she started, "you didn't disrupt your daughter's performance. Don't be cruel, extend the same courtesy to your son. There's time for talk later, isn't there?"

The man sighed, relenting. If there was one thing he hated more than somebody causing harm to his children, it was making his children think he favored either of them more than the other.

Ryan pressed against the walls Jason and Zeke were pressing against him. The blond was amazed at how the prop walls looked similar to the interior of their own high school. It was a wonder at how much the team could accomplished when they worked together, similar to what they'd done before the callbacks.

The blond supposed it wasn't just an exaggeration or pep talk when the wildcats had high regards for team work.

Especially considering the fact that Kelsi managed to come up with two new songs, for his sister and Peyton as well as for him and Troy, in such short notice. Or maybe she already did have it in her reservoir of compositions, Ryan wouldn't doubt the possibility.

Either way, if this doesn't convince his dad to let him be with Troy, Ryan didn't know what else would.

Troy pushed against the walls as well, managing to break free just as Ryan did only for him to start ascending to the air once more, soaring through the air as shimmering lights made twinkling effects around him.

The brunette made a show of looking after Ryan longingly, as if wanting to reach him, which may not exactly be farther from the truth. Before moving off stage.

Troy showed up once more, on top of the same of the same balcony propped used during Sharpay and Peyton's performance. Only it was covered in a large, dark cloth all glittered up so that when the lights reflected on it just enough, it looked like it was shimmering.

As the stagehands, Zeke and Jason helped move it across the stage, so it appeared as Troy was trying to pursue Ryan as the blond continued soaring above. When he flew right, the balcony was rolled far left, and vice versa, so as to portray that they always met at the middle with their arms outstretched to the other, but still far out of reach.

And although his harness wasn't loosening, Ryan made a particular hand movement.

Vance watched his son perform with Troy. More than their performance, he watched how the way they looked at each other. It made him uneasy, but not for the reason he thought.

His resolve was crumbling, and the only thing maintaining it was the fear over his son's well being.

The man knew he had riches, enough to buy off people if necessary. But even he understood its boundaries, and he knew no amount of riches made him above the world. If the world went after his son because of this, he knew he wouldn't be able to protect him forever.

Was he ready to accept not being the only one who has to?

As it was reaching the bridge of the song, his heart leapt to his throat as he watched his son suddenly fall. The crowd released audible gasps as well. But the song continued, as Troy easily caught him in his arms.

The two shared another meaningful embrace before they started to make their descent down the prop, with Jason and Zeke readying the walls once more. But unlike earlier, the two repelled them from enclosing and trapping them by simply holding up their arms towards it.

The two basketball players laid the walls down in a certain way.

Troy and Ryan stood over them, each of their hands holding the others' as they were elevated a feet off. With each other's help, they kept their balance as they were brought higher and higher.

They sang to each other, trapped in a tunnel vision as if they were the only two people around.

Troy cradled the blond's face into his hands, and Ryan raised his to press them on the brunette's as well.

Letting go of their inhibitions from earlier, the two finally gave into kissing each other, as the platform started to recede and they were slowly descending back down.

Some of the less than open-minded guess their outraged known, drawing a scowl from Vance's expression. He wanted to go there himself and take care of it, until he sees that Fulton had security take care of it promptly.

Although his expression turned to surprise, because he didn't remember Jack Bolton getting an invite to the talent show, nor was he hired as security. But for some reasons, he had the uniform. He raised a brow, looking towards his daughter.

The heiress didn't meet his eyes, simply whistling innocently.

"You thought of everything, didn't you?"

Sharpay met his eyes then, but looked all too proud of herself instead of guilty. "I assure you daddy, I have no idea what you're talking about." She said.

#Fanfiction #Troy x Ryan #High School Musical

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