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brunchable · 20 days ago

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POV: You're sucked into your Fanfic - Part Three

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Writer!fReader Themes/Warning: Comedy - Chaotic Duo (mainly y/n), breaking 4th wall. Fanfic Bucky meets his writer. Swearing. Summary: So you got kicked out of your own fanfic and know you have to go to work and face real life problems. . . or so you thought. A/N: Listen, don't expect this fanfic to be well organized because it's not supposed to be. I don't know where I am going with this yet, do enjoy this chaotic fanfic with me for now lmfao.

tags: @winterslove1917 @zeeader @iamdedsthingz @hzdhrtss @almosttoopizza

@yiiiikesmish @literaryavenger @aquabrie @ramp-it-up @nash-dara

@winchestert101

You leap out of your car like a bat out of hell, convinced that you’re finally back to normal life. No more fanfic shenanigans, no more redemption arcs gone wrong. Just a regular, boring job where I definitely won’t have to deal with anything weird.

As you stumble into the elevator, trying to untangle yourself from your coat and shove a half-eaten granola bar into your mouth, you breathe a sigh of relief. Finally. Back to real life.

You slap the “Close Door” button repeatedly, desperate to get moving. The elevator hums, the doors sliding halfway shut. But just as they’re about to close completely, they flicker—a sudden, sharp flicker of the lights overhead—and the entire elevator rumbles like it’s having a midlife crisis.

Your eyes widen as the lights dim and flicker again, the walls creaking.

“Uh... what the hell?”

You press the button frantically, but the flickering intensifies for a brief moment, making the whole thing feel more like the start of a horror movie than an office elevator ride.

Weird. Really weird. But then, just as quickly as it started, the flickering stops, the lights stabilize, and the doors begin to glide open again.

The doors glide back open, and in walks CEO Bucky Barnes, striding into the elevator like he owns not only the building but the entire damn planet. And the universe beyond that. He’s dressed in a sleek, tailored suit, the kind that screams: I make more money in an hour than you’ll see in a lifetime.

Your granola bar nearly falls out of your mouth as you press yourself against the elevator wall like a frightened mouse, eyes wide.

“Oh, come on.”

Bucky glances at you, arching an eyebrow as he steps inside, completely unbothered. He casually hits the close button, taking a bite out of the apple he’s holding, and then gives you a look, as if your entire existence is mildly amusing.

Oh, no. When I said I want to go back I meant in my other fanfic, NOT THIS. You swallow hard, gripping the railing in the elevator. Is this another one of those fanfics I wrote and abandoned?

You glance at him again, suddenly realizing the flickering, the rumbling, the tailored suit, and the attitude. This is definitely not the action Bucky from before. Nope, this is CEO Bucky, and apparently, he has zero patience for your existence.

Great.

You groan internally, wishing you could rewind the last five minutes of your life.

He’s holding an apple—eating it, actually—like some kind of smug Greek god. The crunch echoes in the small space of the elevator, and with every bite, you can practically hear your sanity cracking.

You backup more—if it’s even possible—against the corner of the elevator, eyes wide, heart pounding.

“Oh my God. Oh no, no, no—” you mutter to yourself, eyes darting around like you might find an emergency escape hatch.

Bucky side-eyes you, not missing a beat as he takes another crunch of his apple. He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your sudden and very visible panic attack.

“You’re late,” he says casually, as if pointing out the weather. The way he speaks, smooth and lazy, is enough to send a shiver down your spine. He doesn’t even look fully at you—just a quick glance that screams you are insignificant in my kingdom.

Your eyes dart around the elevator, fully cornered now.

“Wh— I—Late? What—no, I’m not late!” You tug at your coat, flustered, hands shaking as you clutch your bag like it’s a lifeline. “I mean—yes, I’m late, but also... what are you doing here?”

CEO Bucky pauses mid-bite, looking at you as if you’ve just sprouted two heads. He finally turns fully toward you, taking another slow, calculated bite of his apple.

“What am I doing here? I own this building.”

He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like you should already be bowing down to him or, at the very least, shining his shoes. His eyebrow arches higher, and his lips quirk up at the corner into the slightest smirk. A smirk that makes you want to scream and faint simultaneously.

You sputter, pressing yourself further into the elevator corner like you’re trying to melt into the walls.

“Right. Of course. You’re the CEO. That’s... that’s normal. Completely normal. You just... randomly show up in elevators eating apples and ruining people’s lives.”

“You always this chaotic first thing in the morning?” He shakes his head slowly, clearly unimpressed with your rambling.

“What—excuse me? Chaotic?” You blink, momentarily thrown off.

He takes one last bite of his apple before tossing it in the trash bin in the corner with a smooth flick of his wrist.

“Yeah,” he says, turning to face the elevator doors as they slide shut. “Usually you’re nice and quiet”

You gape at him, jaw practically on the floor. “Nice and quiet?!”

The elevator starts to move again, and you just stare at the back of his head, blinking rapidly. This can’t be real. This CAN’T be real. You glance up at the ceiling, half expecting the universe to laugh in your face.

“Right, okay,” you mutter to yourself. “Cool. I’m in a scrapped fanfic where CEO Bucky Barnes exists and I’m... late for something. That’s fine. Totally fine.”

The elevator dings as it reaches another floor, and you brace yourself for whatever happens next.

Bucky side-eyes you again, folding his arms, his suit jacket stretching over his broad shoulders in a way that is entirely too distracting.

“Try not to make this a habit,” he says coolly, his voice dripping with condescension.

You blink. “What—what habit?”

He shrugs casually. “Being late. And whatever this is,” he gestures to you, still cornered and clearly flustered, “your whole... thing.”

“My whole thing?” You’re so flustered you don’t even know what to say. “This isn’t even a thing! I don’t have a thing! This is just... my life, okay?”

Bucky smirks, his gaze sliding over you like he’s assessing whether or not you’ll survive the next five minutes.

“Yeah,” he mutters, stepping out as the elevator doors open again. “Totally, your thing.”

And just like that, he’s gone. You’re left standing there, dumbfounded, staring at the empty space where he was just seconds ago.

The elevator doors close again, and you let out a long, exasperated sigh. “I hate this fanfic already.”

× × × ×

You sit at your desk, your fingers tapping anxiously on the keyboard, but your brain is doing everything but work. It’s going a million miles a minute, trying to piece together what exactly happened to land you in this ridiculous situation.

You glance down at the stack of papers on your desk, all labeled with the company’s sleek logo, and let out a long, tortured groan.

Then it hits you like a freight train: You’re Bucky Barnes’ assistant. This is what you wrote months ago before you rage-quit the whole story.

Your head drops into your hands. Fuuuuck.

“What was this about again?!” you mutter under your breath, trying to dig through the mental files of your abandoned fanfic plot.

You remember vaguely setting this story up to be some kind of CEO!AU where Bucky was... what? Brooding and powerful? Sexy, for sure. In control of everything? Definitely. You were supposed to be some mild-mannered assistant who totally had her life together.

But that was so not you either. You had given up on this story for a reason—writer problems. Why did I even scrap this plot again? Oh right. Because it got so cringey you couldn't even finish it.

You try to think back to why this fanfic had hit the writer’s block wall. It was something to do with the plot going absolutely nowhere. You had no idea where to take it, so naturally, you abandoned it like a badly cooked lasagna and moved on to the next story with more action and less... corporate nonsense.

And now, here I am, stuck in the very fanfic I gave up on because I couldn’t figure out what would happen next. Fantastic.

You sigh dramatically, rubbing your temples. Great. I’m in an unfinished fanfic where I don’t even know the plot. Awesome. Totally normal day.

Just as you’re contemplating throwing yourself out the window—or at least hiding in the bathroom for the next eight hours—you decide to take a break. Maybe you can sneak out for five minutes and regroup. Get your chaotic brain together before CEO Bucky calls you for something ridiculous like filing his taxes or fetching his tenth coffee of the day.

You push away from your desk and stand up, trying to be stealthy. But just as you make your way toward the door—

“Hey, you.”

You freeze mid-step. Oh for fuck sake.

Slowly, like a guilty child caught sneaking out of class, you turn around. There’s CEO Bucky, leaning against his office doorframe, arms crossed like some kind of modern-day Greek god. His suit is perfectly tailored, every inch of him screams I own this place, and of course, he’s got that little smirk that makes your brain short-circuit.

He gestures with two fingers, that damn lazy motion that makes you feel like you’ve been summoned by royalty.

“Come here.”

Your eye twitches.

“I have a name, you know,” you say before you can stop yourself, crossing your arms defensively. It’s completely out of character for the version of yourself that you wrote into this fanfic, but your chaotic brain can’t help it.

Bucky pauses, clearly not expecting you to talk back. His eyebrows lift slightly, and then that smirk grows even wider, like you’ve just amused him.

“Do you now?”

You groan internally. Oh crap.

But now you’re stuck, because CEO Bucky Barnes, in all his smug glory, is eyeing you like a predator who’s just found something interesting to toy with.

“Yeah, last I checked,” you say, now fully committed to the chaos as you shuffle closer, arms still crossed like you’re trying to shield yourself from the intense vibes he’s putting off. “It’s not ‘hey you,’ it’s Y/N.”

He chuckles softly, leaning back slightly and watching you approach. “Y/N, huh? Interesting.”

You squint at him, already regretting your entire life. “Why is that interesting?”

He shrugs, still smirking. “I don’t know. I like ‘hey you.’ It fits you.”

You resist the urge to scream into the void. “Well, I’m taking a break, so if you’ll excuse me—”

“Break?” He interrupts, his smirk not fading. “You’ve been here what... five minutes?”

You open your mouth to argue, but the way he’s looking at you—like he knows exactly how to push your buttons—makes your brain scramble.

“I need to regroup. You know... organize my thoughts. Get my head in the game.”

His smirk widens as he watches you try to squirm out of the conversation. “Right. Organize your thoughts. Good luck with that.”

You blink at him, genuinely baffled by how this man manages to look so smug while saying so little.

“This is why I scrapped this fanfic,” you mutter, too quiet for him to hear. “Why did I write him like this? All smirky and... and haughty and... ugh.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, clearly noticing your muttering, but chooses not to comment.

“You’re really something,” you grumble under your breath as you turn and make a beeline for the door, desperate for some air.

You can feel his eyes on you as you walk away, and just before you leave the room, you hear him chuckle again.

“I’m sure you’ll do great. Don’t get lost on your... regrouping.”

You grit your teeth, giving him a tight smile as you exit the office. “Sure. I’ll be regrouping. Totally.”

The moment you’re out of his sight, you let out a groan, practically melting against the hallway wall. How do I survive this fanfic?

And then, like a jolt of lightning, you remember why you gave up on this fanfic. Because Bucky Barnes as a smug, controlling CEO is TOO MUCH!

You smack your forehead, slumping down the wall. “I am so screwed.”

× × × ×

You return to your desk, a glass of water in hand, mentally cursing your decision to ever write CEO Bucky Barnes the way you did. Smug, intense, and probably the reason for my inevitable breakdown. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down as you plop into your chair.

I can do this. I survived getting my ass beat up by action Bucky. I just have to survive the day. No more weirdness.

But, of course, life—or rather, your fanfic—has other plans.

As you sit down and try to focus, you hear the sound of high heels clicking against the floor, getting closer. You glance up, and there she is: Bucky’s soon-to-be ex-girlfriend. The character you completely forgot about when you abandoned this fanfic. She turns on her heel, clearly satisfied with her silent insult, but something inside you snaps.

Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out in a deep, gangster voice, “Da fuCK you lookin’ at, Discount Cruella?”

She freezes mid-step, as if you’ve just slapped her with a fish. Her head turns slowly, like she can’t quite believe you just called her that. You add a taunting little eyebrow raise, tipping your chin up like you’re daring her to respond.

What the hell just came out of my mouth? You blink, stunned by your own voice, but you don’t back down. Commit, commit!

She glares, her jaw tightening. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, you heard me,” you say, leaning back in your chair, sipping your water. “You struttin’ around like some budget Bond villain? What, you think I’m intimidated by your off-brand designer knock-offs? Please. I’ve seen scarier outfits at Walmart.”

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t respond. Instead, she turns with a dramatic huff and stalks off, her heels clicking furiously against the floor.

You lean back even further, casually waving after her. “Yeah, you better walk away, Dollar shop Donatella!”

She disappears down the hallway, leaving you feeling victorious, if not a little surprised at your own audacity.

You take another sip of water and mutter to yourself, “I swear, this fanfic is making me brave... or stupid. Probably stupid.”

As you’re mentally patting yourself on the back for that little victory, you hear footsteps approaching again. You look up, expecting it to be her again, but nope—it’s Bucky.

“Hey, you,” he says, that smooth, infuriating voice drawing your attention.

You roll your eyes but try to act casual. “Yeah, what now, boss?”

Before he can answer, you take a sip of water—probably the worst-timed sip of your life.

Bucky’s just about to say something, but the sight of him leaning casually against your desk, all brooding and smug and tall and sexy, makes you choke on your water. You try to hold it in, but before you can stop it—

PFFFFTTTTT!!!

You spit your water all over him. Like, right in his face.

Time freezes. Bucky blinks, water dripping from his face and his perfectly styled hair. He looks stunned, as if this is the first time in his entire smug CEO existence that someone has dared to water-blast him.

You freeze, your eyes wide in horror. “Oh. My. God.”

Bucky wipes his face with the back of his hand, his expression unreadable as he stares at you. You panic, leaping out of your chair and rushing over to him, grabbing the nearest paper towel in an attempt to salvage the situation.

“I am so, so sorry!” you babble, dabbing furiously at his face, then his shirt, then—oh no, his chest. Holy crap, his chest.

You keep muttering in a frantic whisper. “Oh my God, his muscles. I’m touching the muscles—holy crap, I am such a perv. This is inappropriate workplace behavior—so much muscle—why did I write him this way?”

You write every Bucky character this way.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, watching you with a mix of amusement and confusion as you continue to pat him down like he’s a spilled drink.

“Are you... okay?”

You blink up at him, paper towel still in hand, your brain short-circuiting.

“I—uh—what? Yeah! Totally fine. Just, you know, touching muscles—I mean—patting you down! Because of the water! That I... spat in your face. Oh my God, I spat water in your face.”

Bucky chuckles, his smirk back in full force. “Well, this is definitely a first.”

“I’m going to die of embarrassment now. Please, just... let me dissolve into the floor.” You groan, backing away from him with the soaked paper towel in hand.

Bucky, now completely unfazed by the whole situation, shrugs and gives you a half-smile. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just water.”

You stare at him, still mortified, and mutter under your breath, “I hate this fanfic.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. Instead of heading back to his office, though, he leans in slightly, his gaze flicking down to your water glass and then back to your face.

You freeze. Oh God, why is he leaning in? Your brain is already preparing to short-circuit again. What now? Is he about to call me out on my water-spitting habits? Does he smell fear?!

“Actually…” Bucky says, his voice dropping, his smirk now in full dangerous levels of smirkiness mode. “There was something else.”

Your heart skips a beat. Oh no. Oh no, not again.

“Yeah?” you squeak, gripping your water glass like it’s your last hope of survival. “What’s that?”

He leans in a fraction closer, his eyes practically dancing with mischief.

“I was going to ask you for the Henderson file, but now I’m thinking...” He pauses dramatically, his lips twitching like he’s holding back a laugh. “Maybe you should get me a towel first.”

Your jaw drops. “A towel?!”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, not missing a beat, “since you’re so keen on throwing water at people.”

You blink at him, utterly mortified. “I didn’t throw it! I just—ugh, fine! I’ll get you a towel.”

He grins wider. “Good. And then... you can grab the Henderson file.”

“I’m not your assistant and your personal dry cleaner!” You groan, turning to leave, but of course, you have to get in one last grumble.

Bucky watches you, highly amused. “You sure? You seemed pretty eager to pat me down a minute ago.”

You freeze mid-step, spinning around with wide eyes.

“Oh my God, I—I wasn’t—I was just trying to—you know what? Never mind!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m getting the damn towel!”

You rush off toward the break room, muttering under your breath the entire way. “This fanfic is literally out to humiliate me. Why did I write him like this? Why, past me, WHY?”

Behind you, you swear you hear Bucky chuckle softly, and it only makes you walk faster.

× × × ×

Y/N, now on a mission to redeem herself after the whole spitting water fiasco, rushes back to her desk with the Henderson file in one hand and a towel in the other. No more screw-ups, you tell yourself. No more embarrassing moments. I’m going to act like a professional human being for once.

You take a deep breath before stepping into Bucky’s office. He’s seated behind his desk, looking as composed as ever, typing away on his computer. Cool, calm, collected, you remind yourself. You carefully place the file on his desk, and then with way too much flourish, dramatically whip out the towel.

“Your towel, sir!” you announce like you’re a butler in an old movie, bowing slightly for extra effect.

Bucky glances up from his computer, one eyebrow raised. “Thanks... I think?”

You nod seriously, trying to keep a straight face.

“Only the finest hand towels for the World’s Wettest CEO,” you add, clearly not able to stop yourself from clowning.

Bucky’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s definitely a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“You know, usually assistants don’t mock their boss right after spitting water on them.”

Before you can fire back with something clever, he stands up and—without breaking eye contact—starts stripping off his jacket.

Your eyes widen to saucer-size. Oh SHIT. Look at those biceps, I bet he could crack an egg with those.

“Wait, what are you doing?” you blurt, taking a cautious step back. Your eyes dart to the door, your brain immediately thinking of the worst possible scenario.

Bucky casually shrugs off his jacket, tossing it onto his chair, and takes a slow step toward you. His sleeves are rolled up just enough to show off those forearms—and, holy hell, is it getting hotter in here?

You gulp, stumbling back another step. “Why are you coming closer? What—no, don’t come any closer!”

But he doesn’t stop. In fact, he smirks as he undoes the top button of his shirt, rolling up his sleeves even higher as if he’s about to give you some kind of private show.

Your brain completely short-circuits.

“I will call the police!” you shout dramatically, pointing a shaky finger at him. “Don’t make me do it! I have a phone!”

Bucky takes another step, clearly enjoying watching you unravel.

“Stop!” you squeak, backing up so fast that you almost trip over your own feet. “I swear, if you come any closer—Please! I’m a virgin!”

Wait. WHAT? Did that actually just come out of my mouth?

Bucky stops in his tracks, his brow furrowing in pure confusion. His smirk falters, and he blinks at you like you’ve lost your mind—which, honestly, you might have.

“Wait, what?”

You slap your hands over your mouth.

“Not... not really!” you blurt, mortified, feeling your face turn a thousand shades of red. “I just—what—I mean, I don’t know why I said that! Forget I said that! WHY DID I SAY THAT?”

Bucky stares at you, clearly torn between laughing and being genuinely confused by your outburst.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You point at him again, eyes still wide. “You were stripping! I thought—I don’t know what I thought! I thought you were about to—look, can you just—stop doing whatever it is you’re doing?”

“I was just getting comfortable. You’re the one making this weird.” He finally gives in and lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“I’M MAKING THIS WEIRD?!” you shout, nearly flailing in disbelief. “You just started stripping in your office like we’re in some kind of romance novel!” Well. . .technically. . .

Bucky shrugs, clearly amused by your total meltdown. “I wasn’t even halfway through, and you’re already threatening to call the cops.”

“I panicked!” you cry, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “What do you expect when you come at me like some... some walking smirk with biceps?”

“Relax, hey you, I’m not gonna bite.” He takes one more step toward you, the grin on his face infuriatingly smug.

“Right... okay... great. But, uh, no more sudden movements, okay? I don’t think my dignity can take another hit today.” You’re still staring at him, pulse racing, trying to get your heart back to normal.

Bucky, still smirking, unbuttons his shirt completely, slipping it off and tossing it aside as if the entire interaction hasn’t completely short-circuited your brain. Now, he’s shirtless, and your brain is screaming

NOPE, NOPE, yes NOPE.

But he doesn’t stop there. Bucky takes another step closer, clearly enjoying the absolute chaos unfolding on your face. He gestures toward the towel still clutched in your hand.

"Since you’re so eager to help, why don’t you pat me dry?”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?!”

He tilts his head, completely unfazed by your reaction. “You spat water on me. Now it’s only fair you clean up the mess.”

You clutch the towel tighter, staring at him like he’s grown a second head.

“Do you not have arms? You seem perfectly capable of drying yourself off with all these...” you gesture wildly to his bare chest, your voice rising in pitch, “...muscles!”

“I’m not saying I can’t. I just thought you might want to.” Bucky chuckles, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Your face is practically on fire at this point. “Oh, I’m sure you’re more than qualified to handle it yourself!” you say, thrusting the towel toward him. “I’ll just—uh—get you some new clothes! Right?”

Bucky shrugs, clearly still enjoying your mortification. “Sure. Or you can keep patting me down. Your call.”

