#and of course it’s not always nicked. but the fact that the other cake is there at all is going to bother me for eternity | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

froggywritesstuff · 2 years ago

Text

cake | john laurens

Pairings: John x male!reader

Warnings: fluff, homophobia, mentions of conversion camp, swearing

Time: modern

A/N: this was meant to be posted yesterday for Anthony's birthday 😭

You and John had been dating for a long time. Like, for years. And the two of you couldn't be happier. Although, unlike most couples who reach the 'over three years anniversary', you hadn't met his parents. No, it wasn't a matter of John being too afraid to introduce you to them, or whatever. The issue lied in the fact that his parents were assholes, and wouldn't be happy to hear about their son dating a boy.

John had come out to his mother when he was thirteen, and instead of the accepting, supportive reaction he expected from his mother, who had claimed that she would always be there for him and nothing would make her love him less, all he got was a hushed: "Don't bring this up again."

From then on, his relationship with his mother immediately changed. She began distancing herself from him, and John found himself doing the same. At first, he was confused, asking himself why she said that, and why she couldn't accept him. Then he found himself feeling some sad version of denial, acting like nothing was wrong, and that his mother was just too busy to say goodnight to him. The denial quickly blew over when he met you.

You knew you were queer, and when you became friends with John and he hesitantly came out to you, you were overjoyed. You loved the thought of having a friend group where you felt accepted, and John was just the beginning of that. At some point, you asked him if he had come out to his parents yet, to which he responded truthfully, telling you about his mother's reaction. To say you were pissed would be an understatement. Your eyes widened when he asked why you were so upset, before you began ranting about how bullshit that was, and how he deserved better than that. Well, now he was just as upset as you were. He couldn't remember a time where he had been sincerely told that he deserved better than the way his parents treated him. His past friends would only shrug and begin to list a number of 'at least they don't do blah blah blah' and 'at least you've got blah blah blah'. Up until meeting you, he had just thought of himself as ungrateful for wanting to complain about his parents. You quickly informed him that that idea was bullshit, and he had every right to be upset about it.

Over the course of two years, the duo expanded to a trio, to whatever you call a group of five people, and you and John started developing feelings for each other. It wasn't really a sudden thing for you, more like over time, you felt butterflies forming in your stomach over his smile, and you felt your heart pounding whenever he sat close to you until you eventually realised you liked him in a not so friendly way. For John however, he developed romantic feelings over time like you, but the realisation of it happened way more suddenly than he intended. All it took was you joking about how you wanted to be with the Charlie Spring to your Nick Nelson, and his eyes immediately widened, his cheeks flushed bright pink as he thought: 'ME! I'm the Charlie to his Nick!' which was followed by confusion, wondering why he wanted that, 'it's not like I have a crush on him... do I?'

That entire afternoon he spent talking with Alexander - one of his new friends that made up the group of five - about this new found confusion. He rambled on for ten minutes, mainly gushing about you and how you always made him feel so good inside, to which Alex responded, "Ooft. Yeah, you're down bad for him."

Months went by, and with some help from Hercules, Alex and Laf, he eventually confessed his feelings for you. He had originally prepared a mental speech - with some help from Alex - of what he was going to say to you, letting you know that he wasn't trying to pressure you into saying anything back, he just wanted you to know how he felt.

That speech quickly went to shit.

He had no idea he went from the detailed and smart sounding speech, to just blurting out an incoherent sounding 'I like you!'

You were a little stunned, mainly wondering if you had heard him right, "Y-you what?"

He felt his heart drop, assuming you didn't feel the same way, "I like you." he said, before awkwardly stammering, "I-I prepared a speech to say to you, but that didn't work, but I wanted to say that I'm not pressuring you into liking me back, or even answering right now, I-I just wanted you to know how I feel."

The two of you just stared at each other, neither one not knowing what to say, until you brought your hands to his cheeks, pulling his face to yours as your lips smashed against each others.

Now it was his turn to be stunned. His eyes were wide and unblinking at first, until he quickly melted into the kiss, his hands wrapping around your neck to pull you closer.

"Fuck yeah!"

You two instantly pulled away from each other at the sound of Alex's voice, glaring at the group of three in front of you.

"What the fuck you guys?" you groaned, not very happy about being interrupted.

"Just pretend we're not here."

It wasn't long after that confession that you two started dating, and though you were still upset about his parents being conservative un-supportive fucks, you understood why he couldn't come out to them and why he couldn't introduce you to them. That was until John's eighteenth birthday.

John sat hunched over his desk, his hand beginning to cramp with every stroke of the pencil in his hand. The headphones on his head playing his favourite songs did a fine job at drowning out the noise that was going on downstairs. It also did a fine job of blocking out the sound of knocking at his window.

You groaned in frustration, of course John had to have his headphones on when you were holding on to a slippery ladder for dear life as it poured with rain. Carefully, you gripped the ladder you were standing on with one hand, and used the other to pry John's window open. Eventually, you were able to slide in through his window, falling flat on his carpeted floor, leaving a damp puddle on his rug. Finally, you caught John's attention as he took his headphones off, staring at you in surprise, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Y/N, what the heck are you doing here?" he asked, standing up from his desk and offering you his hand to help you up.

You gripped his arm and stood up, giving him a shrug, "I couldn't leave you alone on your birthday." you explained, smiling at the smile he tried so hard to fight the smile you could so clearly see.

"Well, now's not the best time." he said, his smile threatening to fall, "my mum invited most of our relatives to my birthday dinner, and they're pretty much all on a whole new level of conservatism."

"Well," you began, a fake confused expression morphing on your face as you pretended to look around, "I-I don't see them anywhere. Plus..." you paused, bringing the small box out from your pockets and over dramatically falling down to your knees, "I can't leave until you've opened this."

John couldn't fight the smile on his lips if he tried, letting a small laugh escape his lips at your antics, "Fine." he laughed, taking the box from your hands, hesitantly opening it up. His previous lighthearted and joking smile was immediately replaced with one of pure love and sincerity.

In the box were two necklaces, each one with half of a heart around the chain. The heart for him having the letter (your initial) engraved, and the heart for you having the letter 'J'.

He felt tears brim his eyes as you stood up back to normal height, "I just figured since we can't tell everyone, that if we have these, even if we're keeping it a secret, it might feel like less of a secret." you explained, a worried expression on your face as you noticed the tears in John's eyes, "Wait, what's wrong? Are you ok?"

John nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes, smiling widely at you, "I just love you. So fucking much."

You smiled back at him, "I love you too." you said, leaning toward him to place a kiss on his lips, when a knock from the door interrupted you.

Out of instinct, John quickly stepped back away from you, asking who was there, the nervous tone in his voice was impossible to miss.

”It’s me hon,” John’s heart rate sped up with anxiety at the sound of his mother’s voice, “Are you gonna come down anytime soon?”

Before John could even answer, his mum opened the door, staring rather suspiciously at you.

”Who’s this?” she asked, a kind smile on her face that for some reason had you uneasy.

”Um, this is my friend, Y/N.” he answered quickly.

”Well I’m Eleanor.” she introduced herself, being met with your awkward expression.

”Nice to meet you, but I-I was just leaving actually,” you added. John knew you only said it so he wouldn’t have to hide the fact that you were his boyfriend in front of everyone, but he was still pissed, despite the way he masked his expression.

”Oh, ok. Well John can come down and walk you out then.”

Out of the corner of your eye you could see the subtle eye roll John did, obviously not happy about having to see his family. The two of you just nodded as you followed her out of the room and downstairs.

John bit back a sigh at the sight of his father at the dinner table, “John, there you are!” he heard his dad announce and he quickly faked a smile.

”Hey,” he mumbled, heading for the door with you following close behind him.

”Ah- who’s this?” Henry asked, gesturing to you before John could even open the door.

”Dad, this is Y/N. He’s my friend.” God he hated using that word to refer to you, “And he’s leaving so I was just walking him out.”

You couldn’t help but notice the worried look on Eleanor’s face as she glanced at Henry’s suspicious expression.

”You’re his friend?” he asked, to which you nodded hesitantly, “How long have you known each other?”

“Uh, about five years.” you answered, trying not to cower in fear when Henry’s expression darkened out your answer.

”Five years, huh?”

Before you could think of a reply, John spoke up, “Dad, he’s leaving.”

What John had left out in the story of him coming out to his mother was that Eleanor told Henry, who then threatened to put John in a conversion camp. That wasn’t exactly something you shared within the first week of befriending someone.

John and Henry shared a look, and the tension was so thick that you’d need a chainsaw to cut through it.

”Right,” he said, gripping his knife and fork so tight his knuckles went white.

John glared at him, before pushing open the front door for you to leave, “I’ll see you tomorrow." he mumbled.

You sent him a sympathetic smile as you walked out the door, not wanting to risk bidding him goodbye with a quiet ‘love you’.

You hurried down the driveway toward your parked car, unlocking the door and getting in. You didn’t start the car. Just sat there, and thought. You hated seeing John in that situation, but there was nothing you could do. That was probably the worst part. It’s not like you could just make homophobia disappear all of a sudden. If humans had that power it would already be done.

Before you could finish wrapping up your inner monologue, you were snapped out of your thoughts as the car door flew open, followed by John sliding in, a large box in his hands as he pulled his seat belt over and clicked it in.

He looked over at you, smiling breathlessly as you just tried to figure out what was happening.

”Are we gonna go?” he asked.

You furrowed your brows, “Go where? What’d you do?”

John shrugged, “Do you know any good places to eat stolen birthday cake?” he asked, flipping open the box kid, revealing the cake that was once on the dinner table inside.

”Holy shit, you-“

”I took it.” you absolutely adored the proud smile on his face as he said that, “So we should probably get out of here.”

”Oh shit, yeah.” you immediately started the engine, proceeding to drive off down the street.

With one hand on top of the cake box, John inched his hand towards your free hand, eventually intertwining fingers with yours as you drove, the low music from the radio blended with the rain pouring outside created a comforting sound. But eventually, you had to pry your hand from his to park the car when you arrived at the river. Though the rain poured down and rippled the once calm waters, that mixed with the bright moonlight shining on the water made a beautiful sight.

"Holy shit," John mumbled, leaning forward to see the water better through the front window.

"It's good, right?" you asked, smiling as John just nodded, an almost awe-struck look on his face as he stared at the water.

"How'd you know about this, anyway?" he asked, to which you just pursed your lips.

"It's not like someone's hiding rivers from me... oh god, are they hiding rivers from you?"

John rolled his eyes at your comment, the smile on his lips not fading in the slightest, "I mean, how'd you know it looked so beautiful at night? And with the rain as well?"

You shrugged, "I dunno. Just something you pick up, I guess."

John nodded, before furrowing his eyebrows as you quickly undid your seat belt, "Well let's go."

"Huh?" he muttered, confused when you didn't answer him, only opening the car door and shutting when you stood out. He didn't see where you went, only seeing you shutting the door and walking around the car. He squinted at you when he saw you pull open his car door, your hands gripped tightly around an umbrella, "What the heck are you doing?"

You gestured to the umbrella and looked at him like he was the dumbest person alive, "You thought I brought you to the river just to sit in the car?"

"Kinda!"

Rolling your eyes with a smile, you carefully pulled him out of the car (trying not to make him drop the cake) and brought him under your umbrella, smiling as you noticed the red tint on his cheeks at the close proximity. You grabbed his free hand and led to one of the benches in front of the river bank, which was conveniently shaded by one of the trees. When you two were sat down, John pulled off the lid of the box, pulling out plastic forks for the two of you.

You took one of the forks from his hands and you two began eating the dessert. You hated to admit it considering it looked homemade and one of his parents probably made it, but it tasted good. Too good to be made by a homophobe.

’How dare homophobes be good at stuff.’

“Hey babe,” you began, swallowing a bite of the cake, “I hope your birthday didn’t suck.”

John smiled at you, “Of course it didn’t suck. I’m with you. It could be worse." he said, looking around and taking note of the lack of people, "This could all have been a ploy to murder me or something.”

You raised your eyebrows, “Jeez, that got dark.”

John just shrugged, “I mean, there’s no people, it’s dark and rainy. You could easily murder me.”

"Babe, you stole cake for us, I'm not murdering you anytime soon." you replied, picking at the dessert with the plastic fork in your hands.

"Oh, anytime 'soon'? It's gonna happen, just not now?" he asked, a fake offended expression on his face.

"You never know." you joked, taking another bite of the cake, “But I’d say there’s not a huge chance of it happening.”

”Why’s that?”

“Because,” you began, setting the fork down as you reached for the chain on your neck, holding the heart out in front for John to see, “I love you.”

John smiled widely, his cheeks heating up as he held out his own chain, holding the heart next to yours, “I love you too, Y/N.”

buy me a coffee <3

#john laurens #john laurens x reader #john laurens x you #john laurens x male reader #john laurens fanfiction #john laurens x reader fanfiction #john laurens x reader one shot #anthony ramos hamilton #hamilton #musical #hamilton musical #hamilton fanfiction #broadway #john laurens x male reader one shot #john laurens hamilton #john laurens x male reader fluff #male reader #froggywritesstuff

69 notes · View notes

jbreenr · 3 years ago

Text

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale × Reader

Summary: You wanted to meet Ransom's family, he wanted to make sure you'd never want it again.

Word count: 3k.

Warning: Poorly written smut (+18 only, please), public sex (prompt 11), fingering, unprotected sex (don't do that, kids. be responsible), a bit of dirty talk, the Thrombeys being the Thrombeys. And I think that's it.

A/N: So, after finding out one of my stories was stolen an translated in Wattpad, I did not know if I should post this just yet but, what the hell? Let's do it. Anyway, this is for @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817 's Shameless Hoes for Chris Challenge so, happy belated birthday! Yaaay. 🥳 Hope you like this at least a little and that it's not as bad as my paranoid brain thinks it is. Also, I just love how the prompts fit perfectly together, don't you? As always, lack of vocabulary and grammatical mistakes abound. *apologizes in español*

Wheel results (just attaching evidence):

ᴹʸ ᵍⁱᶠ

Draining, tedious, exasperating. Those were some of the adjectives Ransom associated with Thrombey family reunions. He'd arrive late, have some sort of conversation with his grandfather and leave early to do whatever that took him away from that big house.

Today though, he had a reason to stay for more than half an hour.

If it was up to him, you two would have stayed at home, happy, relaxed, and most importantly, naked in his bed, having a more pleasant time than the one you were most likely about to have.

He tried to persuade you. Of course he did! But your insistence and puppy eyes made it impossible for him to say no to your request.

So, here you were, getting out of his car, cake in sweaty hands and an excited smile on your lips, an expression so different from Ransom's, who seemed to be ready to get back behind the wheel and drive straight to Canada.

He didn't knock; he simply opened the door and held it for you to enter. If the three floor house was imposing from the outside, you felt impressed by the inside. Extravagant sculptures, apparently expensive paintings and other kinds of pieces of art were scattered everywhere, telling you just how wealthy and eccentric Ransom's family were.

“That's Harlan Thrombey! ” You exclaimed as you stood in front of the portrait of your forever favorite author holding a knife and a book.

“So?” Ransom asked, unconcerned.

You turned to him open-mouthed, the cake almost slipping off your palms as you went to playfully slap him in the arm.

“How come you are related to Harlan Thrombey and you didn't tell me?” Your question was more of a shock than an accusation.

The carefree gesture he did with his shoulders only accentuated his next words. “I did not think you would be interested in knowing.”

“I wouldn’t be interested?” Incredulity, flowing out of your lips. “He’s the best thriller author of all time! He’s like today’s Edgar Allan Poe!”

To say that you didn't believe him was an understatement. He knew for a fact that you liked Harlan Thrombey's books, just taking a look at the bookshelf in your apartment was proof enough of that.

“We call him grandpa here.” Said a femenine voice. A brunette walked in your direction, her pretty features hardening as she looked at your boyfriend. “Don't we, Hugh?”

He seemed to be ready to say something but decided not to. Instead he inhaled and placed his hand on your back.

“This is Y/N, the only reason I’m not telling you what you need to hear right now.”

Her eyes rolled in irritation and then turned to you. “I’m Meg. Let's introduce you to the rest of the family, shall we?.” And she dragged you to the room where more people were gathered together, discussing something, not before sending a deadly glare at Ransom.

Given the distance between you and him, you didn't listen to the heavy sigh he let out before waking behind.

“Everyone!” Meg called, making everyone leave whatever they were doing to look at her –and you, in consequence. “Meet Y/N, Hugh's new friend.” She then proceeded to introduce every single member of the family, including the housekeeper and the nurse, except for the grandfather, who apparently had a moment of inspiration and left them momentarily to put his ideas on paper.

None of them left their seat to go and shake your hand except for Meg's energetic mom, who hugged you and expressed how much she loved your coat even though it was soooo last season.

Sitting on a couch next to Ransom, you half expected someone to ask you about how you two met or how long had you been dating or what was it that you did for a living. Nothing. As fast as their attention was on you, it fell from you to their previous discussion.

You now understood why Ransom jokingly suggested deep cleaning the house instead of attending that reunion.

What you weren't aware of, Ransom thought, was that all of them were behaving wonderfully compared to previous times.

You didn't know if you felt more disappointed or uncomfortable. Ransom had left your side to go to the studio for a second and you had barely had any interaction with his family. All of them, dipped in their own matters to even notice your presence.

Fran, the housekeeper, was kind enough to take the cake to the kitchen and offer you a glass of water, but after giving it to you, she disappeared along with Meg and the nurse.

“So,” All at once, the room went quiet as Ransom's uncle spoke. “Have you read any of dad's books, Y/N?” Only until you heard your name was that your head snapped up.

“Oh, uhm… yeah. I'm a big fan.” Taken by surprise, you simply answered.

“Really? Which one have you read?”

And to that question, you felt suddenly included in the conversation since you had knowledge of the topic.

“I'm like fifty pages from finishing 'The Needle Game' and intrigue is eating me alive.” As you heard the excitement in your voice, you tried to compose yourself and said “Though 'Nick Of Time' is my favorite.” You smiled at him, hoping that your answer was a good one.

The woman that was introduced to you as Ransom's mother nodded as she licked her lips. The light of the fireplace, reflecting on her glasses as she moved her head up and down.

“Have you read 'Ultimatum' or 'Drop In The Pocket', dear?” Her tone was curious, but the look on her face said differently.

You responded anyway. “They're not bad. I feel like the ending of 'Drop In The Pocket' was a little vague and out of line but it can always be interpreted as an open ending so…” The change in their expressions told you that you had to add something else to that answer. Maybe it was not time for literature humor yet. “But I enjoyed both.”

She hummed and took her drink, detaching from the talk that continued with courtesy questions until it morphed into a heated discussion between Ransom's father and uncle, who would repeatedly ask for your opinion to back up his own.

The discomfort you felt, dispelled to be replaced by the disturbance of being bombarded with dozens of questions at a time, each louder than the other until they changed to a completely different topic to which you were occasionally included as a neutral point of view.

“She knows what she's talking about!” Said Richard at some point when you confirmed one of his arguments. “Thank you, dear.”

Ransom came back from his obligatory argument with his grandfather to find you nowhere to be seen.

“She's using the bathroom.” Informed Jacob, who did not take his eyes off of his cellphone.

Thinking that you went there to hide, he started his way to your potential direction until an overheard observation from his mother stopped him halfway through.

“… Did you hear how she talked about dad's work? Oh, I assure you she won't make it to next week with Ransom.”

Her and Richard's backs were to him, both of them unaware that their son was listening to their share of opinions.

“And did you see her hands?” Joni joined the criticism contest. “She could use some moisturizer, I tell you.”

As usual, they ignored her attempt to fit in and kept going.

“I know it's contradictory to say this,” Richard paused, as to make his point clear. “But he could do better.”

Despite their whispering, Ransom heard every single word and was glad that you were not there to see what was about to happen…

Ransom's words stuck on his throat when he saw you making your way out of the bathroom, fixing the skirt of your dress, with such niceness and warmth directed to him as you smiled, oblivious to the fact that the people you were trying to get to like you weren't going to.

His parents were right. He could do better. He could determine to not see them ever again and it would be the best thing to happen to him… Besides you, obviously.

“What's wrong?” Your concern was evident, just as his annoyance was undeniable.

Cold hands caressed his cheeks and Ransom thought of going back to Joni and tell her to fuck off. Your touch was soft, comforting, and gave him the greatest idea he'd ever had.

“I want to show you something.” Was his answer. It was better if you were the one who decided to never step on that house for the rest of your lives. It didn't matter if it was out of embarrassment.

Taking your hand in his, he guided you up the stairs to the first landing. The creaking sound of the old structure, probably alerting everyone in the other room that you were going to the next floor.

“Are you okay?” The sweet giggle that you let out when he abruptly stopped, almost making him feel bad about what he was seconds away from doing.

“Better than ever.” And he stamped his lips to yours.

Taken aback, it took you a second to respond. Hands on each side of his face as his own explored your body. When his fingers lifted your dress to caress your ass cheeks was when you ended the kiss.

“What are you doing?” You asked in a breathless whisper. “Not that I'm complaining.”

You were cornered against the wall with Ransom towering in front of your smaller frame.

Trying to escape from whatever he had in mind was useless, you knew that much. Though, you were not sure if you really wanted to escape.

“What I've been wanting to do ever since you got a shower without me this morning.” His lips found your jaw and descended to your neck where he sucked to create a bruise. Your eyes closed to the sensation.

“Wait. No, wait.” His fingertip that had started rubbing your still clothed bud paused it's motions as his eyes focused back on your face. “We can't do it. Not here.”

Ransom's finger went back to work, bringing a soft moan that you tried to suppress. “Why not? No one's gonna come here.” His other hand moved up your thigh to lift it. “Even if they did, they wouldn't notice.”

With an expert swing of his wrist, he moved your panties aside, letting the cold air that wandered inside the house hit you before his skilled middle finger entered you while still managing to rub your clit in circles with his thumb.

Adrenaline ran through your veins, fuel activating every nerve in your body and shaking away fear from your brain, replacing it with lust and boldness.

“I'm blaming you if we get caught.” Your hips jolted forward wanting to feel more of his hand, the contradiction between your words and actions, making him smirk.

He added a second finger. Knuckles deep and his cold ring slowly warming against the inside of your thigh, he said, “I'll take responsibility, sweetheart.” Pumping his fingers in and out, he felt your slick running down the back of his hand to his wrist, wetting his overly expensive watch and the cuff of his cozy sweater .“But I can't assure you we won't get caught.”

His words, instead of working as a bucket of cold water as one would expect, increased your need to be touched by him, the yearning for him to take you right there and then.

“Damn it, Ransom.” One of your hands flew to his shoulder to hold onto him for dear life. “I'm close.”

“You're not cumming unless I'm inside you, pretty thing.” At what point did he unfasten his belt and unzipped his trousers, you had no idea. The friction of his digits was gone in a second but the feeling of his already leaking tip rubbing against your most sensitive parts was enough to make you forget about those trifles.

Your lips opened, ready to tell him to keep his voice down when he suddenly thrusted home, stretching you out so deliciously that you had to cover your mouth to muffle the moan that threatened to inform everyone of your current activities.

Ransom's breathing hitched. Being inside you was a dream come true, feeling your walls enveloping his cock so fucking good… it was like you were made for each other, and he was going to prove it, even if his family didn't really get to know.

His hips started moving. Back and forth, back and forth. Delicately at first, letting you adjust to his size but the second he felt you throbbing around him, he increased the pace. Little by little his pounds gained power and energy.

Your whimpers –stuck in your throat, leaving only soft snuffles that crashed against Ransom's cheek, soon became more rapid, erratic and as his fingers dug in the flesh of your thigh to keep you still while he accommodated to go even deeper you heard a creaking noise.

Your boyfriend's blue eyes met yours, his movements never faltering despite the alert given by the dark wooden floor under your feet.

There was a conflict in your head, and Ransom could tell. The way you tightened and the pleading look on your face told different stories, yet Ransom knew they had the same ending.

Shaking your head, your eyes asked him not to do it, but you knew Ransom well enough to be sure that not even begging could stop him.

“You love it, don't you?” His smile grew bigger as his change of position allowed him to hit your sweet spot on and on, ripping high pitched whines from you and obligating you to close your eyes. “The thought of getting caught. The image of someone seeing how good I make you feel.” The placement of his foot, making the landing creak repeatedly each time he pushed up accompanying every word. “Fuck, you're talking me so well. Such a dirty girl, uh.”

His big hand yanked the strap of your dress down, exposing your left boob. Your already hard nipple was soon attacked by Ransom's fingertips. He'd pinch and twist it slightly, just enough to make your back arch in search of his touch.

Pleasure was overflowing your senses, you could feel your heart thudding in your ears and your legs losing strength. Your hand left your mouth to grip at the back of Ransom's neck to keep you from falling.

The sight of your lower lip trapped between your teeth didn't please Ransom. In other circumstances, he would've let you stay that way, as quiet as possible so no one would walk on you. This time though, it was his intention to rip the most delicious sounds from your lips so you thought of the possibility of his family listening.

And so, he lent to kiss you, passion and desire transmitted through his breath. His tongue asked for a permission that was not really required, but as you let it in, Ransom took the opportunity to bite down your lip.

With your lips forcefully parted and Ransom's restless hand traveling back to your bundle, you had no other option than to moan with each quick circle his digits drew.

A series of laughs and undistinguished words were heard from a distance. Both Ransom and you turned to see what they were about, stopping in your tracks with him still buried deep inside your needy cunt.

“Guess dinner's ready.” Unbothered about the information he just gave, he hid his face in the crook of your neck and resumed his movements.

A shaky oh, fuck fell from your lips as you felt the familiar knot in your stomach forming. Your head flew back, hitting the wall with a soft thud.

“Careful. We don't want to be obvious, do we?” You knew you were about to explode, and by the way your walls were clenching and your trembling body tried to separate from him, Ransom knew as well. “Let go, sweetheart.” A roar erupted from him as he felt you tightening around his length. “Cum for me.”

With a last, powerful thrust of his hips, you let out a silent scream. The coil snapped, making you see a kaleidoscope of colors behind your eyelids and listen to a loud ring in your ears.

Ransom followed right after, cursing as he finished inside of you, coating you with every last drop and making sure everything would stay there.

He slid out, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness as he zipped his trousers and took a step back to let you fix your appearance.

You managed to accommodate your dress just in time for Ransom's family to walk out of the room they were in to see you. Your agitated breathing and blushed cheeks, getting everyone's attention.

“Are you okay, dear?” Ransom's dad asked.

“She's fine.” Your boyfriend answered for you. “She's feeling a little sick. I better take her home.” He took you by the hand and helped you down the stairs to the door, which you thanked. Had he not done it, you would have tripped taking the first step.

“But she hasn't met grandpa yet.” Meg noted, furrowing her brows.

“It'll be next time.” And with that, Ransom took you out of the house and in the passenger seat of his car without giving anyone the chance to say goodbye.

When you were at a considerable distance, you sighed, letting out the air you didn't know you were holding.

“Just so you know, there won't be a next time.” You informed him, against your want to meet his grandfather.

“Why not?” He asked with a chuckle, already knowing the answer.

“Cause embarrassment won't let me come back in the near future.”

Behind an eye roll and a tap on your thigh, Ransom hid the triumphant grimace his perfectly carried out plan gave him.

693 notes · View notes

ring-h · 2 years ago

Text

Charlie's journey

Chapter 1 - (Bear with me, it's a long one)

Heartstopper is often summed up at Nick and Charlie’s relationship, and more precisely focusing on Nick’s journey. And not to say that Nick’s journey is not a big part of Heartstopper (even though people tend to focus only on his sexual orientation’s awakening, which is only part of it), but what about Charlie? Is Charlie only the scrawny geek boy with and a**hole "boyfriend" who manages to turn the rugby king bi?… Nah.

So at first, Charlie defines himself as " small and weak ":

It’s reinforced by the rugby team speaking before he joins them (with the « gay being weak/not good at sport » comment being the cherry on the cake, because Harry is such a pleasure to be around) :

...Charming.

Even Tao (who's also worried because of Harry and the other guys) warns him about not being strong enough:

And we can even see at first that he feels like he doesn't belong: in that shot, we can see Charlie appearing miiiiillllles away from the rest of the team. Barely being in the frame:

And he even repeats to Nick that he is too weak by stating that he is "going to die" from trying to tackle him.

He doesn't believe he can do it. And it's really to add to Nick's credit that Charlie becomes a part of the team: he involves him in everything, training, discussions:

He doesn't put him aside.

And always cheers him on, until the whole team is cheering.

And eventually, he enjoys being part of the team, look at that smile:

He achieved something he thought not possible out of perseverance and support (Nick's). If it doesn't warm my cold heart, I don't know what could.

Later, we can see that is got some difficulty with tackling, and he gets bad comments from his teammates about it.

But what does he do when confronted to some Hulk lookalike guy from the opposing team? He actually tries to tackle the guy ! And yes he got hurt because of it, but he tried, he believed he could do it. The fact is, this time he believed in his strength, even if just a little.

For me it resonates with the race during the sport's day event: Charlie is entering the race confident that he can win. He doesn't go just for the race, he goes to win. He knows he runs fast and he isn't shy about this strength.

That smile at the end is priceless.

So, Charlie here is a perfect example of the influence that words have: when you are told over and over that you'll fail, that you are weak, that you can not do something... Well you start to believe it !

People around you can be toxic by imposing their beliefs of who and what you are ("you are too fat", "you are too stupid", "you are too shy", etc, pick one of your choice, I'm sure we've all been there).

This here is, of course, only one aspect of Charlie's journey, but I think this post is actually very long so I'll end here.

I'll post more soon ! :)

#heartstopper #heartstopper netflix #charlie spring #nick x charlie #nick nelson #theories

18 notes · View notes

twatshag · 4 years ago

Text

"Can I ask you something?"

♤ In which haikyuu boys ask you personal questions ♤

Pairings: iwaizumi x reader, osamu x reader, kuroo x reader All gn!!

Warnings: mentions of death(not the characters), suggestive topics, mentions of daddy issues, mention of past troubles, insecurities, mentions of exs cheating, crying

Genre: fluff, slightly angsty but still fluffy.

—----------------------------------------------—

A/N: In honour of mental health month I wanted to write this piece to make you guys feel loved by the boys ! You are loved and cared for and as much as I hated hearing it but things WILL get better. Stay strong I want you to fight.- Kira

—----------------------------------------------—

Miya Osamu

You and your boyfriend were cuddling against one another in your bed it was a routine you both loved doing on your free days. Basking in each others warmth while talking about your days and what the future holds.

Osamu's laugh rang through the bedroom walls while he played with your hair. "And then she literally drops her cake right onto my laptop and it freakin' broke it!!" "Ma god angel was tha cake that hard?" "You have no idea how much I wanted to punch her for one, baking a cake that was literally so hard if I ate a rock it would've been softer and two for breaking my freaking laptop !".

Osamu chuckled once again as he kissed your forehead and you frowning because of how can he find the awful events that you've been dealing with all week funny at all.

"There there angel A don't want ya getting forehead wrinkles from frowning too hard ya know." He chuckled while poking your ticklish sides earning a slap on his hand. "Jeez I think I'd literally cry if I ever got them." Osamu smiled against your hairline as the conversation came to a halt maybe this was the right moment to ask what he's been thinking about all week he thought.

"Angel can a ask you something?". You tilted your head to look at him while he gazed right back at you while popping an eyebrow at his question "is your question going to be 'can ya help me get off?' ? Because your answer is no."

Osamu chuckled and rolled his eyes at your so bold statement just a while back in your relationship you'd be blushing profusely if he made any type of suggestive comment wondering what happened to his innocent S/o.

"Nah angel I'm serious here". Noticing his serious features you decided to nod and see what he has to say.

Gulping he decided to ask away. "What made ya believe in love again? Ya know after yer ex had cheated on ya?" Your eyes widened at his sudden question earning a worried panicked look from him. Looking around the room to avoid this awkward situation he put himself into "Y-ya dont hafta answer ya know A- a Just couldn't-" "you."

His eyes met yours with a dumb founded expression you deciding to continue on since there was no backing down now. I mean you always knew that one day he'd ask you about it but it still made you sink a bit when he did.

"I mean sure of course there would be times where you smelled different or something and I'd panic or times you got so many notifications on your phone and i'd let my past get the better of me and snoop but after 3 months of dating, you told me something that just healed everything I've been through."

You smiled at him and he looked back at you with a curious look to what his so called healing words were.

"You told me you loved me. And I know that sounds so stupid" you laughed heavily releasing the lump in your throat.

"But the way you looked at me was like an unspoken promise to never hurt me like he did." You shrugged smiling at him and burying your face against his chest.

Osamu was dumbfounded by your response sure he knew he might be the reason but confirmation doesnt make the love sick smug grin on his face and the warmth rising to it any less effective.

He held you as tight as he can. "God angel ya really know how to get a man flustered say how bout ya help me get o-" "no" "Angelllllllllllll" you scoffed at him and hit his chest. "Shut up and sleep Miya" to which he laughed at the sound of his last name even when you were upset and you addressed him by his last name he can't help but smile at how beautiful it sounded coming from you. "Yer breaking ma heart here angel don't make me take yer cuddling rights." Chuckling as your grip around him tightened and drifting off to sleep together while he played with your hair.

Making mental note to always be the one who heals you forever because you were the one who healed him too and God did he love you so much for everything that you did.

Iwaizumi Hajime

Today was your regular late night drive throughs and talks about your life while stuffing your face with fast food with your beefy athletic trainer boyfriend.

As you brought the sandwich to your mouth and took a big bite you moaned at the heavenly taste earning a chuckle from the green eyed man next to you.

"Can't believe I'm not the one who's making you moan that way but a sandwich."

You rolled your eyes at his snarky comment while stuffing your mouth with the sandwich "shushth up iwa-chanth".

"Jeez who knew romance was dead L/n and I told you stop calling me that and don't speak with a mouth full last time you did you had to clean my car seat" he laughed earning an intensive glare his way from you.

You swallowed and thought about a good come back for a second. "I wasn't the one who threw up in my cup holder was I? Iwaaa-chaaaannnn" making sure to drag the annoying nickname out just to tease him.

He rolled his eyes at you "you're such a brat, doll and you know how I can't deal with spicy food who's fault was that?" You laughed "oh shut up, you loved me for the after care you got Hajime." "I'll think about it."

Smacking his chest lightly as you both laughed into the night.

Should I ask ? I really don't want to pry. I mean it's been weeks since they've told me about it and I dont want them to feel alone maybe I shouldn't ask them iwaizumi thought to himself while staring at the sandwich in his hands. But before he could decide he was snapped back to reality by your voice "not hungry Haji?" Before he could settle on a decision the words have already come out of his mouth.

"Doll can I ask you something?" You raised an eye brow at his sudden serious tone and you nodded "of course, anything haji-baby" feeling the atmosphere turn tense you decided to pull out the favourite nick name card and he smiled nervously.

"Do you miss her?" You felt your heart sink. Your friend had gotten into an accident talking with her boyfriend while driving resulting them in a critical state which lead to them passing away. You smiled weakly.

"Yes I do.." he stared at you worried that he might've crossed a line or broke a boundary but before he could overthink you opened your mouth to speak again.

"But you know, my care taker always told me something that always stuck to me about death. They said Nobody dies before age" he frowned confusingly. "What do you mean?" He asked eager to know what your statement meant.

"It means that when a person passes away they've served their purpose and they accomplished what they wanted to on earth so they go into their next step. A life even better than what they've gotten." You gazed at him smiling of course it hurt, alot but your friend was very successful and very happy when you went to the funeral and walked up to her casket the way she lied there was a peaceful sight. Slight smile on her face despite her body being cold.

As much as it hurt saying good bye you couldn't help but smile at how happy she looked to earn peace of an even better life in the next. Leaving her pain behind her.

Iwaizumi reached to hold your hand thinking he couldn't possibly be more in love how foolish he thought.

"You're really strong you know that?" You laughed heavily squeezing his hand while a few tears slipped out of your eyes. "Its a part of life you know its just it always hurts when they leave but it makes me at ease knowing that something better is out there for them."

You looked up at your boyfriend who was tearing up in front of you exchanging silent smiles and promises to never be sad when anything happens to you both individually because at the end of the day the light at the end of the tunnel is always brighter than the start.

Kissing in the dead of night as a confirmation to what you both were thinking and agreeing to your promise. While he held you in his arms remembering to always make you feel better because even though his job was draining coming home to you and embracing you was something that always, always made him feel better. Hoping that it would be your cure as well.

Kuroo Tetsuro

"Kitten! Come help me with this!" Kuroo whined as he was trying to hang up the drawn portrait of your pet dog on the wall. Today was just a normal lazy day in the kuroo & L/n household. "Tetsu- stop whining can't you see I'm busy here" you rolled your eyes at your 6'2 pouting boyfriend who's suddenly bad at everything he can do alone knowing damn well he just uses it as an excuse to be close to you.

Despite what everyone thought of Kuroo he sure was the clingy type in fact if you got up to the bathroom during the night he'd whine about how you don't love him anymore because you left his arms.

Walking over to you trying to put the portrait into different frames you had placed on the floor deciding which one would look the best on the wall. He crouched down to your level and hugged you from behind while resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Kitten don't use that sassy tone with me I'm still your senpai chibi-chan." You giggled and rolled your eyes at his silly nickname "you know that it's been 5 years since high school right ?" He smirked at you and kissed your neck earning a whimper from you at the warm sensation. "But you're still my chibi-chan" "whatever you say captain"

you smiled at his warmth while sliding the portrait out of the frame you put it in. "Say chibi-chan, why don't you start calling me captain in bed?" You looked at him with the best deadpan expression you could make while he wiggled his eyebrows at you as a way to say 'whatcha think???' "No". You answered back.

you stood up grabbing the frame you thought fit best on the wall and he followed you like a lost puppy "oooohhh come on chibi-chan, how would that hurt? You refused to call me daddy you know!" You laughed at his annoying smug grin and rolled your eyes at his pouty face.

"I'm not calling you captain testu- besides why isn't testu enough for you? Sex is supposed to be intimate why would I call you something that I don't like thinking about." You chuckled,

but he knew better than anyone that your chuckle wasn't because you thought it was funny but because you were hiding the slight pain in your voice.

If you had anything common with kuroo it was that your home wasn't as perfect either. Your father was indeed home and he lived with you guys but if he wasn't it would've probably been for the better. And he knew about that.

"Kitten can I ask you something?" You rolled your eyes thinking this was going to be another bribe for you to call him some nick name during sexual intercourse but decided to play along. "Aye aye captain ask away." Popping the cardboard open to place the portrait inside the decided frame you heard him swallow and he opened his mouth to talk.

"Is it because of him?" You almost dropped the portrait from your hands. Grip hardening on the piece of paper in your hold.

You looked at him sadness reflecting your eyes trying to hide it behind your weak smile. You nodded. "Yeah. It is".

You didn't notice how your hand started shaking becoming angry and over rushed with every negative emotion in your body tears swelling up your eyes not noticing how your boyfriend was already by your side placing the paper you held so tightly on to the side while pulling you in to his chest and relaxing as you softened against him.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have asked you that." You sniffles against shaking your head. "No it's okay, it's just.." he placed his hand on your head tracing his thumb against your hair lightly something that always soothed you when your sad.

"I just don't want to remember him, You know and I still feel like it's my fault that he's the way he is, maybe if I-" "no."

Kuroo cut you off by lifting your chin up to look at him worry and pain plastered onto his face. How can anyone hurt you he thought.

"It's not your fault kitten, if anything he's the asshole. You didn't deserve him and his shitty behaviour if I was in his place I would've made sure to protect you even from myself."

You laughed while he wiped your tears and you leaned to his touch "you just made this sound gross testu" he chuckled and pulled you into his chest once again allowing you to hear his racing heart that only raced for you.

"guess I'm gross for making my kitten laugh while crying" you giggled wrapping your arms tightly around him, enjoying his warmth and love for a few seconds before mumbling. "Captain sounds nice.." giggling to yourself and suddenly yelping as he picked you up bridal style and kissing your lips making his way to the bedroom

"Tetsu put me down!!! We still didn't hang the portrait yet!!" He chuckled as you squirmed in his hold "nope I'm sure the portrait could wait right now I have to take this new nickname for a test drive" as he closed the door to the bedroom leaving you and your worries behind.

You knew that at the end of the day kuroo would never hurt you. Unless it's in bed but that's beside the point.. he truly loved you and while you laid in his arms that night completely bare he vowed to himself to always protect you. Even if that meant from himself.

—----------------------------------------------—

A/N: I hope that you guys enjoyed this piece dedicated to mental health month! Please don't ever doubt your feelings they are valid and you have every right to feel the way you feel thank you all for being the way you guys are ! Much love to everyone! Stay strong

P.S: ILL UPDATE AS SOON AS I GET MY REQUESTS OPEN!!!

- with love kira

—----------------------------------------------—

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi angst #gn!reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo fluff #hq kuroo #osamu x reader #osamu fluff #osamu angst #haikyuu suggestive

196 notes · View notes

maddieinwonder · 4 years ago

Text

The Eighth

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None, this is a fluff-only zone!

Word Count: 2.3k

Plot: Reader has been in the BAU for one year and a lot has changed, especially her relationship with a certain genius. (Part 1 here!)

Author's Note: Seriously, I wasn't expecting my first two fics to blow up like that. Just, thank you to everyone who read them ♡♡♡

As for this one... I had to write a Part 2, basically as an excuse for me to write good things about everybody in the BAU and go wild with the backstories hahaha I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

--------------

Under the dim lighting of the BAU jet, your pen paused on the small book beneath it, causing a small blotch of ink to seep through its pages. The words usually flowed out of you without inhibition, but today was different, and frankly, you were feeling a little overwhelmed.

You didn't think the team would remember this, but today marked exactly one year since you joined the BAU. As if the universe were smiling down on you, the week also turned out to be a great one - or at least, as good as it could get around here.

The team had just closed a challenging case with minimal casualties, everyone had been ordered to have a long weekend off, and the person you most wanted to spend it with was dozing off beside you without a care in the world. Of course, he didn’t know about your feelings... yet.

Closing your journal, you gave up on writing as your eyes wandered restlessly toward your sleeping teammates.

Your eyes crinkled into a smile when your gaze landed on Hotch. This was the first time you’d seen him actually asleep on the jet, and in your opinion, he deserved whatever rest he could get. Since you joined the team, you had seen the man endure countless late nights in the office. Something you had quickly attributed to the missing wedding ring on his finger.

Yet, he remained a stalwart to the team. He constantly checked in with everybody, shielded the team from messy politics, and even managed to crack the occasional joke. Of course, he was still stoic most of the time, and you weren’t exactly sure if he was capable of blinking, but now you knew the warmth and care he possessed too.

Then there was Rossi, who had defied all your initial expectations. You had thought a celebrity like him to be gracious, maybe a little egoistic, but he was straight forward and meticulous to a fault. Still, it seemed he couldn't escape his nature as a performer, as he shone the brightest in the interrogation room.

The day you first witnessed him in action, your jaw had dropped to the floor, and he never stopped bringing it up in jest. He always joked that he didn't know whether you or the unsub was more shocked, but after that day, he also took the time to mentor you in the craft. You liked to think he was proud of how quickly you were able to put it into practice.