“I WILL NOT BE PATTING ANYTHING,” you declare, your voice an octave too high as you spin around and dash toward the door. “I’ll get your clothes!”

“Take your time.” As you stumble out of the office, you can hear Bucky’s soft chuckle behind you.

You groan internally, your face still burning as you make your escape.

“This is getting worse and worse,” you mutter under your breath, gripping the door handle a little too tight. “I miss action Bucky. At least he wasn’t... shirtless and smug! God, why is this happening to me?”

You rush out the door, praying for some kind of divine intervention—or at least for your brain to stop short-circuiting every time you’re within ten feet of his ridiculous muscles.

You blink, and suddenly the world shifts beneath your feet. One second you’re in the office, still mentally head-slamming yourself for your awkward slip-up, and the next, you’re standing in front of two massive, intimidating double doors.

You blink again, confused. “Wha—What the—Wait... where the hell am I?”

Your eyes scan your surroundings, and it finally hits you—you’re in some fancy penthouse building, way too expensive-looking to be anywhere near your normal, boring life. And then, just as you’re about to piece things together, glowing words flash above your head:

Business Proposal, Part 4: Sick Leave

You stare up at the words in disbelief, slowly lowering your water bottle. It went up to Part Four?!

“That’s new,” you mutter, looking around as if someone’s watching you. “Why does this feel like some kind of twisted game show?”

Before you can contemplate further, a voice—loud, deep, dramatic, and all-knowing (totally not Bucky’s voice)— suddenly echoes around you, narrating your life like it’s the season finale of a telenovela.

“It’s been a few days since Bucky’s break-up with Yasmine, and Y/N has been very worried—”

“No, I’m not,” you cut off the voice, raising your hand like you’re silencing an annoying ad.

The narrator pauses, then comes back, clearly annoyed. “Yes, you are.”

You cross your arms defiantly. “Nope. Not worried. Zero percent concerned. I barely even remember her name—Yasmine, was it? See? Forgettable.”

There’s an exasperated sigh from the unseen narrator.

“Yes. You are. Bucky’s been distant, and you can’t help but wonder if this is affecting him more than he’s letting on—”

“Oh my God, I literally do not care,” you interrupt again, dramatically rolling your eyes toward the sky, wondering if you could just teleport out of this madness. “Can I at least care about something that doesn’t sound like a rejected soap opera plot?”

“You do care,” the voice insists, the irritation building. “You’ve been wracking your brain about how to comfort him, wondering if now is the right time to—"

You wave both hands in the air like you’re directing traffic. “Nope. Absolutely not. I’m not showing him anything. If anything, I need a vacation. A spa day. A break from all this fanfic insanity.”

There’s a very heavy pause, like the narrator’s deciding whether to keep talking or just yeet themselves into the void to escape you.

Then, with maximum exasperation, the voice finally asks, “Do you ever just shut up?”

You gasp, clutching your chest in mock horror. “Wow! Rude! Is that how you treat all your characters? Is this why all my stories keep getting abandoned halfway through? Is this your fault?”

There’s a very, very tired sigh. “You do know this is your story, right?”

You blink, then scratch your head. “Oh yeah...”

You can practically feel the narrator rolling their eyes, probably contemplating retirement.

“Fine,” the narrator says, now with the exhausted tone of someone who just ran a marathon through an obstacle course of idiocy. “You’re not worried. But you are here at Bucky’s penthouse, and he’s expecting you. And deep down—”

“I literally do not care!” you yell, flailing your arms like a cartoon character.

The narrator groans again, even louder this time. “Why do I even bother?”

“Honestly? I’ve been wondering the same thing,” you mutter, finally stepping forward to push open the ridiculously huge doors. “Let’s just get this over with. What’s next? Is Bucky going to burst into song? Or is this the part where I accidentally knock over some expensive art?”

“For the love of—Just get your ass inside!” the narrator snaps, sounding like they’re one sarcastic comment away from quitting entirely.

You pause, your hand hovering over the doorknob, and then snort. “Wow. Testy, aren’t we? Someone needs a narrator spa day.”

There’s a long, drawn-out sigh that echoes in the hallway, clearly done with your antics.

“I’m just saying,” you add with a shrug, “I’ve been through a lot today. I feel like a little sass is warranted.” You push open the door with an exaggerated flourish, muttering, “I swear, if Bucky’s standing there with some dramatic lighting or a tragic backstory about Yasmine, I’m out.”

The narrator doesn’t respond, probably because they’re off somewhere wishing they had another job. You step through the doors, bracing yourself for whatever ridiculous fanfic nonsense is about to hit you next.

You step through the doors, fully expecting some serious businessman vibes from Bucky. Maybe sitting behind a giant mahogany desk, brooding over paperwork, casually looking out at the city skyline like the high-powered CEO you wrote him to be.

But no. Instead, you find Bucky on the couch, wrapped in what can only be described as the world's most excessive blanket burrito.

His hair’s a mess, his nose is red, and—oh my God—he’s holding a mug like it’s the last ounce of warmth in the universe. Surrounding him? A small fortress of tissues and cold medicine.

This is not CEO behavior!

His head slowly turns toward you, his eyes slightly puffy, and you swear there’s a pitiful sparkle in them. He sniffs dramatically, like a rom-com hero in his darkest hour.

“Y/N?”

Your brain stutters. “I—uh—what?”

“I think... I’m dying,” he whispers hoarsely.

You blink at him, completely dumbfounded. Oh, this is bad. This is really bad. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. It’s the “sick love interest” trope. Your life has officially hit peak cliché.

“Dying?” you repeat, hands on your hips. “Aren’t you, like, a super soldier? And a CEO? You manage hostile takeovers and boardroom battles, and now you’re... this?”

Bucky sniffles again, managing to look both miserable and somehow, annoyingly attractive. He shifts under the mountain of blankets and croaks out.

“I’ve never been this sick in my life.”

“You have a cold. A cold.” You cross your arms, staring down at the pathetic excuse of a man swaddled like a sad burrito.

He coughs dramatically, like the very act is draining his soul.

“It feels like... more than that.” His eyes meet yours, shining with exaggerated sorrow. “Can you... can you make me some tea?”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. This man is running an entire company, and right now, I’m supposed to be... what? His nanny?

“You’re serious?” you ask, incredulous.

Bucky nods weakly, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

“With honey. And lemon,” he rasps, voice full of the weight of his tragic illness. “Please.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes so hard you might strain something, and head to the kitchen.

“What happened to you, man? You’re supposed to be intimidating! A force to be reckoned with! What is this?”

He sneezes loudly from the couch, followed by a pitiful groan. “I’m emotionally compromised.”

You pause mid-step. “You’re emotionally compromised... because you have a cold?”

Another tragic sniffle. “It’s more than a cold. It’s the end.”

You fill the kettle, trying not to laugh. “The end? Of what? Your dignity?”

From the couch, Bucky coughs again—this time sounding even more over-the-top dramatic, like he’s trying out for a role in a period drama.

“I think it’s... fatal.”

“Oh my God, you’re unbelievable,” you mutter, pouring the hot water into a mug, stirring in honey and lemon. “How are you the same guy who intimidates boardrooms? This is embarrassing.”

Carrying the tea back to him, you set it on the table in front of him with a flourish. “Here’s your tea, Mr. CEO. I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“You’re... my hero.” He takes the mug with both hands, looking up at you with wide, grateful eyes.

You deadpan at him. “If you expect me to wipe your nose, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Bucky takes a sip of the tea, then stares at you like you just saved his entire existence.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You sigh, sitting on the edge of the coffee table, staring at him like a tired parent. “Is this what rich people do? Get over-the-top colds and drag innocent assistants into their melodrama?”

“It’s not just a cold. I’m suffering.” He pouts, snuggling deeper into his blanket cocoon, clearly loving every second of the attention.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m suffering too, buddy.”

Bucky coughs again, though you notice it’s less dramatic this time. “You’d do this for me, though... right?”

“Do what? Be your unpaid nursemaid?”

“Would you?” Bucky flashes a smirk, though it’s weak and slightly pathetic due to his current burrito state.

You sigh, feeling like you’ve officially reached rock bottom. “Sure, why not. What’s next? Should I bring you soup and read you a bedtime story?”

His eyes light up. “Could you bring me soup?”

You throw your hands in the air, standing up in mock surrender. “Oh my God, I walked right into that one.”

From the couch, Bucky manages to look even more pitiful. “Please?”

“I swear, if this turns into a romantic montage, I’m jumping out the window.” You groan dramatically, heading back to the kitchen.

Somewhere, the narrator’s voice hums, clearly enjoying this too much. "And so, Y/N found herself drawn into a reluctant role of caretaker, tending to Bucky's every need—"

“OH MY GOD, NO!” you shout to the ceiling. “Not this trope! Why is this happening?!”

Bucky, now fully alert, blinks at you. "Who... are you shouting at?”

The narrator sighs dramatically. “You’re really ruining the ambiance.”

Bucky's eyes narrow, looking around the room as if someone's going to pop out of the walls. "Seriously, who are you talking to?”

“GOOD,” you snap, ladling soup into a bowl. “Ambiance is overrated.”

Bucky frowns, staring at you like you've completely lost it. "You're... really freaking me out right now."

You mutter under your breath, "Join the club, pal.”

As you return with the soup, you place it in front of Bucky, who looks up at you with the sad puppy eyes again. “Thanks for taking care of me, Y/N.”

“This is my life now, isn’t it? Fanfic sick-nurse tropes and soup.” You groan, staring at the ceiling.

The narrator hums again. “Exactly.”

You dramatically flop down on the couch next to Bucky. “Next time, just write me into an action scene. I miss action Bucky.”

“Action Bucky’s tired. Let CEO Bucky have his moment.”

You groan again, burying your face in a pillow. This fanfic is literally trying to kill me.

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stariikis · 10 months ago

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𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤 | 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 | 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬 01

synopsis ; when riki's having a hard time with his school work, you decide to buy him strawberry milk. not knowing that it's the milk flavour (and the colour) he despises most. if you're wondering, yes, this is in the same world as my chaptered fic, 'you in the rain', and is one of the bonus chapters i have planned. you can check out the fic here.

Perhaps your presence, a constant voice peeping up from across the library table, disturbs Riki more than he would dare to admit.

Because the way he briefly glances up at you before groaning and pinching his nose-bridge… it’s probably not a good sign, is it? He frowns in concentration, starting to do his anxious tick you’ve recently noticed is a bad habit of his, clicking and unclicking his 0.5 ballpoint pen. Loudly. And then he twirls the pen over all four of his fingers, confusion evident over all his features.

“I don’t get it,” he huffs, looking mildly annoyed with himself. Opposite of him, you watch as his stare on the Math worksheet threatens to combust it into flames. You should be used to this, after accompanying him here so many times just to watch him get frustrated over the questions he can’t do.

Okay, maybe it’s only been a few days, but it feels like a lifetime of awkwardly sitting around, unable to help him because you can’t be asked to solve for x even if your life depends on it. Perhaps you’re just not cut out to be Nishimura Riki’s study companion. Your eyes trail back up from the worksheet (that looks like utter gibberish to you), and analyse your friend’s face instead.

And then a wave of sadness washes over you. He’s in the advanced Maths class, filling out an advanced Maths worksheet. The fact that he’s able to understand at least half of the foreign language of algebra is already stunning to you. Anything above a C would please you, in fact. But you understand. You understand him with all the hours you spent revising the new vocabulary in English class. You understand with the blood, sweat and tears you poured out over a difficult type of sentence structure you just could not grasp.

It always hurts to be practically terrible at things you’re supposed to be the best at.

“I wish I could help,” you say uneasily, taking another glance at the problem Riki’s stuck at, and wishing you didn’t. It’s a humbling experience, to say the least. “But, um, I can’t even understand what the question is asking for.”

The cogs in Riki’s brain seem to churn for a while, before the fire goes out once more and the light leaves his eyes. “Nope. I really don’t get it.”

You tilt your head at him, trying to exude as much comforting empathy as you can. Apparently the kind look in your eyes must be either terrifying or out-of-character, and Riki just lets his eyes travel around your face in judgement. You’d like to believe it’s the friendly type of judgement and not the, you actually look really stupid kind of judgement.

But it’s Riki, so who knows? He could very well still be lost in his own world of complicated formulas and mental equations, numbers of different universes coming together into his mind like they’re meant to be. That’s at least how it sounds like when Riki talks about Maths.

Wanting to leave him alone to his own thoughts, you pack up your things and head out to the nearby convenience store. Riki doesn’t bat an eyelid, he’s pretty used to you quitting halfway through a study session as well, and he probably needs you out of the way anyway. To solve the biggest mystery of the universe on that piece of paper.

Once you step foot into the store, you make an instant beeline for the chilled drinks section, gracing your eyes with the marvellous selection of flavoured packet drinks and plastic milk bottles. Perhaps Riki would like one of those to drink on while he studies. You always seem to focus better with a sweet drink in one hand and a pen twirling around in the other.

The array of choices stuns you for a moment, though, and with a pang you realise you don’t know Riki’s favourite milk flavour. He’s never mentioned it before. In fact he doesn’t talk much about himself to you. Or, according to Jungwon, to anyone. You’re not sure if he’s closed off on purpose, or he’s just quiet in nature. To you, they’re two very, very different things.

Well, it wouldn’t hurt to buy Riki your favourite flavour, would it? Anyway, it would give you a chance to find out what he really likes, and conversation could possibly start to flow from there. It’s like a mastermind plan, the way you grin mischievously to yourself and snag the cheapest bottle of strawberry milk you see. Because, unfortunately for you, you’re a student. Fashionably broke.

When you get back to the library, Riki stares at you in bewilderment as you walk back to his study corner and proceed to dump a singular plastic bag with two bottles of strawberry milk sitting inside it. Lips pursed together in curiosity (another one of his cute little habits that you can’t help but to notice because they’re literally right in front of your face), Riki leans over and peers into the bag.

He raises his eyebrows, sits back down, and pulls one of his legs over the other.

“How did you know I like pink things?” he whispers, eyes the widest you’ve ever seen them. “And that strawberry milk’s my favourite milk flavour?”

“Really?” You cannot believe, by lucky chance, you’ve actually guessed it right. And you’re matching with him, and you guys can go buy more strawberry milk together in the future… and…

”What’s strawberry milk in Chinese?”

You snap out of your thoughts and watch intently as he unwraps one of the plastic straws and pokes it carefully into his drink.

“草莓牛奶”

“你喜欢，是吗?” (you like it, right?) Riki smiles slightly and takes a sip. For some reason his facial features stiffen for a second and he looks like he’s trying not to make a face.

You chuckle softly at his expression. “是. 哇，你的中文真棒!” (Yes. Wow, your Chinese is so good!)

“因为我在喝…” (because I’m drinking…) He pauses for a while, trying to recall the words. “你最喜欢的草莓牛奶.” (your favourite strawberry milk).

Your cheeks heat up almost immediately and the hot feeling doesn’t fade for a good long while, even as the librarian scolds the both of you for bringing food and drink into the library and as you walk back home alone after Riki claims with an urgent look that he has somewhere to be, dumping his half-full strawberry milk in the trash.

It’s not until a week later you find out from an astonished and very bemused Jungwon that Riki absolutely hates strawberry milk and the colour pink, even though the boy has been gifting you the pinkest of milks every day since that day, claiming he loves it; claiming it’s the most refreshing drink he’s ever tasted.

That afternoon, when you walk back into class after lunch, you see a bottle of banana milk sitting atop your desk, and you can’t help but to laugh to yourself.

if you're not here from 'you in the rain', pleasee go give it a read if you're a taylor fan or when i fly towards you lover! tysm for reading - stariikis ☆

synopsis ; based on the Chinese Drama, 'When I Fly Towards You', in which you, a going-on-high-school English genius named Huang Yuting meets the Mathematics genius of the 10th grade, Nishimura Riki, underneath the rain.

taglist (open)

@laylasmother @seunnimg @natalunae @enwonz @tomomorin

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fanfic-lover-girl · 9 months ago

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Double Standards: Malfoys vs Weasleys Edition

I'm on a roll, baby! TWO double standards today! All from book 4!

Nepotism/Favoritism

Moody’s magical eye spun around to stare at Ron; Ron looked extremely apprehensive, but after a moment Moody smiled – the first time Harry had seen him do so. ‘You’ll be Arthur Weasley’s son, eh?’ Moody said. ‘Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago …”

. . . my husband, Arthur, has just managed to get prime tickets through his connections at the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

Fudge, who wasn’t listening, said, “Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He’s here as my guest.”

Bonus from Book 5

Harry distinctly heard the gentle clinking of what sounded like a full pocket of gold. ‘Really, just because you are Dumbledore’s favourite boy, you must not expect the same indulgence from the rest of us … shall we go up to your office, then, Minister?’

What I find most notable here is the difference in nature between the scenarios. The Malfoys' nepotism is more quid pro quo. Charity donations and political bribery. Whereas Authur Weasley seems to have used his position to help people like the Bagmans skirt the law. A government official helps another official's relative with a sketchy situation and in return, he gets expensive, premier seats?! Sounds a bit corrupt to me.

But hardly anyone in HP fandom has an issue with nepotism when the Weasleys do it. Nope, it's only bad when the rich Malfoys do it, duh!

Discrimination

Mum’s writing to the Muggles to ask you to stay. We’re coming for you whether the Muggles like it or not, you can’t miss the World Cup, only Mum and Dad reckon it’s better if we pretend to ask their permission first. Ron, it’s all OK, the Muggles say I can come.

Mr Malfoy’s eyes had returned to Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him. Harry knew exactly what was making Mr Malfoy’s lip curl. The Malfoys prided themselves on being pure-bloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione, second-class.

Bonus: Weasley hypocrisy

“That’s sick,” Ron muttered, watching the smallest Muggle child, who had begun to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. “That is really sick…”

What I found very fascinating is how the discrimination is presented. The Weasleys' disgusting prejudice towards muggles is very casual. It's treated as normal and acceptable: for heaven's sake, Harry (our wonderful hero) even participates in dehumanizing his relatives. I bet most HP readers don't even bat an eye - JKR has trained the reader to accept muggle dehumanization. Yet, what I find strange is that Harry has to literally spell out the Malfoy's distaste for Hermione. Why is JKR wasting her time with this? By book 4, we already know how the Malfoys feel about Hermione. I think it's another indicator of JKR's crappy writing.

Anyway, after we see the appalling way the Weasleys treat the Durselys and the Grangers, JKR expects her readers to swallow Ron acting as a moral compass when he sees the muggle family being tortured? Please.

People need to remember that we are the muggles. Would you prefer the Malfoys who hate all things muggle and mainly want their world to be separate from muggles and keep to themselves (which Draco said way back in book 1 when he met Harry)?? Or would you prefer the Weasleys who have little respect for muggles and have little qualms about invading your home and bodily autonomy?

As a black woman, I prefer a KKK racist who lives far away from me and who I will probably never see in my lifetime. Compared to a white liberal who causally asks me degrading questions every day like why my English is so good when I am from Jamaica. Or anyone else for that matter who makes me feel insecure about my culture and abilities. All under the guise of being a so-called ally.

Truly, between the Malfoys and Weasleys, who has caused muggles more harm on screen or on paper?? I don't know how many people Lucius hurt as a DE besides the poor Roberts family but given JKR treats muggles as NPCs in her books, I guess those rando people Lucius may have killed don't matter :(. And why were muggles there anyway?! At a wizarding event?! That poor Mr. Roberts being treated worse than a dog by people who are supposed to be pro-muggle leaning.

At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr Roberts’s front door. “Obliviate!” he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr Roberts. “Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy.”

Sigh. Muggles deserved better. Forget Draco calling Hermione a mudblood. Like that slur means anything to Hermione anyway. Or has any meaningful impact. Muggles are the true victims in these books.

#double standards #weasley family #malfoy family #weasleys vs malfoys #anti weasleys #lucius malfoy #authur weasley #harry potter series #goblet of fire #nepotism #muggle and muggleborn discrimination #muggles are the true victims of hp #muggles deserved better #anti jkr #ron weasley critical #harry james potter critical

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era404-skib · 7 months ago

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A Bit Disappointed with the Latest Episode

I feel like it was, in the nicest way possible, badly written. It feels all OOOOH SHITTTT when you first watch it but you realise the obvious "Wait, the fuck is this" moments after a bit of time to ruminate.

-○ Inconsistencies ○-

What. Has. Happened?! The Titans were fast and quick to fight previously, and they knew what they were doing, but now they don't??? That yellow-green energy ball that knocked TTV down? He could've batted it away with his sword right back to where it came from the same as how TCam later bats away the purple-yellow energy with the entrapper arm.

Then TTV lunges for him midair. Dont??? You can lunge from behind or teleport your hands onto him??? Cut off his jetpack like you are actually smart instead of leaving it to TSpeaker later??? I don't this this is TTVs fault either, it was just written poorly.

Titan Speaker and Camera fight pretty greatly except for when the muscle mutant appears on his shoulder. Keep blasting and just take him off and crush him in your hand! The mutant is about the size of a Strider Toilet and in the VERY FIRST EPISODE that TCam debuted in he picks up a strider and crushes it with ease. Can't be much different here.

"WAIT!!! YOU NEED ME!!!!!" should've said that shit EARLIER before you were fried and stripped of your upgrades. A big toilet that can ram and shoot slow energy balls is of no use against the astros. Cringed hard at that

TTV is well able to core beam down the flying toilets with the cargo but not obliterate GT like he did to the Scientist??? The fuck??? DFB this needs improvement

I know this is very nitpicky but I didn't like TTV's face at the end. Should be a >:( or even a D:< in the VCR font but nope.

-○ Powerscaling ○-

The Titans, as previously pointed out, are much slower compared to the previous few episodes. What's more, it just seems to a constant "Oh, my new guy is better" between the sides, except the Alliance hasn't been getting any improvement since TTVs return. Oh, now there's a secret agent which Fucking Gets your 2 Elites. You can't hurt him btw. Oh, now theres an overpowered Astro Toilet which can launch a titan that's caught in the mere blast radius. You can't hurt him btw. Oh, now GT is an indestructible hunk of meat that can be given the beating of a lifetime but still severely damages your titans and doesnt die. You can't hurt him btw. Ridiculous.

The jetpack he pulled out of his ass is the stupidest thing I've ever seen in the series. What the fuck??? This is like when kids play with eachother as their OC's and "Oh, you're about to kill mine, but it has a sudden get out of jail free card and there's nothing you can do". Fuck off. If more of this shit gets pulled the series is gonna jump the shark.

At this rate I think DFB is setting it up so that it's Secret Agent vs Astros vs Skibidis. Unless he gives us a new overpowered race or something, and j don't even want that. Have it be a fair but tough fight between them all.

#eratags: skib #ramblin #Dont take this personally

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augustjustice · 2 years ago

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Battle Scars

AO3 Link

Eddie was several long, lovely moments into his newest favorite pastime–kissing Steve fucking Harrington.

And wasn’t that just the revelation to end all revelations? Sure, spring break had brought on murder accusations and his near death by interdimensional bat creatures, with a heaping helping of trauma on the side and a likely lifetime of nightmares to go along with it.

But he had also gotten Steve out of the bargain. A little bit of karmic retribution, Eddie figured, after all the suffering the universe had put him through.

And he wasn’t complaining on that front, not with Steve’s tongue currently swiping against the roof of his mouth, his hand warm against the side of Eddie’s face as he tilted his chin up to deepen the kiss even further.

Nope, no complaints here. Not even a little bit.

The rumors that had circled the halls of Hawkins High were true. Steve was an excellent kisser, not least of all because he seemed so totally into it. Technique aside–great, in Eddie’s humble opinion–he kissed with everything he had, and there were times Eddie could swear he could feel him smiling into the kiss.

Like right now, with Eddie pinned beneath him into his own threadbare mattress, I Was Made for Loving You rumbling lowly in the background.

It was a fucking cliché, Eddie got that, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t also checking off about three or four categories on his private bucket list, including some items he hadn’t even realized he cared about until just now.

Hands dipping lower and lower, Steve suddenly rucked up the hem of Eddie’s shirt, exposing his abdomen. Against his will, Eddie felt himself tense, and Steve's hand automatically stilled. Steve pulled back far enough to look at him. A faint line appeared between his eyebrows, brown eyes hazy but concerned. Eddie let out a frustrated huff at the sudden loss of Steve’s mouth.

“This okay?” Steve asked, touch gentle as his fingers resumed their path, stroking over Eddie’s skin.

Eddie couldn’t help but shudder at the sensation.

“Yeah, man, it’s just–” he squeezed his eyes shut for a second, inhaling through his nose to fight down the sudden ridiculous impulse to cry.

He found himself doing that a lot, lately.

Blinking his eyes back open to meet Steve’s gaze head on, Eddie gestured vaguely down towards the raised, pinkish scars that littered his stomach, disappearing under his shirt to sprawl up his chest.

“...ya know?”

The words came out a mumble, Eddie pulling a strand of hair to his mouth to nervously chew at.

Steve’s pretty pink lips had drawn into a thin line. Eddie wished he hadn’t given himself away so he could be kissing them instead of whatever the fuck they were doing now.

Steve gave a nod, a quick jerk of his chin.

“Sure, Eds. I get it.”

He sat back, a swift movement, and Eddie had to tamp down the impulse to wrap a hand around his wrist to stop him and say something incredibly stupid, like Please don’t go.

Then Steve reached for the collar of his shirt and pulled his navy polo up and over his head.

It wasn’t anything Eddie hadn’t seen before, not after their sojourn into the Upside Down, but Eddie’s breath still caught in his chest as the sight of Steve Harrington looming shirtless above him.

Moonlight spilled over the peaks and valleys of his muscled pecs, into the wiry, dark tangle of his chest hair, and…against the mess of scars scratched into his own belly.

Steve took Eddie’s hand, pressing it into the rough, uneven flesh on his side, and shot Eddie a look, eyebrows raised. It was the kind of expression that would have been followed by one of Steve’s patent, bitchy Hello? Obviously comments in a quieter, daylight moment.

The thought made Eddie’s lips twitch upward into a smile.

“I get it,” Steve repeated firmly.

It was his turn to shiver as Eddie gently brushed his fingertips against his skin.

Eddie cocked his head to one side, studying them.

On Steve, the scars didn’t look ugly. They seemed…fitting. Badges of honor, warrior’s wounds.

“Yeah,” he murmured, mesmerized and breathless, “guess you do, don’t you?”

The warmth came back into Steve’s eyes, then, spreading into the curve of his lips as he peered down at Eddie. He pressed that smile against Eddie’s mouth again, catching his bottom lip between his teeth as Eddie continued rubbing circles into his stomach.

“Can I take your shirt off now?” Steve asked, words rough and muffled as he breathed them out against Eddie’s cheek.

Eddie’s eyes crinkled at the corners, grin spreading wide.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he teased, “no need to get so impatient.”

Steve pinched him just below the ribcage.

“Asshole.”

“You like it,” Eddie taunted as Steve slid his hands up under his t-shirt, pushing the fabric up far enough to expose Eddie’s chest

“Wow, dude, you caught me,” Steve said drily, the words undercut by the soft caress of his mouth over the place Eddie’s left nipple once had been.

Eddie hummed, contemplative, as Steve continued pressing kisses into his mottled skin, drinking in the sight of it.

“They are kinda badass, aren’t they?”

The question gave Steve pause, his lips stilling in their task, the exact opposite of what Eddie wanted. Worry washed over him, afraid that now, of all times, he had managed to say the wrong thing.

“I mean…yeah, sure,” Steve agreed, voice too quiet, “they’re badass, or metal, or whatever, but mostly they’re a sign that…”

Steve trailed off as his hand, following the path of his mouth, trailed over the massive scar littering Eddie’s left side.

The silence stretched on.

“That what, Stevie?” Eddie prompted when he couldn’t stand the question hanging in the air between them anymore.

Steve looked at him, and if his eyes shone, just a little in the low light, Eddie didn’t mention it.

“That you lived.”

He said it with conviction, like it was so important, that the words made Eddie draw in a shaky breath. Then he gave Steve a soft smile.

“We lived.” Eddie pressed his hand against the matching scars around Steve’s abdomen again. “We made it, Harrington. You and me. The kids. The girls. All of us.”

Steve pressed another kiss into Eddie’s skin, the feeling a bit muted from the scar tissue. Eddie minded less than he usually did.

“You’re beautiful, Eddie Munson,” Steve murmured.

And when Eddie abruptly rolled him over so he could cup Steve’s face–brush his hand over the silvery scars around his throat, pet at the faint gash trailing down from his left eyebrow, swipe his thumb against the barely visible smooth patch under his lip–there was only one thing he could really say.

“And so are you, Steve Harrington. And so are you.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #scars #my fic #my stuff #my things #one-shot #ficlet

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snowbatsims · 1 year ago

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VAMPIRE INTERMISSION #4, part 3

After most of the the party guests had left, only one remained: Maria-Elise, mother of Morten. She wanted to move in. Time to discuss.

BAT: ZZZZZZzzzZzZZzZZz

EINARR: Don't mind Bat. EINARR: So! You wanted to move in? MARIA: That I did! EINARR: Why? If I may ask... MARIA: Well, I think I'm getting a bit too old to live on my own. And I trust you guys to not eat me.

EINARR: Old? You? Maria-Elise Torsteinsdóttir, you're speaking to a man nearly twenty lifetimes old, MARIA: Well, I'm still a bit old for a human. EINARR: Fair enough! EINARR: And yeah - personally I kind of swore an oath to never hurt Morten's living relatives, he'll only have you for so long. EINARR: Actually, how long did you mortals live these days?

MARIA: See, that's the thing! MARIA: I am getting concerningly close to my Elder stage. I'm kinda Rune's age, remember? If I weren't an elder already, I will be soon! MARIA: And then after that, who knows how long my elderdom will be? EINARR: Oh! MORTEN: Oh......

MORTEN: THAT'S IT, she's living with us!! RUNE: Yeah sure, I won't mind- MORTEN: I am NOT letting MY MAMMA randomly die of old age off screen. Nope, not happening!! MORTEN: I will renovate Kvikindi's old room for her all by myself if I have to!! EINARR: Hah, go for it, I won't stop you. Kvikindi moved out years ago, anyway.

RUNE: I'll help! EINARR: I would gladly help as well. RUNE: Yeah!! It will be great to have a human in this house again! MARIA: Oh, thank you guys! EINARR: We have never had a human living in this house, Rune. Unless you count the ghosts, who are by definition no longer alive. RUNE: Ah right... Wait, ghosts? EINARR: You didn't notice our ghosts yet? RUNE: No! MARIA: Ghosts?

MARIA: I mean, I knew this house was haunted, but only by vampires! BAT: You mean us???? MORTEN: Oh hey you're awake. EINARR: Welcome back, child. EINARR: And yes, dóttir, this house is quite haunted by ghosts. Sorry to say. MARIA: I mean, I don't know why I'm so surprised! How do you even deal with the ghosts?

BAT: We don't. They're friends.

BAT: Sometimes, we hear them making funny noises in the walls. And moaning... So much moaning. And tapping! Random tapping, going *tip tip tip* on the tables and windows and walls, BAT: Once one of them grabbed my shoulders, and shrieked loudly into my ears the most ghastliest noise! BAT: But that's just their way of saying hello, you know? :D RUNE: And you never told me??? BAT: Of course I didn't. You'd shit your pants. RUNE: :/ BAT: And hey, not to mention that time-

MORTEN: Bat I SWEAR to all of Einarr's gods that if you literally end up scaring my own mother from moving in with us, I am stealing uncle Sigurd's vampire slaying kit- BAT: Wow, Mort. Chill. No you won't.

MARIA: No, I appreciate the honesty. I think it'll be fine. It's just ghosts. Maybe I won't even notice them... just like Rune. BAT: See? :D MORTEN: ...

RUNE: Well!! Enough about ghosts! How about we just show her around? Like the room we were thinking of? MARIA: That would be wonderful, thank you.

MARIA: Yeah... yeah! Sure! MARIA: I can work with this space.

RUNE: Well hey, if you need any help moving your stuff, we're right here! MARIA: Yes. Thank you. Would it be too much trouble to also change the wallpaper in here? It's a bit too dark for my taste. RUNE: Not at all!

MORTEN: You sure you won't mind living in a house full of vampires? MORTEN: I mean, Einarr said he won't hurt you, but Rune has been known to snack on his family members - RUNE: Excuse me, I always asked them first. MORTEN: Alright, Rune's probably fine too. But you know Bat has been really fond of your blood. BAT: snnzzzzZZ Z Z MARIA: Yeah. MARIA: But you guys cannot enter without invitation, right? I'll just lock my bedroom door every night. MORTEN: Hah. Smart.

MORTEN: Welcome to the house, mom.

And so, she moved in.

#gameplay #vampire intermissions #haha yep sorry for the hiatus LOL #just realized i had most of these screenies already. just had to write #hope at least someone other than me enjoys this haha

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overnightheartbeats · 6 months ago

Note

❛Nope, I wouldn’t dream of ditching you for any watermelon head.❜ Imaginary husband or not. Besides, Laurel generally didn’t think she was cut out for marriage anyway, so that probably solved half of this hypothetical. She nodded in agreement with their in-office plan, playfully saluting him. ❛Alrighty you got it, I’ll take care of the batting eye lashes and getting the badge portion.❜ It should be easy enough.

As she drove, Laurel listened to him list off the perks. It hadn’t occurred to her, how much time they spent together. It just seemed so normal, though maybe for them it was also that they didn’t really have family. She did, sort of. It was just her dad, but he had taken a step back to give her space to 'grow and be an adult', whatever that meant. So, really - she was on her own, and she had found a home in this friendship. ❛Okay, fair. I guess I just hadn't really thought about those things as girlfriend perks, look at you. Getting the deal of a lifetime here, especially me giving up bathroom cabinet space. But, then I crash at your place - okay yep, we're even.❜ Some of the things, she was repeating what he was saying, trying to process the words. If only dating was actually this easy. ❛For a room full of agents, they really can't distinguish friends and couples.❜ Or maybe, her and Eli just didn't make it easy to distinguish.

Laurel's amusement only grew with the newest prompt. Her curiosity was immediately piqued. ❛Other Earths, I could see that. I mean, we get along and we work well together. I think tying the knot on a different Earth is not far-fetched. So, your Earth 24 self wants a bunch of kids? Oh, just thinking of all those kids...if we could, I would send a care package to the other me. Alright, I'm listening.❜ It seemed out of the blue, but random questions and scenarios is where they thrived. ❛Blonde and blue eyes, the blonde would be a shock to be honest. My forehead frown, and your long eyelashes for sure. It'd be so nice if they got your eyes, much better than mine.❜ Maybe she was getting carried away thinking of their best features, how the imaginary kids would come out. She caught the way he pointed at her, and Laurel could only shake her head, joining in on the laughter. ❛But only when you're bossy, it's amusing. I hate it when others do it. Hm, maybe you should bring it out more often. I'm curious to see how that goes.❜ Laurel wasn't sure if the ride got shorter each time, or if their conversations just made time fly by, but it only took a few more minutes for them to reach the antique shop he requested. Once the car was parked, she unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped outside. ❛Okay bossy man, lead the way.❜

That plan sounded good to him. Of course, they didn't leave room for said husband to have a say but whatever he was imaginary anyway. ❛I like that. I feel better about it now. You're not gonna ditch me for watermelon head. ❜ he laughed as she made a noticeable expression and covered his face. ❛Bat those eyelashes his way. If anyone says anything it'll just be seen as he went into the archives. ❜

❛When we go to those boring mandated bureau parties you're my date and everyone thinks you and I are a thing. So, yeah I think I get the girlfriend perk. We also have Sunday dinners like the elderly people we are. Oh and we go to the park festivals. I would say bars but we only go when we want to go play darts and you basically drink my shots. How could I forget this one, you often crash at my place and you have half of my shit in your bathroom cabinets. So, pretty much welcome to dating. ❜ this was the easiest rib he ever had done. He hadn't realized how much they each were part of their lives until he listed it off. They were never not together which should have felt weird but it felt nice. Maybe in another world they were currently dating. ❛Imagine Earth 24 us being married and having a bunch of kids or something? Or Earth 32 us being old people with great grandkids. What do you think our offspring would look like? Go with me here. It'd be wild if they were blonde and blue eyed. They'd have your forehead frown.❜ he laughed as he could imagine it. His eyes sparkled and pointed at her. ❛See. You like bossy. It sounds like you want me to bring it out often. Noted. ❜

#martieshub #as you should!! 👀👀👀 it's definitely on my mind too #me currently finding ways to lead them to the nearest kitchen cabinet in any of their threads #haha give them a couple of years and she'll get exclusive looks into this side of him!!#they're just both having so much fun :')#it's too cute!#clearly my earlier tags are old but just know i was trying to secure their bag for a kitchen cabinet moment hahaha

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carewyncromwell · 2 years ago

Photo

“Raise a glass to freedom, Something they can never take away, No matter what they tell you... (Someone will come running to take you home...) Raise a glass to all of us -- Tomorrow there'll be more of us, Telling the story of tonight! (Out of the shadows...) The morning is breaking, (They'll tell the story of tonight!) And all is new -- (All is new) All is new! It's only a matter of time...”

~“Found/Tonight” by Ben Platt and Lin-Manuel Miranda

x~x~x~x

featuring Atticus Grimsley @cursebreakerfarrier and Bartholomew “Bat” Varney @carewyncromwell, and also referencing Danny Gibson @catohphm, Jackson Knightly, Rex Brokenshire, and Teddy, Adelia, Bertie, Violet, and Holly Selwyn-Ellison @thatravenpuffwitch

x~x~x~x

It was a significant event in 1915 when Atticus Grimsley finally retired from the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. His successor ended up being one of Atticus’s former students, a well-respected Auror named Dan Gibson, who was soon embraced by the remaining faculty and students just as Atticus had been when he’d first arrived. Not that Atticus had had any doubts -- Danny had always been a very bright lad, and it was good to see him prosper.

Even in retirement, however, Atticus continued to visit Hogsmeade village regularly. Although yes, it was a good way for him to catch up with his former work colleagues and students, all those who knew Atticus knew the main reason was so that Atticus could spend quality time with his closest companion -- the vampire called Bartholomew Varney.

Varney, affectionately called “Bat” by just about everyone, was an oddity among his kind. Whereas many vampires actively tried to cloister themselves away in colonies far away from humans so as to not provoke their blood lust, Bat spent his days meditating in the attic of Honeydukes’ Sweet Shop and spent his nights wandering through the village. There he’d enjoy the atmosphere, go shopping, and even engage with those precious few students from the neighboring school who earned his esteem enough to merit a lecture in History of Magic or Potions. And, of course, he’d talk and laugh with “Grim,” as he affectionately called Atticus, for hours on end, well into the night and more warmly than with anyone else. Then they’d often leave the village together, still talking avidly, with Bat returning to Honeydukes in the wee hours of the morning, just before sunrise.

They were a funny pair, Bat Varney and Atticus Grimsley -- funnier still, many thought, as Atticus got older and grayer and Bat remained ever youthful in look, even despite his hollowed-out eyes and sickly pale complexion. There were points where Bat almost treated Atticus like his aging uncle, in how he’d help his compatriot up out of his chair, and yet there were other times they acted almost like a couple, in how Bat would help Atticus put his coat back on, before going back outside. And still even throughout all that, regardless of the little gestures here and there, every day they smiled, laughed, teased, debated, entertained, and confided in each other like nothing less than the very best of friends.

One of these many nights Atticus and Bat spent together was in the fall of 1927, in the height of the so-called “roaring 20′s.” Atticus had come down with a rather nasty chest cold, so Bat had swung by his cottage in Cumbria to cheer his friend up and brew him some proper Pepper-up Potions, along with the usual Sleeping Draught. Bat clearly took great pleasure in the opportunity to be useful to his old friend -- he was even humming to himself as he set about chopping up the mandrake root on Atticus’s kitchen counter.

“Joy to the world -- the Lord is come!

Let earth receive her King...”

Atticus couldn’t fight back the tired grin winding its way onto his face. “Singing Christmas carols? Come now, Bat, we’ve not even passed October yet...”

“Mayhaps if Halloween developed some proper carols of its own, I could sing those instead,” Bat called over playfully from the next room. “Until then, I shall just have to enjoy the best time of the year a bit early -- goodness knows those two months will fly by soon enough...”

Atticus shook his head amusedly. It was something he regretted, though, when his sinuses began to pound behind his eyes angrily -- the older man flopped back down onto his pillows with a low groan.

Bat strolled through the open door of Atticus’s room, a tray in his hands. Stacked haphazardly on it was a full tea service, a goblet with white steam coming off of it, and two leather-bound books. There was also a newspaper folded under Bat’s arm -- no doubt the most recent edition of the Evening Prophet -- and the familiar white stick of a Blood Pop sticking out of his mouth.

“Hang in there, Grim,” he said with a slightly wry, but still rather gentle expression. “I’m coming.”

He put the tray, books, and newspaper down on Atticus’s side table and immediately moved to Atticus’s bedside, the steaming goblet in hand.

“Can you sit up on your own?” he asked.

Atticus coughed loudly, only to hold his head at the pain that shot through as a result. “Of course I can -- I’m not that infirm...”

The over-sixty-year-old man eased himself up into a seated position in bed. Atticus’s stubbornness only served to make Bat grin that bit more toothily around his Blood Pop.

“What’s that smirk for?” Atticus asked with a soft grunt as he adjusted himself so he could lean back against his headboard.

Bat’s grin only broadened. “Nothing. Just thinking you haven’t changed a bit.”