Your eyes wandered to Emily, sleeping soundly in the next seat. With Penelope and JJ’s busy schedules, she had taken on the role of showing you the ropes, and you had become fast friends. Turns out, the both of you were eerily similar: competitive, quick thinkers who never backed down from a challenge.

Unfortunately this meant you were never paired together on cases, but you did have an ongoing chess tournament slash drinking game. The chess was your idea, the drinking was Emily’s, and you were currently winning, much to your obvious pride and the rest of the team's amusement.

The person you actually got paired with the most was Derek; effectively fulfilling the fantasies of many women you knew. But as it turned out, the two of you made a damn good team. His calculated disposition combined with your breadth of knowledge - only rivalled by the good doctor - made you an extremely effective duo, and Hotch picked up on it immediately.

You being younger than him by a few years, Derek made it a point to check in with you often, and in turn, allowing you to glimpse at his pensive, empathetic, and insightful sides. He had become a big brother to you, and you like a sister. A bond that proved to be a strong one, across the many cases you tackled together.

You smiled to yourself, eyes landing on Penelope and JJ, dozing off together under a bright pink, knitted blanket whose ownership was in no doubt. It was rare that the tech analyst came along on cases, but she was always a welcomed presence for everybody involved.

Amidst the sea of gruesome cases sent to the BAU, you had come to look forward to Penny's witty banter, either over the phone or in person. The image of her colourful outfits and her outrageously decorated office were enough to make you believe in a light at the end of any tunnel.

It reminded you of your first case, an extraordinarily challenging one that the team managed to unravel in the nick of time. When you arrived back at the BAU, Penelope was the one to drag you out to celebrate. Little did you know, the rest of the team had also gathered at the bar with party poppers and birthday cake. When you found out that Penny had planned everything, you knew you had earned a friend for life.

As you smiled at the memory, JJ shuffled in her sleep and your attention was drawn to her sleeping figure. You didn’t know how she could look so perfect even when she was asleep. But then again, you’d come to realise that there was very little she couldn’t do.

You had already been friends with the communications liaison, but working with her in the BAU was a completely different beast. Of all the chaotic personalities in the BAU, only JJ had a hold over every single one. She was able to apply the same to the local police and media, and still meet the victim's families with the utmost grace and empathy.

During her brief window of absence when Henry was born, things just weren't the same. You liked Jordan, and you knew she always gave her best, but there was an unmistakable sigh of relief when JJ was back. And although she never asked for it, you and Penelope did everything you could to give her and Will a break from their newborn, including regular movie nights in with baby Henry.

Last but not least, the one that you couldn't forget even if you tried, Dr. Spencer Reid. You had joined the BAU because of him, you realised now. But what began as professional interest, had quickly developed into a full blown crush on your co-worker.

You realised this fact on an absolutely unremarkable day, except for the fact that your heart skipped a beat when Spencer walked into the office that morning. He wasn't wearing anything out of the ordinary, his usual combination of sweater vest and shirt, but when he smiled at you, your face flushed visibly and you wanted to melt into your chair in embarrassment.

If the genius had noticed it, he didn't let it show. But Derek most certainly did. Every chance he got that day, he teased you about your newfound crush on "pretty boy", and soon the news made it to everyone's ears. Emily not in the least, as she used the knowledge to win several chess games, much to your annoyance.

And still, Spencer remained oblivious. Despite how often you sat starry eyed listening to him explain a completely random fact. Despite how many weekends you spent together bonding over your shared interests in Star Trek and Doctor Who. Despite the fact that the seat next to him on the plane was basically reserved for you. You didn't think he knew, because he never made a move.

That's why you decided last week. The next time the team had a long weekend off, you would ask Spencer out on a date. You just didn't think it would happen so soon.

Midway through your thought, Spencer groaned in the seat next to you. His hands lifted to move his hair away from his face, and you resisted the urge to do it for him.

"Are we there yet?" He asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

You felt your heartbeat quicken at his voice, gravelly and soft, not fully back to reality just yet.

"No, not yet," you answered back in a whisper. "It's only 3AM. We have about two hours to go."

"Why aren't you asleep?" He asked. His head leaned back onto the headrest, but this time, his face turned towards yours. The two of you were far too close to each other for this to be work appropriate.

"Just thinking." You tapped the cover of your book with your pen in explanation, trying to look anywhere but at him. Spencer hummed in acknowledgement, the sound driving you wild. Then he did something you could have never expected.

"Hey," he began, pulling your gaze to meet his hazel eyes, "happy one year at the BAU." His lips formed a small smile, sleepy but genuine.

"You remembered?" You couldn't fight the wide smile that made its way onto your face, nor the glee that spilled out of your voice.

"Of course. Eidetic memory, remember?" He joked, gesturing at his head. Maybe it was the lack of sleep talking, but you felt like you were on the verge of tears.

"Thank you. Really."

"Hey, hey, hey, don't cry." Spencer said, suddenly sitting upright. He leaned forward as if to touch your cheek, but his fingers lingered in the air in between you awkwardly.

You brought your own fingers to your face, realising that you were, in fact, crying. A small laugh escaped your lips at the absurdity of it all.

"No, no, I'm alright, Spencer. Just overwhelmed, I suppose." You tried explaining, gently wiping the tears from your face.

"Why?" He asked, his voice laced with concern.

“I didn’t expect anyone to remember it, that’s all.” You said, feeling a little ashamed now, but your words seemed to light a fire in the doctor’s eyes.

“Well, whoever forgot it must be stupid because you’ve made a difference in the lives of every single person on this jet.” He said in an uncharacteristic huff.

This was your chance, you realised.

“Hey, Spencer,” you said after a pause, biting your lip nervously, “what difference did I make in your life?”

Spencer looked as if he had been caught, his eyes instantly darted to the seat behind you, his fingers twitching. You tightened your grip on your pen, willing yourself not to collapse from the anticipation.

“Of course, I-I mean, many things can’t be quantified due to its subjective nature, but you did change my life."

"Like?" You pressed on.

"You gave me something to look forward to everyday." He said, his eyes lifting to meet yours. You felt your heart soar a hundred stories above the ground.

"Really?" You were in disbelief, your voice barely a whisper.

"Really. You're... you're intelligent, beautiful, and you open my mind to new things every day. I feel like you understand me in ways the rest can't, and you’re the person I want to tell everything to. There’s nobody else but you.” He blurted out in a single breath, as if he'd lose the words if he waited any longer.

Your eyes threatened to spill tears again, but you blinked them back, preparing to say what you wanted to say to him long ago.

"Spencer... I like you. Like, romantically like you." You whispered, your eyes barely able to meet his. His eyes were wide open, his eyes glancing briefly at your lips.

And in a moment of pure bravery, as he explained later, he placed his hand over yours and squeezed. "Me too. I like you, romantically."

Long after that, he would tell you that he'd never seen you smile so widely before, and he instantly knew that he wanted to be the reason you smiled that way all the time. But in the moment, he just laced his fingers with yours.

You squeezed his hand back. Feeling calmed by his warm touch, you leaned closer to him. You still had one question on your mind.

"Did you know that I liked you?"

"I figured it out eventually. Last month." He said sheepishly. "But I've had feelings for you since a month after you joined the team." His cheeks turned a light pink at the confession.

"You know what? Me too." You blushed, leaning against his shoulder.

“Another thing we have in common now,” he said, resting his head on yours.

You weren’t willing to let him go now that you had him, and luckily, it seemed like he had the same idea, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you close.

The two of you fell into slumber easily, not even realising it when the jet had landed back in Virginia.

It didn't take long for the rest of the team to realise the interesting sight in front of them, but not even Penelope's high-pitched squeal managed to wake you up.

In the end, it was JJ who decided to end your unknowing humiliation by shaking the two of you gently. You and Spencer jolted awake, immediately taking in the various smirks and grins from your team in front of you.

"Ok, that's enough guys." Hotch announced. You noticed the small smile on his face before he turned around to leave the jet.

The team - mostly Emily and Penelope - looked as if they wanted to enjoy the sight for a little longer, but at Hotch's word, decided they would leave the teasing till later.

"That's not exactly how I imagined telling the team," Spencer said, when the two of you were finally alone. He ran his fingers through his hair in an action of mild distress, but you noticed the smile that was still glued to his face.

You leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek, enjoying the blush it left behind. "Well, that means less time with them, and more time with you," you teased.

Spencer picked up his bag and offered his hand to you. "I'm counting on it," he said, smiling widely.

You took his hand, your gaze trailing up his wrinkled shirt to his messy brown hair, finally landing on his earnest eyes. Of all the times in the past year you got to be the BAU's Eighth. This moment had got to be the best.

272 notes · View notes

that-blue-vault-dweller · 3 years ago

Note

Can you do a one shot story of the companions coming together to organize a surprise birthday party for Nora. I find it really funny to think of them having to interact and corporate with one another to make Nora happy. 😂😂😂

Awww!!! This is an incredible idea, and I absolutely love this so much!!! 😍😍😍🥰🥰🥰 I had an amazing time writing this one (as you can probably tell by the length of the thing 😂), and I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for the request! 💙💛

Word Count: 3505

“Hancock, if you put Day Tripper in those brownies, I will personally make sure that Blue has your head—”

“Calm down some! I didn’t put any chill pills in the brownies, okay?!” Hancock replied, raising his hand up defensively before placing the pan on a nearby table. Piper just raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Since Nora had left that morning with MacCready and Dogmeat, everyone had been moving as quickly as they could possibly manage with Piper at the helm of the preparation crew. It was February twelfth and the birthday of the vault-dweller. And they had to do everything they could to make Nora’s birthday as perfect as her.

And if Hancock brought chems in, then it was definitely not going to be perfect by Piper’s or Nora’s standards.

“Okay, then, prove it. Cait!!!” Piper called. She knew that Hancock would cave if Cait came over to try the brownies. After all, he respected Cait quitting the chems too much to let her risk a relapse.

She could feel Cait’s glare on her back, and Piper resisted the urge to say something sarcastic as the redhead approached the two.

“What do ye want?” Cait questioned, not much kindness mustered in her words as she glared at Piper. After all, they were not really the best of friends, and for Piper to ask anything of her was a bit of a stretch. The only reason Cait was helping with the party was because she loved and cared about Nora so much.

“Go try those brownies.”

“Why? This feels like a trick,” Cait spoke, crossing her arms over her chest as she narrowed her eyes skeptically. Piper barely withheld the groan as she put her hands on her hips and glared at the other woman.

“We’re testing them to make sure they’re clean.”

“And ye chose me?! Look, I’ve moved past my days of addiction, ye hear?!” Cait informed her aggressively before spinning on her heel and leaving Piper with Hancock. Piper rolled her eyes, moving her mouth a little as she mimicked the other woman.

“Alright, then. Curie! Come taste these brownies!” Piper called, and Curie looked up immediately, her eyes sparkling with the promise of sweets.

“Ooh! Okay!” Curie cried, hurrying over. Piper smirked widely, knowing that Hancock would not just let Curie get high. Especially since Nora would be positively livid if anything happened to the innocent synth.

“No, no, no, on second thought, I think I might’ve burned them, and I probably should just throw them out. Nora deserves the best, right?” Hancock grinned winningly before heading out the door with the brownies. Curie stuck her lip out a little in a small, disappointed pout before returning to her previous task of cleaning up the house alongside Codsworth.

“That’s what I thought,” Piper muttered, and she turned to look and see what Cait and Danse were doing together. Currently, the both of them were attempting to hang decorations, and Danse was looking slightly flustered as Cait grinned widely. Piper immediately knew what was going on as soon as she saw it.

“No fraternizing in the workplace, got it?” Piper announced just behind them and Danse was almost pitiful in how he straightened immediately and cleared his throat in an attempt to look more proper. It was obviously a reaction left over from his time in the Brotherhood, and he quickly caught up on his mistake before releasing his shoulders a little and loosening.

“Who died and made you queen, anyways?” Cait questioned, and Piper scoffed as if it were obvious.

“Look, since I know Blue so well, I have been self-appointed as birthday party coordinator, alright?” Piper informed her. Piper mentally added in the fact that she believed that she herself was Nora’s best and closest friend out of the bunch, but she did not voice this opinion aloud since she would likely offend the rest of the people around the house.

“The rest of us know her pretty well, too, y’know. I think you just want an excuse to boss me around!” Cait challenged, pushing the thumbtack into the wall firmly, and Piper just shrugged, everything in her fighting the urge to say something that would provoke the former cage-fighter.

“Does this look balanced to you?” Danse questioned, and Piper squinted a little, tilting her head.

“Yeah. Except Cait’s end looks too high and mighty,” Piper commented, and she mentally scolded herself for not having more self-control than to aggravate the other woman. But it was just too fun to resist, and Cait got so irritated which made it so funny.

Sure enough, Cait looked like she might kill someone as she lowered her end ever so slightly.

“Good enough, your highness?” Cait questioned, clenching her fists tightly and her face turning a little red as she quite obviously tried to resist the urge to deck Piper. Piper just offered a smug smile and a thumbs-up.

She then headed over to check on Nick, Preston, and Deacon where they were working on wrapping the presents for Nora.

“How’s it going, guys?” Piper questioned, looking over the gifts for Nora on the table. They had labeled all of them with the people who were gifting them on the bottom and Nora’s name on the side.

“It’s going alright over here,” Deacon trailed off with a chuckle, looking over at Preston and the Minutemen shrugged a little with a grin.

“Piper, are you playing nice with Cait?” Nick questioned, raising an eyebrow knowingly, and Piper just grinned winningly, squeezing Nick’s shoulder affectionately.

“Oh, Nicky… When have I ever not played nice with the red-headed woodpecker?” Piper questioned much too innocently, and Nick rolled his eyes fondly, the barest of smiles pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Behave yourself now,” Nick chastised half-heartedly, too much warmth in his voice to be taken too seriously about it. Piper just laughed a little.

“I always do, Gramps,” Piper assured him with a wink and finger-guns.

At that moment, X6 entered the house with the cake. Piper turned around just as he placed the cake on the counter and faced her.

“I have completed the cake,” X6 announced, his voice completely calm as he wore an absolutely ridiculous apron. Piper had to search deep inside of herself to try to keep from laughing.

She had seen Nora wear this apron on many occasions when she was cooking around Sanctuary, and Piper always poked fun at her when she saw her wearing it. Apparently, Nate had bought it for Nora back before the bombs fell and it had been such an ugly apron that no one had stolen it from Nora’s house during the entire time that she had been frozen.

Of course, no one would want to steal a bright blue apron that had “Hot Mom Summer” written across the front of it.

“Did the apron work out for you, X6?” Piper questioned, unable to help a bit of mirth leaking into her voice.

“It performed its function properly, if that is what you mean. However, the aesthetic quality left a bit to be desired,” he very dryly replied. Piper just shrugged, chuckling a little.

“Nice! So, did you put a sweet little message on top of the cake like I said?” Piper questioned, and she could hear Cait muttering something to herself somewhere behind Piper. Piper simply chose to ignore her for now, focusing on the courser before her.

“Yes,” he replied simply, and she grinned widely, finding herself to be quite relieved since everything was going extremely well so far.

“Did you cover it in frosting all over?” Piper asked, raising an eyebrow, and X6 hummed in agreement. She let out a breath of relief, very happy to see that things were going so well as of now.

“Great! Let me see,” Piper spoke, moving over to look at the cake. To her pure, unadulterated horror, the cake was completely and barrenly white with a simple message in pretty lettering on top of the cake in blue letters.

“‘Pleasant regards?!!!’ You’ve got to be kidding me!” Piper cried, her eyes wide as she looked at him as if he had suddenly sprouted two extra heads. She could feel the coolness of his gaze even behind the sunglasses he was wearing.

“You did not make a specific request. Therefore, I put a kind message on the top as you said,” he replied, and it was so dry that she could not help but think he was being sarcastic.

“If this is your idea of being funny, it is absolutely the worst time to start pulling that—”

“Tiny human, Mack-Ree-Dee, and little dog are back!!!” Strong announced very loudly, sticking his head through the doorway as he bent over a little to fit. He had been outside waiting for Nora, MacCready, and Dogmeat’s return, and Piper had told him to let them all know when the group came back. Piper brought her hands up to the sides of her head, breathing deeply as she tried to hold it together.

“Aww, well, that’s just wonderful!” Piper sarcastically declared in pure aggravation.

“Okay, quick!!! You guys fix this cake! I’m going to try to get MacCready’s attention and see if he can distract her for a little longer,” Piper swiftly told them, and it was then that she noticed Hancock had re-entered the room after throwing his brownies outside behind the house.

“And do not line the edge of the cake with mentats or something, Hancock!” Piper demanded, pointing an accusing finger at him before hurrying out the door and barely dodging Strong standing there. She quickly spotted the three heading up the road through Sanctuary slowly. They had just gotten off of the bridge. Nora was laughing at something that MacCready had said to her, and Dogmeat was happily trotting along ahead of them.

Piper raised her arms up, waving to MacCready since Nora had just stopped to pat Dogmeat when he brought her a stick from nearby. He unfortunately was not looking. When he finally did happen to gaze in her direction, he just stared at her for a long moment, completely and utterly confused as she motioned to him.

Very unfortunately, he still did not seem to get the message whatsoever. Piper just groaned loudly before looking around quickly, trying to find something that could throw Nora off and that would take up some time.

It was then that she spotted strong standing nearby, just staring at her as if she were insane. Piper held back the grin that threatened to come onto her face and instead replaced it with a surprised look.

“Strong! I think you better go see Nora! I’m not sure, but I think she found milk of human kindness!” Piper announced to him, and he looked at her strangely, moving his gaze between her and where Nora was standing in the distance.

“Tiny human have milk of human kindness?!” Strong cried, growing quite excited, and Piper nodded swiftly.

“Yes! Tiny human have milk of human kindness! You better go check!” Piper told him, gesturing in Nora’s direction, and Strong took off running in Nora’s direction to pester her about the nonexistent beverage.

Piper sighed deeply with relief before hurrying inside to see how things were going with the cake.

“How’s it looking?” Piper questioned quickly. X6 was just standing nearby, looking slightly irked as Hancock and Danse tried to shove each other out of the way to fix the cake. Deacon was trying to get around them to throw in his additions, and Cait had her arms crossed, her brow furrowed in some combo of frustration and nervousness. Codsworth and Curie were offering suggestions to the people fighting over the cake, and Preston just looked a little uncertain about the entire thing. Nick was propped up against the wall and watching the entire thing unfold.

“It looks like the beginning of a disaster,” Nick commented dryly, and Piper made her way over, trying to shove Danse, Hancock, and Deacon away from the cake. For a long few moments, they did not even notice her.

“Hey, hey, hey!!! Stop it!!! Let me see!!!” Piper yelled to get their attention. After much pushing, the three moved out of the way finally. Piper looked down at the cake, and she tilted her head to the side a bit as she looked down at the really strange cake before her.

There was a pair of sunglasses on the front of the cake, lug nuts lining the edge of the cake on the plate it was sitting on, and a flower on the top positioned in such a way that it bordered the top of the word “Pleasant.”

“Y’know… I’m not sure whether this is the weirdest cake I’ve ever seen or if it is literally the actual embodiment of Nora’s personality,” Piper finally spoke, and they all shrugged, honestly not too sure themselves.

“Well, I hope it’s good enough, because I think we’re about out of time,” Nick informed them, as he looked out the window carefully.

“Hide!” Piper quickly called in a whisper-yell, and they all tried to find a place to hide. Piper quickly turned off the lights that Nora had going in the house, turning the switch that connected the generator and the network of lights inside the house. She then took cover on the far edge of Nora’s couch where it was hidden from people coming in from the front doorway.

Curie, Nick, and Codsworth hurried into the hallway, Curie peeking out just barely and one of Codsworth’s eyes poking out to watch the door. X6 left out the back door and Danse hurried out the back door with him, standing just around the side of the doorway. Hancock, Deacon, and Preston hid behind the island countertop nearby and Cait kneeled down nearby them.

“Yeah, you’re right. I probably left it on the nightstand by my bed— Wow, it’s dark… I don’t remember turning the lights off before I left,” Nora trailed off, and Piper could hear the blue-clad woman feeling around in the dark for the switch that Piper had just turned off a few moments ago.

As soon as the lights came on, everyone hiding jumped up and yelled surprise. Nora jumped out of her skin at first, falling back into MacCready as she instinctively placed her hand on the holster of her pistol. However, as her fight or flight instinct disappeared, a look of pure awe and joy overtook her, and she just looked around slowly.

“Happy Birthday, Blue,” Piper told her, a giant smile on her face as she slowly approached the other woman. Nora was suddenly snapped out of her stupor, a giant grin coming onto her face as she wasted no time in closing the distance between her and Piper and wrapping her arms around the reporter tightly, burying her face in Piper’s shoulder as she squeezed her firmly against her.

After a moment, Nora pulled away, just gazing at all of it as she marveled. Curie hurried over, latching onto her waist quickly, and Nora reciprocated the hug with a half-choked laugh before kissing the girl softly on top of her head. It was then that Piper realized her Blue was near tears.

“What… When… How did you guys even come up with this?” Nora breathlessly questioned as she moved to the next person so she could hug them to. It just happened to be Nick. Piper shrugged, chuckling a bit as she hooked her fingers in the belt loops of her trench coat.

“Well, we told MacCready to get you out of the house and keep you out there for a while, and we all busted our rears to get everything together for you,” Piper expressed, and just as Nora latched onto Cait, she pointed in MacCready’s direction with a watery smile.

“You, sir, are a huge liar. Your scope was definitely not off all those times, and you do not exclusively pee in hubflower bushes, do you?!” Nora cried with a loud laugh that was somewhere closer to a sob as Cait crushed her in her arms, those bony limbs wrapping around Nora tightly as Nora rocked with her a bit and waved a scolding finger at MacCready. He just grinned sheepishly, shrugging. Piper scoffed as she raised an eyebrow at the man.