Atticus gave a loud, sarcastic laugh. “Rubbish. The very first thing out of your mouth when you arrived was that it looked like I’d grown another gray hair.”

It was a comment that had hurt more than Atticus would’ve ever admitted. He hated knowing he was getting older. Ironically it was something he’d never paid much mind to before -- he’d found himself losing track of his own birthdays even back when he was still a boy -- but since befriending Bat, Atticus had become much more aware of it. The ex-professor knew that Bat had had to disappear from his loved ones’ lives, just to keep his sanity in the face of watching them shrivel up and die before his eyes while he stayed the same. And yet Bat was staying by Atticus, even as he aged. And once he’d retired, Atticus found himself somewhat adrift without the consistent, relentless schedule of teaching. It had certainly been nice to have so much time to himself at the start, but it was also a bit terrifying, to have this thing that had defined so much of his life suddenly be gone...to not be as quick or strong as he once was...to catch himself having to refresh himself on routine spells like Aguamenti, simply because he’d gotten out of the habit of using them...

With a chuckle, Bat sat down on the bed beside Atticus. He slid the smoking goblet into his hands, holding both of them around the piping-hot glass, no doubt to ensure Atticus had a secure grip on it before letting go. Atticus himself, however, couldn’t stop himself from staring down at their joined hands: Bat’s as strong as ever, no matter how sickly pale, over his own rosy, but age-spotted and wrinkled ones.

“You got it?” said Bat.

“Of course I’ve got it,” Atticus shot back, a bit more sourly than he meant, as he pulled his hands and the goblet out of Bat’s grip. “Stop treating me like an old man.”

He took a long sip, only to choke at the feeling of the hot liquid scalding his throat. Once he’d recovered, Atticus quickly finished it off, breathing in the steam as it poured through his stuffed-up nostrils, dissipating the mucus and phlegm clogging up his sinuses.

“I’m the old man out of the two of us, Grim.”

When Atticus looked up at Bat again, the vampire’s expression had lost the smile, becoming a bit more serious. The ex-professor averted his eyes down to the still smoking goblet.

“Yes, obviously,” Atticus said uncomfortably, “but it doesn’t show on you. But I’m not that helpless, you know -- you don’t have to coddle me so much.”

“I’m doing that because you’re sick, Grim, not because you’re old.”

Bat considered Atticus for a moment. Then he gave a great suck to the Blood Pop in his mouth and, very tentatively, brought up a cold hand to Atticus’s forehead, so as to feel his temperature.

Atticus flushed a very dark red. “...B-Bat?”

Bat’s scarlet eyes were locked on his hand on Atticus’s forehead rather than Atticus’s face as he gave another loud slurp to the Blood Pop in his mouth.

“I won’t be able to stay into the morning,” he said lowly. “I’ve got to make sure you’ll be all right, before I leave.”

Atticus stared up at Bat, taken aback by just how serious he looked. He could feel his heart racing, and he tried desperately to will it into submission -- he knew Bat would be able to both hear and feel it, and the last thing he wanted was to needlessly antagonize his blood lust.

“I’m all right, Bat,” he murmured, his voice coming out oddly breathy. “I am.”

Bat gave another loud suck to the Blood Pop in his mouth as he looked at Atticus. Atticus could see red creeping in on the edge of his friend’s eyes and could tell he was having trouble, being so close to him -- and yet he powered through all the same.

“You will be,” he said softly. “I’ll make sure of that.”

Smoothing Atticus’s graying, sweat-soaked bangs from his face, Bat then closed his eyes and forcibly removed himself, retreating to the corner of the room so he could take his pewter flask out of the inside of his waistcoat and take a long swig. Then, taking several deep breaths, he chucked the spent white stick from his mouth, took a fresh Blood Pop out of his pocket, and stuck in his mouth before sweeping back toward the kitchen.

“I forgot,” he said in a noticeably brighter tone, “The eldest Honeydukes gave me some hazelnut chocolate scones for me to bring along for you.”

Atticus blinked. “Really? That was thoughtful of her.”

He shifted his gaze down to the tea service Bat had put out. The vampire had already prepared Atticus a cup of tea just the way he liked it, so the ex-professor gently picked it up and sipped it as he picked up the Evening Prophet next to the tray.

The tea smelled lovely. His nose was already clearing up nicely.

“Indeed,” Bat said amusedly. “She recalled your ‘voracious sweet tooth’ and thought you’d be the best test subject for her new recipe.”

Atticus bit back a laugh. “Considering the talent of the chocolatier in question, I’m sure it’ll be lovely.”

Taking another sip of his tea, he perused the front page. The headline at the top, however, dimmed the light in his expression significantly.

GELLERT GRINDELWALD TERRORIZES PARIS

Rally hosted by infamous Dark wizard ends in an explosion of magical flames only barely contained by French Aurors

‘First New York City and now Paris,’ thought Atticus grimly. ‘He’s getting bolder, if he feels brave enough to act out in such large cities, protected by such powerful magical ministries...’

“...working on a new caramel recipe, if you’d like to try that as well...”

“Mm,” said Atticus, only vaguely taking in what Bat had said. The article was holding his attention captive.

‘Thirty dead or wounded...a good chunk of them French Aurors who’d been purposefully lured to the event, just to be made an example out of...burned alive with a lethal casting of Protego Diabolica...’

The mental image of a dozen young men with faces like the wizards he used to work with at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement rippled over Atticus’s mind, making his stomach clench with nausea.

A clink to his left made Atticus straighten up sharply. Bat had returned with one of Madam Honeydukes’s scones and had just put the plate down on the tray beside the teapot.

“You’re going to lose your appetite, reading that,” Bat said lowly.

Atticus couldn’t tell if Bat was reproaching him or not -- it made him react a bit defensively.

“I want to know what’s going on in the world, Bat, whether I’m sick or not.”

To Atticus’s surprise, Bat’s expression actually softened.

“...I understand.”

He held out his hand expectantly.

“Hand me your cup -- I’ll pour you a new one.”

Atticus frowned. “I can do it my -- ”

“I know you can,” Bat cut him off smoothly. “But I want to do it.”

Atticus considered Bat for a moment, his eyes flitting down to his open hand. Then he relented, handing the empty cup over to Bat so that he could pour Atticus a new cup of tea and add in the proper amount of sugar and milk.

“It’s disgusting,” Atticus murmured.

Bat handed him the cup. “You mean Grindelwald and not the tea, I hope?”

“Yes, of course,” Atticus said quickly. His face then grew that bit grimmer. “...What he did to those Aurors -- to the city -- to his own supporters, just for not being loyal enough. And all in the name of ‘protecting’ the Wizarding World!” His blue eyes flared with anger. “It’s absolutely vile.”

Bat’s own scarlet eyes hardened significantly. “It is. As are all people like him.”

He picked up the empty potion goblet and strolled back out into the kitchen as if to go clean it out.

“Men like Grindelwald...they don’t see anyone else as truly human, unless they align perfectly with their demented world view. Unless they’re wizards, or white, or Protestant, or Pureblood, or whatever else they’ve decided elevates them over everyone else. And, of course, unless they likewise ascribe to the idea that those people are inherently superior, for that reason...for what does it matter if you’re the perfect Pureblood specimen, if you’re a ‘blood traitor’ that sees other people as just as human as you are?”

Bat’s voice, however level and quiet, betrayed a lot of resentment and righteousness, smoldering just under the surface.

Atticus’s eyes narrowed a bit as he nodded.

“For the life of me, I will never understand such people,” he said. “Though I suppose in a way, that’s probably a good thing.”

“It is,” agreed Bat. “One thing is for sure, though -- blokes like Grindelwald don’t stop until they’re forced to. Yes, the British Ministry was able to prevent Grindelwald from torching Paris, but they didn’t capture him. They didn’t incapacitate him. Therefore it’s only a matter of time before he does something else that’s much worse.”

Atticus took another sip of tea. As he did, however, something made him pause, his lips lingering on the cup. He skimmed the article one more time, before straightening up a bit to look out the doorframe toward the kitchen.

“...British Ministry?” he repeated with a raised eyebrow. “In the article, it says the French Aurors dealt with it.”

There was a very long silence. It was only punctured by the light clink and snap of Bat cleaning out the goblet and putting it back in the kitchen cabinet.

“Bat?” said Atticus.

Bat didn’t answer. Atticus’s frown deepened.

“Bat -- ”

“I heard you.”

Bat’s voice had become quieter and more detached. The sound troubled Atticus that bit more -- Bat only ever detached emotionally when he was upset. It made Atticus inch himself out of bed, supporting himself on the edge of his headboard as he straightened up and shuffled over to the doorframe.

He found Bat cleaning the kitchen, wiping the counter clean with a wet rag. His eyes were focused solely on what he was doing, so it was clearly busy work more than anything: something to distract him. He did stiffen ever-so-slightly when Atticus approached -- no matter how quiet Atticus might try to be, he could never sneak up on a vampire. Not that Atticus cared -- he had no interest in getting the drop on Bat. Instead he merely walked over to stand beside his friend, leaning on the edge of the counter and watching his pale, gaunt face as he stubbornly refused to look at him.

“Robert,” Atticus said a bit more gently.

The name had a visible impact on Bat. It made something flutter through his expression -- something more youthful and almost vulnerable -- to the point that it was almost like a boyish flush, bringing life back into his palid cheeks. He turned to Atticus very abruptly, his scarlet eyes seeming oddly rounder than before. It made the sharp, bright light in them shine more handsomely than ever -- more like a young man, rather than that of an old soul trapped in a young frame.

The handsomeness of Bat’s eyes didn’t falter even as he his expression turned much more evasive and hesitant.

“...The French Aurors at the event were all slaughtered,” Bat admitted softly at last. “The Aurors who saved Paris were from our department, in Britain. ...It’s something Minister Fawley doesn’t want circulated, when the British Ministry has been trying to keep its activity in other countries quiet.”

Atticus’s eyebrows furrowed. “...Well, yes, I suppose that’s understandable -- but if that’s true, then how are you aware of it? If you’ve heard of it from an outside source, then clearly it’s already being circulated -- ”

Bat looked Atticus straight-on in the eye, and Atticus’s words died in his throat. His eyes widened slowly.

“...They told you?” he whispered.

Bat inclined his head in something of a short nod, his scarlet eyes drifting away, up onto the kitchen window.

“But -- ” Atticus stammered, “ -- but if the Ministry told you, that means that they trust you with that kind of intelligence! And the only people that the Ministry of Magic would trust with that kind of intelligence would be people who work for them. Aurors, Unspeakables, investigators...”

“...And other such agents,” Bat finished off grimly. “Yes.”

Atticus stared at Bat for a moment. Then his eyes slowly lit up and his mouth spread into an incredulous smile.

“...You’re helping the Ministry fight Grindelwald?” he whispered.

“In a way,” Bat said uncomfortably. “I’m more an academic resource than anything. Adelia put me in contact with Minister Knightly several years back, and he sent me messages inquiring about certain things...asking me to put my ear to the ground in Knockturn Alley and such, among like-minded Dark wizards. Just try to sort out the source of Grindelwald’s new-found power, and what he might aim to do with it. Not that old Fawley’s been very forthcoming with help -- reckon it’s only because of the few contacts I worked with in the Department of Mysteries following up with me that I’ve gotten any updates since Knightly left office...”

Bat’s dismissiveness toward his work didn’t dampen Atticus’s smile one bit. On the contrary, the ex-professor was so delighted by it that he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and grabbing his compatriot’s shoulders. The affectionate gesture visibly startled Bat.

“Bat, that’s wonderful,” said Atticus. “With how much you’ve studied over the years...why, that kind of knowledge must be invaluable, to the fight against Grindelwald.”

His blue eyes sparkled with pride.

“It was brilliant of Ms. Selwyn-Ellison, to suggest you to the Minister. And so good of you, to do it...I know you’ve never much liked the Ministry, so you putting your differences with them aside, to fight Grindelwald -- it’s so good of you, to put the safety of others first.”

Red pricked at the edges of Bat’s eyes in response to Atticus’s proximity. Upon noticing it, Atticus’s smile flickered and died and he immediately backed away.

“Forgive me, I -- I forgot myself -- ”

To Atticus’s surprise, though, Bat didn’t distance himself further. On the contrary, he took the spent Blood Pop stick out of his mouth, replaced it, and then extended an arm so as to wrap it around Atticus and pull him up beside his chest. Bat buried his face right beside Atticus’s neck, while Atticus’s face landed right on Bat’s chest -- right beside the cursed, undead heart that pumped the blood Bat had to consume so regularly, just to keep his body and mind from going insane from blood lust...

“Bat?” said Atticus, startled.

The breaths that hit Atticus’s neck from Bat’s nose were as supernaturally cold as his hand as it anchored itself on the back of Atticus’s head.

“Thanks, Grim,” Bat murmured.

Atticus could hear the smile in his friend’s voice, and he relaxed a bit despite himself. It was a reaction most anyone else would’ve been shocked by, considering he currently had a vampire’s fangs mere inches from his neck.

But Atticus wasn’t afraid. Bat would never harm him. He would never harm anyone, unless it was to protect someone he loved...

Atticus heard Bat take a very shaky breath and could tell that he was struggling to restrain himself. Bringing a hand up to hold onto the back of Bat’s shirt, he gently pried himself out of Bat’s arms.

“Robert,” he said softly, “you should let go now.”

But Bat seemed oddly reluctant to let go, even though his fangs were lengthening. His eyes were shut tight as his hand tangled itself that bit more in the dark strands of Atticus’s hair.

“Not yet,” he rasped.

Atticus’s eyes grew softer still. “Robert...”

“I can do it,” he repeated, a bit shakily. “I can do it.”

He took a sip from his flask without even taking the Blood Pop out of his mouth. Then, ignoring the fangs still at the front of his mouth, he brought his head down to rest on top of Atticus’s.

“I want to remember,” the vampire murmured beside Atticus’s hair.

Atticus blinked. “Remember what?”

“What I’m fighting for, every time I go out and scout out information, for those Ministry sheep.”

Atticus’s lip twitched with a faintly exasperated frown. “I was one of those so-called ‘sheep,’ as you might recall -- as was Mr. Gibson, and as is Mr. Ellison.”

“Every flock needs a few sheepdogs around, to give them some direction,” Bat said dismissively.

“So says someone who turns into a dog on a regular basis, whenever he needs to shepherd the Selwyn-Ellison children back to school.”

Bat chuckled lowly as his long-fingered hand trailed through Atticus’s hair absently. The ex-professor felt his flush darken that bit more every time Bat’s cold fingertips grazed the back of his neck.

“You see, Grim?” he said softly. His set of four sharp, cat-like fangs glinted brightly as he smiled. “This is it. What I’m fighting for, right here.”

Atticus cocked an eyebrow. “Friendly banter?”

“You,” Bat corrected him. He closed his eyes as he grinned around the Blood Pop in his mouth. “When I’m with you, or Danny, or Rex, or Adelia, or Teddy, or Bertie or Vi or little Holly-berry...the Honeydukes family, and your students and mine...”

He opened his eyes again, smiling fully and handsomely no matter how monstrous his entirely scarlet eyes looked.

“...When I see you all live your lives, and can be part of them, even just in some small way...it’s like...I’m almost me, again. Who I was before. When I can talk about silly things with you -- solve your problems and make you smile...you make me feel alive. More alive than I have in a hundred and forty years.”

Atticus felt his heart swell in his chest, seeing such sincere joy in his friend’s face. When he’d first met Bat in Hogsmeade, he never could’ve imagined such a mysterious, reclusive vampire could smile like that -- such a warm smile, such soft and...well, beautiful. As beautiful as a sunrise...a sunrise this man would never be able to enjoy again, all because of his condition that made it so that everything around him would wither away, while he stayed exactly the same...

Bat felt happy -- he felt alive, because of Atticus. It was such an empowering, yet bittersweet feeling: like a bite of savory chocolate with a terribly harsh aftertaste. It made Atticus swallow back the lump in his throat and, after the shortest hesitation, throw out his hand and clutch the back of Bat’s waistcoat and hold his friend tighter.

“You...” Atticus whispered, “...are more alive than any other man I have ever known in my life, Robert Harker.”

Bat’s hand in Atticus’s hair stilled.

“Blood lust or no -- vampirism or no,” Atticus said more firmly, “you love life, and the people around you, more deeply than any human man. More deeply than I will likely ever know.”

Atticus’s mouth spread into a wide, open grin beside Bat’s undead heart.

“Don’t ever change. No matter what -- stay just the way you are.”

Bat was very quiet for a long moment. Then, clutching Atticus’s dark hair in his fist, he yanked himself away at last.

“I’m sorry,” he choked, “I can’t -- ”

He spat out the Blood Pop, his claw-like hand fumbling inside his waistcoat for his pewter flask. Atticus immediately reached out to help secure Bat’s shaking hand around the flask so it was easier to take a swig, and also reached into Bat’s pocket to unwrap another Blood Pop for him so that when he’d finally chugged down a good gallon’s worth of blood, Bat could immediately stick the Pop in his mouth and take several good deep breaths.

Once he’d recovered himself, the vampire chuckled.

“See?” he said playfully. “Told you I was the old man, out of the two of us.”

Atticus smiled wryly. “You know, you’re right. I think I can see the white hairs from here.”

Bat laughed louder still, as happily and sincerely as a man with no burdens to bear. It was a sound that likewise made Atticus’s smile grow that bit wider and his eyes sparkle that bit more brightly.

#hphl #hogwarts legacy #my writing #atticus grimsley #bartholomew varney #adelia selwyn #danny gibson #jackson knightly #gellert grindelwald #goddamn it I love these two much I can't stand it!!#feels so good to write for them again <33 #being set in 1927 this is a mere fourteen years before bat's death #and yup bat was secretly helping the british ministry fight grindelwald even way back then #oh also halloween *does* have some good songs now #but back in bat's lifetime? nope #I'd say most of the good halloween songs popped up in the 80's 90's and 00's #namely the nightmare before christmas soundtrack disturbia thriller and the like #happy birthday grim my dear!!

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hoondrip · 3 years ago

Text

-ENHYPEN REACTIONS: YOU TELLING THEM YOU’RE A VAMPIRE

paring: enhypen x reader

genre: crack, fluff

Lee heeseung:

doesn’t really believe it at first

“you know you don’t have to lie to get my attention babe”

cries once he sees your fangs

never thought his cute little s/o could be a blood sucking mosquito

just stares into space after he’s done crying

lowkey is scared of you but cuddles with you anyway

COMFORT HIM Y/N GOSH 🙄

after he’s done with his little breakdown he goes back to normal

well atleast that’s what you think

side-eyes you sometimes though

Jake sim:

lowkey is scared of you pt.2

mans is obsessed with you though

treats you the exact same

“I wouldn’t ever leave you baby, whether you’re a vampire or a worm (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃”

AWWWW

does a ton of research on your species

would want you to turn him so you could both live together forever

IM CRYING JUST BY WRITING THIS

you don’t want to do it but he keeps reassuring you that everything will be fine

he’s literally looking at you like this 🥺 HOW COULD YOU NOT GIVE HIM WHAT HE WANTS

soooo you end up doing it and he’s having the time of his life

flexing his fangs and running around the house like a chicken with its head cut off

you start regretting your life decisions right then

Jay park:

“oh..”

mans just doesn’t care

or atleast acts like he doesn’t

treats you the same way he did before

asks you a lot of questions about your capabilities

“thats hot”

is a little weirded out though

buys you a lifetime supply of blood bags

you’re confused on where they came from

but you don’t complain

knows you’d never hurt him

SO LIFE GOES ON

park sunghoon:

already knew tbh 💀

is a vampire himself

now you’re hella confused because....what???

“Oh I thought you already knew LOL”

is completely laid back and chill while you’re sitting there trying to get your brain to function

“when did you become one?”

“a magician never tells his secrets darling 😏”

asks you how you haven’t noticed the signs before

you both just shrug it off from there

COMPARING FANG SIZES IS DEFINITELY SOMETHING HE’D DO WITH YOU

would bite you out of nowhere to get your attention

superior vampire couple 😼

kim sunoo:

“what?!”

does not believe it

you show him proof but he still doesn’t believe it

at some point you actually start to convince him

doesn’t want to accept it

thinks you’re too soft and cute to be a vampire

kinda like heeseung

“nope nope nope my baby is not and cannot be a vampire”

accepts it eventually

looks at you with disgust when you drink out of a blood bag

“y/n if you’re going to be a vampire then atleast look cute while doing it”

“how the hell do I look cute while drinking out of a blood bag sunoo? 💀”

“hmph I don’t know, drink out of it with a straw or something 🙄”

yang jungwon:

“wait really?”

kinda fascinated

“can I see your fangs?”

Is in complete and utter awe once you show him

after you answer all of his questions nothing really changes

accepts it easily

still teases tf outta you though

“hey, wonnie can you hand me that book off the shelf”

“and what if I dont?? you gonna “suCk mY bLooDs?!!?)?”

“vAmPirEs dOnt SouNd liKe thAt diMwiT”

nishimura riki

“yeah okay💀”

another one who doesn’t believe it

is laughing his ass off

thinks you’re bluffing with him until you turn into a bat

SHREIKSSSSS

ends up passing out

now you’re just like el oh el what the fuck 💀

wakes up 20 minutes later giggling

“what are you laughing at”

“jeez y/n i just had the weirdest dream”

“oh really? tell me about it ni-ki”

“you told me you were a vampire and then turned into a bat, I was scared to be honest”

your turn to giggle

you contemplate on turning back into a bat to mess with him but decide against it

so you just end up never telling him

A/n: not proofread, this was fun to write tbh I might do more stuff like this 😩

621 notes · View notes

baoshan-sanren · 4 years ago

Text

qi ye and woh spoilers!

I’m glad that everyone’s FINALLY seen the “My soulmate? You don’t qualify.” scene because 1. major, sick burn, but also 2. oh boy, does it say some really fascinating (and by fascinating I mean sad) things about prince jin

this is gonna be some qi ye spoilers, but in tyk, prince jin is already an emperor, and he’s an emperor because jing beiyuan and zhou zishu (along with other 3-4 people who end up dead) put him there

helian yi’s (prince jin) ambition for the throne seems to have sprung entirely from a. being named crown prince on his father’s whim, and b. as a result in having two pretty fucking awful brothers whose ascension to the throne would have likely destroyed the empire, so right off the bat, he’s a fairly sympathetic character despite some of his more unlikeable traits

like, prince jin is, in fact, the least terrible choice out of all, and even jing beiyuan, who has been entangled with him for an entire lifetime already and knows all his flaws and failings, still understands that helian yi is the only viable choice for the emperor

but the thing is, prince jin had a soulmate, and it wasn’t zhou zishu

in jing beiyuan’s first lifetime, the two are inextricably, obsessively tied together, and are, in fact, destined to be entangled again and again across seven lifetimes (”karmic allocation with Helian Yi” are bai wuchang’s exact words)

but in his seventh lifetime (the word of honor/faraway wanderers lifetime), jing beiyuan just simply decided to nope right the fuck out

he still puts prince jin on the throne because the other choices are still abysmal, but he keeps his distance. and although prince jin’s obsession with jing beiyuan still seems to follow a similar trajectory, there is a sense that in this lifetime, he is left incomplete by jing beiyuan’s intentional distance and absence

so right off the bat prince jin is a man whose “fated person” if you will, has decided to have absolutely nothing to do with him, going as far as to fake his own death in order to escape this “karmic allocation” and spend the rest of his life with a man (wu xi) he had chosen for himself

jing beiyuan was, in fact, the only one who KNEW prince jin, and while we’re used to seeing this “knowing” as the end game (wenzhou, the four sages), the person who KNEW prince jin simply said “I don’t want this”

jing beiyuan may know prince jin, but in this lifetime, he does not allow prince jin to know him back

and this is why I’m fucking in love with qi ye, but also, this is why that line “My soulmate? You don’t qualify.” is so goddamn sad because you know prince jin is wrong, that the person who was actually destined to be his soulmate decided that they don’t want to be, and he’s only latched on to zhou zishu to fill that gap with someone else

#山河令 #word of honor #七爷 #qi ye #woh spoilers #qi ye spoilers #meta #in conclusion prince jin is a dick #but he's also kind of sad

682 notes · View notes

jerzwriter · 4 months ago

Note

All right. I am not OK. I am not even going to pretend. I am unwell. Jesus Christ I need someone to take me for a ride until I calm down, and I don't have anyone remotely this appealing to do it with. (The few options that come to mind have me saying, fuck it, have a bottle of wine! lol).

GIRL, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!?!?!?!?

I am SO GLAD I read this one last because, OMG, my emotions are all over. I just... buckle up for more comments below... OK? I can't breathe.... LAWD.

"Don't worry." Chris told her. "He won't be near as handsome when I'm done with him."

OK - yes he will - it's just the way it is. It's the law. It's physics. IDK it just is. lol

That first at bat....

"I can think of one thing I'd like to see on the table."

Like I thought I could get through one without using it, but NOOOOO I hate him - that man could get away with ANYTHING. Damn.

"Get away from her!" The startled pair turned towards a furious Ethan Ramsey.

ETHAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! REALLY!!!!!!!

"Bullshit." Ethan hissed. "I know you. Chris is off limits." "Excuse me?" Chris snapped. "Doesn't sound like she is to me." Tobias winked at her over Ethan's shoulder. Ethan grabbed hold of Tobias's jersey. "I mean it, Carrick. You've messed with me enough. Just because you poached our patient, doesn't mean you can also take her."

I don't want this to end... OMG. Don't let this one end....

"So what if he tries to get close to me?" She looked away from Ethan. "It isn't like you want to be in that position." "Damnit, Chris." Ethan whispered. "You know why I can't--" "Save your breath." She muttered. "I've heard it all before."

Me. Right now. I've gone feral!

"Wait." He grasped her arm when she tried to walk away. "Carrick isn't the type of man you can tease and not get burned." Chris jerked her arm away. "Don't worry." She glared at him. "I know all about being burned."

AND IT JUST KEEPS GETTING BETTER!!!!!!! THE AUDACITY DR. RAMSEY!!!! THE FECKING AUDACITY!!!!!

"And just where would you like to have this drink?" "I'm not really up for a bar." She admitted. "My place or yours?" He asked. "Who said anything about us drinking together?" She teased. "Why waste this rare opportunity to do that very thing?" He countered. "True." She relaxed back into the seat. "Let's go to your place." Cutting her eyes towards him, she noticed his smug smile forming. "Don't think anything other than a drink is going to happen." She warned. "Whatever you say." He winked at her.

I just told my daughter where she can find the life insurance policies in case I don't make it through the rest of this... it's a real possibility.

One drink and some flirting later, the two wound up in his shower. As the warm water fell upon them, they did all they could to heat the other's skin until they burned.

Well, that did not take long! 😂😂😂😂

"Show me." She arched into his heated touch. "I want to do everything you thought about." That was all he needed to hear.

I AM UNWELL!

"How about dinner first?" "So, it's a real date?" She joked. "Ummhmm." He rolled over on his back, tucking her in beside him. "Is that still a yes?" "I will need energy to begin whatever round we're on." She replied. "Yes, you will." He squeezed her close. "Then, I guess I'll see you later."

WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

But wait..... WAIT!!!!!

"Look, I--" Chris tried to apologize. "Save it." He snapped. "I don't want to hear it." Without giving her a chance, he stormed back the way he came.

OK, Listen here, babe! Turnaround is fair play.....

But goddamn, Chris. I' 'd never risk 🍆 that good. Nope. No sir. Fuck the grant, fuck the patient. Let the hospital close. I can get another job, but quality 🍆 like that is ONCE in a lifetime, girl. 😂😂😂😂

Sorry, I'll try to regroup...

It didn't take long to find him in the crowd. What surprised her was who was sitting with him. What is June doing here? The way the two were laughing and talking, it was obvious they knew each other a little too well. The more she observed, the angrier Chris became.

BABE!!!!... No.

"Chris!" June greeted. "I didn't expect to see you here." "Really?" Chris folded her arms. "I'm surprised. I thought you made certain to know where all your pawns are." June laughed. "Only the most naive make the best pawns. You've been my favorite by far, Chris." Tobias eyed her then glanced up at Chris. June leaned closer to him, placing her hand on his thigh. "Our games are so much fun, aren't they?"

Ay dios mio... esta pendeja esta muerto. No no no... my Jersey is coming out and I'm fucking cursing in Spanish now. That's when the earings come off. I would soooooooo have Chris's back. It's down!

I need a Xanax.....

"Call me Carrick when you're ready to be with a real woman again."

They were both panting and glaring at one another.

I want to punch him in the face too, but that's kind of hot... lol

"Piss off." Chris hissed at him. "Ya lavvy-heided wankstain."

LMAO I love her.

She slumped back against the brick wall of the bar and lowered her head into her hands. "I know you won't believe me." She began. "But this wasn't my idea."

🥺🥺🥺

I'm poisoning June. I'll make it look like an accident.

"We never should have gotten close." She added at the end. "Not with all the animosity between the hospitals." Tobias took a deep breath and slowly released it. "Do you regret it?" "Stealing your patient?" She slowly nodded. "I don't think it was worth it." "Not that." He turned towards her. "Us?" She looked up at him. "No."

I mean, I do since you and June had your own thing going at the same time. I know you and I weren't serious, but to have actually been with someone who could be with that two-faced bitch--" "I wasn't seeing her while seeing you." Tobias interrupted. She still looked doubtful.

OK I love this - I have this whole backstory in my T/C HC too - love this. I could kiss you. "Come on, Chris." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know. You have to have seen that what we have is..." He cursed, kicking at some trash. "What we have is what? She prodded. He groaned then yanked her into a heady kiss. She wrapped her arms around him, giving back as good as she got. Tobias stumbled back from the passion in her kiss, hitting the wall with her locked in his arms. When it came to an end, he lifted his head to look into her eyes. "See?" He said softly. "Then don't say we shouldn't have gotten together." He cuddled her close.

"Then why didn't you answer my calls?"

Yeah, we're gonna need to talk about this one a little deeper, sir. You will need to pay on some level. I don't suggest Chris cut him off or anything. That's just self depravation, but you need to be held accountable for this M-Fer (Girl, you've got me in a way... lmao)

"Knowing that I'd fallen for you, it stung that you didn't feel the same way. That I was merely your pawn in all this." "I hate her." Chris bit out. Tobias snorted. "Yeah, she isn't the easiest person to be around." Chris bit back the fact he'd found her easy enough to sleep with.

Fuck Tobias. I'm in love with Chris. I love being Bi - this is wonderful. She is perfection.

Keeping one arm around her waist, Tobias led her to his car.

I NEED FOLLOW-UP!!!!!!

I DEMAND ASK NICELY AND BEG FOR MORE!

I need a June retribution scene. I need more of them.... 🥵🥵🥵... I need more Scotish cursing... I need vinciation

I NEED TOBIAS APPRECIATION WEEK TO NEVER END!!!!

youtube

I will be back later, I need to take a long walk.... LMAO OMG.....

Your mission, if you choose to accept it! :)

I'm sending a GIF to everyone who has participated in Tobias Carrick Appreciation Week this year. Can you create a ficlet (or anything you desire) based on this by Sunday? If so, you'll get one extra chance at the prize to be selected on Monday! :)

Here is your GIF:

Okay. LOL! LOVE the above gif so much. Before I begin a whole new AU about this with my otp, here's a short background on my MC. Chris, is American born to Scottish parents and was raised mostly in Inverness. She has a temper, but usually just tells someone off. It would take a lot to get her this violent, like say someone not only manipulating her but also hooking up with a doctor she's fallen for. Going back to Book 2 and rewriting Canon and my own HC for this one.

Rated Mature for Sexual Content and Language. Chris's upbringing allowed me to find some unique Scottish insults that cried out to be used in this.

Masterlist

Game on

The Edenbrook/Mass Kenmore Softball Game

"Good luck out there, Chris." June said. "Remember to run Carrick's face in the dirt for taking that grant from us."

"Don't worry." Chris told her. "He won't be near as handsome when I'm done with him."

June slowly smiled in hearing that.

"Good. I can't wait to see him get knocked down a peg or two."

Taking a deep breath, Chris began to stretch. Shaking her arms out, she made her way to the pitcher's mound.

Of course, she thought, he would be first up to bat.

"You got this Chris!" Elijah shouted.

"Does she now?" Tobias taunted. "You sure you can do this, Valentine?"

Chris was tempted to stick her tongue out at him. The childish thought made her snicker. Tobias's stance eased when he saw her smile. His own lips curved at how cute she was in her uniform.

It was all the distraction Chris needed to throw the first strike. Shocked, Tobias tried to regroup. He narrowed his eyes at her as he tightened his grip on the bat. She winked at him, shaking his concentration, once more.

"Strike Two!" Elijah yelled out. "I don't know about you, Carrick, but I think she can do this."

Tobias rolled his eyes as he lifted his bat over his shoulder once more.

Chris eyed him, taking in how his uniform conformed to his body. A soft smile appeared on her lips as she thought how he might drive her crazy but he was very attractive.

He blinked at that secretive smile she had. After all the escalation between them with taking patients from one another, he never expected her to actually check him out.

"Strike three!" Elijah cackled. "Oh man. You didn't even bother to swing at that last pitch."

"Take it as a goodwill gesture." Tobias replied. "Next time, I won't go easy."

***************

Between innings...

Chris searched through the coolers of beer until she found a bottle of water.

"Keeping your head clear for the game, Valentine?"

She spun around at the sound of that teasing voice.

Tobias Carrick grinned at her as he reached past her for a bottle of water.

"Glad to see someone is taking this as serious as I do." He winked at her.

"You should wish I wasn't." She couldn't help but smile at him. "Then you might stand a chance to actually hit the ball."

He narrowed his eyes at her. Each time she pitched, he struck out. Though impressed, he wasn't about to admit defeat.

"I've still got a few points on that board." He reminded her. "And there will be even more before the night is over."

Chris stepped closer to him. "You wish that were true."

Tobias took another step closer. "You're going to eat those words."

"Doubtful." Her eyes flickered down his body. "I'm sure you win a lot of things, but tonight isn't going to be one of those nights."

"Want to bet?" He leaned down until his nose nearly touched hers.

His gaze settled on her mouth before locking eyes with hers.

"That all depends," she replied, "what's on the table?"

His lips quirked into a flirty smile. "I can think of one thing I'd like to see on the table."

Her eyebrows rose. The image of just what he'd do to her on that table made a flash of heat go through her body.

"I bet you do." She tilted her head. "I guess we'll just have to--"

"Get away from her!"

The startled pair turned towards a furious Ethan Ramsey.

He moved between them, glaring at Tobias.

"Leave her alone." Ethan bit out.

Tobias narrowed his eyes at him. "What's your deal, Ethan? We were only talking."

"Bullshit." Ethan hissed. "I know you. Chris is off limits."

"Excuse me?" Chris snapped.

"Doesn't sound like she is to me." Tobias winked at her over Ethan's shoulder.

Ethan grabbed hold of Tobias's jersey. "I mean it, Carrick. You've messed with me enough. Just because you poached our patient, doesn't mean you can also take her."

Before Tobias could snap back, Naveen forced them apart.

"Calm down." He ordered. "Take it out on the field."

Tobias snorted. Downing his water bottle, he made sure to knock his shoulder into Ethan's as he walked away.

Ethan grit his teeth, before turning to Chris.

"What did he say to you?" He demanded.

"Nothing but typical trash talk." She replied. "There was no need for you to get involved."

She straightened her shoulders. "I can handle myself. I don't need you jumping in to save me."

Ethan removed his ball cap and ran his hand through his hair. He knew he should have never agreed to play this asinine game.

"I know you can." He looked past her to where the Mass Kenmore team was sitting. "Seeing him try and get close to you, it made me..."

He cursed under his breath.

"So what if he tries to get close to me?" She looked away from Ethan. "It isn't like you want to be in that position."

"Damnit, Chris." Ethan whispered. "You know why I can't--"

"Save your breath." She muttered. "I've heard it all before."

"Wait." He grasped her arm when she tried to walk away. "Carrick isn't the type of man you can tease and not get burned."

Chris jerked her arm away.

"Don't worry." She glared at him. "I know all about being burned."

Ethan watched her storm off with a heavy heart.

******************

After the game, Chris was still full of restless energy. Their win over Mass Kenmore hadn't made her feel any better about the war they'd been having over patients.

When her friends invited her out to celebrate, she sent them on without her. The thought of another night spent in Donahue's with the same faces and conversations didn't appeal to her.

Trying to decide whether or not to just go back to her apartment, she heard her name called out.

She searched for the source and saw Tobias leaning against the side of his car.

"What?" She said once she made her way over.

"Congratulations." He said.

A reluctant smile peeped out at him.

"Thanks." She brushed a lock of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. "I didn't think you'd be up for saying that after I hit that last pitch of yours."

"It's just a game, Chris." He responded. "I wanted to win, but I still respect how you played it."

She folded her arms. "Something tells me you like to play a lot of games."

He smirked. "So many things in life are more fun when you make it a game. Why not enjoy it?"

"Is patient care a game to you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Come on, Chris. I'm not heartless. If I hadn't thought that Mass Kenmore could give Stephanie better care than Edenbrook, I wouldn't have offered it."

He leaned closer to her. "You would have done the same if the situation was reversed."

Chris hesitated. "You're right. I would have."

He smiled at her. "You and I are more alike than you think."

She laughed, shaking her head. "I wouldn't go that far."

"No?" He placed his hand upon his chin as if considering that. "I guess I'll have to work harder to prove it to you."

He pushed off from his car and opened the passenger door for her. "Want me to give you a ride home?"

Biting her lip, Chris shook her head. "I don't think I'm going home just yet."

"Where are you going?" He glanced around the nearly empty parking lot. "Looks like everyone else left to party without you."

She shrugged. "I'm not really in a celebratory mood."

"What kind of mood are you in?" He asked.

"Honestly, I'm not sure. I guess I'm more restless than anything else."

"Well, how about I drive you around until you decide what you want to do?" He offered.

"Okay."

She slid into his car. Her heart started picking up speed when she realized this would be the first time she was actually alone with him.

"Where were you going?" She asked once he buckled up.

"Home." He replied with a grin. "To drink my loss away."

She couldn't help but laugh. "I wouldn't mind a drink."

He turned towards her. "And just where would you like to have this drink?"

"I'm not really up for a bar." She admitted.

"My place or yours?" He asked.

"Who said anything about us drinking together?" She teased.

"Why waste this rare opportunity to do that very thing?" He countered.

"True." She relaxed back into the seat. "Let's go to your place."

Cutting her eyes towards him, she noticed his smug smile forming.

"Don't think anything other than a drink is going to happen." She warned.

"Whatever you say." He winked at her.

*****************

One drink and some flirting later, the two wound up in his shower. As the warm water fell upon them, they did all they could to heat the other's skin until they burned.

Chris ran her hands down his body as he kissed her neck. Her pent up frustrations with her life and work demanded she take advantage of her situation. She needed this release, almost as much as she wanted the man driving her on to give in to her every desire.

Ethan's words echoed in her mind, causing her to pause in her caresses.

The thing was, she wanted to burn. Even if it was just for this one night, she wanted to simply sate her passionate nature with no worries about what the morning would bring.

Tobias began to kiss down her body. He noticed her furrowed brow and lack of movement. He knew he needed to work on drawing her back into the night he was imagining.

He reached over and turned the water off, before urging her out.

"You're distracted." He said, handing her a towel. "Do you not want this?"

Chris paused in drying off. "No, I want you."

He stepped closer, all his usual cockiness nowhere in sight.

"Good. Because I've wanted you from the moment I first saw you."

"Right." Chris sarcastically replied. "I'm sure I really caught your eye at that diner."

He settled his arms around her waist.

"I noticed you immediately." He softly brushed his lips against hers. "Each time I saw you after that, I wanted you more and more."

His deep voice admitting to something like that, even though she doubted the sincerity, made her move right back into his embrace. Her lips sought his, and the two raced right back into the inferno they'd started.

Stumbling back into his bedroom, they fell upon the bed, limbs tangling as they continued to kiss.

Tobias moaned as Chris rolled on top of him. Deciding to relax and see what she'd do next, he urged her to take the reins.

His breath hitched the moment she kissed him. Her body moved over his, teasing and promising so much more. He cupped her face, looking into her eyes as she caressed him.

"You have no idea how often I've fantasized about this." He murmured, pulling her down for another kiss.

"Show me." She arched into his heated touch. "I want to do everything you thought about."

That was all he needed to hear.

*****************

As light began to filter through the slits of the bedroom blinds, Chris and Tobias collapsed exhausted on his bed.

Trying to catch her breath, Chris looked over at him. When he turned towards her, a breathless laugh popped out.

"You have some imagination there." She teased.

He chuckled, scooting closer to her. "That was only half of what I've fantasized."

"You're kidding?" Chris smiled at him. "I don't think I have the energy to see what else is in store."

She stretched, drawing his appreciative gaze towards her lithe body.

"There's always later." He reminded her. "Say like tonight?"

"Why Dr. Carrick," she snuggled closer within his arms. "Are you asking me out?"

"That depends." He pressed a lingering kiss to her lips.

"On?"

"If the answer is yes."

She laughed, shaking her head over how good she felt in this moment with him.

"That's a definite yes."

"Then I'm asking you out." He chuckled when she softly groaned.

"You're lucky you're cute." She teased.

"I know." He sighed. "It's both a curse and a blessing."

"You poor, poor man." She patted his cheek.