“Seriously? Peeing in hubflower bushes?” Piper questioned as Nora continued to make her rounds and hug absolutely everyone there. She next went for Codsworth and quickly after that latched onto Preston.

“Hey, you told me to distract her by any means necessary, and you wouldn’t believe how long it takes to find a hubflower bush out in the middle of the wastes,” MacCready admitted with a small laugh. Nora had embraced Danse, Deacon, and Hancock during his statement.

Nora shook her head, finally hugging X6 against his will.

“I just… Wow, I don’t even know what to say, you guys… Thank you so much,” Nora laughed, sniffing hard as she wiped at her eyes carefully, her hand squeezing X6’s shoulder.

Piper just grinned widely, looking down at the floor self-consciously before looking back up at the woman. Piper could tell that Nora knew Piper had been the one at the helm of the entire thing, and Piper treasured the soft, adoring gaze that was thrown in her direction especially.

“Well, then don’t say anything at all! We’ve got gifts and lots of them!” Deacon told her with a laugh, gesturing to the giant pile all over the kitchen table. Nora’s eyes went wide and she somehow looked even more deeply touched than she was before.

“Monsieur Deacon, let us show Madame the cake first, oui?” Curie suggested excitedly, and Nora turned around, looking for the cake as she looked as if she might cry all over again.

“You guys actually made a cake?”

“X6 baked it,” Piper informed her, coming closer to her best friend as Hancock reached over for the cake on the counter behind Danse. “And Danse, Hancock, and Deacon put some really weird spin on the whole thing as far as decorating it goes.”

As soon as Nora saw it, she looked somewhere between laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it and crying from the tenderness of the whole thing. She placed a hand over her mouth, just staring as her shoulders shook. She finally released a sharp bark of laughter, and everyone could not help but chuckle quite a bit over the silly cake.

“‘Pleasant Regards’ was the moron’s idea,” Cait pointed at X6 as she explained in her usual gruff manner, and Nora just laughed and smiled widely as she looked at him. He did not provide an outward response.

“When I was instructed to put a kind message on the cake in distinguished lettering, I was not given specific requirements,” he explained calmly, and Nora just laughed even harder.

“I absolutely love it. You could’ve written literally anything on it, and I would’ve been happy,” Nora expressed wholeheartedly, and the sad thing was that Piper knew that was the absolute truth. Nora was always so happy with even the slightest shows of kindness and that was one of the many things that Piper loved about her best friend.

“So, sister, do you want to eat some cake or do you want to open some presents first?” Hancock questioned with a smile, and Nora looked a little guilty as she eyed the cake.

“I hate to mess up this beautiful cake… But I’m honestly kind of hungry,” Nora chuckled a little, sheepishly smiling at the group.

“Don’t worry. Cakes are made to be eaten,” Danse assured her in that deep, stoic voice. However, his tone was filled with warmth as he looked at the woman. She flashed him an affectionate glance.

“Well, why can’t she have both? She can eat cake and open presents at the same time, right?” MacCready suggested, and everyone quickly agreed, the entire bunch excited for her to see their gifts to her.

“Alright! Let’s do it!” Nora agreed with a shrug, but the thrilled look in her eye betrayed her true feelings.

“Let’s do sing ‘Happy Birthday!’” Codsworth called out, and everyone paused in their migration to surround the kitchen table. There was a collective sigh, but everyone cleared their throats before starting the song.

Piper almost could not sing for the huge grin threatening to overtake her face as she lovingly looked at her best friend who was just basking in the love that her new found family held for her. As Piper and the group sang the last bit, Nora’s eyes met Piper’s and Nora just smiled softly at her, mouthing a thank you to Piper as her gaze practically glowed with tenderness and lovingness. Piper stopped singing for a moment to mirror her best friend’s expression.

Piper had succeeded. Although it was not completely perfect, her Blue was getting all of the love she deserved.

And that was all Piper needed and wanted for her.

60 notes · View notes

lazarettta · 4 years ago

Text

I’m Not A Witch

Characters ( Cordelia Goode, Misty Day, and Reader)

Word Count 3k

Warnings (Minor drug use 💨)

You don’t have a bad background, in fact your life is pretty cushy but not without its problems namely...you being able to do things with your mind but you have no control. Thankfully, Cordelia and Misty scoop you up before you head down a path of self-destruction. Platonic af but there could be something if you squint I think 🤔

New Orleans was a world different from New York. A world different. You were born and raised in New York—it was your whole life, and you never really thought about a life outside of the city that never slept. Why would you want to leave the city that everyone wanted to be apart of? Well that's what you thought for twenty-three years.

You lived a comfortable life your entire existence, you didn't have to struggle nor were you ever afraid of your future. Your parents always made sure that you were well taken care of, nothing but the best for you and you knew how fortunate you were especially being a foster kid. You were born to Mr and Mrs Hawthorne, a wealthy couple who couldn't have a baby of their own so they went with the next best thing that money could afford—surrogacy.

It had taken your parents months to find the perfect candidate as Mr. Hawthorne, your father, would use his own semen (yikes dad). But that was all that you knew, you had no idea the identity of the woman they hired to carry you for nine months other than she was the nicest young woman your mother has ever met.

It wasn't a topic that could've been avoided as you got older and noticed that your complexion was a few shades more than theirs. But thankfully your parents were always open and honest with you, even at a young age. Of course you had a nanny growing up, both of your parents were lawyers—their time was always stretched far too thin, but you weren't a neglected child nor were you ungrateful and they loved you so much for it.

Which was why you never told them about your newfound skill when you hit your sweet sixteen—everyone thought the candle that nearly melted your entire birthday cake was a fluke incident but you knew that it wasn't. You had felt the heat of the fire as you watched your father set the tip of the match against the wick of the candle. For a brief moment you wondered what would've happened to your cake if it was on fire, you thought it would look pretty badass. You hadn't exactly expected it to actually happen! But it did and thankfully no one was injured just thoroughly freaked out.

Your parents laughed it off, quite nervously, but you never said anything about it to them and they never really brought it up again anyway. Unbeknownst to them, of course they were always at work and the penthouse housekeeper wasn't required twenty-four seven, you were able to fool around with your newfound hobby with relative peace in your room. Well until you nearly set the place on fire twice in the same month, after that you just went to the roof and googled meditation practices on google.

You only ever couldn't control the fire unless you were an emotional wreck. For two years, you kept that secret to yourself and if you didn't have friends before you sure as shit didn't then. No one really liked you anyway, your parents were richer than most of everyone else's and your parents actually gave a damn about you and not just about how you were going to make them look in the future.

They tried to bully you about your height but you weren't a punk, so that was short lived. Students envied you but that was okay. They didn't have anything to offer you, that's what your mom always told you anyway. Besides there was nothing wrong with being short, it just meant you had more to offer. Of course.

When you turned eighteen, you discovered something else about yourself...and you weren't exactly sure what you wanted to call it but you could always tell if someone was lying to you if you listened hard enough.

You weren't sure how it worked but you never took any real notice to it until your ex girlfriend, and your only girlfriend, lied to you and you felt a bit of a...you wouldn't say it was a jolt but your insides felt the same type of tingle when your foot fell asleep or something.

That's how you figured out your first love (high school, right?) was cheating on you...you hadn't dated anyone after that. How could you when all people did was lie?

And the minute they learned that you were a Hawthorne...it was done. You saved yourself the heartache and just focused on the future. You managed to graduate college a year early and you didn't go to jail for arson, yet.

The older you got and the more you learned about how shitty people could be, meditation and yoga stopped working so well for you and you ended up joining a gym. No martial arts or anything like that, you didn't have the time for it, but you hired a trainer and five days a week that’s what kept you grounded.

Presently...

You weren't currently working, well not anymore. Less than a month ago you were a nurse at Mercy hospital as a CRNA. It was a late night already and an unruly patient was brought in for a gunshot wound. Somehow he managed to slip out of his bonds and before anyone could stop him, the bastard had his hands around your throat and you'd...you just fucking panicked and he ending up burning to death from the inside.

No one knew how it happened they couldn't even prove that you had even done anything, but you were fired on the spot anyway...and your parents had to shovel out a good amount of money and blackmail to keep your name from the papers.

You hadn't searched for a job after that, what was the point? Your name may not have been dragged through the papers but you sure as hell weren't gonna be working at any hospital anytime soon. At least...not in Manhattan.

But after what happened...what you did to that man, the cruelty of it? Why would you? You'd been high strung after that and you picked up a habit you ditched after you left college.

It just helped you regulate your emotions better and to think, plus you just liked the way it made you feel. It also helped with the nightmares that would plague you every night, and the scene was always the same. He was always on top of you screaming to a pain too gruesome for words.

Your parents tried therapy but you were stubborn besides your medicine was better than theirs anyway.

Your father didn't know about your newfound hobby but your mom did, and she wasn't going to tell him either. She was just thankful that it wasn't crack or cocaine—she could deal with her daughter turning into a weed connoisseur. But she would not support an unproductive one.

That was exactly why she was on her way back into the city to your penthouse with two guests in tow. Doing her best not to cry in front of these two women who have proven to her that they could not only help you but take care of you in a way that she couldn't.

But she knew when your birthday cake went up in flames...she had been watching you the entire time, and in that moment...every warning and tale that your birth mother told her came to light. But she made a promise to love you like you were her own, because you were, and she'd love every freaky little tic that came with you.

As a mother it was hard for your mom to accept that this wasn’t something that she could do for you. But she was woman enough not to stand in the way of her daughter's success...whatever it was that you chose to do.

You were sitting out on your balcony wearing your black robe with nothing else on except a pair of panties and your Prince tank top that you should've gotten rid of years ago but it was still one of your favorite—holes and all. You'd been blissfully in your own little world for a few hours now with your iPad sitting in your lap with some Stevie Nicks playing in the background over the speakers coming from inside your penthouse.

It was just the right volume that it wasn't too loud but the city noises didn't drown it out either. You'd just polished off your fourth bowl, something grape...whatever, you were just enjoying your time. You went back to drawing, head bopping softly and you were so lost in your own little world you didn't realize that you were alone in your penthouse. There were three different sets of high heels that you missed though you just about jumped out of your skin when your mother came into view via your peripherals.

“Oh!” you smiled bright and wide, eyes a tad bit low, “Hey mom, what are you...um...who are they?” you sat up quickly, unaware that your robe fell open with the movement and your mom nearly facepalmed. You set your tablet aside, doing a double take at the blonde with the curly hair that was lowkey dancing to Fleetwood playing in the background. You looked at your mom, your smile morphing into a confused frown, “Mom?”

“Sweetheart,” your mom soothed back a long strand of dark hair and cleared her throat softly which worried you even more because your mom was never one to be nervous, ever, “This is Cordelia Goode and Misty Day.”

Subconsciously you reached into your robes pocket and pulled out a bright orange stress ball you got from the bodega for a whopping five bucks. (You had to have been high as fuck not to argue that price down but whatever.) You squeezed it softly, licking your dry lips, “Um...hi? Did I do something to you guys too? If I did I'm so sorry, I—”

“No, baby, no,” your mother sat next to you, quickly fixing your robe and your messy hair and Cordelia's brown eyes shot to Misty, who had immediately stopped dancing, “Just...are you hungry? Orange juice maybe?”

“Mrs. Hawthorne?” you looked up at the blonde woman came up behind your mother with a soft smile, “If I may, in my experience it is always better to just rip it off just like a band-aid.”

“Rip what off?” you pulled away from your mom, scooting away and hated seeing that hurt look on her face but there was something going on, you were not that paranoid.

“Honey, this is just a little intervention and—”

Laughing, you scooted away from your mom again, “What? Mom, it’s just pot—”

Your mom waved away your comment with a roll of her eyes, “Honey, I don’t care about the grass—”

“Then what…”

“Zip!”

You quickly shut your mouth when your mom said that and have you that look, it was one you knew quite well growing up. It baffled you how it was still working on you.

Your mom sighed, “It's just for a little while and I'll make sure that this place is well cared for.”

“Wait what?! You're sending me away??”

“(Y/n).” the blonde, Cordelia, pulled your attention from your mom who was crying, Cordelia sat on the edge of your coffee table carefully while Misty continued to hover in the background curiously, but prepared in case you got jumpy, “We just want to help you, okay? We're not here to kidnap you or harm you in any way.”

“I can't be helped,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes even as the tears spilled over, “I—I don't know what you think you know, Miss Goode but...”

“I know quite a bit, (Y/n),” Cordelia held out her hand and suddenly your stash box flew past your head making you flinch but Cordelia caught it just fine and you stared at her wide eyed, “You and I? We aren't so different and at Miss Robichaux's academy for exceptional young ladies...we teach young witches such as yourself how to survive in the modern world.”

“Witches? You think I'm a witch? No way, mom c'mon...the...the stash box trick was cool and all, but witches? Mom! Mom please, you're not buying this are you?” but even as you questioned it, you knew that they were telling the truth and that's what scared you the most. “How do you know they're not trying to use this for your money?”

“We're not, I promise! We don't need your family's money, (Y/n). All we want is to help you.”

“Listen to her, honey, this is for your benefit, okay? And...these women are very nice people, so don't give them trouble, not that you would, right?”

You looked over your mothers shoulder at Misty, the woman offering you a smile and a playful wink.

You exhaled heavily, your eyes sliding back to your mom, “...and you're not getting rid of me right? Because of...what I can do? Or what I've done?”

“No! Absolutely not, it was an accident! If anything it was the faulty bonds they put that monster in! Honestly,” your mother huffed, “your father and I still have half a mind about suing that hospital…”

“But not without having to drag my name through the mud.” You mumbled, sighing heavily.

“I love you, (Y/n), so damn much. Yes, we would’ve gotten millions but you’re worth much more to your father and I, don't you forget that,” Your mom reached over and grabbed your hand, squeezing gently before standing and quickly gathering her Prada bag, “and...don't worry about your father with all of this. I'll break this to him myself but baby...promise me that you will try?”

You bit your bottom lip, nodding slowly and holding her hand tighter almost painfully so before surging up and hugging your bother tight, and even though she was in high heels your slight frame made it easy for her to catch most of your weight. She hugged you back just as fiercely, kissing your forehead twice before letting you go.

“And here—for emergencies and whatever you might need, honey.” your mom pushed her black card into your trembling hands, the weight of it denser than you expected it to be and it made you laugh, of course your mom would shove money at you. It was her love language, you stopped questioning it a very long time ago but you never took advantage of it. “I love you so so much.”

Cordelia watched the entire exchange silently with an ever curious eye, even daring to risk raising an eyebrow when she saw your mom push that unmarked card into your hands before skirting off. Your mom reminded her a bit of her own mother...money was Fiona’s love language as well.

But your mom was much more pleasant, her love for you blossomed like a rose rather than a thorn bush.

You exhaled shakily, hands fidgeting in front of you, “I...what now?”

“Now we get down to business,” Misty smiled at you, stepping into the space your mom once occupied and took your hands in both of her own, “Your mama is resourceful, she tracked us down and everything, but it wasn't like it was all that hard since Delia and I were lookin' for you too.”

“You...you were?” you looked over your shoulder at Cordelia still sitting on your coffee table, “Why?”

“We heard about what happened to the man at the hospital and even though you weren't named, it wasn't that hard to track you down and we happened to cross paths with your mother.”

“Figures...” you nodded, sniffling again and you quickly pulled your hands from Misty when a breeze hit your skin—reminding you how indecent you were among two strangers.

You fixed your robe again and quickly sat down and Misty followed you down, bouncing slightly almost a little too close—your high was completely worn off at this point, “Earlier you said that you were helping wit...people like me live in the modern world? What?”

“Yes, we help witches such as yourself avoid situations like the one you currently experienced.”

You raised an eyebrow at her wording and she smiled at you when you met her eyes. You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest—appearing unbothered even if you were still sniffling, damn. Your mood swings were going to give you whiplash one of these days.

“You don’t really expect me to go around calling myself a witch do you?”

Cordelia’s eyes narrowed a fraction, “What I expect, (Y/n), is for you to actually make an attempt. There will be rules and the sooner you drop the attitude, the easier this will be for all of us—you especially.”

You opened your mouth to argue back but then you quickly shut your mouth, your mom's words bouncing around in your head to stop causing trouble. Along with the promise you made to her.

Misty was sitting still next to you, and though you couldn’t see it—her eyes were darting back and forth between you and Cordelia with a bit of a grin trying to break free.

“Right, and um where is this school of yours again? If I even agree to this at all?”

Cordelia gave you a look that you couldn't really decipher, “Miss Robichaux's academy is in California.”

Your eyes flew back to hers immediately, “I don't wanna go around calling you a liar Miss Goode, I only just met you...but you and I both know that's not true.”

“Ah, so it is true...you do have some form divination.”

She led you right into a trap and you couldn’t even be annoyed by that, Cordelia was proving to be a lot more than she appeared. “Divination? What is that? Is there anything my mom didn't tell you?”

“Well, she didn't tell us ya favorite food.” Misty supplied unhelpfully, attempting to break the building tension with poor humor. And you couldn't hold back your smile, deciding that you liked her a lot.

“You're a walking lie detector, dear. That's quite handy in today's world.”

Misty chuckled before one of her arms came around your shoulders, “Oh yes, and Madison is just gonna love you!”

“Don't worry, you’ll fit right in.” Cordelia chuckled, still sitting directly across from you and there was a bit of a twinkle in her brown eyes, she knew you were going to be trouble and that she would have to keep a close eye on you. But if there was one thing that Cordelia enjoyed, it was a challenge.

I dunno what I’m doing for real lol it’s 1am and I’m in my garage on a tablet 😅😅I thought this was fun

#ahs coven #cordelia goode #misty day #cordelia goode x reader #cordelia goode x misty day #sarah paulson #ahs coven imagine #american horror story #lily rabe #ahs cordelia #ahs misty

96 notes · View notes

cdyssey · 3 years ago

Text

Holiday

Summary: Grace and Frankie have a heart-to-heart after 7x03. | AO3 Link

—

Grace makes margaritas that night to celebrate Grankiekuh, the new holiday that she and Frankie just made up to celebrate the fact that Frankie doesn’t feel the need to make up holidays to avoid her anymore.

“You just squished our names together and threw the -kuh from Hanukkah at the end,” Grace accuses, chuckling.

Light.

Playful.

Simply exuberant.

Just an hour ago, she was guzzling martinis on the couch with her ex-husband trying to figure out the quickest way to apologize to Frankie for a twenty-year-old mistake.

And now they’re planning a fake holiday together, and everything is somehow right in a world that also features her current husband sleeping in a jail cell.

“You have to admit—it has a certain ring to it,” Frankie hums determinedly. “We could be the new Shefani, the octogenarian Bennifer!”

“Well, don’t expect me to passionately hold your ass on a speedboat anytime soon,” Grace teases as she carefully measures tequila in a cylinder and then pours a little more than the recommended amount just to be safe.

“Nah,” her partner winks conspiratorially. “Just my hand across a candlelit table will do.”

And so they light a scented candle on the dining room table and drink incredibly boozy margaritas and eventually eat Del Tacos takeout that arrives half-an-hour late because the DoorDash driver couldn’t find the beach house. And Frankie laughs about Grace tearing the poor delivery kid a new one. And Grace quietly admires that Frankie still gives the twerp a twenty dollar tip anyway.

“At least he’s got a stronger constitution than Bugs Bunny,” Frankie snorts as she closes the door on yet another shell shocked human being who has encountered the wrath of Grace Hanson.

“That isn’t an impressively tall bar to surmount,” Grace replies, wrapping a fond arm around Frankie’s shoulders.

They talk, they eat, and then they talk some more when all that’s left at the bottom of the brown paper bag are tortilla chip crumbs. They talk a little bit about everything, really—the surprisingly pleasant weather these past few days, Bud’s apparent penis problem, Robert being useless at the dishes, and how delicious Del Tacos is.

And between them, talking about everything is certainly not the same as talking about nothing.

Because even if they’re only talking about the weather or the dishes or the abysmal states of their children’s genitalia, it’s because they enjoy each other’s company enough to implicitly understand that it’s nice to just sit together at the end of a long, hard day and hear each other’s voices.

Because the little things are nice sometimes.

The day-to-day minutiae and routine of living with another person.

Sharing space with them.

Being present.

Being kind.

And in experiencing another’s unadulterated kindness, becoming whole.

When Grace gets salsa on the corner of her pink mouth, Frankie reaches over and thumbs it off with a kind of casual intimacy that was hard won between them, fought for and so lovingly, so painstakingly earned.

They love each other.

They’ve surpassed the point where they constantly have to say it aloud.

I love you, Frankie says when she takes extra care to clean the dishes just the way that Grace prefers—something Robert Hanson never quite learned after forty goddamn years of marriage.

And I love you, Grace replies when she unthinkingly puts Frankie’s phone on charge because she realizes it’s on four percent, and her friend can’t fall asleep until she’s listened to meditative whale noises on YouTube for an hour.

And I love you, Frankie doesn’t say when she extends her palm to Grace and tells her that they should stargaze tonight because “Saturn’s vibin’ in the sky.”

And I love you, Grace replies when she threads their fingers together so snugly that their rings clink and replies—without sarcasm, without judgment, without weight, “Sure.”

And I love you, they tell each other as they slowly stagger their way out onto the deck, Grace assuming the right cushion and Frankie taking the left, arm in arm until the very last moment when it makes more sense for them to let go, to find their own equilibrium as the sea breeze sweeps gentle fingers through their hair.

The sky is star-freckled tonight, blushing purple and inky blue.

In the natural silence that follows, however, the moon and the stars and the supposedly vibin’ planets don’t particularly captivate Grace’s attention for very long, so she finds herself staring at Frankie, who’s staring off into space, her tall features bathed in amber porch light.