Tobias took her hand and pressed a kiss within her palm. His eyes found hers as she laced their fingers together.

"How about dinner first?"

"So, it's a real date?" She joked.

"Ummhmm." He rolled over on his back, tucking her in beside him. "Is that still a yes?"

"I will need energy to begin whatever round we're on." She replied.

"Yes, you will." He squeezed her close.

"Then, I guess I'll see you later."

She began to ease out of his bed, only to be dragged back within his arms.

"Where do you think you're going?" He murmured against her neck while dotting kisses along it.

"Home." She relaxed back within his arms.

"No need to rush off so soon." He urged her back under the covers.

"I'll stay if you let me sleep." She warned. "If I don't get a few hours, there's no way I'll be any fun later tonight."

"We can't have that." He laughed when she poked him in his ribs.

She curled up against his side. Her eyes closed and she felt her body relax completely. It'd been a while since she felt so blissfully carefree.

It was a feeling she didn't want to end.

******************

Weeks went by in blur. Chris seemed to find her stride in both her professional life and her personal life. That one night with Tobias had blossomed into a weekly date night, adding even more happiness.

She knew she was falling for him. It was difficult not to. He had the ability to get her mind off the possible shutdowns that loomed over their hospitals. His humor and unending charm kept her thoughts firmly in the moment instead of the fears of the future.

Plus the closeness that was developing between them made her care all the more.

She didn't know which she loved most, the amazing sex or the talks they would have afterwards. The nights spent with him ended up being the best part of her week.

Whatever it was, she wasn't going to question it.

The only problem was June Hirata.

Chris was still a bit uneasy around the diagnostician. Seeing how two-faced the woman could be made it hard to completely trust working with her.

Then one day June approached the team with an idea.

"Did you know Senator Ed Farruiga's at Mass Kenmore?"

"No." Chris replied.

"Apparently he has some illness that no one can figure out." She paused to make sure she had everyone's attention. "I think we should encourage him to come here."

Ethan leaned back in his chair in thought. Baz seemed a little uncertain about the idea.

"I would love to give it a go, but we can't just go take one of their patients." He argued.

"Why not? No one has to stay at a hospital where they aren't getting the best possible care. Can you imagine how much publicity we would get if we helped another famous face?" June glanced at Ethan. "It would help us be able to help more people who really need us."

"It would." He conceded. "And we are a better team than Carrick's."

"Are we really going to do what they did with Stephanie?" Chris asked.

"Don't you want some payback for that?" June countered. "We lost a huge grant! They don't need the Senator as much as we do."

Chris didn't like the idea of continuing the game they'd started with Leland Bloom, especially with how close she'd gotten to their opponent.

"Let's do it." Ethan decided, needing a chance to get back at Tobias.

As they worked out a plan of attack, June checked her messages.

"My contact says that Dr. Carrick and his team haven't diagnosed the cause yet. They have only begun the process of ordering lab work."

She looked at the clock. "Given how long it takes for Mass Kenmore's lab techs to come around for blood samples, I say we have an hour tops to poach him."

"Then let's get going." Ethan ordered.

******************

It took less than an hour to find the senator and to convince him to transfer to Edenbrook. As she followed Baz out of the hospital, Chris heard the one voice she wished to avoid.

"Chris?" Tobias called out. "What are you doing here?"

He noticed the senator further ahead of her, changed and in the process of signing discharge papers.

His eyes narrowed when he realized what was going on.

"Look, I--" Chris tried to apologize.

"Save it." He snapped. "I don't want to hear it."

Without giving her a chance, he stormed back the way he came.

***************

Later that night, Chris headed to a bar she knew Tobias liked to frequent. He'd already ignored her calls and texts. If she was ever going to have the chance to explain, she knew it'd have to be in person.

It didn't take long to find him in the crowd. What surprised her was who was sitting with him.

What is June doing here?

The way the two were laughing and talking, it was obvious they knew each other a little too well.

The more she observed, the angrier Chris became.

"Chris!" June greeted. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Really?" Chris folded her arms. "I'm surprised. I thought you made certain to know where all your pawns are."

June laughed. "Only the most naive make the best pawns. You've been my favorite by far, Chris."

Tobias eyed her then glanced up at Chris.

June leaned closer to him, placing her hand on his thigh. "Our games are so much fun, aren't they?"

Chris was beyond livid. For months June had used her in every situation. Now to see that Tobias was in on whatever manipulative game they were playing caused her to snap.

She lunged forward almost punching June in her smug face. The table had stopped her momentum right before contact, giving Tobias a chance to grab her around the waist and pull her back.

Chris struggled against him. Her Scottish accent became thicker than usual as she unleashed a flurry of insults upon the pair.

"Let me go, you wee fuckbumper!" She shouted. "I'm going to show that dug licking pish aff a nettle just what happens when she messes with me!"

"Chris!" Tobias grunted when her elbows struck his ribs. "Calm the hell down!"

June began to laugh harder while watching the pair.

"This is the best you can do?" She taunted Chris. "Oh my god, I can't believe I actually thought you might be worthy competition."

"Bolt, ya mangled fud!" Chris yelled.

Still snickering, June gathered her things and headed towards the door.

"Call me Carrick when you're ready to be with a real woman again."

With a last burst of energy, Chris tried to break free of Tobias. She needed to knock June down just once. Her rage demanded to feel that woman's face under her fist.

Tobias yanked her back and half dragged her out the back door.

Once they were outside, he let her go.

They were both panting and glaring at one another.

"What the shit was that?!" He snapped. "If you'd actually touched June, she'd have had your ass in jail so fast it'd have made that hot head of yours spin."

"Do you know what that means?" He demanded when Chris remained defiant. "That means your career would be over!"

"Piss off." Chris hissed at him. "Ya lavvy-heided wankstain."

"Fuck this." Tobias rubbed his hands over his face. "I don't even know why I'm bothering to talk some sense into you."

"I don't either." Chris fought back tears.

"Why did you come here?" He asked when she fell silent. "Just to rub it in that you too can steal a patient?"

"Weren't you the man who said it was all a game?" She shot back. "And if I knew Edenbrook was the best for someone, then I should make it happen?"

"Damnit." He muttered. "Look, June told me you were determined to make me pay for my little stunt with Stephanie."

"That I was?" Chris released another profanity laden tirade.

The more descriptive she got, the more Tobias struggled with his laughter. He was still furious over everything, but he couldn't help but be impressed with her imaginative use of curse words.

After a particularly long sentence about June's reputation with men, all the fire seemed to go out in Chris.

She slumped back against the brick wall of the bar and lowered her head into her hands.

"I know you won't believe me." She began. "But this wasn't my idea."

Against his better judgement, Tobias moved a little closer and leaned next to her.

"What happened?" He asked.

The whole story poured out along with Chris's guilt.

"We never should have gotten close." She added at the end. "Not with all the animosity between the hospitals."

Tobias took a deep breath and slowly released it. "Do you regret it?"

"Stealing your patient?" She slowly nodded. "I don't think it was worth it."

"Not that." He turned towards her. "Us?"

She looked up at him. "No."

Her face scrunched as if she was about to cry. "I mean, I do since you and June had your own thing going at the same time. I know you and I weren't serious, but to have actually been with someone who could be with that two-faced bitch--"

"I wasn't seeing her while seeing you." Tobias interrupted.

She still looked doubtful.

"Come on, Chris." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know. You have to have seen that what we have is..."

He cursed, kicking at some trash.

"What we have is what? She prodded.

He groaned then yanked her into a heady kiss.

She wrapped her arms around him, giving back as good as she got.

Tobias stumbled back from the passion in her kiss, hitting the wall with her locked in his arms.

When it came to an end, he lifted his head to look into her eyes.

"See?" He said softly.

She slowly nodded.

"Then don't say we shouldn't have gotten together." He cuddled her close.

"What about my part in the senator?" She looked up at him. "Can you let that go?"

"Yes." He tightened his arms around her. "Of course I can."

"Then why didn't you answer my calls?"

"Because June made it seem like you'd strung me along to keep me from suspecting anything when you did eventually steal a patient." He admitted. "Knowing that I'd fallen for you, it stung that you didn't feel the same way. That I was merely your pawn in all this."

"I hate her." Chris bit out.

Tobias snorted. "Yeah, she isn't the easiest person to be around."

Chris bit back the fact he'd found her easy enough to sleep with.

Tobias sighed. "Want me to take you home?"

"No." Chris mumbled. "I'm too keyed up to see my roommates."

A tender smile began to form as he recalled a similar conversation they'd once had.

"Want me to drive you around until you calm down?"

Chris looked up at him, recalling the night of the softball game. Seeing that he remembered it too made her melt against him.

"I'd love that."

Keeping one arm around her waist, Tobias led her to his car.

#tobias x chris #ELSA IS NOT OK #WELLNESS CHECK IS IN ORDER #OH MY FUCKING GOD #AY DIOS MIO #SAVE ME #STOP THIS #NO DON'T #AGGGGGGH #Oh #I kind of liked it. lmao

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ofnifflersandkings · 4 years ago

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Endgame Strategy

Character: Benny Watts

A/n: I said I’d write for the hot chess people so I did. The timeline for this is kinda confusing but the desperation I had to write this made me simply not care.

•

“(Y/n)!”

A familiar voice pulled you from your current task of getting Benny’s two ton apartment door shut. You barely got yourself inside before a pair of arms promptly wrapped around you.

You staggered backwards by the sudden weight, a noise between a wheeze and a laugh escaping you as you registered who it was.

“If it isn’t my favorite drama queen!” You pulled back to get a good luck at Beth, a big grin busting out on both of your faces.

“Come in,” She ushered you in, helping you take off your coat and asking you little questions as she lead you over to the sink.

You were a pretty established photographer for some big fashion companies, so you had been traveling with Cleo around Europe for the better half of a year. You’d telephoned Benny as soon as all of your campaigns wrapped up and he instantly insisted you come to New York to make up for lost time.

You had just started to get a word in when you felt someone come up behind you and squeeze you abruptly, practically toppling you over. “Look what the cat dragged in!”

You looked over to see Benny already looking down at you with a grin before promptly ruffling up your hair. “Hey stranger,” He grinned. You pushed him off and turned to give him a proper hug.

You noticed Arthur and Hilton lingering behind him and you pulled yourself from his hold to greet them as well.

“You came at the perfect time,” Benny said, slinging an arm over your shoulder. “We were just about to start.”

“What do you say, (Y/n)?” Hilton asked. “Finally gonna indulge us and play a game?”

You shoved his hands off of you and sent him a smile. “You don’t need some newbie slowing down your thunder,” You noticed Benny giving you the pleading look he always sent your way when you turned down playing chess. You swear you thought he knew how to deflate his eyes on purpose so he looked like a kicked puppy. “No, I don’t need your patronizing when I barely make it past five moves.”

Benny was an old childhood friend of yours, so you had known Arthur and Hilton for almost as long as he had. And they made it their personal life mission to rope into playing against one of them. But you were renowned for your patience and they’d yet to wear you down.

Beth sent a small pout your way and handed you a glass of water. “Oh please, now who’s the drama queen. You were doing great when I was teaching you last time we saw each other.”

Benny’s gaze shot up. “What?”

You scoffed at her, completely forget about your last encounter. “Now that’s not fair, we were hardly playing. You had to show me where to move every five minutes.”

“When did you see each other?” Benny pushed.

You sighed, smoothing down your sweater. “When I was in Paris with Cleo, we only saw each other the one night and I was just bored and tipsy enough to let her show me.”

She grinned at you, shoving her arm into you as she leant into your side. “I think you have lots of potential. I could make a grandmaster out of you, I know it.”

Benny’s eyes followed you as you moved from your standing position to sit next to him on the sofa.

“You never let me teach you how to play,” He murmured to you with a huff, causing a small tuft of his hair to fly upwards.

Benny had made several attempts to get you into the game he loved so dearly. And as one of the few constant people in his life he wanted you to be part of his world. But each time was met with a firm refusal on your part, insisting you wouldn’t get it. He’d try to pull every trick in the book, every charming smile and all the pretty words he knew to try and convince you to let him show you, but you were always indifferent to his charisma.

It annoyed the shit out of him.

Truth was you didn’t want to risk embarrassing yourself in front of him. You’d seen him play at almost every match he was ever in and it was almost scary how good he was. You could play a casual game and maybe boast a win or two, but playing against him wasn’t something you think you’ll ever do. Besides, give him the satisfaction of having your inevitable defeat over your head? Not in this lifetime.

You let out a light laugh, smiling at Beth as she moved to grab the other boards from Benny’s alarming collection he kept stuffed in the closet. “You’re too intimidating when you play, I’d be distracted.”

Benny rolled his eyes, thinking of the stern look that permanently sets on Beth’s face. The woman who looks like she’s three seconds away from going for your neck during her games but he was too intimidating.

You took a sip from your glass of water and lightly knocking over one of the knight pieces on the board in front of you. “I don’t see why it matters, I’ll be beat regardless of who’s playing.”

He frowned, he’d always wanted to play you. Not because he cared about winning but he just wanted you to see his skill firsthand. You didn’t bat an eyelash at winnings anymore, and you never stuck around for his in-depth lectures about game theory with the other players. But he also knew you liked knowing the way things worked. And since chess was his bailiwick, Beth being the only other American player who could beat him, he knew you’d be impressed. At first he just thought you weren’t interested, so knowing you were being taught by someone else stung twice-over.

You knew something was wrong when he didn’t send a clever remark back your way. Benny liked to think he was this cool and collected character, but really he could be quite the prima donna. Knowing him for as long as you did made him an open book, you could almost always know what he was thinking.

“Don’t be such a baby, Bens.” You grinned, leaning over to tap the end of his nose, something you always did to irritate him. “She crushed me anyways.”

“You’d win if you let me teach you.” He argued, looking at you pointedly.

“I don’t need to win, that’s your job,” You leaned into him, trying to stroke his ego to get him to drop the subject.

Benny’s ears perked up and he was about to go into of his grand self-assured lectures when Beth interrupted him, promptly placing the boxes of chess boards on the table in front of him.

“I dunno, (Y/n),” Beth gloated, passing a box to Hilton. “I think he’s losing his touch, last time we played I damn near emptied his wallet.”

That got your attention, and you sat up with a laugh. “You’re kidding? In speed chess?” Your cackles only grew when she gave a proud nod. “I can’t believe I missed it!”

Benny scoffed, pushing away from you to help set up the boards. “You hardly missed anything-“

“She kicked his ass, ,” Arthur chuckled, loosening the cap on his beer bottle. “Said she’d kick him the crotch too when he tried to argue with her.”

You raised your glass to Beth in commencement. “I knew there was a reason I liked you so much.”

“Another simultaneous?” Beth asked, noticing they were moving the boards onto the floor, she turned back to you. “Have you ever seen once of these?”

You shook your head dramatically, moving from your place on the sofa to the floor so you could sit right next to the action. “Nope! I mean I know what they are, but I’ve never actually seen one.”

She smirked, placing the clock at every board while the boys situated the pieces. “Well, you’re in for a treat, these are my specialty.”

You leaned forward, placing your elbows on your knees so could you watch every move. The speed of the game was something you had long gotten used to, but it never was any less impressive. You don’t know how anyone’s brain could go that fast, but watching the pieces fly around the board completely fascinated you.

Beth really was everything the chess magazines said she was and maybe even more amazing in person. You found it hard to pull your gaze away from her hand, watching as she completely tore through the three boys pieces. Hilton and Arthur were the first to lose, knocking over there kings.

You got ready to settle in while she took on Benny, but not even a few moments later you watched him grimace and reluctantly fish his wallet from his pockets.

“Wow,” You breathed out, looking over at Beth with a gaze that could only be described as positively starstruck. “I mean I knew you were good, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that.”

Beth felt her face get a little warm, not used to such straight-forward praise. At least not since she was a child prodigy. She reached her hand up to brush her hair out of her eyes, and pulled her gaze away from you.

“I can do it again.”

Benny felt his eyebrow twitch, he was used to your praise being directed at him for the most part. You had grown up with him constantly talking about and challenging others to play chess. And when he started to make a name for himself he’d taken you along with him. Before your work took off, you had more time to see his games in person. But, even when you couldn’t physically be there, you always called when you saw the results in Chess Review or tuned in to one of the broadcasted matches.

He was the best in the States for a long time, so you had become especially hard to impress. He knew Beth was better him than by miles, but to finally have his title of best chess player you knew taken away made him feel scratchy.

But he scoffed, straightening his back to try and get his focus back. “Not if I have anything to say about it, Harmon.”

And so for about three more games, she absolutely crushed the three boys. You got closer to the boards each time, admiring Beth’s superhuman skill. It made you feel a little sting of pride, the girl was showing up three of most arrogant and skilled players you knew.

“God,” You leaned back onto your elbows, sniffling a giggle when. “I would’ve given any amount of money to be here to see the faces on these boys when you did this the first time.”

Beth smirked, rounding up the pieces to put them away in their cases. “Me too, we could’ve gotten it all on camera.”

You groaned. “Such a missed opportunity.”

You lolled your head over and saw Benny staring intently at the board, a deep frown on his face. You smiled, scooting over so you could lean all your weight against him. “Don’t look so sad, Bens. I’m sure you would’ve gotten her eventually.”

He laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s what you used to tell all the sorry losers I used to beat.”

You closed your eyes, settling into his side and sighing at his warmth. “You’re not a sorry loser. You’re the best chess player I know.”

“Still?”

“Hey now, I didn’t drag my ass to every one of your matches for decades for you to question my loyalty,” You teased, you opened your eyes and saw something on his wall. Nestled snug inside a frame was the first time he was on the cover of Chess Review.

“You remember when I took that?” You nodded towards it.

Benny smiled properly, his eyes getting a familiar shimmer. “Yes ma’am, I told them I wouldn’t be on the cover unless you got to take my photos,” He wrapped an arm around you. “Course if I had known it’d make you a hot shot photographer who had to go away all the time I might’ve kept my mouth shut.”

You smiled, reaching up to flick his forehead. “I’ve taken all your photos for decades” You made a sweeping notion with your hands to all the various magazines scattered around his apartment. “Even when we were kids, I think I earned my little adventures abroad”

Benny gave you a look, one you couldn’t quite place, but he kept your gaze for awhile. A small smile snuck up in the corner of his mouth before he looked down, strawberry blonde strands hiding him from your view.

“Well don’t stay away so long next time, yeah? I missed you.”

#the way this has bi disaster just written all over it #benny watts imagine #benny watts x reader #benny watts imagines #the queen’s gambit #the queen’s gambit imagine #queen’s gambit imagine

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juniorgman187 · 3 years ago

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Spoiled Rotten (Reid Fic)

Summary: After Spencer went radio silent on Reader while he was in prison, their pride and stubbornness threatens to tear them apart forever. Reader’s forced to mourn the death of who they were and experience the inner turmoil of navigating who they are.

A/N: Y’all are gonna kill me for the ending, but it’s one hell of a way to go. Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Angst Content Warning: Imprisonment, humiliation, abandonment, anger, frustration, angst, yelling, fighting Word Count: 5.3k Playlist: Traitor by Olivia Rodrigo

Time jumps are indicated by “. . .” or “_ _ _”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

A rather unfortunate predicament we’ve found ourselves in tonight. I can’t say I’ve ever been quite this uncomfortable in my life, yet I’m careful not to speak too soon. Because I know the second Spencer opens his mouth to break the silence we’re currently sitting in, I’ll stand corrected.

“You’re breathing really hard,” He tells me out of nowhere.

See, I stand corrected.

Now that I’ve become hyper aware of my own inhale and exhale, my respiration is just that much more restricted. I’m practically holding my breath at this moment - both from the anticipation of catching this unsub in the act and giving Spencer one less thing to scrutinize about me.

“I didn’t say you had to stop breathing,” He tacks on as if it would put me any more at ease. Not that if he had explicitly said such a thing, I would’ve.

Unlike other people, I wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to throw myself at his feet so he’d like me. But to use that as grounds for his disdain would be foolish. Our rancor went deeper than the basic lack of synergy between us.

And in the spirit of getting to the bottom of that abyssal pit, I finally asked the question with words that always seemed to hang above but never would form.

“Why was I the only one denied visitation while you were in prison?”

It may surprise you to know that it wasn’t always like this between us; we were actually close once, although it is hard to imagine that version of us ever really existing. However, if I think about it hard enough, I can remember with perfect clarity who we used to be.

. . .

“Jeez, you really don’t like these things do you?” I nudged him playfully before feeling instantly guilty once I witnessed the result of my shove that must’ve been a little too much for all 120 (at most) pounds of him. I’d neglected to remember the strength I held over the lanky Doctor as well as neglected to notice where the trajectory of my push would land him - in the direct line of a circus clown walking the opposite direction as us. This, of course, brought him face to face with the character. Unfortunately, I managed to catch a glimpse of the lens of Spencer’s glasses grazing the white face paint of the caricature.