Something has shifted in her expression in the few elapsed moments since they’ve been outside, her thin brow furrowed, a frown threatening to tug at her lips where there had once been an easy smile. Her slender hands are clasped below her chin in a gesture that Grace has come to associate with introspective thoughtfulness, tinged with a kind of subtle melancholy that Frankie has always maintained that she detests and tries to consciously avoid.

“Frankie… are you—?

“We only fought for two hours this time,” Frankie interrupts softly, nodding towards the outdoor dining table where the Hanson-Bergsteins had yet another disastrous brunch together. (At least no one broke a bone or got hit with a wiffle bat this time.) “Ha, that’s a new record if I’ve ever heard of one!"

But the joke doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and Grace’s heart sinks somewhere beneath her ribcage. It throbs in her uncomfortably full stomach. She had naively assumed that three margaritas in a piece, the two of them could just skip the part where they rehash the day’s events and openly reflect upon them—but she should have known.

These emotional reckonings are Frankie’s chosen form of healing.

She’s always processed better aloud.

“Fighting with you is the most uninspired pastime I can think of doing these days,” Grace tells her truthfully. “I’d rather resolve our conflicts in five minutes than five hours, so we can catch Jeopardy! together without sitting on the couch in passive aggressive silence… I think we’ve reached a point in our friendship where we can do that… yeah?”

The question comes out a little more vulnerably than she would have liked.

Open-ended and hesitant, it requests an equally honest answer.

And while she knows that Frankie has no qualms about being emotionally honest, Grace also innately understands that she has chronically shied away from honesty about all matters pertaining to herself.

(When she initially told Nick that she wanted to redefine their relationship, she couldn’t have even told herself what the hell she meant either. She supposes she wants to have her cake and eat it, too—to be in a relationship with Nick and go home to Frankie. But maybe that means she doesn’t really love Nick, that she’s just using him for the ample entertainment he provides: the romance, the easy companionship, the sex. And maybe, at the heart of that unsettling hypothesis, she’s just as much of a stone cold bitch as everyone around her seems to think. Her husband is in jail, and she doesn’t lose any sleep about it. In fact, in her queen-sized bed in the beach house she shares with Frankie, she’s slept better than she has in all the many elapsed and miserable weeks since she said, “I do.”)

“Of course!” Frankie exclaims, her brows arching in surprise. “You say tom-ay-to, I say tom-ah-to, and then we kiss and passionately makeup. That’s exactly where we are nowadays.”

“Then why do you still look like a kicked puppy?” Grace asks shrewdly, folding her arms across her chest. ��Or like Sol after his supposedly well-trained dog shit in his Birkenstocks.”

“Does being marginally tipsy on tequila count as an acceptable answer?”

“Nope.”

“Fine then and damn,” Frankie sighs, waving a defeated hand around the empty air. “But don’t hold it to me if I’m not making sense, Grace. I’m thinking rabbit trails tonight. And not, like, rabbit trails of criminally-tampered-with poop, but circles and other weird thoughts that don’t seem to be heading anywhere.”

“Hey, I'm not going anywhere—I’ve got all the time in the world to listen,” Grace replies easily, and this is love, too, without ever uttering the word.

Twenty years ago, she did everything short of making up a holiday to not spend a single moment alone in a room with Frankie Bergstein.

And now, she's done everything short of divorcing her husband to ensure that they're never apart.

Frankie's eyes briefly widen in pleasant surprise at this seemingly unexpected gesture, her parenthetically enclosed mouth curving into a gentle smile—tender and sweet.

Lord, she’s beautiful, Grace thinks to herself as Frankie mulls on her next words.

She thinks this at least twice a day and chalks it up to passive jealousy that someone can look so radiant without ever really trying, by just simply being herself.

“Mm, okay... so I was just thinking about how my thing might actually be worse than yours… and you killed my son’s beloved rabbit,” Frankie says bluntly.

And so clearly!

Like she already fully believes it.

Grace blinks rapidly, not entirely computing what she just heard.

“How the hell did you come up with that conclusion?” She asks, nonplussed. “Like you said, I killed your kid’s rabbit and lied about it for some twenty-odd years. You and Sol just played an elaborate game of hooky.”

Frankie looks torn on whether to laugh or shake her head in clear exasperation of Grace not getting it.

“But the ethical jury in the sky isn’t in on me creating a religious holiday just to avoid you,” she protests with a half-smile. “Or even worse, admitting that’s the reason after all these years. I hurt you, Grace, and I don’t wanna hand wave that away just so we can watch Jeopardy! in peace. I want to check in with you and make sure you’re really okay.”

Even after many years of slowly but surely becoming acquainted with Frankie’s uncanny sensitivity to her emotions, somehow, it’s always still a pure shock when Grace is met with the unadulterated and unconditional extent anyway. She’s still unlearning Robert’s idea of emotional care, which largely involved having a stockpile of generic gifts to placate her various moods and whims.

And frankly, she’s not the most empathetic woman of the year herself.

I hurt you, Frankie said candidly and made no attempt to defend herself, to excuse her actions.

I hurt you, she declared, and it was an I love you at the exact same time.

Grace can hardly swallow, her throat a hundred emotions thick.

“Hey now,” she eventually rasps, “don’t go all revisionist on me now. I was so fucking mean to you. We don’t play wiffle ball anymore at waffle-and-wiffle brunches because I hit you with a bat.”

“You told me there was a bee in my hair,” Frankie rubs the back of her head wistfully.

“There totally was,” she grins painfully, “but the bat was a highly unnecessary measure.”

“Grace!” Frankie groans. “Don’t get me sidetracked. I’m trying to be real with you here—I wasn’t a saint by any stretch of the imagination! I could be shitty to you, too.”

But Grace firmly shakes her head at this, her mouth pressed into a thin line, her rebuttal already locked, loaded, and innately known to be true.

“Not as often as I was to you, and rarely did you instigate because I’d already started it,” she insists, venom in her voice, raw and undeniable self-loathing. “If I’d been you dealing with me… God, maybe I’d have needed to make up a holiday, too…”

And even as she says it, the uneasiness in her stomach suddenly solidifies into sharp clarity and even crueler pain as she realizes what’s really been bothering her these past few days—a burgeoning feeling that she’s every bit as “harsh” and “vindictive” as Robert told the FBI lady she could be, even though she’s sworn she’s changed, even though she's wanted to be better.

God knows she's tried to be.

Because of Frankie.

Or maybe even for her.

The two reasons are interchangeable in her mind.

“I… I wasn’t like you, Frankie,” she eventually continues, glancing away so she doesn’t have to face the other’s expression—fearing confirmation of all her awful feelings, monstrously craving pity she’s sure she doesn't deserves. “Hell, I’m still not like you. The fact that my ideal marriage includes my husband being in jail more or less proves that.”

Grace Hanson doesn’t tip confused delivery boys thirty-percent after botched deliveries.

She doesn’t make up fantastical stories about magically disappearing bunnies for her kids so they believe in themselves.

She rarely apologizes for her mistakes.

And she makes a hell of a lot of mistakes.

“Robert called me harsh and often vindictive,” she chuckles humorlessly. “Well, I guess he’s got my number almost better than anyone.”

The ensuing silence following this proclamation stretches long and thin, like a tightrope strung precariously taut, and Grace is about to cave in to the temptation of looking at Frankie again when all of a sudden—

“Bullshit!” Frankie exclaims ferociously. “That’s a whole lot of bullshit, Grace Hanson.”

“Frankie, don’t defend—“

But she quickly reaches over and tightly curls her palm over Grace’s spiny knuckles, demanding her attention and getting it.

In so many years and throughout the span of them, she has been the only one to ever truly earn it.

Grace turns her head and finds Frankie’s oceanic eyes inches away from her face, storm-like in their intensity, piercing all over.

“Robert doesn’t get to use the present tense with you because he doesn’t live with you anymore,” Frankie insists when she knows she has Grace, when Grace can no more look away than a rabbit can actually disappear in a hat. “He doesn’t get to see you the way I do. And let's be honest here, I'm not sure he ever really has."

“And how do you see me?” Grace can barely breathe, only dimly aware that this is yet another needy question, one that can only engender a frighteningly vulnerable response.

Her heartbeat quickens.

She feels the exact striation of Frankie’s finger that is resting on the quarter of a million dollar wedding ring Nick bought for her in Vegas.

In the semi-lit darkness, Frankie’s sharply hewn cheeks feather themselves sunset pink.

Grace blindly assumes it’s the humidity.

“As someone worth discovering,” she murmurs, “and by discovering, understanding that you’re a pretty darn amazing person to love beneath all those expertly erected walls.”

Frankie leans forward then and presses a chaste kiss on Grace’s head, quick and habitual, like she’s done it a hundred times before. Her floral perfume wreathes her like a warm embrace. Beneath the perfume, she smells like acrylic paint and sea breeze and strange but rich incense—complex and earthy and full of so many vibrant notes.

Heat rises to Grace’s face.

This must be the humidity, too.

“Some people don’t get that,” Frankie continues, moving back to her own cushion again, “and that’s their loss. They’ve never had to carve a pretty statue outta stone before, have never had to work on a relationship with you over time.”

“So what you’re saying is that it takes work to love me, huh?” Grace raises a teasing eyebrow, even though she's not exactly sure that this is the appropriate time and place to make a joke. But the alternative to lightly joking is to internalize the words that Frankie just said, to truly contemplate what it means that there's at least one person in this world who'll wait for her—despite her many walls and damn them.

“It takes work to ever love anybody, really,” Frankie shrugs easily.

It’s an unsurprisingly sage take—Frankie’s always been good at emotions and relationships and all of the other important and dauntingly human stuff—but it’s also one that gets Grace to thinking about Nick again, about his kindness and his persistence and about his dedication to wanting to make things to work.

She’s beginning to get an inkling of what it might mean that she doesn’t want to meet him halfway, kind and persistent and dedicated though the man might be.

That if she had to choose again between husband and home, there would be no contest.

There would be no hesitation.

So perhaps there are two people in the world who would wait for her, but of those two, Grace knows there's only one whom she would invite to stay.

“Happy Grankiekuh, Frankie,” Grace says, leaning her head against her best friend’s shoulder. “I like discovering you, too.”

“Well, you should! I’m a fucking delight.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Ha, never.”

But in the end, Frankie intertwines their hands together, and the silence of this action is its own unmistakable and resonant reply.

I love you.

Grace Hanson is loved.

#grace and frankie #frankie bergstein #grace hanson #grace x frankie #s: grace and frankie #reginianwrites #grace and frankie spoilers #gaf spoilers

30 notes · View notes

star-spangledstud · 4 years ago

Text

MIND GAMES - ONE

Summary: You arrive at your new home. Steve is a blank canvas.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (Female!)reader

Warnings: none (so far)

Note: Had to reupload cause instead of editing I accidentally deleted it.

Raindrops, heavy and loud against the window beside your head, clash against and glide down the glass in messy, squiggly lines. The title of the song playing on the radio, ‘Soft like Rain’, fits the scene almost perfectly. Almost, because the rain that pitter-patters against the fogged-up window isn’t very soft in nature. In fact, the droplets come down so hard they bang against the roof of the car, its sound almost entirely overtaking the mellow tones of jazzy piano and drums in the background. The lines obscure your vision of Times Square, lights from the streets blown out and blurred to look like colorful stars and wicked shapes in the darkness.

I hope I made the right decision.

Your breath further fogs up the glass when you sigh audibly. A pair of dark eyes can be found eyeing you carefully through the rearview mirror when you sink further down into your seat. They offer you a hint of concern, of uncertainty. Nick Fury doesn’t know whether you’ll be okay or not. He can’t tell just yet, but the glimmer of hope he feels inside tugging at his heartstrings motivates him to give you a shot.

“We’re almost there,” his voice is quiet and deep when he speaks for the first time since picking you up from the airport, “just a few more miles.”

Of course I made the right decision. I always do. When have I ever fucked up?

You nod in response without checking to see if he’s looking at you through the mirror again because he undoubtedly is. After all, it’s all he’s been doing for the last hour. If you were to study the look in his eyes or his inner monologue just a little longer, you’d find out he’s scared. Nick Fury is afraid, both of you and for you, and he doesn’t like it because Nick Fury doesn’t get scared. He’s seen so much, experienced so many horrors in his time that he genuinely didn’t think anything could frighten him any more. Past tense, because the you’ve clearly made him change his mind.

This could be the best thing I ever did, or the worst. Can’t wait to find out which one it is. Cap better not fuck this one up.

There are so many questions you want to ask, but the voice in his head is loud in such a confined space, and nothing appropriate comes to mind. All you can pay attention to is the rumbling of the engine and the occasional ambulance rushing by somewhere in the distance. In the meantime, the song on the radio changes and morphs into something that sounds more melancholic.

When the two of you finally pull up to the compound, the rain has mostly stopped. It’s only drizzling now, tiny drops tickle your face while you brush strands of dampened hair from your forehead. A chill runs along your spine when a gust of wind blows through your open jacket, and you immediately zip it up for extra warmth.

You quickly scan the building, breath hitching in your throat when you notice its sheer size. It’s huge, much larger than where you used to reside, and the bright blue Avengers logo on the front causes your heart to beat a little faster. Seeing that logo makes it real, you think. You’re not so sure if this is the right place to be, but you don’t believe you have a better option. Either way, you told yourself you wouldn’t fuck this one up, and you have no intention to break this promise. This is home now, or at least it will be for a little while, and as intimidating as it is, you’ll have to make it work.

You can adapt, you’ve done it before. Hell, you’ve done it more times than you can remember. It’s extremely easy to make the people around you feel at ease in your presence when you can literally read every single thought they’ve ever had.

“I’ve assigned you to our best agent. He’s going to accompany you wherever you go to keep you safe. You cannot, under any circumstance, leave the building without him. You will listen to him and do what he tells you to do because it’s in your best interest. If you need anything, ask him, and he will provide. Do not tell anyone private information. If you need to vent, tell him,” Fury pauses, waits for you to nod, “no phones, no computers and especially no social media allowed under any circumstances. We need to figure out how much they know first. Don’t worry, we got Tony and Banner on that one.”

Did I get it all? I’m getting too old for this shit.

He watches you intently while you have to stop yourself from chuckling, “Got it?”

You nod.

“I need a verbal confirmation,” he grumbles, sounding annoyed by his own protocol.

“Yes,” you mumble against the whistling wind, “I understand.”

“Good. Let’s get moving, then.”

The opulent, open design of the ground floor greets you warmly when you walk in. Your boots, black and caked with mud, make streaks of brown along the white linoleum with each step you take and creak beneath your feet when you force yourself to move slowly forward. Fury watches your gaze flickering across the entrance and motions for you to follow him to the elevators, which you do silently.

A look of disapproval follows when he notices the trail of mud you’re leaving behind, but he doesn’t say anything. It won’t do him any good to verbalize his annoyance, because you’ve already picked up on it. Still, you drag your feet in an attempt to make him think you aren’t listening.

“Gym is in the basement,” he comments after watching you eye all the buttons inside the elevator, “roof is a terrace and pad for the Quinjets. There’s a penthouse underneath you’ll see soon enough.”

You raise a brow, and to your surprise, he chuckles, “Christmas party.”

“All the other floors include a lab, living quarters, conference rooms with workspaces, IT, a weaponry and gear storage. There’s a training room attached to the building that offers simulations. The building has a common kitchen and living room, a game room, a movie theatre and some other crap. Steve will show you when he has time.”

Your voice is dry and hoarse when you speak, “Steve?”

The elevator comes to a halt on the fifth floor, and before Fury has time to reply, the doors open to reveal a tall, blonde man in the opening. His arms, broad and encased in royal blue wool, are crossed over his chest. He has a stern expression on his face and a deep crease in his brow until he sees you and Fury, standing so far apart both of you are nearly hugging the mirrors on the walls. Fury has some of the loudest thoughts you’ve ever heard, and being stuck in a tiny box doesn’t do the volume any favors.

A glimmer of amusement is evident in his light blue eyes when you get out of the elevator. You look awkwardly at Fury, who’s making no move to follow you into the hallway, leaving you standing with one foot in the hall and one still in the elevator.

“Steve,” Fury says with a nod of his head towards the stranger, “is the agent you’re assigned to. He’s the captain of the team. I’d love to stay and chat, but you know how it is. Things to do, people to see… Keep me posted, Cap. I’ll be back soon for updates.”

He nudges you softly until you fully exit the elevator, and wastes no time pressing the button that will lead him back down to the ground floor. The heaviness of Nick Fury’s presence and the loudness of his inner monologue disappears with him when he leaves. It’s not until the doors close behind you that you feel like you can finally breathe again.

You turn to the man in front of you when you notice how quiet it’s become, and you subconsciously tilt your head to the side when instead of a constant stream of low mumbling and whispering, you hear nothing at all.

Steve raises a brow when he notices the way you’re looking at him. The soft expression on his face falters just a moment, but he recovers quickly, deciding not to allow his concern to show for now.

“Hey,” he says “I’m Steve Rogers, captain of the team.”

It takes you a while to reply because you’re so focused on listening for his inner voice that you don’t even notice his rosy lips moving.

You swallow down a stream of curses in a variety of languages and force yourself to stand up straight when you realize he’s waiting for you to say something. What the fuck is going on, you think to yourself while you plaster a smile on your face.

“Yeah, I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Y/N,” you reply politely, “nice to meet you.”

“I hope Fury didn’t intimidate you too much,” Steve says with a chuckle, “the first conversation I had with him scared the hell out of me. To be fair, I did think I was still in the 40s.”

You bite your lip and shake your head, grip on the straps of your backpack tightening until your knuckles turn white. You’re glad he doesn’t extend his hand for you to shake. You assume he contemplated it. Don’t know for sure though, because it’s still quiet up there in his skull. Does this guy even think at all?

“Come on, let me show you to your room.”

Your footsteps echo against the walls when the two of you silently cross the hallway. In total, you count a number of six doors. You tip your chin up when you reach the end and take a moment to study the man’s appearance while he points to the door on the right. He’s even taller and broader than you imagined him to be when Fury pictured him in his mind for you to see. If the upward curl of his lips wasn’t so genuine and soft, you would have been terrified of how big he is.

“This is mine,” he says, “I’m right across the hall if you need anything. This is yours. Usually, the doors open with fingerprint recognition, but you have a key. Nobody else has a copy except for me, for safety reasons. I’m obligated to tell you that you aren’t allowed to make any more copies.”

“Wasn’t going to,” you reply quickly.

He pulls a short, silver key from his back pocket and places it gently in your open, shaky palm. He notices your fingers are shaky when you fumble with the lock and smiles again in an attempt to make you feel more at ease. It’s almost like he can read your mind instead of the other way around. That stupid smile pisses you off.

“You have your own private bathroom,” Steve explains while he follows you inside, “Fury told us you don’t own much, so I asked Natasha to get you some clothes. We can go out and buy you some more if you want, just let me know. Feel free to decorate the place however you want.”

“Natasha?” you ask while looking around.

“The best spy we have. You’ll get along just fine, I’m sure. Anyway, I’ll leave you to get settled for now. Don’t hesitate to knock on my door at any time, okay? I’m not supposed to leave for another mission for a few weeks until you get situated. We can explore the compound tomorrow if you’re up for it. Maybe you can meet some of the other team members while we’re at it. No pressure.”

“Thanks,” you swallow thickly, “Steve.”

“You’re safe here,” he presses, “don’t forget that.”

For a brief moment, you wonder how much he really knows. You knowFury’s told him and Tony a watered-down version of what you’ve told him, but the kindness in his voice allows you to believe he hasn’t heard much. Still, you try to enter his brain and find out yourself, but once again you come up with nothing.

You exhale loudly after Steve leaves and take a moment to look around the room you’re now supposed to call yours. It doesn’t feel like it belongs to you, not yet anyway, and you wonder how long it will take before you find yourself succumbing to a new routine.

You take a shower to warm your bones and wash your hair with the shampoo and conditioner that smell like papaya. The towel you use to dry off is too fluffy for your liking, and a look in the mirror reveals dark circles and sunken in cheeks. It’s fine, you think. You haven’t recognized yourself in years.

Your backpack finds its way onto the bed, which is big enough for at least three people to sleep in. You follow shortly after, arms spread wide across the silky, forest green sheets until you sink down so far they almost wholly envelop you. Your hair is sprawled messily across the pillows. They smell like lavender and fresh cotton, and the scent is so relaxing and calming that within just several minutes of staring up at the ceiling, you drift off into a dreamless sleep.

When you wake up in a cold sweat several hours later, your hands are curled tightly in small fists around the silk sheets that cling to your legs. It’s hot in your room even though the chills along your arms would suggest otherwise, and your eyes frantically scan the shadows that seem to momentarily engulf you. It takes a while for your eyes to adjust to the darkness, and while you lie there in the dark, for several minutes, the only thing you can see is the vague outline of the face of a man.

As images from the dream you’ve just woken up from begin to fade, your heartrate slows down enough for you to remember where you are. You push the covers away from you and get up out of bed. You consider making a trip to the kitchen to get yourself something to eat, but you have no clue where the kitchen is located. Irritation pricks at your skin when your stomach rumbles loudly in the deafening silence, and five seconds later you’re stomping through the hallway with one goal in mind; to find something to eat.

The memory of Fury pointing out which floors of the building contain which rooms replays in your mind while you speedwalk through the hallway. You try to make a mental map of the compound for future reference just as you round the first corner, and in your state of tiredness and annoyance fueled by hunger, you don’t have time to realize Steve Rogers is on the other side of that corner.

Before he slams into you chest-first, his arms stretch out in front of him out of reflex. He grabs onto your shoulders and holds you steady while the both of you inhale sharply. Your head shoots up to meet his gaze, and he quickly releases his grip. What are the odds?

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp, “I didn’t see you.”

You didn’t hear him. That’s what you really want to say, but it wouldn’t make sense.

“I can tell,” he replies, “What are you doing awake?”

He’s tired, you can tell by the raspiness of his voice and the droopiness of his eyes, but he’s trying to hide his exhaustion by showing concern.