After a shudder of mortification and a very brave shriek, Spencer ran to my other side to be as far away from the clown as possible and apparently, as close to me as possible. From a distance, you’d think we were conjoined simply by the way he was glued to me - shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow, hip to hip, thigh to thigh.

While removing his glasses to clean them off with the hem of his blazer, he answered, “Carnivals? I mean, what’s not to like? What with the loud noises, the heart-attack-inducing food that’s more grease than actual food, or the sheer amount of bacteria harboring on each and every handle, hoop, ball, or button of these ridiculous game booths.”

“Wow, you really don’t like carnivals.” I should’ve figured.

“Nope. Never have and probably never will.”

As someone who looked forward to the fair every summer of her childhood, any aversion to carnivals broke my heart. I had a fondness for them borne in adolescence that I couldn’t quite justify now in my adulthood.

“But they’re fun!” was the best argument I could muster. The whine in my voice being provoked by the possibility that the higher the shrill of my pitch, the easier he’d be to sway. Turns out, Dr. Reid was not nearly as susceptible to my auditory persuasion as I might’ve thought he was. Just a stone cold, inconvincible slab of steel.

“I’m sorry. I know you brought me here because you love these things, but I just can’t get past the ...” He surveyed the fair, ostensibly against his will, in search of the perfect word to describe our surroundings. “Filth.”

I would’ve argued in the defense of the carnival, mentioning how it’s endearing that the only bathrooms for miles were porta potties, and that the screaming, crying, sticky children galore just added to the attraction, and that there was a hidden charm to the way the roller coasters creaked beyond their means with every ride.

But to an extent, I agreed. It was rather filthy, and I wasn’t much of a germaphobe myself so to someone like him, this would be hell on earth.

“Well, you get what you put into it. If you’re willing to overlook some minor imperfections, I really think you’d enjoy this place.”

Spencer by now had his hands in his pockets and his walking pace had slowed to a complete halt. There was a moment of skepticism, followed by a partially open smile to make way for the laughter that escaped from the disbelief that he felt for letting me break his resolve so easily.

“Alright then. What do you want to do first, Brat?”

The nickname I’d earned could be seen as meanspirited, but truly, it was affectionately diminutive. Like all good nicknames are. And like the proclaimed Brat I was, I’d taken him to all my favorite parts of the fair.

First came the bumper cars to ease him into the experience - as ironic as that sounds. He was reluctant to submerge his gangly body into a mini vehicle, much less one that’d been inhabited by God knows how many people before us, but he pushed his reservations aside when he realized he’d get to slam into my car (safely, of course).

Secondly, we went on the Carousel, but this was only in preparation for the real ride that I wanted to take him on next - the Swinging Chairs. He’d gotten a little nauseous, from both the repetitive circling and the galvanized chains he had to hold that were definitely held by several others.

He had no interest in going on the Gravitron - super lame, I know - so we opted for the Ferris Wheel instead. I didn’t mind making this compromise so much after recognizing all that he’d done for my benefit that night. And for his generosity and selflessness, I thought it only fitting to end the night going somewhere so tame he couldn’t possibly have any opposition to it.

The photo booth.

The booth in particular we’d gone to was smaller than an airplane bathroom, if you can imagine that. The bench seat was barely wide enough to fit Spencer, let alone seat the both of us. While he didn’t explicitly make the offer to let me sit on his lap, it was kind of a give in that I’d have some part of my body intertwined around him like stubborn ivy.

. . .

I still laugh thinking about the tangled mess of limbs we were below what the camera couldn’t capture. It was arguably the furthest extent of contortionist work I wanted to do in my lifetime, and henceforth exceedingly uncomfortable, and yet, I’d never felt more at home than when I was in his arms.

That night he would tear off the top three photos to keep for himself while I kept the bottom three photos.

To this day, I have never seen the pictures that he kept, and I’m left to wonder if he had them at all.

Because I still have mine. And they were virtually the only thing keeping me sane throughout his trial and subsequent imprisonment.

Six Months Ago ...

My eyes were locked on the loose thread of my cardigan that I was rolling between my fingers anxiously.

“Would you stop that?” Penelope swatted my hand away from my sweater. “You’re making me nervous just looking at you.” She grumbled.

“Sorry,” I apologized bleakly.

A few seconds later she groaned again, making me think I was still doing something bothersome, but it turned out to be just the opposite. “Ugh, I know that sounded mean, and I hate when I sound mean, but I can feel my forehead creasing from the stress, and watching you fidget is going to give me an ulcer.”

“I wish I could help it. I’m just really worried about him.”

“Well I am, too, but that’s not gonna do us any good right now. All we can do is hope for the best.”

Sometimes Penelope’s overly optimistic view on life was futile and unwelcome, and truthfully, this was one of those times.

“Penny?”

As she turned her head, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the lenses of her dark green glasses. I could see my own mournful expression as I asked, “What if he’s found guilty?”

She started to say something but stopped herself. “Right now, all we need to focus on is his bail. We can worry about a verdict later.” She put her hand on top of mine and shook it briefly to remind me that we were in this together.

Moments later recess was over and the team came trudging back into the courtroom.

The sound of the judge clearing her throat and our footsteps on the floor made this feel all too normal.

How could Spencer’s life be hanging in the balance in such a place as non-intimate as this?

It frustrated me how casual things felt today and how everyone was acting normally. Prentiss had yet to bat an eye, Rossi’s stoic expression never changed, and Penelope was telling me not to worry. Everyone was acting so aloof.

My eyes darted to Spencer, who was looking back at us woefully. I couldn’t bear to see him like that any longer, so I kept my head down and stared at my feet after I took my seat.

Even when I closed my eyes, I was haunted by the vision of him in a suit, just like one he’d wear to work. But instead, he was wearing it for this - this vastly different situation.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at him the same in one anymore. I’ll probably just remember this particular look on his face, in this god awful courtroom, during this horribly nauseating circumstance.

If one thing was for certain, it was that this would all come back to me if I ever laid eyes on him in a suit, and that thought fucking terrified me.

Because that one thought spiraled into the next: Everything was bound to change after this. Every little thing would change in every little way.

Spencer’s lawyer, the judge, and the prosecutor were going back and forth for a while, but I tuned it all out because I knew if I had tuned in, I wouldn’t have been able to hold back my arguments. Eventually, though, I heard something I could no longer ignore.

“If past behavior is the best indicator of future conduct, and I do believe it is, then your client presents a flight risk.”

I stood up immediately, getting a head rush from the speed. I knew what was to follow, so I needed to be on my feet the second I heard it. Maybe so I could run and escape before I had to.

“Bail is denied. The defendant will remain in federal custody pending trial.”

“Spencer!” I shouted, losing all the composure I’d been trying to maintain. I reached for him as if he was at any capacity to reach back and hold me. God, I needed him to hold me. Hold me like how he did at the carnival.

Hold me.

Luke held me back as I fought to be near him.

“Let me go!” I screamed, trying to break free of his tight grip. Spencer could only stand and stare, mirroring my own wistful glance. He mouthed something to me that I couldn’t quite make out, but if I knew him at all, he probably said something about not wanting me to worry about him.

“(Y/n), (y/n) it’s gonna be alright.” JJ reasoned, pulling me into a hug.

“How long before this case goes to trial?” I heard Prentiss whisper to Spencer’s lawyer.

“It’s a complicated case. I’d say three months maybe?”

Immediately, I worked myself out of JJ’s arms and pushed my way through the team, running up to the barrier between us.

“Spence!” I cried out in anguish.

To the sound of my voice, he glanced over his shoulder sadly. He wasn’t even shocked I’d been able to get so close to him - he seemed to expect it, and for that, he was sad. Because he knew if I was going to be as stubborn as to fight to get to him at this hearing, then I was going to be stubborn enough to reach him in prison, too. And should he find himself behind bars, he knew that I’d get to him one way or another.

That is if he’d let me.

“Be strong,” He weakly smiled. ‘For me’ his sad eyes begged in addition. He held my gaze for as long as he possibly could before disappearing into another room.

As I watched him walk away, I could feel my heart shattering and crumbling into the pit of my stomach. Perhaps that was a premonition, a true gut feeling, telling me something I at the time couldn’t have known and wouldn’t have accepted.

That was the last time I would see Spencer.

People always say when something unbelievable happens, it doesn’t feel real, but this? Nothing felt more real and more intense than this.

There was no other way for me to see this situation but as the first defeat in an endless line of them.

If Spencer was denied bail, what else could happen to him? Could he be found guilty too? Because prior to this, the denial of his bail seemed impossible. He posed no flight risk, but according to the judge, he did. So if what I once thought to be impossible happened, then it could and would happen again.

I knew Spencer was going to be found guilty.

What I didn’t know, though, was how I was going to live with myself from then on.

I didn’t go that day.

I knew myself too well. So did the others, which is why they didn’t object to my decision not to come to Spencer’s trial. They knew I was better off staying home. Especially, if there was the chance that I might react hysterically again.

I didn’t stay home, though. That part the team never found out about.

I went to visit Diana instead. A much wiser choice, in my opinion.

“You know, we’ve been talking so much about Spencer today, but we haven’t talked about you yet,” said Diana.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” I feigned a polite smile.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” She tilted her chin downward and gave me that sly grin of hers.

“No, no, of course not. I know better than to underestimate the Diana Reid.” I quipped, making her smile widen. “I just figured you’d wanna spend your time talking about someone much more interesting.”

“Oh please, Spencer and I talk about you all the time.”

I perked up from the checker piece I was fiddling with. “You do?”

“Mhm,” She nodded over and over again. “I always knew there was something between you two because you could always talk about each other to me, but for some reason, you could never actually talk to each other.”

For the first time in months, I genuinely laughed and I couldn’t help it. “He makes me nervous! I always feel like he might correct something I say, or tell me that there’s food in my teeth.”

“You know, now that you mention it, I do remember him saying something about seeing a really big piece of lettuce in your teeth one time.”

“Diana!” I squealed, pushing the checkerboard at her, pretending to take offense.

“I really don’t know what you’re so nervous about! I think it would be good if you just talked to him.”

“It’s, um, it’s not that simple. Not right now, at least.”

My energy quickly nose-dived and I tried to do my best to hide it from Diana, but it permeated through the rest of the visit. I couldn’t fully enjoy myself after it.

The team and I all agreed not to let Diana know, especially not with the uncertainty of the case. There was no point riling her up if there was nothing to be worried about. And I could only imagine how I reacted - Diana would be reacting 10 times more hysterically.

But as much as I hated to say it, I almost would’ve rather been in her position.

I would give anything to un-know Spencer’s circumstance.

Present Time ...

In this car, there was nowhere for him to run or hide, not like before.

Anytime I so much as entered his gravity by being in the same room, he’d flee the space in the next breath. Granted, he couldn’t really avoid me entirely. We did have to be on the same flight for an extended period of time, but he made that work by letting me choose my spot first, then choosing a spot directly on the opposite side of the jet.

What a gentleman, huh?

“Kudos to you, by the way. For managing to avoid me for this long. I imagine it’s been as not-easy as it has been incredibly-cowardly.” My words stung as they flowed from my lips as badly as I imagine they seared his already cracked skin. I couldn’t believe that now that I finally had the opportunity to talk to him, I was using it to be petty and passively aggressive. But then again, I could.

Because after what he put me through, he deserved to feel the full severity of my indignation.

My only wish was that he knew exactly how I had felt when I found out.

. . .

Icarus.

He died tragically while using artificial wings, invented by his father, to escape from the Labyrinth. When Icarus flew too close to the sun, it melted the wax that held the wings together, and he fell into the sea.

‘Don’t fly too close to the sun.’ That’s the moral of the story. That’s what Reid was trying to tell me. But I didn’t listen.

I flew too close.

I had approached the window with more zeal than this predicament warranted.

“I’m (y/n) (y/l/n). I’m here to see Spencer Reid, R-E-I-D,” I eagerly spelt his last name with ease as though it were my own last name.

She’d flipped back and forth between pages, running her index finger up and down the sheet for far too long that it made me worry. Turns out, I had every right to be worried.

“I don’t see you on the list, ma’am.”

I was so mindnumbingly dumb that I couldn’t even see how dumb I was being. “Oh no no no, I’m with the FBI. I called earlier and left a message, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember you,” She smiled politely, giving me the tiniest fragment of hope. “But you’re not on his list.” Only for it to be shattered in an instant.

I had yet to process or accept this information. “So what does that mean?”

“It means he doesn't wanna see you right now. And frankly, neither do I. Next!”

“Wait, could you just please check with him? My name is (y/n) -”

“Ma’am, you are holding up a whole line of people that wanna see their loved ones too, so I suggest you see yourself out before I call security to help see you out.”

I knew by her tone of the word ‘help’ that meant a prison guard would most likely forcibly remove me from the premises, and the last thing I needed was to feel even more humiliated.

I got plenty of that when I had to come back to the BAU.

“You’re not on the list?” Luke seemed genuinely shocked. More so than I was. Above all, I just felt really stupid.

“I’m sure it was just a mistake.” Stephen reasoned. He was so good at being level-headed. Which normally, I would’ve loved. But right now, it only fueled the fire burning in my chest.

“That’s what I thought at first, too. But later on, she asked him herself, and he said - and I quote, ‘I don’t want to see her. Not now. Not ever.’”

. . .

Those were the words that seared my skin, and he hadn’t even spoken them directly to me to do it.

The words that did just enough to heal me back to health were, of course, Penelope’s.

“Since you haven’t seen him yet, the rest of us will just wait until you have. It’s only fair that you have your first turn before the rest of us go back for a second time.”

Back then, it was easy to hold out hope, but the more and more time passed, the more he kept denying my visits. Therefore, the more my hope began to fade.

It had been weeks since anyone else had seen him before I finally surrendered. Although I had newly-brewing sourness towards Reid, it didn’t feel fair to deny him everyone else’s presence until mine was permitted.

Luke was the one who volunteered to visit first. And to my dismay, Spencer didn’t fight against it.

The proof was finally there. Now I could say with absolute certainty: Spencer just didn’t want to see me.

It was both ironic and utterly frustrating to think about how I’d never gone more than two weeks without seeing him. Even when the BAU got time off after big cases, we’d always spend that time together. The longest we’d spent apart was 12 days. And right when he came back to D.C, we were attached at the hip for the next week, trying to compensate for all that time we were apart.

Now, look at us. I haven’t said one word to him in half a year.

If tragedy and comedy could coexist, this would be it.

“How is he?” I asked Luke as soon as he got back.

“He’s holding on,” Luke affirmed with confidence. What he said next lacked any of that. “He told me to tell you not to worry about him.”

Something in me knew it was a lie. “Did he actually say that?”

His lack of an answer was one itself.

“Did he say anything at all about me?”

“I tried telling him how much you wanted to see him, but he just brushed it off. I’m sorry, (y/n).”

This became my routine for the months to follow. Every time someone would come back from the prison, I’d ask them if they talked about me, but the answer was always no. After a while, it had gotten to the point where I purposefully started leaving myself out of the loop. At least in that case, it was by my own volition that I was being excluded, not by a predicament being forced on me.

Not by Spencer.

“We’re not doing this right now,” Spencer declaration brought me back to the present, where I found him removing himself from both the conversation and the vehicle. When I heard the latch click to open, my hand reflexively flew to my auto-lock to prevent him from leaving. Naturally, he still managed to escape using his door’s button.

If I couldn’t stop him, then I could follow him.

“Then when will we do this? Huh, Spencer? When? Because anytime I try to talk to you, you run away.” The mere fact that I was speed-walking after him was proof. While he casually strolled down the sidewalk paying me no mind, I tried to be clever and walk down the street so we’d be somewhat side to side. I was tired of staring at his back every time he walked away. I needed to see his face.

For his every stride, I had to take at least three steps. He was gliding through the world so effortlessly as I was trekking my uphill battle. It was quite fitting, though. Further exemplification that, between us, I was fighting harder to preserve the people we used to be, the relationship we used to have. Meanwhile, he couldn’t care less. A stone cold, inconvincible slab of steel. Just like he always was.

As I began to speak, I had to also be conscious of the parked cars along the curb, being careful to weave in and out.

“For months, you have blatantly ignored me. The entire time you were in prison, you denied my visits. And it’s not like it was a one time thing. I tried to visit you over 100 times while you were in jail! 100 times I got rejected. 100 times I got turned away. 100 times my heart shattered.”

By now, I was speaking so loudly that I could see household lights within neighboring homes turning on. I hadn’t even realized how far we’d walked down the street and away from our car, but it was the last thing on my mind.

“Then after you were released, it’s like I never even existed. I had to find out that you were out of there a week later than everyone else because they all assumed you came to me yourself to tell me the good news,” I laughed wryly at my own stupidity. “Do you know how hard it was for me?”

“Do you know how hard it was for me?”

It took me a second to register that he was actually engaging with me in this conversation now. But when I looked at his expression, I could see that something within him had snapped. A little piece of me was glad, though. Now I knew for sure that there was some effect I had on him.

“Hard for you?”

“I know you came to visit me 100 times! Want to know how I know? Because I was there, too! I was there every time a guard came to ask if I wanted to see you. I was there every time I turned you away. And while you got to walk out of those doors every time I did, I was stuck in there, rotting in that cell, thinking about how badly I wanted to see you. How badly I wanted to touch ...” His voice faltered. “To touch you. But I had to protect you!”

“You do realize in protecting me, you were hurting me in the process.”

“Because you just don’t know when to leave well enough alone!” His hands tugged at the root of his unruly hair like evidence of the frustration that my stubbornness caused. “You’re such a pain in the ass because you can never cooperate! It’s gotta be your way or no one else’s! ‘Spencer, it has to be this way because I said so. Spencer, you have to let me see you because I said so. Spencer, you have to talk to me because I said so. Spencer, you have to ride this stupid roller coaster because I said so,’” His imitation of my nagging voice would’ve made me laugh before. Now, it was bringing me onto the verge of tears. “Since clearly no one’s told you this before - not everything is about you! You just want it to be because you’re a whiny, little brat! You’re so spoiled rotten that you can’t even see how far down it goes. If you did, you’d know that you’re rotten to the core and that nothing will ever satisfy you. Especially me.”

His words had done more than sear me. They pierced me. They ripped me. They destroyed me. When he called me Brat, I thought it was endearing. Now, looking back, I realize - no, that’s just how little he thought of me.

As I came to the conclusion, I stopped dead in my tracks on the pavement.

I was done chasing Spencer.

His face had fallen from its anger, indicating he was apologetic, but I was beyond accepting his sorry excuses anymore. I couldn’t stand to look at him so I looked behind me to find our car at least a football field away. I guess in many ways, I’d gone the whole nine yards.

“This is what you wanted right?” I turned back to him momentarily. My voice scared me how calm it was because, inside, I was boiling with rage. “Well, here you go, Spence. Have all the fucking space you want.”

It was usually me watching his back while he walked away, and now, he was watching mine.

“(Y/n), wait!”

And for the briefest second, it actually felt good to be the first one to leave.

I was free.

_ _ _

To my dismay and relief, when I walked into work the next morning, he wasn’t there. I would’ve looked for him with more than a cursory glance except I was stuck on looking at something strange in the bullpen that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. But as I walked further in, a blaring siren went off in my head.

Spencer’s desk is completely empty.

I instantly sorted through my purse for my phone to reach Prentiss when I noticed something more.

I had been desperate to cling onto any notion that he still loved me, and there it was, just sitting on his desk. Proof that the man I loved was still in there somewhere.

The top three pictures from the carnival photo booth.

I laughed, as I always did, thinking about how much we had to exert ourselves to be positioned in a semi-adequate way. In the next wave, I felt profoundly empty. He had kept the pictures all these years, and now that I finally get to see them, he’s left me.

As I brought my hand to my face to clear the tears pooling at my lower lashes, I saw that my finger had an ink smear on the pad of it. There was nowhere else I could’ve obtained it except for if there was writing on the back of the photos.

What I read when I turned it over was as follows.

I want to be this guy for you again, (y/n). I just don’t know how.

I just don’t know if I can.

No matter how much I’ve changed, one thing’s still the same.

I love you.

I should’ve focused on the message, but all that I could focus on was that if I managed to smear the ink, that meant it was fresh, written just now.

He was still here.

I pocketed the photos and abandoned my purse, only carrying with me the phone that I forgot to use to dial Prentiss. After a moment’s indecision, I figured that taking the stairs would be faster than the elevator, and I bounded down the steps without hesitation.

“Spencer!” I yelled into the parking structure when I reached the ground floor. The sound of me bursting through the door caught the attention of Anderson, who was getting out of his car.

“I just saw him leave.” Anderson threw his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the exit. I knew, even in my state of mind, there was no feasible reality where I could reach him on foot. I had to call him.

I pleaded to myself for him to pick up with every ring of my phone.

“(Y/n),” He said like a statement instead of a question. Again, he’d anticipated I’d do this. He probably picked it up not even having to look at the caller ID but knowing it was me and no one else.