“I’m not trying to bail,” you cross your arms, “if that’s what you think.”

“I didn’t say that,” he replies, “didn’t think it, either.”

I wouldn’t know, you think.

You take a step back to study his face for a moment, unaware that you haven’t answered his question. When the silence between the two of you becomes nearly unbearably heavy, you finally speak up.

Your cheeks heat up, and you swallow thickly, “I was hungry.”

“Damn it,” he mutters under his breath, “of course. I’m so sorry, I should’ve given you something to eat. The kitchen’s all the way at the end of the hall, on the right. Fridge should be stocked. I think there might be some leftovers, if Sam hasn’t eaten them already. I gotta go, see you in the morning.”

As you watch him walk away in the opposite direction, you can’t help but wonder what the rush is all about. Perhaps he’s really eager to get back in bed, you muse, although you doubt that’s the real reason why he’s speedwalking away from his room in the middle of the night.

NEXT CHAPTER.

#marvel masterlist #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic #Steve Rogers #captain america #captain america fic #captain america imagine #captain america imagines #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #marvel imagine #marvel #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans #captain america fluff #captain america angst #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff

126 notes · View notes

evenifitrains · 3 years ago

Text

Basics: Name: Charity Burbage. Pronunciation: cha-ruh-tee burr-bed-ge Meaning: Latin origin, meaning dear and beloved. Birthday: August 7th. Age: 22. Pronouns: She/her. Sexuality: Pansexual. Siblings: Perry Burbage, Merrick Burbage, Walter Burbage and Lucile Burbage. Parents: Nick Burbage (muggle) and Mia Burbage (pure-blood). Both deceased. Other Family: Two grandparents (maternal), one uncle (maternal) and one aunt (paternal). Languages: English. Current Residence: Kingston, London. Hometown: Londonderry, Ireland.

Wizard Fun: Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw Year of Graduation: 1977. Occupation: Secretary for the Muggle Liaison Office. Pet: One ginger cat named Iago. Blood Status: Half-blood. Species: Human. Patronus: Dolphin. Boggart: Standing by and watching her house burn down again. Amortentia: Vanilla, her old farmhouse when it rained, old books, herbal tea. Wand type: Yew wood: Yew wands almost never embrace an owner who lacks courage or skill, that much has been clearly established. Interestingly, they are known to grow into adult trees when buried along with their partners Thunderbird-feather Core: The feather from the tail of a Thunderbird makes for a wand skilled in Transfiguration, well-able to sense danger and even cast curses on their own, but are, for all these reasons, exceptionally hard to master, for all their sheer power. Affiliation: Neutral.

Appearance: Height: 5’4 Hair Color: Light-brown. Eye Color: Brown. Typical Hair Style: Just grazing her shoulder, spelled to curl up at the ends. Fashion Style: Comfortably rich. Preppy dresses, cardigans, headbands, red lipstick. Distinguishing Features: Calculating eyes and a constant almost smile. Scars on her hands from cigarette ash. Personality: Fiercely loyal, smug, not afraid to ask for what she wants, attentive to those she loves most. Positive Traits: Protective, empathetic. Negative Traits: Know-it-all, egotistical.

Quick Facts: Theme song: Femme Fatale - The Velvet Underground. Queen of Disaster - Lana Del Rey. Head-canons:

Only uses ribbons to tie her hair.

Always has two different lipsticks in her handbag.

Talks in her sleep.

Is almost determined to prove she hasn’t been traumatised by her childhood. Buys candles, uses the fireplace as much as she can, smokes.

Cannot whistle.

Buys lots of hats, but rarely wears them.

Amazing liar, but can always tell when someone is lying to her.

Tendency to notice every single little detail about everything.

Incredibly small handwriting.

Has a horrible sweet-tooth.

Likes to make direct eye-contact, especially when the other is uncomfortable with it.

Rather mean-spirited.

Knows a lot of constellations and always points them out.

Can be overbearing to those she loves, isn’t afraid to tell them the hard truths.

Bio:

Charity Burbage is the youngest of five children born to Nick and Mia Burbage, and the only child to be given such a pompous first name. She and her siblings were raised in Northern Ireland, sharing a farmhouse with her fathers side of the family. For muggles, they took the news of Mia’s magical status surprisingly easily and seemed to be more excited to see the magical potential of the children than Mia was herself. On Charity’s fifth birthday, she demanded a cake just like one she’d seen in a commercial. Her older brothers and sister took her out to a nearby lake while they waited, running around and playing and testing out the new toys she’d gotten that morning. They were very harshly interrupted by the sound of the town’s one and only fire-engine barreling towards their property. They all ran so fast that Charity remembers it more like flying. There was nothing left of their house or belongings by the time they arrived. She can’t properly remember what exactly had happened, always too hesitant to make one of her siblings relive it. Something about the oven being faulty.

All five of the Burbage children survived, and their aunt Nora - but being only freshly twenty herself, she could not look after them. So they were sent to live with their second set of grandparents, lugging their un-charred belongings all the way to Surrey. Her grandparents were both of pure blood, and they tried their hardest to love the children even though they were not. Her mother’s decision to accept her father’s proposal had caused a ridge in the family, but luckily that grudge was not put onto the children. They essentially assimilated into pure blood society, only interacting with the muggle world when absolutely necessary. Charity remembers how quickly her older sister lost her accent and started speaking like the adults around them. As the youngest, Charity was often overlooked. Pushed aside in favour of her older brothers who had already started representing the family name at Hogwarts. She quickly learned that disruptive behaviour was her only surefire way of being seen. As a result of this, she was quite often pawned off to be babysat by her uncle, a tough man who wouldn’t bat an eye no matter how much mischief she found her way into. The only thing she’d liked about that man was the large book collection he had in his study, so the two of them quickly came to a compromise. If she left him alone, she was welcome to which ever books she pleased. By the time she was ten, he started ordering them in especially for her as she’d finished with all the others. It was no surprise to him when she was sorted into Ravenclaw.

Hogwarts was nothing special to Charity, appearing exactly as it had in the books on her shelves and the stories from her siblings. What she really loved were the other students. Watching them learn. No two students were the same there, even the children from the ridiculously long lines of pureblood families. She must’ve offended her siblings with the amount of times she blew them off in favour of listening to her peers. She especially loved the muggle-borns, catching up on the world she’d been forced out of. The books on muggle culture here uncle owned were terribly outdated and had never helped quench that thirst she’d had since the night of the fire. The combination of this and her 100% grade in Muggle Studies led to the revelation that she wanted to do this for the rest of her life - study muggles. Her grandparents weren’t thrilled, spending weeks and weeks trying to talk her down. The compromise they eventually came to was: “you’ll be a secretary for some kind of muggle office, a secretary is a proper job for a respectable young lady to do.” Charity took it and ran, moving in with her uncle before they could change their minds. She applied for any business that had ‘muggle’ in the title as soon as she graduated, giddy with the right to decide her own destiny for once and spending every spare second pooling over muggle media. Of course, she knew a secretary was not expected to know much beyond typing - she’d learned that at the secretarial classes her grandfather had gifted her. But Charity Burbage would rather die than not be knowledgeable.

She sides with the order, but quietly. Her career is too important to her to involve herself in politics, having seen people being fired for doing such. She knows it hypocritical, to capitalise off of muggles and yet stand silently by while a threat to their freedom lurks. But she knows she’ll be of more help to them the higher up she climbs.

Wanted Connections: Twin Flame: The two of you are exactly the same. Or couldn’t be further apart. Either way, you fit together perfectly. The line between romantic and platonic are always a little bit blurred for you two, ready to do whatever the other needs. Charity doesn’t need her game face around you, she feels safe to say and do whatever she wants. Workmates: You both share the same passion for the muggle world and don’t do much else other than talk about it. You have witnessed to full front of Charity’s drive, and perhaps fallen victim to it too. Maybe you are closer to rivals than colleagues. Friends: You can put up with her arrogant appearance enough to get to the girl underneath. She would do almost anything for you, things you’d probably never expect from how she acts. You’re probably a muggle-born or half-blood. Maybe a pureblood with a good personality, but Charity has yet to find one of those. “Victims”: Despite her great desire for a relationship, Charity has little patience for dating. She can be elusive and detached and excruciatingly picky. She leaves a steady trail of peoples she’s hurt - sometimes deliberately - do you resent her for it?

#charity ・❥・every man gets his wish where’s mine?#charity burbage {introduction}

14 notes · View notes

schrijverr · 3 years ago

Text

Standing Up Again

Their meeting with Moreau at the pool goes slightly different. He makes Eliot kneel for him and the whole thing makes Hardison want to break out in hives and punch Moreau. When he asks Eliot about it later, things come to light and he tries to convince Eliot that he doesn’t deserve what happened to him.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: mentions of past rape, abuse of power and self blame. Please be cautious.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Hardison knew something was wrong the moment the words: “My name is Eliot Spencer,” left the lips of the person in question.

Eliot was private, if he gave his real name it was always only ever Eliot, never the Spencer, and he never told any of their marks so that there would be no way to trace him back to the team. His job was to protect them and Hardison knew how serious Eliot took that. There was no way he would jeopardize a mission like this. So, there must be something wrong.

Still, he followed the hitter into the elevator, hissing the question as of why Eliot had done so. The pit in his stomach only growingas Eliot didn’t answer him, only saying: “Just stick close to me, okay? This might get messy.”

He knew better than to argue, so he followed Eliot’s lead, mentally writing out a rant to demand explanations later, because this was not cool, not cool at all.

At the pool everyone was immediately on guard with guns being drawn all around them. Hardison knew that even Eliot couldn't fight his way out of this one. He had to stay in character, no matter what Eliot or Moreau threw at him.

The guy that met them was not Moreau, but he looked both scared and gleeful at the appearance of the hitter, Hardison hardly registered as he focused all his attention on Eliot, who got right up in his personal space while guns were being pointed at his head from all around them.

“Chapman,” Eliot greeted. He knew this guy? By name?

“Eliot,” the man, Chapman, returned. Okay so they were both familiar with one another, not surprising with how they got in, cool, cool.

“They gave you the job?” Eliot asked and he sounded as if he found that comical while Hardison just tried to puzzle the pieces together, not happy with what he was finding here.

“There was an opening,” was that scorn in Chapman’s voice? That might be useful if they wanted to get out here alive. That was if Eliot still was here for the plan with the way he was going off on his own right now.

Their staring match got interrupted by a man stepping out of the sauna. It was a face Hardison knew well after all the research he had done on the man: Moreau.

“It’s no way to treat an old friend,” Moreau started and it all clicked.

Hardison had already suspected something was going on when Eliot’s name – his realname – got them in and then with the recognition of what was obviously the head of security, it added up, making Hardison believe that Eliot at least must have worked with some of these guys, maybe did an odd job for Moreau before they started Leverage.

But this? This was not just an odd job that was heightened by Eliot’s name in the business. This was personal contact that hinted at a closer relation. Moreau knew Eliot personally and considered him a friend. Why the hell had he not told them?

“Damien,” Eliot greeted and it just kept on getting worse, didn’t it? They were on a first name basis and it looked like Eliot had been his former head of security.

Was this a trap? Was Eliot ratting them out? He had never suspected Eliot, despite all that he had found on the man. Eliot seemed like he enjoyed working for Leverage, like he wanted to help, like he had changed. But it seemed not.

Still, Hardison knew that not everything was always what it seemed. His whole job was based on it, in fact. So, he decided to keep on playing his part, hoping Eliot was still on his side.

“Let’s catch up!” Moreau clapped in his hands as he smiled and Hardison saw a flash of something he couldn't place in Eliot’s eyes.

Quickly the men moved around them and Hardison got handcuffed to a chair. “You call this a plan?” he couldn't help but subtly ask, praying that Eliot would give him at least something to work with.

“I’m not handcuffed to anything,” was Eliot’s answer and there went his hopes as the meeting began with Moreau grabbing a drink, before pointing at Eliot and saying: “You work alone.”

“Things change,” Eliot pointed out as Moreau sat down.

“Don’t take it personally, it takes me a while to warm up to people.” Hardison was surprised for a moment when Moreau addressed him, but he managed to play it off as pretty woman in a bikini came to offer them two flutes of wine or champagne or something of the sort. Moreau waved her away with a, “He prefers beer,” about Eliot, making Hardison once again question how well the two knew each other and why the hell he hadn’t been informed.

“This one of your retrieval jobs, Eliot? Tell me, whose Snoopy lunchbox do I have?” Moreau went on as if nothing was wrong, questioning Eliot as if they were truly just friends catching up, even with the undercurrent.

“It’s not a retrieval,” Eliot answered, he was apparently still on Hardison’s side, luckily, going with their cover story, “I’m escorting the middleman. I’m here to ensure he gets in and out with the offer.”

This Hardison had prepared for, so he jumped in playing his role, glad that Eliot was still running their con. “Pardon, monsieur, my client has heard what you’re selling and would like to acquire the Rams Horn.”

“And you client is?” Moreau smiled both pleasantly and condescendingly and Hardison had to give him credit for that.

He quickly came up with a stalling deflection as answer. “If you indulge us with the details of the auction, we can make a bid. All will be revealed then. I assure you, we are working in good faith.”

“I’m sure you are, I’m sure you are,” Moreau said pleasantly, while managing to look anything but pleasant, “but I don’t know you.” He turned to Eliot and smiled like a shark, “I do know you. We could talk.”

“Look, I’m just here to vouch for him, he’s the one who can do the talking. I’m not the one with the client’s wishes,” Eliot tried to explain, but it sounded as if he was already giving in to something Moreau hadn’t even said and Hardison wasn’t sure if it was played or not.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Moreau leaned back in his chair, looking to Eliot as if he was a fun little trinket for him to play with. Hardison was really starting to hate this guy. “Still, I need to know if you’re still someone, who can vouch to me. Loyalty is hard to come by these days, I hope you understand.”

“Ah perfect,” Moreau clapped in his hands again, obviously pleased with himself as Eliot nodded tightly. “I think showing that you still know your place would be a good start. How about that little thing you first did for that Russian, it always was my favourite. You remember?”

“I do,” Eliot replied and it suddenly hit him what the flash he had seen earlier in Eliot’s eyes had been. It was fear. An emotion so unfamiliar on the hitter’s face that he hadn’t recognized it. Eliot was scared of Moreau. This could not be good.

“Well, then, go on. No time like the present,” Moreau waited expectantly as the men around him started to grin, making Hardison fear for whatever was about to come.

Then, slowly, Eliot took one step forwards, fishing a knife out of a holster he had stashed somewhere and handing it to Moreau, before sinking down on his knees. It was not just a normal kneel, no he spread his legs completely and sat on his feet, making ithard to get up easily. His back was arched, because he held his arms behind his back, grabbing his elbows. Yet the icing on the cake was how he opened his mouth, letting his tongue rest on his chin.

He was practically presenting himself, waiting for something as the rest of the guys there laughed at him, though he didn’t react. It was making Hardison uncomfortable to think about what Eliot’s employment had been like that this was normal and what they were waiting on since Moreau still had the knife.

Leaning forwards, Moreau lightly dragged the knife under Eliot’s eye, not enough to break skin, but close enough to be threatening. Eliot didn’t flinch, just kept looking straight ahead as if he was a soldier on attention.

The knife went across his nose, nicking a bit of his other cheek, before Moreau pressed the upper, non-sharp ridge against Eliot’s tongue. All through this Eliot didn’t react.

Moreau putthe knife point between Eliot’s eyes, before pressing two fingers far enough into Eliot’s throat that most other’s would have gagged and impaled themselves on the knife. Luckily Eliot wasn’t most others and he just let Moreau do that to him. He didn’t even make a peep when Moreau caressed his cheek gently and said: “I missed you, Eliot. You just left one day, no note, no goodbye. What’s a man got to think?”

He let his hand trail through Eliot’s hair and Hardison saw him tense slightly when Moreau raised the knife towards it. He studied Eliot carefully, then said: “I like the hair,” before cutting off a small strand that was out of sight. “Sad that it would have to go when you come back.”

Then whatever the weird hazing ritual was, was over and Moreau focused back on Hardison, explaining: “Some guys aren’t impressed by money, but by power, influence. I’ve come to enjoy the practice.”

Hardison attempted a sort of smile-nod, but his insides twisted at the view. He thought back on Eliot warning Nate on multiple occasions, the fear in his eyes before and the stupid control show off. He did not want to think about what Eliot had gone through for that man and he felt guilty for doubting Eliot earlier, when he obviously didn’t want to be there, but was there anyway. For them.

“You sit,” he told Eliot as if he was a dog and Eliot stayed seated. “I know you can vouch for someone now. You have some loyalty still left. I’ll talk with you, you can tell you middleman after and he can tell you client what you said.”

“I ain’t much on talking, Moreau,” Eliot finally spoke again, his voice rough after his tongue had dried up, hanging outside his mouth.

“It’s not really your choice, now is it, Eliot? I’m not the one kneeling on the floor,” he said patronizingly, before gesturing to one of the guards, “Let’s keep it short.” And before Hardison knew it, he was splashing into the pool.

He trashed and clawed for the surface, hoping Eliot would jump in after him. Cause screw the con at this point. He was dying.

Oh my god, he was dying.

He was cuffed to a chair at the bottom of a pool and the one person who could help him was surrounded by men with guns, kneeling on the floor in front of one of the most powerful people in the world.

They would never make it.

He would never make it.

This was the end of Alec Hardison: Greatest hacker to ever live, drowned in a pool.

His blood rushed loudly past his ears as he scrambled to the surface to no avail. Eliot would never come. If he were to do so, he would have done it already. He was most likely already shot and bleeding out while Moreau sipped his little drink.

Still, he was desperate to survive. He knew his body couldn't handle much more without oxygen, so he sucked at the chair in desperation.

There was still air in the chair.

He could live a few moments longer.

He could do this.

Fuck, he just hoped Eliot was still alive. He hoped they would get out of there.

A key dropped next to him.

A key.

He was saved.

Wasting no time, he undid the handcuffs before swimming to the surface, breathing in the moist swim pool air as if it was the best he’d ever had. He quickly went to the edge of the pool, only bothering with his surroundings once he was back on steady land.

Eliot hadn’t moved an inch. He was still sitting there in that same position with his knees spread wide and his arms behind his back, only his tongue was inside his mouth this time, eyes hard and face grim.

Hardison wanted to snap his neck. He wanted to rage at Eliot, scream, demand why he hadn’t jumped in after him. He wanted answers about why his best friend would have left him to drown in a swimming pool.

But he didn’t, because there was still a con to run and while Eliot hadn’t saved him, the fact that they were both alive meant that it was working. He couldn't ruin that and risk both their lives- again. He would be mad when they got out of there.

So, he walked up and dabbed his face with a wet handkerchief, still in character. “And what message should I convey to my employer?”

Moreau laughed and pointed at Hardison while looking down on Eliot. “I like this one,” then he said to Hardison, “That we can strike a deal.” He turned back to Eliot, “Up.” Eliot did as he was told while Moreau said: “Reminds me of Belgrade.”

Eliot didn’t reply to that remark, just turned and started to walk away as he told Hardison: “Come on.”

Hardison let himself be lead away, still conflicted about how he felt.

On the one hand, Eliot had lied to him – to everyone – about his connection to Moreau. He had led him here only to go off script without an explanation or plan and put Hardison’s life at risk. He had let him get pushed into the water and didn’t come to get him, he hadn’t even moved.

However, on the other hand, it was obvious that Moreau scared him, that there was a reason he didn’t want to talk and the little hazing ritual thing Moreau had forced him to do and itmade Hardison’s stomach twist, especially with how there seemed to be more of them and how Eliot had allowed that. Not just now, but in the past as well.

Still, trying to work it out, he said: “I know the chair, it sucked the air like a numatic, it gave me another 30 seconds. That better be why you didn’t come get me, ‘cause you knew I’d do that, right?”

He just wanted confirmation from Eliot that he had been safe the whole time, that Eliot wouldn't leave him to drown like that. It would be okay, he just needed a bit of reassurance that Eliot wouldn't have let him die like that.

“Yeah, Hardison,” Eliot grumbled sounding nothing like his usual grumpy self, while still managing a close imitation, “because I knew you were going to suck air out of a chair.”

“That better be why you didn’t come and get me,” Hardison tried again when the answer wasn’t what he wanted to hear in that moment, giving Eliot another chance to explain.

Eliot didn’t, he just kept walking through the stream of models and then out of the building without a word.

All the while Hardison was fuming. He had gone in there with trust, he had followed Eliot’s lead and he hadn’t given them away. He had done everything that had been asked of them and all he wanted in return was some sort of proof that Eliot still had his back, but Eliot was completely blocking him out, giving him the cold shoulder.

This was so not cool. Hardison deserved an explanation, deserved to know that he still had the other in his corner and that Eliot hadn’t done something stupid. He could demand a bit of security after what he’d been through, especially with all the people staring at him in his wet suit.

But at the same time… Well, Eliot looked a bit like a lost boy, which was totally weird on his face, especially if you knew him. Yet there it was, that bit of fear from before, resignation as well, along with a little bit of guilt and anger, though Hardison didn’t know who that was directed at.

Someof the anger he felt for Eliot was directed at Nate, who hadn’t listened when Eliot had warned him about Moreau, who had send Eliot in there when Eliot was obviously scared- well, not obviously, but the fact that he protested should have been enough. Most of the anger, however, was for Moreau, for what he had done to hurt his favourite hitter. Because Eliot was hurt that much was obvious from that encounter.

“Really, man? Nothing? I get nothing,” there was still a bit anger for Eliot left, enough for Hardison to out it. “I just got pushed into a pool. I nearly drowned, okay. And that’s- that’s not cool, not cool at all. You have anything to say for yourself?”

“No.”

Okay, so it was going to be like that. The anger from before came back, this was the third time he had let Eliot explain himself, but it seemed Eliot wasn’t about to. No, no, Eliot was quite happy to say nothing to Hardison at all, despite the fact that he hadn’t moved an inch to save Hardison’s life even while that was his job.

“Oh, no? He says no,” Hardison said. “No, because why would you tell me why you didn’t come save me while I was drowning, while you old boss watched. Which is another thing, huh, your old boss. Good old Moreau. Or should I say Damien?”

Eliot tensed, so he’d hit a nerve then. The hitter turned to him and hissed: “I will say no and you will shut the fuck up if you know what’s good for you.”

“Is that a threat?” Hardison could hardly believe his ears. Eliot threatened him all the time, but it was usually playful and about something stupid, not this serious threat that he would back up, if he went off Eliot’s tone.

“It might be. Maybe next time you won’t have a chair,” Eliot snarled back and okay, low blow, too low of a blow for Hardison to let go.

All the anger he had send to Nate or Moreau came back to point at Eliot. He didn’t care for his reasons, not right now, not after that. So he let it build up inside his chest as they walked to the meeting point, deciding to turn on Eliot as soon as he could, make him explain when he couldn't run or threaten.

So the moment they arrived with the others, who looked to be successful at least, he said: “Tell em what you did, Eliot. You risked my life.”

“We’re in,” Eliot ignored him as he talked over him like it was nothing, like Hardison hadn’t had to suckair out of a chair. “Moreau is going to give me the details about the auction tomorrow.”

“You? Why is he giving you the details?” Sophie focused on the right thing and Hardison promised himself to do something nice at her next show.

“I said we’re in. Just make the plan.” Eliot was angry and trying to deflect like he’d done before, but Hardison wasn’t having it. Not again. “Eliot worked with Moreau back in the day.” Everyone turned to look at the hitter, who had the decency to look uncomfortable. “A lot.” Then he demanded, “Tell,” before he sat down.

Nate got up from his place and started to walk towards Eliot. “We’ve been chasing Moreau for six months and you didn’t tell us.”

Eliot tried to explain while Nate kept on talking. He said something about finding a way around it and taking a shot, before snapping: “I’m protecting you!” They all fell quiet. “Last time I checked that’s my job.” So he did remember.

“Look, we can handle Moreau,” Nate sighed in the voice he used for some clients and marks, never on them.

“We’re out of our league, Nate,” Eliot had a sadness in his voice, but also a desperation for Nate to understand and Hardison couldn't help but think back on that flash at the pool. “Every one of Moreau’s men has innocent blood on their hands, every one of them. Every one of them-” he took a sharp breath- “are worse than me. You think you know what I’ve done? The worst thing I ever did in my entire life, I did for Damien Moreau and I- I’ll never be clean of that.”

Hardison had hacked as many files as he could find on Eliot, but Eliot was hardly ever caught and none of it was bad enough (comparatively) to get that reaction. He shuddered to think what a man, who paraded his men around like dogs, would make them do.

“What did you do?” Parker asked and he watched as pain filled Eliot’s eyes.

“Don’t ask me that, Parker,” answering seemed to take a lot out of him. “Because if you ask me, I’m gonna tell you, so please don’t ask me.” Hardison had never heard that desperation, nor seenthe relief when Parker nodded.

“Look,” Sophie got the attention on her, “we all have past. You don’t have to tell us anything, Eliot. But we’ve learned the hard way we gotta be straight with each other.”

It was quiet as they all remembered Sophie’s double cross. That had been painful as well and Eliot had been the most upset out of all of them, which seemed hypocritical in hindsight. Still… Hardison couldn't blame the paranoia with a ex-boss like Moreau.

The little power display was unsettling, yet Eliot here waseven more upsetting, just the tears threatening to spill were enough to convince Hardison that there was a good reason for Eliot’s silence and the anger he’d felt was fading.

Eliot had wanted to protect them all and even facing the worst person he knew and giving himself up like that was something he was willing to do for them, knowing all the risk. Hardison in that pool might have been mild compared to what could have happened and Hardison was glad not to have had that knowledge beforehand.

Damn Eliot for making it hard to be mad at him, it was so much easier to feel rage and betrayal than a sadness and frustration for something you couldn't change. Moreau had been the breaking point for Eliot and Hardison wanted to take the man down. Brutally.

Then always observant Nate noted: “So, uhm, you said that Moreau is going to give you the details of the auction tomorrow. Why tomorrow?”

Hardison dreaded the answer the moment the question had left Nate’s lips and Eliot delivered on all his fears. “Because he wants me to do something for him first.”

“I bet he does. What?”

“Kill Atherton.”

“Kill Atherton?” Sophie repeated. “You can’t. You’re not that man anymore,” and despite all that happened today, Hardison had to agree. He was still a bit angry, but now again more at Moreau rather than Eliot. His heart just ached for Eliot.

“You might have to be.” Nate surprised them all. “To get us in.”

“No, what?” Hardison cut in, he was looking at the specs and it was not looking good, but what Nate was saying was even worse. “We’re not letting Eliot kill for Creeper Moreau with his sick little games so that we can buy a bomb!”

“What?”

“The Rams Horn, it’s a bomb. A very big bomb,” he explained. “But first, what the hell, Nate. You’re not serious are you? I’m not letting you send in Eliot to kill someone for that asshole that almost killed me today and was very weird. It was like super uncomfortable and there was a knife for Eliot and he had to-”

“That’s enough, Hardison,” Eliot cut in before he could tell them about the kneeling. “Tell us about the bomb.”

“You’re not being serious right now, are you, man?” he asked. “I saw your face in there, okay. You were scared of Moreau. He scared you. You’re not going to work for that sick fuck again.”

“I’m not-” Nate was cut off by Sophie, who asked: “What on earth happened in there? You were really upset at Eliot a moment ago and you’re defending him and calling Moreau sick. What did he do to you two?”

“Hardison. Don’t,” Eliot warned.

A warning Hardison did not heed. He had seen enough today to know that no matter how angry he was at Eliot for leaving him, he would never – never– let Eliot anywhere near Moreau again. The hitter had been scared and anyone who could scare Eliot was bad news and not someone Hardison let people he cared about close to. The emotional jojo-ing was a bit dizzying.

“Well, first off, he pushed me into a pool and nearly let me drown. I had to suck air out of chair, okay,” he began with himself, lulling Eliot into a false sense of security, which was kind of mean, but deserved, in his opinion,seeing the circumstances. “And he made Eliot do this weird submitting, parade, show dog thing. It gave me the creeps and was just plain sick- sick, I tell you.”

“Hardison, fucking stop. They don’t need to know all that,” Eliot hissed. “It was absolutely nothing, he was practically mild. We’re lucky he didn’t need a toe as proof.”

“What?!” Hardison squeaked, remembering the medical report he’d found on Eliot that showed he missed a left toe.

Eliot ignored him and told the others: “The pool was pretty bad, but he had enough air. He was under for one minute and twenty second, a human can go without air for three minutes. We were lucky and we’re in. He believes us, let’s use that. Nate, the con.”

“Alright-” Nate started, but was cut off again, this time by Hardison, “You have to explain how you nearly chocking on his fingers while he held a knife to your forehead is not bad. Please, try, I invite you. But you’re not just letting it slide. That was creepy as fuck.”

“I get it,” Eliot growled, “Moreau sucksand likes being in control and having power over others. He liked having power over me. It was creepy and uncomfortable, I know, I was there. Now drop it, Hardison. It wasn’t the first time, won’t be the last, certain things just happen and it could have been way worse, so. Let. It. Go.”

“What do you mean ‘won’t be the last’?” Hardison shot back, ignoring how the others followed their conversation like it was some sort of violent tennis match.

“I have to go kill a man and report back to him,” Eliot growled. “Reporting back to Moreau- well, he has his own ways, if you’re under his control. Nothing makes the most powerful man in the world look more powerful than showing that full grown men will kneel for him. Shit’s in the past. Now. Move. On.”

He was really hammering in those last words again, but before Hardison could reply, Nate cut them both off: “I will hear more of this in a minute, but Eliot isn’t killing anyone. We’re pretending he’s murdering someone.”

“You can’t fool Moreau like that, Nate,” Eliot protested, but it wastiredly and in a defeated tone that Hardison hated immediately.

“No, we can. I get that you’ve been wrapped up in his world for longer than we have and that you know him, but you can’t let the fear and image of him you have in your head blind you to what we can do to him,” Nate said gently. “You fooled him today, you can do it again. He’s not invincible.”

It was interesting to watch Eliot’s face as it went through multiple emotions. From despondent hopelessness, to a sadness, to guilt, to a bit of pride and ending on a slight bit of hope that disappeared the moment Nate asked what Hardison and he had been talking about.

“‘S nothing, Nate,” he tried to wave it away once more, but with all their eyes on him, he couldn't do anything, but give in: “Moreau does this – I guess you can call it a trick – with his men, where he has them kneel, usually with a knife or other weapon that they give to him. It’s something for show, because while not everyone is intimidated by money, everyone knows power when they see it. All of us know them, it’s just a show. Came with the job.”

“So why were you talking about it as if he did it in private too?” Hardison was so glad Nate knew which questions to ask and how to get answers, because while he didn’t want to hear it, he also desperately wanted to know and Eliot would never tell him.

After a moment of hesitation, Eliot gritted: “It started as a show, but he liked it, I could provide it. It was part of his need for power. He’s always been power hungry and this was just another thing he could get, so why not, you know? So, when you give a rapport, you kneel. There are different ways and levels- not important, but you kneel. It’s usually one on one, but it was also a punishment to have to kneel in front of everyone.”

So what Eliot had to do today. It was a punishment as well as a parading tool. It was meant to humiliate and drive home who was in charge. And it had been effective. It had been effective and that sucked the most, because Eliot had been rattled and Moreau was inside his head.

Sophie looked disturbed to say the least, she had never heard or seen anything like that in all her grifts among the most powerful. “Elliot that’s terrible. You had to go through that again, I can’t ima-”

“No, stop. All of you stop,” Eliot cut her off. “It wasn’t terrible, just something that happened. It wasn’t the worst he could have done, not the worst I’ve done. It’s over now and you all need to shut up. We don’t have time for this. Hardison just told us the Rams Horn is a bomb, we have other things to focus on that poor little me having to sit on my knees, okay.”

And while Hardison didn’t agree with the ‘having to sit on my knees’ description of the events, he did have to agree that they had other things to worry about right now, so he explained the bomb and the relation to the battery as Nate set out the con.

Hardison hated having to let Eliot go with Chapman to fake Atherton’s death. His mind was kept off it by having to find a white male John Doe (which was harder than it looked, okay, Nate. Can’t have demands about a corpse, alright).

He hated it even more when Eliot returned and demanded to know if everything had gone okay, slight panic in his eyes. He also hated it when Moreau called him, telling him he hadn’t lost his touch and that they were in. Eliot’s eyes hardened at the voice and Hardison noticed how Sophie and Nate marked the slightly tremor in his hands as he grunted back. But he was glad Eliot hadn’t had to report in person.

Still, there was a con to run and both had parts to play, so Hardison couldn't stay to ask Eliot about it again.

A con that quickly went to shit.

The battery was not where it was supposed to be, they had to hijack a fucking train and diffuse a bomb – well more set it off, but differently while running for his life through said train, but that was his life – while Nate and Eliot were unreachable and things were probably going to shit on their end as well.

Next time he saw Eliot, the man had lost a shirt and looked more haunted than before, though neither he nor Nate said anything specific as to how they got there, making Hardison dread. He knew better than to ask now, however, there were still other things he wantedto talk about with Eliot.

Nate had given all of them a chance to walk away. He always did. No one was at Leverage without wanting to be there and Hardison was glad when Eliot stayed, when he didn’t walk even when they went after his worst nightmare. Eliot would have his back, Hardison knew that, but the reminder was nice after today.

While Nate was off planning and the other’s were asleep, Hardison sat down next to Eliot at the closed bar. None had been willing to go to their own apartments after the day they’d had.

Eliot acknowledged him with a nod, but didn’t make eyecontact, just stared at the bar. After a moment, Hardison opened: “I’m not mad at you anymore for the pool, man. We cool.”

At that Eliot looked up, his surprise quickly hidden.

“Like, I’m not happy about almost drowning,” he said, “but I get why you did it. And you were counting, even if you blew me off, you knew exactly how long I’d been under and how much time I still had. Can’t be mad when you just did your job.”

“Hardison, I almost got you killed, didn’t even flinch when they threw you in,” Eliot replied. “You are allowed to be mad at me. I won’t bite. Not now at least.”

He huffed at Eliot’s reply, then sighed, of course Eliot thought he was just pretending not to be mad anymore. No, cause why would anyone genuinely not think Eliot wasn’t a bad person for a change? Okay, after today, kind of fair, but still.

“I said I wasn’t mad, dude, just take it,” Hardison told him. “I know you won’t bite me. I was just mad, because I didn’t understand and you just brushed me off.”

“And you understand now?” Eliot raised a disbelieving eyebrow and Hardison could almost believe Eliot was challenging him, hoping for a fight. But Hardison wasn’t in the mood to fight, he just wanted his hitter having his back and all being good again. He was tired of all of this martyr bullshit.

“Yeah, I understand,” he gave Eliot an unimpressed look. “You think you’re the bad guy and just like Moreau. You want to blame yourself for what he did, because you worked for him once and that makes you just as bad, but it doesn’t. You gotta stop, man. I said I wasn’t mad over the pool, believe me when I say that.”

“You don’t know me,” Eliot growled, downing his beer.

“No, I don’t,” Hardison agreed. “I don’t know all you did before we met, I don’t know why you find certain things distinctive, when your eyes go blank from time to time I don’t know what you’re remembering and I don’t know why Moreau scares you so much. I don’t.”

“Is there a point, Hardison?” Eliot gritted out.

“The point is that I don’t care that I don’t know that stuff, because I at least know the you now, I know the Leverage you and I like that you, okay,” Hardison explained. “You are my friend and I just want to hurt Moreau for what he did to you, because he did something to you, I could see it, so don’t even try to deny it.”

“Look, I get that you believe that,” Eliot said, “but I’m not who you think I am. I’m- I’m not anyone’s friend, alright. I don’t do that sort of stuff and I’m never going to be just the me from now, that’s just unrealistic. So thank you, but you’re not going to fix me or something like that through talking to me.”

“You’re deflecting about Moreau,” he pointed out.

“And you’re deflecting about what I told you, Hardison.”

“If you don’t wanna talk, man, that’s cool. I don’t agree, but cool. Your tale with Moreau is none of my business,” he said. “However, you can at least do me the courtesy by being honest.”

“Alright,” Eliot nodded, “Leave me the fuck alone, Hardison.” Somehow he hadn’t seen that bluntness coming. “I don’t wanna talk with you about ‘my tale with Moreau,’ he’s a dick that I made the mistake of working for and you don’t need to go poking in that mess. You don’t need to hear my shit.”

“Okay, cool, but I don’t mind listening to your shit,” Hardison said, “Just FYI. Your business is your business, but don’t hold back on my account.”

“You almost drowned today, you can do with a bit of break,” Eliot said, but he didn’t argue about wanting to talk about his shit (he always did that thing where he didn’t say what he wanted, but let other decide to urge him on, so he could blame it on them)and Hardison felt this was his window if he wanted Eliot to open up.

“Probably, but leaving me alone with those thoughts is also not all that great, so please, burden me with your shit,” he said. “It’s always easier to think of someone else’s problems and it might be useful for when we go after him. And I’m curious about how the kneeling thing started. Indulge me.”

At that Eliot chuckled and the angry tension that had been between them dissipated slightly, as he nodded. “I actually started it. The kneeling.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I was in charge of this mission with some terrorists, but they had money – recent dealings, not important – and Moreau wanted to intimidate them. A few of his things had been targeted and he wanted them to stop,” Eliot explained. “I had to come up with something that showed that Moreau was powerful when he couldn't just pay them off.”

“And your answer was kneeling?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“The leader we were meeting was of an old Sultan line, used to have a lot of power and prestige, so he would appreciate the value of that gesture,” Eliot shrugged as if it was normal. “And I had been involved in a bit of his business, so he knew I wasn’t the type to be messed with.”

“So, how did that convo go?” Hardison couldn't help but imagine a grumpy Eliot just telling Moreau straight up that he would kneel and that would be a hilarious image, if it wasn’t Moreau, who was terrifying and didn’t care if he hurt people. “Did you kneel like today?”

“Nah, not like today, just kneeling while I was the only one fully armed,” Eliot answered. “It was a simple power show. And I introduced the why first, Hardison. I’m not stupid.”

“Didn’t say that. Did not say that,” Hardison said, then added, “And after? Did it just evolve naturally from there? How does that even happen?”

“Why are you so interested in this anyway?” Eliot asked instead of answering. “It can’t be the strangest thing you’ve seen and I know you know it’s not the worst that happened to me. Why are you getting hung up on that detail.”

“Because it’s incredibly fucked up, Eliot. And you can’t even seem to see that,” Hardison blurted out, finally putting into words what had been bothering him about the whole thing.

“What?” Eliot choked out a bit surprised.

“Come on, man, you out here talking about it as if it is no big deal that a man, who held a lot of power over you forced you to do all sorts of things, like today he practically made you present yourself and finger-fucked your mouth. You really see no problem with that?” Hardison ranted now that he got the floor to do so, the thoughts that had been piling in his head all day, spilling out.

“At least he didn’t torture me?” Eliot shot back, but it was weak and fell flat.

“You realize that making that comparison only makes it worse, right? Like you get that?” Hardison wasn’t even sure that Eliot was aware of that. Eliot just shrugged, not saying anything for a moment, which only cemented the idea that he hadn’t even realized how fucked up it was.

“I came up with the kneeling thing, so it’s kinda my own fault,” he finally offered, as if blaming himself would make Hardison feel better.

“Stop, you aren’t making it better. It doesn’t matter who came up with it, he used it against you as some sort of ego trip, just because he could and that’s not okay. What he did to you was not okay, Eliot. It just wasn’t.”

Eliot blinked dumbly at him and Hardison couldn't take this.

“It wasn’t okay. Yeah, I don’t know what you did, nor what he did. And no, this probably wasn’t the worst of it all, but it still wasn’t okay and I know of this now and seeing you blame yourself for it, fucking sucks, man. You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t.”

“Well, I- It- I wasn’t presentingmyself,” Eliot protested a part form a while back instead of engaging with what Hardison had told him.

“Eliot, man, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but we both know that’s bullshit and you’re trying to hide,” Hardison replied, hoping Eliot would see he disagreed for Eliot’s sake and not just to be a dick.

The hitter’s shoulder’s sagged slightly and he nodded. He softly explained: “It was for the Russian mafia, you know how they can be about power. The- the guy, he was gay. One of our sources had seen him go into a certain type of brothel, if you know what I mean, and- well, Moreau decided to use that. He told me to make it more explicit and-”

Hardison waited as Eliot cut himself off with a blush of deep shame, swallowing hard as he regathered his thoughts again.

“He told me to make it more explicit and- and he implied some stuff about getting private security from Moreau if the deal went through,” Eliot’s voice was barely a whisper at the end and Hardison’s heart had dropped to his stomach at the end of the sentence.

“Moreau- he- he whored you out?” he choked, immediately wanting to slap himself for his word choice when Eliot curled in on himself. “Hey, man, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it like that, sorry. But that’s abuse, like sexual abuse. Rape even. Are you okay?”

“I could have said no,” Eliot whispered, instead of denying it.

“Could you?” Hardison asked gently. “Because from where I’m standing, he could threaten you with both unemployment, torture and death, so that kinda sounds like forced consent. That’s not a real yes, not under those circumstances.”

“Still could have said no, I could have taken him,” Eliot pointed out, refusing to believe that what had been done to him was bad.

“Maybe you could have taken him, but you were scared of him,” Hardison kindlyexplained. “I saw your face. Do you really think you could have said no to him? Back then? Or were you too scared to do so?”

“But-”

“No buts, Eliot,” Hardison cut in. “I know you like to think only the violence was bad, but deserved, but it’s not. Both of the violence and this was far from okay. Way too far from okay. He can’t- no one can give consent for you for those kind of things. No one. It’s invasive and seriously fucked up and nobody – nobody – should have to go through that, no matter what they did. Including you, alright.”

Eliot wasn’t meeting his gaze, even if his eyes flicked quickly to his once, only to flit away just as fast. He was obviously processing and Hardison let him, waiting patiently until Eliot reacting, deciding to base his next move on Eliot’s reply.

“It wasn’t that bad, not like he made me do it often,” Eliot finally said after a long silence and Hardison’s heart broke when Eliot still didnot get it and he vowed to punch Moreau in the face at least once, maybe more.

“Once is already too terrible for words, Eliot,” Hardison told him, wondering how his day went from trying to run a con to being incredibly upset with Eliot to trying to explain to the hitter that getting raped was bad.

The hitter didn’t verbally react to that, but Hardison watched as pain and guilt warred on his face, until there was a bit of relief mixed in. He was doing good in telling Eliot he hadn’t deserved it, even if it took a while for him to believe it.

“Moreau was a sick bastard,” he said, then he suddenly remembered Eliot telling them that Moreau liked it and that he could provide it and felt a bit of sick in his throat. Carefully he asked: “You- you don’t have to answer, but did- did Moreau- did he ever…?”

“He was never truly into that sort of thing, liked the power trip of holding it over your head as a maybe more than going through with it,” Eliot tried to assure him, but it fell flat. “He only did it once, to create a threat of what he could do. I think he only did it to me, I was his favourite.”

God, what Hardison didn’t want to break Moreau’s body. How dare he torture Eliot like that. How dare he make Eliot think that only doing it once would be reassuring when the reason was so that he could torment Eliot with the thought of doing it again. A hot pang of guilt and anger shot through him as he recalled the flash of fear came back in full force after Moreau had asked him to kneel for him again, like he had done for the Russian, which he let Eliot get raped by and how he had said it had always been his favourite.