“I don’t need you to be the guy you were before, Spencer. I just need you to bend a little bit. I know we’re both stubborn people, but if we can just find a halfway point-”

“(Y/n), (y/n),” He was settling me and the sentences that were coming out of my mouth at 100 mph.

“I’ll bend if you bend.” I promised.

The static of the call filled my ears until his voice finally did.

“For everyone else, I bend ... for you, I break.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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lazarettta · 4 years ago

Text

Misthios III

Characters (Mother Miranda, Alcina Dimitrescu, Reader)

Word count (2k)

Rating (T)

Warning (straight zooted, none)

Countess Dimitrescu takes you home.

Any mistakes you find, blame it on the herbs.

Only taking a few steps from your holding cell, you were startled with what awaited you.

You weren't sure what to expect when you were about to meet Lady Dimitrescu but what you got wasn't on the top of your list; her inhuman beauty or her height. She was taller than tall and for a split second you actually gawked at the woman before remembering yourself and thankfully your jaw snapped shut inaudibly but she'd already caught you.

“This is (Y/n), take her to your castle and keep her there until I call.” You frowned at her words, you weren't some goddamn pet to keep and she had another thing coming if she thought that you were just going to sit around twiddling your thumbs. Miranda stopped next to the tall woman near the door and a small torch light, “Not a scratch, Alcina.”

“Of course, Mother Miranda.” She seemed amused and she clearly wasn't as human as she portrayed herself to be. You'd place a bet wagering that she is one of the myths you haven't yet tracked down...but which one?

Miranda didn't spare you another glance and she was gone within a blink of an eye, leaving you two alone, you cleared your throat bringing the woman's honey eyes to you again. “But you will refer to me as lady Dimitrescu.”

Keeping up with Alcina's long strides down the dreary pathway wasn't an easy feature especially given that the hallway itself was narrow and you didn't really have any interest in touching the walls. They were wet but it did not look or smell like water. Eventually the woman came to a stop, right in front of an iron door that turned out to be an elevator shaft—a bit like the ones used when mining was still a thing.

Prison cells in some abandoned underground mining tunnels, Miranda? Always so dark and mysterious...

The silence between you both was thick and a bit awkward and you could feel her caution and curiosity rolling off of her in waves and you knew that she was occasionally glancing at you because you were doing the same thing while you both waited for the elevator shaft to come down. This place just continued to get more and more curious—what other wonders was this village in the mountains hiding away from the rest of the world? But you were quick to chastise yourself for the thought, curiosity always killed the cat, (Y/n)...

“Yes,” her voice was low and deep this time opposed to the thunderous tone she was using earlier, “but satisfaction brought it back.”

You hadn't been aware that you spoke out loud. Having allowed yourself to be distracted with your thoughts that you failed to take notice of how much more observant the other woman became towards you the minute you both loaded onto the old shaft. Though the old thing hardly made a sound under lady Dimitrescu's weight despite the fact that in order to enter she had to duck a little for herself and her large brimmed hat.

Shoving your hands in your pocket, you turned slightly to look up at her making sure to keep your eyes above those pearls wrapped around her pale neck and accenting that decolletage—no doubt purposely done. “Ah, I haven't had that recited back to me in a very long time.”’

“Then you’re not keeping the right company.”

Your mouth twitched around a smile before you schooled it away, “That would be true if I actually had any friends...or family.”

Lady Dimitrescu raised an eyebrow, not that you’d see it because of her hat casting a shadow over a majority of her face, “Handsome thing like you without friends or family? Doubtful. Surely you have someone waiting for you? You seem like the type to have a maiden or two at your feet.”

This time you couldn’t push back your smile, you knew that she was fishing for some answers about your character—and no doubt trying to figure out why Miranda thought you were special enough to be placed under her word of protection, as if you actually needed it.

But that was all fine because you’d do the same thing, in fact you already were but you’d give her something—an inevitable piece of information that will come to light soon enough. She was already suspicious so it really was just a matter of you beating her to the punchline.

“Nope, none of the above. People just have this pesky little habit of dying on me.”

She chuckled, low and deep and you felt it a bit (and fuck was this the longest elevator ride you’ve ever been on), “Oh I know of that nuisance all too well myself.”

“Do you now?”

“Oh quite dear.” There was a bit of a sinister flare to her tone behind that innocent smile and shrug she tried to sell you. “One could even say it's my favorite pastime.”

And right as you were about to press another question the shaft came to a screeching halt, oh…how convenient. You swore you saw Lady Dimitrescu outright grinning before she ducked out ahead of you, if you didn’t know better you’d say she read your mind.

The moment you stepped out of the shaft and through the opening of the alcove, you were severely unprepared for the harsh winter wind or how well into the evening it’s become and the conversation earlier was placed on the backburner.

Less than two hundred feet away there was a stagecoach waiting with four black horses attached. The stagecoach was all black with gold trimmings, a style fit for royalty—you’ve seen enough of them in your lifetime to know.

There was a young man half frozen next to it as he waited for Lady Dimitrescu’s approach, nearly stuttering out all of his teeth to greet her but she hardly paid him any attention, gracefully ducking inside. The young man gawked at you as you entered the coach behind his employer but was quick to close the door after you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, the tips of your ears heating up when you had to brush past her crossed legs to sit on the bench across from her and she made no effort to move, only watching you while smoking from her cigarette stick.

The stagecoach had a bigger interior than the exterior let on, accommodating the dark haired beauty perfectly. Though she was sitting at a sideways angle she seemed very comfortable and she was easily dumping the ashes outside of the cracked window.

“Is there anyway to get my things back…it had a majority of my clothes in there.” Or get back to your camp—it was probably ruined by now, either by wild animals or nature itself.

“We will accommodate you at the castle.” Her gaze was on you again but you were busy looking out of the window down at the village, now that it was nightfall everyone had their lights on—it was bigger than what you expected. “I don’t suppose you like dresses?”

As you suspected, the inside of her castle was just as massive and beautiful in it's antiquity as it was on the outside. The estate was kept in pristine condition and you were honestly impressed with what you saw. But it was really warm though not uncomfortably so. You two had barely stepped into the lobby of her castle with you mostly admiring how easily she was able to bend at the waist without batting an eye to get through a door that wasn't custom sized for her. She seemed used to it but you wondered why she didn't correct the doors.

“Hmm. Nice castle but why is it so warm? I might have to sleep with a window open.” you joked, still taking in everything and you had yet to notice how your words affected your host.

She stopped dead in her tracks and turned on you so fast you actually did run into the taller woman. Your entire face was lost in a world of firm fluffiness and your senses were filled with the very essence of Lady Dimitrescu. Though before you could scramble away with an apology on the tip of your tongue, Lady Dimitrescu was moving before you and she had reached down and she fisted the back of your parka and kept you right where you were, close and trapped.

You were forced to look up at her between her bust, or let them suffocate you, and she was already looking down at you with a hard look but you had no idea what the hell you did.

“You open a window in my castle and you won't be sleeping at all, guest to Mother Miranda be damned.” she snarled, her tone steely and you had no choice but to listen—even if she didn’t have you in a death grip, “The windows are off limits. Do not open them. Do not touch them. Are we clear?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, still struggling against her unyielding hold and against your rising temper, “What the—”

“Do you understand?” she tightened her grip on the back of your clothing, forcing the collar of every layer you wore to constrict around your throat at an alarming fast rate.

“Understood.” you gritted, your blunt nails digging her soft flesh beneath your hands that was her stomach but you doubted that your nails were as deadly as hers. You didn't bother to tell her that it was a joke and you were quick to straighten yourself out as you caught your balance when she released you with a bit of a pull against your parka forcing you away from her. You cursed her in your native tongue but her attentions were now focused on something to your left—no, on someone.

“Ah, good! Servant, come here,” a young girl no older than twenty quickly came over, bowing her head awkwardly.

“Y-yes Lady Dimitrescu, how may I serve—”

Alcina cut in quickly as if she had better things to do, and she did, “You're not serving me tonight, girl. This (Y/n). She will be staying in the guest room to the left of the wine room and you will be tending to her every need for the duration of her stay, and I do mean her every need.” though her tone was cheerful there was an undertone of a threat if her instructions went under-performed. Alcina winked at you as she hadn't almost choked you out in the middle of her foyer.

“Yes ma'am, I understand.”

The maiden nearly nodded her head from her shoulders. She was so terrified. If you were blind you would've assumed it was her first day, but a good portion of you knew that it was something else—you remembered quite well how Miranda preferred to run her own kingdom and you weren't surprised that this woman had similar tastes.

“Keep your pleasantries. Just show me to my room and leave me before I really lose my fucking temper.” you snarled at both of them, namely the Lady of the castle. You were able to physically restrain yourself from starting a brawl with this woman but your mouth has almost always gotten you into more than half the situations that left marks all over your body.

Lady Dimitrescu looked back to you, tilting her head back slightly as if she was just finally taking notice of how hard you were glaring at her. She did not know why as it could've been for a number of things that have happened within the last five minutes.

Alcina's eyes shifted from you to the trembling maiden between the two of you, then back to you again, “Are we going to have an issue, (Y/n)?” and clearly misunderstanding the reason for your ire.

You scoffed knowing when to pick your battles and how she handles her staff was not one of them. But how she handled you was, “Manhandle me again and we will.”

The maiden gasped at your audacity and flinched sharply when Alcina chuckled while setting her hand on her hip. She found more and more curious and she was starting to see why Miranda liked you so much before. There was a spirit that burned inside of you—strong and rattling in its cage, she could see it in your eyes even as you restrained yourself.

The maiden opened her eyes when she didn't feel the whoosh of Lady Dimitrescu slapping you through the wall, she was surprised to see you still standing there alive. The maiden looked at you in awe before bowing her head, “P-please follow me, ma'am.”

Alcina still stood there with her hand on her hip and another one of her cigarettes was lit, watching you follow the little maiden through one of the side doors when a familiar buzzing made itself known until Bela was standing next to her, snuggled close as she wiped the blood from her mouth with the sleeve of her black shift. It needed to be washed anyway.

“Mother, who is that? Another meal?”

“No,” Alcina answered softly, reaching down with her free hand to push back Bela's hood so she could comb out a few tangles in her eldest daughter's blonde hair, “But she is very interesting, isn't she?”

“Yes, but who is she?” Bela asked again, this time looking up at Alcina.

“Perhaps a friend, or foe, that has yet to reveal itself. But for now, go and collect your sisters dear and meet me in my study...I wish to talk to them about something more pressing.”

Bela was gone in an instant, the synchronized buzzing of dozens of blowflies disappearing quickly leaving Alcina alone with her thoughts.

Here is a link to the Ao3 version of this story...if it's easier than tumblr...

#resident evil village #mother miranda x reader #alcina x reader #resident evil 8 #mother miranda #lady alcina x reader #resident evil miranda x reader

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daydream-believin · 4 years ago

Text

What About the Smaller Picture (2)

Summary: Merlin knows best. And what he feels is best for you and Douxie right now is to sit around and wait for him to come back from New Jersey, Merlin-knows-when. (2) Your first day in Arcadia, it sure is something. (1) - (3)

Warnings: swearing, proofing is for nerds

Word Count: 2211

a/n: i hope to be able to make you feel the awkwardness radiating off of every part of this series

Hisirdoux’s special welcome tour didn’t exactly do its job of making you feel welcome. You supposed that was more of a problem with you than the town. It definitely wasn’t of any fault of Hisirdoux’s. If anything, he was being a little too warm. It almost felt fake.

People appeared to like Hisirdoux. All across town, he would greet friends, introduce you to them. Kinda like he was showing you off. You did not know what for. He barely knew you, yet he talked about you like you were an old friend returned to him. Like he was proud of you or something. You supposed he was establishing a cover story. And you weren’t sure why. Why not just say you were new in town? What tracks was he trying to cover here.

You stopped paying too much attention to what Hisirdoux was telling others about you. He was telling them that he cared for you. That he missed you. It was a lie, sure. But just hearing those words come out of someone else’s mouth were making you melt. It had been so long that it was hard for you to recall the last time a person said such nice things about you. That was sad. You supposed the blush on your face did good to add to the story he was telling. Made it more believable. You felt really pathetic that this guy you barely knew lying through his teeth about you was actually making you blush as if it was real. As if anyone really thought those nice things he said about you in real life. Man that’s really sad. Moving on.

The town itself looked a little rough. Like it had seen better days. It was apparently a hub of magic, so it probably had. A lot of the damage you saw looked very recent though. That made sense. The whole reason you wound up here was because you befriended a girl traveling with a pack of trolls migrating from this very town. When asked why they were migrating, Claire, the girl, had told you that their home had been destroyed in a recent battle. “The Eternal Night” they called the battle. You, of course, knew about such eternal night. You had heard of the prophecy, you just didn’t expect it to happen in your lifetime. And you may had freaked out just a tad when it came along earlier that month, the unexpected solar eclipse confusing you and your studies before you figured out what was happening. However, you had assumed the battle took place underground, you know, cause trolls. The town you explored with Hisirdoux told a different story. At one point you saw a troll walking by, under an umbrella, following a red-headed human woman with a baby in her arms. And the locals didn’t seem to care. No one batted an eye. Strange town.

What really baffled you though was what happened later in the day, back at the bookstore, when you cast a simple spell. Nothing too flashy, just a little levitation on a book Hisirdoux had sent you to find up on a high shelf you couldn’t reach. When he saw you, Doux made a really panicked gasping sound. He threw himself in front of you, shielding you from the people who were not even there, startling you, and throwing off your focus. The book landed on both of you with a thunk.

“You can’t do that,” his voice was hushed despite you two being the only ones in the shop at the moment, “It’s business hours. The mortals don’t know about wizards and they shouldn’t see magic,” he stressed.

“But- uh,, They look just fine with the trolls?” Confusion was written across your face.

“That’s different. It’s different. Look, the situation is weird, okay,” He made a little X with his hands. “But I can’t have you casting spells around the shop. Or in public, period. The mortals can’t see anything, okay?”

“Okay, okay. My bad. I won’t do it again- Promise.” Your face was hot with embarrassment. This was your fault for assuming. Fuck, he probably thinks you’re a wild card now or something. Not a good start to your professional life here. Or your relationship with this Adonis who’s reprimanding you.

“While there are some other wizards around town that I’ll introduce you to tonight, to stay safe, generally just keep the magic for when we’re alone and out of sight.”

“Oh, yeah, uh- Okay”

He grinned. Suddenly, he leaned in, catching you off guard. “It can be a special thing,” His voice was even softer as he was so close to you, “just between the two of us.”

Oh. So he meant when just You and Him were alone and out of sight. Ooookaaaayyyy. He winked to you as he separated himself from your side, and went off to the back of the store to continue unpacking a shipment he had just got in. He left you there, clutching that damn book to your chest, face now hotter than before, if that was even possible at all. Oh no.

Fuck, it was fucking day one. Day one! Day fucking one and you were developing a crush. NOPE. This was not something you were going to do. Uh-uh. Nein. There was no fucking time for this. Well, you didn’t really know how much time you had with Merlin and his addiction to being perceived as mysterious or whatever the hell was wrong with that asshole you worked for now, but the point is you did not have time for this! Hisirdoux was too much. Merlin really should have had the decency to warn you that he was hot. This wasn’t fair. Not only was Doux beautiful, but he was a touchy person. You weren’t going to stand a chance.

The thing is you had been sooo worried about how you and Hisirdoux were going to get along, you even brought up the concern to Merlin. To be honest, you had thought the old wizard to just be annoyed at your worrying, and that’s why he reassured you it’d all be fine. That you and Hisirdoux would get along swimmingly or whatever just get out of my hair kid. You were so afraid Hisirdoux would have to warm up to you like a cat being introduced to a new kitten. Afraid that he’d resent you since you were technically Merlin’s apprentice too now in a sense. And he was used to being number one, no one else to compete with for Merlin’s sparse pride since Morgana went astray. Merlin assured you Hisirdoux was very friendly. But like, would it kill the geezer to give you a warning that he’d be too friendly.

While you were having your little crisis, Douxie was humming along to the song in his head, stacking up the new books onto a display, trying his absolute dilly darndest not to think about what just happened. What he did. That wasn’t weird, right? Oh fuzzbuckets, he did something weird. He was just so used to playing up the flirty persona he’d developed he hadn’t even stopped to think about if he’d be making you uncomfortable. And he really wanted you to be comfortable. Plus, he felt pretty guilty he had to stop your tour around town to go accept a shipment he forgot. Strangely, he was really concerned about the impression he was giving you. Caring about what another person thought of him was not very in character for him. Not counting Merlin, of course. He was going to have to make this up to you. He really needed you to think he was cool. For professional reasons, of course. Definitely.

~ ~ ~

“SO! I recommend the steak because it’s the least disgusting thing on the menu.”

You gaped at the wizard sitting across from you in this sticky booth, peeping your head over the kitschy French-themed menu you held. He had no menu. In fact he refused to even touch it. Great. What did he know.

“I- What do mean ‘least disgusting’, Casperan.” You were almost afraid to ask.

“I mean that kitchen is filthy and the steak is your best bet for something edible.”

“Why. Why would you bring me here if the food is terrible.”

You were always weary of greasy chain restaurants, but you had expected this one to be at least a little decent, since it was a smaller Cali chain and Hisirdoux had fucking brought you to it your first day in the town. Surely he was kidding.

“I just wanted to show you where I worked nights. So you’d be able to find me easier if there’s any trouble. Besides, you can’t say you’ve been to California if you haven’t had Mr. Benoit’s. It’s like In-N-Out burger. Remind me to take you to an In-N-Out burger later this week.”

You blinked. “Oh – uh, okay.”

Hisirdoux continued, “I can’t have my phone turned on during my shifts so you’ll have to come get me directly if it’s a big enough problem. Make up an emergency. Are you good at improve?”

You looked around the restaurant, getting a feel for its layout, taking notice of where the kitchen and back doors were located, making mental notes of all exits. “Ah, well, I’m good at lying, if that’s what you’re asking…”

“Good enough.”

The waiter came to take your orders. Hisirdoux shared an inside joke with him. It should have been awkward, them laughing away at something you didn’t understand why you sat there quietly, but you were a little too fixated on how pretty Hisirdoux looked when he laughed. It was mesmerizing. The waiter took your order. You got the steak.

~ ~ ~

It was very important for you to establish connections in Arcadia’s wizard underground. Or at least that’s what Hisirdoux thought. You weren’t particularly a social butterfly. It’s not that you didn’t like having a large group of friends or anything, you just never really had a reason to have one. And Doux was hell bent on introducing you to every person in this town in one day apparently. You had met twenty-three wizards in counting over the last hour being shepherded through this off-brand apple store. You had so far learned no names. How did he expect you to remember these peoples names. ��Scratch that. You knew one name. Zoe. Just because she was very annoyed at your and Hisirdoux’s presence in her workplace, and was very vocal about it. That being said, she didn’t make any real effort to get you to leave. You wished she would though. You were getting overwhelmed. Today had been incredibly stressful, with a lot of information to take in, and with only a brief rest when Doux was handling things at the bookstore. You wanted to go home. Geez, home. You realized that Hisirdoux had yet to show you home. Where was home.

You tugged on his hand to grab his attention. “Hey, I’m- uh – tired? Really tired. Can - can we go home?”

“OH. Yes! Home. Right away. Yes.”

Douxie possibly maybe had been avoiding home all day. It just, it wasn’t much. He had no idea how you were going to react. His space was small already without adding another person to it. Of course, it wasn’t any smaller than any of the one-room cottages that entire families used to share, but it was tiny for modern standards. Okay to be frank it was a back room. Not technically even an actual apartment. But it was his home. And now it was your home too.

Okay, so Hisirdoux lived in his bookstore. What was probably supposed to be a break room was his entire living space. It was… cozy. You set the backpack that carried everything you owned down on the floor and headed for the lumpy plaid sofa. It was nice and old, like a sofa should be. The plaid pattern covered any stains that might have been there. Hisirdoux sat down next to you, starting to fiddle with his hands. You looked around, took it all in. The was a kitchenette off to one side, a bed to the other side. The sofa was in the sort of middle ground. Notably, there was no table, barely any counter space, and various teacups on the coffee table, so it was a safe bet that he just ordered take out every night and ate it on the sofa. The twin bed was on the ground, and the quilts that covered it had visible holes. It struck you that this bed was the only one in the room. The one room.

“So I’ll take the sofa, until we get you a bed. I’ll, uh, figure something out with the space. We can put up curtains or something.” It was if he had read your mind.

You nodded, unsure of anything to add. This was,,,, going to be fun. A challenge. A test to see how long you can act normal while living in extremely close quarters with a funny medieval supermodel. Merlin help you. Something moved in the corner of your eye. You gasped.

“Kitty!”

“Oh, that’s Archie.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Talking kitty. How bout that.

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