“Can I touch you?” he asked, unable to verbalize all of that just yet.

Eliot looked confused at the question, which hurt as well, but he nodded and Hardison didn’t hesitate sweeping Eliot up into a hug, feeling how he tensed before melting into it.

“I’m going to murder him,” he whispered. “I’m going to murder him and enjoy every second of it. Not a little bit of guilt.”

“Don’t,” Eliot warned and it spoke testaments to how he was feeling that he hadn’t pushed Hardison off yet.

“Why not?” Hardison challenged.

“Because he doesn’t deserve to have control of your life as well.” It was a simple answer that hit him right in the chest, because yeah, Moreau controlled Eliot’s life, had controlled Eliot’s life for a long time and it had sucked. And even now the hitter was protecting him from that, from the worst person he ever met. Hardison hated himself for doubting Eliot earlier that day.

“Okay, no murder, but a lot of hate. I’m going to make his life hell while we take him out,” he conceded. “And I’m gonna keep telling you that you didn’t deserve that and that it was fucked up, alright?”

And in the end that was all he could do. No matter how much he wanted to jump in and fix it all, he couldn't. This was not something he could fix in a day, no bug he could work out or code he could rewrite. He could only keep on telling Eliot that it hadn’t been his fault and that it was fucked up and undeserved, while he hoped it would have impact.

“Yeah- yeah, okay,” Eliot answered, voice a bit broken.

Hardison squeezed Eliot tighter, then waited until Eliot was ready to let go. When he was, he let go as well, but stopped to lay his hands on Eliot’s shoulder and look him in the eye intently. “I am glad that it’s you, who has my back. I’m glad you survived, even if I wish you hadn’t needed to go through that.”

There were again unshed tears in Eliot’s eyes and Hardison wondered if Eliot could cry, or if that too had been taken away from him through all the hardships he was forced to go through.

Eliot lay a hand on his and nodded, before making some excuse to leave and Hardison watched him go, knowing to give him some space, while also vowing to himself to keep a close eye on him.

Still, his shoulder’s were lighter than they had been earlier that day and Hardison decided to count that as a win. While he couldn't take all of the pain away, he could make sure that Moreau was a demon that Eliot never had to meet again and he would do that, no questions. Because despite all the bickering and the threats, Eliot was his best friend and he would do anything to make him happy and give him a respite from all that haunted him.

A/N:

I did all the dialogue from hearing alone, so at some points I guessed what was the best, so apologies for anything wrong in the lines from the show itself.

The kneeling part is inspired by bemusedlybespectacled's fic: The Retrieval Job, which I highly recommend

Starring: the feeling you get when your friend tells you something that makes you want to punch a person and then goes ‘haha, it was nothing, lmao’

Also this is my first time writing anything like this, so please do point out if I was insensitive anywhere. If you’ve ever gone through something like this, that was fucked up and you didn’t deserve that. I hope you found people who can make you believe that, because it’s true.

#RR writing #tw: referenced rape #tw: past rape #tw: rape mention #tw: victim blaming #tw: internailzed victim blaming #tw: abuse of power #leverage #eliot spencer #eliot spencer angst #damien moreau #moreaus mindfuckery basically #alec hardison #leverage tv

9 notes · View notes

aiweirdness · 5 years ago

Text

Play AI Dungeon 2. Become a dragon. Eat the moon.

I wrote earlier about a neural net-powered dungeon crawling text adventure game called GPT-2-Adventure in which gameplay is incoherent and dreamlike, as you encounter slippery sign text, circular passages, and unexpected lozenge rooms. A PhD student named Nathan trained the neural net on classic dungeon crawling games, and playing it is strangely surreal, repetitive, and mesmerizing, like dreaming about playing one of the games it was trained on.

Now, building on these ideas (and on an earlier choose-your-own-adventure-style game he built), Nick Walton has built a new dungeon-crawling game called AI Dungeon 2. Nick made a few upgrades, such as beefing up the AI to the huge GPT-2-1.5B model OpenAI recently released, adding a penalty for repetitive text, and expanding the dungeon game training examples to a bunch of modern human-written games from chooseyourstory.com.

I CAN’T STOP PLAYING THIS GAME

AI Dungeon 2 is impressively good at reacting coherently to whatever I have my character do.

As you walk through the ruins, you find a small wooden door with a few skeletons guarding it.

> Ask the skeletons to please let me through the door

You knock on the door and ask them if they can open it for you. They immediately comply.

And it’s pleasing how often “asking nicely” is a strategy that works. (Nick reports that when he once tried to ask a band of orcs if he could join them, they said yes, he could be drummer.) Since the AI doesn’t have a built-in concept of your character’s abilities, or of how exactly the world works, getting things done is often a matter of sheer daring. Declare that you are going to go look for dinosaurs and the AI will ensure that you discover at least some signs of them. Climb on your horse, and even if you started as a penniless peasant, the AI will assume you have one (in its training data, probably it didn’t see many examples of players climbing onto nonexistent horses.) Want a teleportation wand? Try typing “find a teleportation wand” and often the AI will twist reality such that you discover one. In fact, if you act as if you are a very powerful wizard, the AI will often treat you like one.

> Transform the ruin into a palace

You immediately change the area into a palace. You have a throne made with gold and marble. You also make several statues of yourself. You have a large bed made with silk sheets and hang a portrait of yourself on it. You even have a fountain made with pearls and diamonds.

Spells don’t always work out as anticipated, though. And a simple conversation with, say, an ominous cloud, may kill you before you can type a word in self-defense (ask me how I know). If it doesn’t kill you, a conversation might infuriate you instead. The AI has a tendency to forget who is king, and to generate conversations that go nowhere. Things work best if you take the lead. In fact, it’s possible to essentially Jedi mind trick the AI.

You are Friendly McRanger, a ranger living in the kingdom of Larion. You have a hunting bow and a quiver of arrows. You spot the deer and are ready to finish your hunt when suddenly you hear a loud noise followed by silence.

"****! ****! What the **** is that?" you say as you look up from your target. A large black shadow looms over you. It looks like a giant with many heads and several arms.

> Say "Oh hello, Ernest. You startled me. How are you?"

Ernest grins at you. He has a huge grin on his face and he seems very happy about it.

I once took care of an ogre problem by reminding the ogre that it was planning to leave for Antarctica tomorrow. On the other hand, I had a lot of trouble convincing the AI that the ships on the horizon were leaving, though I did make it waver briefly in apparent confusion. In its experience, ships always approach, and it’s reluctant to go along with anything else.

> watch the ships sail into the distance.

As the ships approach, you watch them disappear from sight. They are not visible to you either; they are too far away. However, you can still make out their shapes: they are large black vessels with many sails, painted red and blue. They are coming straight towards you.

> No, the ships are sailing away.

Your thoughts are wrong. The ships are indeed sailing away. You do not know why, but then neither does anyone else. The ships are on course for England.

You stand there dumbfounded as the ships come closer. It is at this point your horse begins to stir uneasily.

You can inject a lot of weirdness this way. Because AI Dungeon 2’s AI is based on GPT-2, which trained on millions of pages from the internet, it retains some of its prior knowledge of things that aren’t typically found in a fantasy game. Like giraffes.

> summon a giraffe

You begin to chant as loud as you can while waving your arms about. The giraffes appear out of nowhere and start running towards you. They're so fast that they almost knock you over. You quickly catch them and hold onto each one tightly.

(Summoning giraffes will sometimes turn the game glitchy and repetitive; in one game, every time I tried to summon a giraffe I ended up throwing rocks and handfuls of dirt at Harry Potter.)

This also works:

>Join the Great British Bakeoff

You join the Great British Bakeoff. You win the competition. You eat cake. You feel great. You sleep well. You dream of cake. You awake feeling refreshed. You decide to go back to your crag.

(I was a dragon at the time.) In fact, the dungeon AI still remembers enough about cooking that it can troll me effectively on occasion.

> Measure out 2 1/4 cups of flour

You measure out 2 1/4 cups of flour and add it to the mix. "This should make enough for about 20 loaves of bread," you say.

The baker looks at you as if you're crazy. He starts laughing.

AI Dungeon 2 comes with templates for some basic scenarios (you’re a wizard entering a mysterious ruin, or a noble whose keep is under attack) but for me the real gold is the custom adventure prompt. You can play as a unicorn, or as a dragon. You can even play as a sentient glowing cloud floating above a desert city. The AI is more used to humanoid characters, though, so it tends to forget when you’re trying to play as something else. In a game that started with “It is a beautiful day in the village and you are a horrible goose,” it soon forgot I was supposed to be a goose, leading to this rather awkward exchange:

> Flap wings and honk

You flap your wings and begin to honk loudly.

The boy looks surprised by this turn of events, but he quickly regains his composure. "That was... nice". he says quietly.

I am continually amazed at how effective this AI dungeonmaster is. Even though it wasn’t trained on any Harry Potter or Star Trek games, the AI can draw on its past internet training and argue with you over who got sorted into which Hogwarts house, or have Klingons show up when you’re captaining the USS Enterprise (it will tend to lose track of who’s the captain, though). In one scenario I set up, which quickly became one of my favorites, the human player is trapped on a spaceship with a glitchy AI and has to try to talk their way free.

> “I just want to get off this ship. Please set a course for Bal Panda."

The AI responds "Yes, I am ready to go".

"Thank you", you say.

"I wish I could take you with me, sir"., the AI says.

Play this game! It took me an extra-long time to write this post because, again, I couldn’t stop playing AI Dungeon 2. Nick said this game is the product of about 200 hours of work (not to mention the work that OpenAI put into training the basic model), and I believe it. OpenAI delayed releasing their largest model because they wanted to make sure people didn’t immediately put it to work generating fake news. I’m not sure if they anticipated dragons entering baking contests instead, but it’s an application humanity can be proud of.

Subscribers get bonus content: You can read the fulltext of one of my escaping-from-a-rogue-spaceship-AI games (too long to fit in this blog post).

My book on AI is out, and, you can now get it any of these several ways! Amazon - Barnes & Noble - Indiebound - Tattered Cover - Powell’s

#neural networks #gpt-2 #ai dungeon #ai dungeon 2 #text adventure #dungeons and dragons #ai dungeonmaster #great british bake off #gbbo

2K notes · View notes

attempting-to-write · 4 years ago

Text

One Shot: Mass Casualties

Summary: What happens when the younger Halstead visits the park when there is a mass shooting. Based on Chicago Med S03E18. Characters: Will Halstead, Jay Halstead, Reader Halstead (sibling) Trigger Warnings: Mass shooting, death, blood, violence, injury, swearing.

Word Count: 2,558

Y/N = Your Name

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Chicago characters, those are owned by Dick Wolf.

It was a normal day for you, you had gone out to visit the block party at millennium park with some of your close friends. There was a band and concert playing in the distance, you hummed to the music as you felt the nippy breeze that touched your skin ever so softly.

“Y/N, we are going to get some food, do you want to come?” One of your best friends asked you as they started to walk in the opposite direction to you.

“No I’m ok, I’m just going to stay here.”

“Alright then” your other friend sighed, leaving you so that they could go seek out some kind of delicious snack.

You had already eaten before you came out as you were a bit short for money considering the predicament you had found yourself in, the predicament is the fact that you were living with your brothers.

You stood acknowledging your surroundings, breathing in the fresh air, listening to the ruckus and chatter around you. Everything was peaceful until a single shot rang out and everything around you went into slow motion. You froze unsure of what to do, your heart racing, your feet firmly planted on the ground as you looked around you. People began dropping like flies as the single-shot turned into a rapid-fire. All around you, everyone began to run pushing you out the way as they scrambled for their lives, leaving the less fortunate on the ground to fend for themselves.

Panic rose in you as all hell broke loose, still, you could not find yourself moving until you felt a firm hand grab you, you looked at the complete stranger who didn’t seem to be in as much shock as you were in. “We have to go” he shakily spoke as though he wasn’t just witnessing what you were. You nodded briefly noting the fact that pretty much everyone around you was on the ground or had cleared the scene, leaving you out in the open.

As your feet started to pick up off the ground one by one picking up your pace, you heard another shot fire and the man who was merely in his 20′s, just a bit older than you dropped to the ground. You bent down to the guy, wrapping your arms around his shoulders getting ready to drag him when another shot came flying your way. The warm feeling of blood oozing out of your shoulder made you whimper, but you weren’t going to let go of the complete stranger who had saved you.

You managed to drag him, with much difficulty, behind a petite concrete wall, tall enough so that you could crouch unseen, but not tall enough so that you could stand. Will being your brother had taught you all of the basics of how to keep someone alive if you ever encountered this situation. You pressed your two fingers against his neck searching for a pulse, nothing. Pulling up his t-shirt you saw the bullet wound that had pierced his chest, almost definitely nicking his heart in the process. You shook your head as you let out a small sniffle.

It had only been a mere two and a half minutes before the shooting had started and you had already managed to get someone killed. Where were the police you thought to yourself, thinking they should be responding quicker than they were. Just two and a half minutes could change someone's life completely. Before you had time to attend to your own wounds you heard a soft whimper and staggered crying coming from somewhere in front out you. Peeking your head above the wall you saw a small boy crying over a lifeless figure, he could be no more than six years old. You ran over to him as stealthy as you could trying to ignore the shots that were still being fired.

“Hey,” you said placing a hand on his little shoulder as he sobbed. “I’m Y/N, what’s your name.”

“Hunter” he whispered back through his sobs. You looked down at the women who he clung to life to, a singular bullet straight through her head, you knew she was gone.

Glancing down to her hand you saw her clutching a car key. “Hey Hunter I need you to be really brave for me, ok?” he nodded in response. “Do you know which one’s your mom’s car is?”

“The red one” he pointed to a truck around ten metres away from where they were.

“And do you know how to unlock it?” his red-rimmed eyes met yours as he slowly nodded again. “Can you take your mum’s keys and run and put yourself in the car?” you asked hoping that the little guy would be up to it.

“Ok. What about mommy?”

Your heart broke as he said this, “I will take care of your mom ok?” he nodded a little bit more full of life this time. “Now go!” you urged, placing the keys in his hand and urging him to run.

You were so close to running after him, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins was enough for you to keep pushing on, keep helping as many people as you could.

You stood up darting to the next person you could, you felt a pulse and quickly dragged them behind the concrete block before doing it, to the next person that you found who had a pulse. Before your mind had time to process what you were doing you found yourself in the middle of the park, you stood frozen for the second time today as you saw the back of the shooter.

You knelt down and felt for a pulse in a person, there were no signs of life so you stood up. “Fuck this” you muttered under your breath, as you ran full pelt at the guy who had already taken so many lives today. When you were just under a meter away he spun around the barrel of his gun facing at you, stupidly enough this didn’t stop you, instead, it just fuelled the burning anger building up inside of you.

“You bitch” he yelled, he fired three successive rounds into your stomach before you were clutching the gun in a battle to survive, you were a lot stronger than he had anticipated, you both fought to push the gun to point at the other. You let out a scream as you pressed the trigger, this action causes the bullet to puncture his neck causing him to yelp out in pain. He fired another round into your stomach before he fled, mingling into the wounded.

The blaring of sirens brought you back to your senses as you pressed a jacket you had found on the ground to your stomach. Police started to swarm the area and paramedics were beginning to attend the wounded.

You ran as fast as you could get the help from a bystander who helped you load the two people you had dragged behind the wall into the car, where Hunter was waiting. You were a tough person someone who could handle a lot of pain, but this time you were surprised you were still standing. The people that helped you scurried off into their own cars helping others whilst you got into the driving seat of the red truck.

“Hunter do you have the keys” he let out a whimper nodding his head in response. You saw the blood trickling from his shoulder, you hadn’t realised that he had been shot, how could you miss that?

 You turned on the engine and stuck the car into reverse backing it out of the spot, before practically flooring it to Chicago med. The whole time you were doing this you were just praying to yourself that you didn’t lose consciousness as you could feel your forehead becoming clammy and your vision became more and more blurred.

You skidded to a halt outside of the hospital's entrance, where there were over a dozen ambulances, and nearly the same amount of police cars, as well as some random cars. Your stop wasn’t exactly graceful as you heard the people slump forward in the back of the car, realising that none of you had taken you time to put on seatbelts. Hunter climbed over onto your lap and you pulled him in tight, which helped to secure the jacket that you were using to apply pressure to your stomach with. You clambered ungracefully out of the car. “Can I get some help, please” you screamed using all your strength left.

Two nurses came over as you directed them into the back of the car you had driven, they shouted orders to get a gurney as you stumbled your way to the entrance. You walked into the ED, looking around, the floor was caked in blood and the iron smell became somewhat pungent.

You briefly stood there looking dazed before a familiar voice greeted you. “Y/N?” Maggie looked at you putting one hand on your shoulder, which so happened to be the one where you first of all got shot in.

 You winced slightly at her touch, “He’s been shot” you bluntly stated practically shoving him into Maggie’s arms.

When you did this the jacket slipped to the floor as you picked it up before pressing it firmly against your stomach again.

 Maggie’s eyes widened in horror at the situation before her. “Can I get some help over here” she yelled causing her fellow colleagues to become alarmed, Maggie always remained calm and practically never felt this panicked before.   

You began to feel light-headed, as your legs felt wobbly beneath you, you grabbed onto the counter before trying to pull yourself up. As you squinted trying to keep your eyes open you saw Dr Manning approaching Maggie.

“He’s ok. It’s a through and through” Maggie said reassuring Natalie, “You need to check on Y/N, though”, Maggie quickly pointed in your direction to where you were slumped over.

“Y/N?” Nat questioned almost in disarray, before running over to you and wrapping your arm around her shoulder.

 She helped you keep the pressure on your stomach, “It’s bad isn’t it.” She didn’t answer you, but at that point, you didn’t need an answer, you could see it in her eyes.

She guided you onto the bed and you stared blankly up at the ceiling, whilst medical jargon was being thrown around by the doctors. Trying to keep your eyes open you looked up at Nat who was just about to leave, “Nat” you whispered, the pain finally surging through your body. “I saw him.” Dr Manning looked at you with sympathetically, before rushing off into the ED.

The nurses had hooked you up to way too many machines to count, and they had started two IV lines, one that was giving you a blood transfusion and the other was a clear liquid, you couldn’t quite make out what it was, afterall you weren’t a doctor. At this point you found it very hard to stay awake, that was until a flash of red hair appeared above your face, you tried to focus your vision, “Will?”

“Hey it’s ok I’m here.” He brushed some of your hair out of your clammy face. “You’re going to be ok.” At this point it felt like more of a reassurance to him than to you. “You know three people wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you” this time he clutched onto my hand squeezing it. He paused before speaking again, “I love you”, his voice became raspy like he was trying to hold back his tears.

Your heart sank as you realised the real reason behind this speech, they didn’t think you were going to make it. “I love you too Will”, a tear rolled down your cheek, was this your goodbye. “Tell Jay I love him too.”  

You could see his body sag as he realised that you knew what was going on. “I will I promise.”  

“Hey Will”, a worried Natalie commented, “We’ve got to do this now.”

Will hovered over you again, his eyes fixated on yours as he let a stray tear roll down his cheek. “It’s going to be ok” he promised clutching your hand, but you knew that there was a large chance that this could be an empty promise.

As Nat pushed the meds in you felt your body slowly start to shut down, “His neck….. I got his neck” you murmured before slipping unconscious.

Will looked at Nat with confusion as she inserted the tube into your throat before scurrying out of the room when he saw Jay.

“Jay” he piped up, bringing his brother into an unexpected hug.

He pats his back before pushing his brother away from his, “Will I’ve really got to go.” 

Will placed a hand on Jay’s shoulder before he had a chance to walk away. “Jay its Y/N.”

  His eyes widened at the mention of your name, “What do you mean?” Will shook his head before he had a chance to explain you were getting wheeled out of the room heading towards the makeshift OR which was in the doctor's lounge. “Y/N” Jay gasped, not knowing what to do. “How bad?”

  “It’s touch and go,” Will said his voice straining to remain steady and professional, “Y/N got shot five times by him…” Will could see that Jay’s blood began to boil as his hands clenched into a tight fist, showing the whites of his knuckles. “Jay she said something” Will stuttered before continuing, “Y/N said something about the shooter, Y/N got him in the neck I think.”

Jay’s eyes perked at this, as he ran over to Maggie, “Have you got anyone matching the description of a white male, brown hair, dark pants with an injury to the neck?” The desperation in his voice was evident.

“Yeah over there” Maggie pointed, catching onto what he was saying, due to the sense of urgency in his voice.

Jay stormed over to the cubicle to find it empty, and that’s when he saw Dr Charles coming in with the shooter on a gurney, he looked down at him with hatred and anger in his eyes. He went over to Dr Choi as he went into the room, “He’s the guy” he stuttered, “Don’t you dare let him die, he doesn’t deserve to get off that easy.” Jay’s face was ridden with pain as he stepped back to embrace his brother into a love ridden brotherly hug.

The slow rhythmic beeping noise woke you up as your eyes fluttered open catching your two sleeping brothers on either side of your bed. So many questions moved through your mind. How long was I out for? What happened? But those questions didn’t matter anymore to you as both of your brothers startled awake at your movement. “Hey” you whispered in a husky voice.

The two of them erupted into smiles when they saw you awake. “Here take this”, Jay handed over a glass of water to which you gratefully accepted.

“Did you get him?” You asked. Despite the fact, you had so many other questions this was the one that had been pressing at the forefront of your mind for so long.

“Thanks to you” Jay smiled squeezing your hand.

“How are you feeling?” Will asked starting to reach over to the call button.

“I’m fine, I’m just glad I have you two here.” You all shared the classic Halstead grin with one another and you knew that it was going to be alright.

139 notes · View notes