She/her 🇬🇧, ⚠️minor (until next year)⚠️, I LOVE BELOS AND THE STUPENDIUM, I indulge in the SFW tkl community, I respect anyone who respects me. Making suggestive jokes or comments about fictional characters is fine, but no fully NSFW stuff pls.
Hiiii! You may call me Leigh, I'm formerly @thatcheesyler but I changed accounts :}
I'll mostly fluctuate between posting about Belos and some of my other fandoms, including fanart, headcanons and, albeit extremely rare, maybe even a fic :D
Just a heads up though, I am in the SFW tickling community, so if that's not your thing, you can go ahead and ignore/block my blog ^^
This goes the same for NSFW accounts, I'm fine with making the occasional suggestive comment about characters, but I am still a minor
With that out of the way, here is the link to my fandom list, so that you know what I'm into!
Summary: Alternate scenario of the evening garden scene where March convinces Healy to regail him with the 'Diner Guy' tale that a policewoman mentioned earlier on. However, things take a bit of a silly turn when March falls asleep during the story, and Healy's not in the mood for it ;3
A/N: This is a SFW The Nice Guys tickle fic, if that's not your thing, kindly scroll right past, thank youuu!! ^^
CW: Swearing, mentions of violence, mentions of alcohol, very brief mentions of a bullet wound, and Holland March being a bit drunk
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"Heyyy, aren't you that diner guy?" March's tipsy half-smirk beamed at his hitman colleague, his uninjured arm raising to point a finger at Healy, while the other digits held firm around a glass of whiskey. The ring on his pinky finger glinted in the porchlight reflection.
Healy paused, eyes flicking downward from the detective to the empty swimming pool below, then back up again. He knew March would try bringing the story up one way or another, but that didn't make him any less hesitant to spill it. Another beat of silence passed, before Holland spoke again.
"Come on c'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon- I gotta know." He added, his tone equal parts playful and genuinely curious. Healy tilted his head a bit dismissively. "I don't wanna get into it." A shame, but to be expected from someone like Jack. However, March was drunk, which made him all the more persistent and invasive than he usually was.
"You gotta get into it," March lightly shrugged, not backing down. "I gotta know. You're the diner guy." He repeated the title for emphasis, blue eyes boring expectantly into Healy's, who looked off to the side to weigh his options. A second passed, and Jack sighed.
"Alright."
"Yes!" Holland whisper-shouted, briefly tipping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut in victory. While Healy started to tell his tale, March decided to get comfy. He took up the alcohol bottle next to him on the diving board and leaned over sideways to place it further away from him, so that he had room to lie down. As though preparing for a bedtime story. This dork.
"Right about a year ago.. I was at a diner in Hollywood." Healy began, gently pacing near the pool edge. He faintly recounted the day in his head, visualising himself at the bar stool in that diner. "And this asshole with a shotgun started threatening people." Cue asshole with shotgun appearing in his mind's eye, as he recalled it. Though Holland's voice cut through and broke the illusion a bit.
"I love it, it's the best story I've ever heard." The P.I. was now lying on his back, lower legs dangling over the end of the diving board and forearms folded over his chest, holding the whiskey glass between both hands. Healy barely caught it, but March did seem to be.. a little fatigued now. From the alcohol, most likely.
Still, Healy continued his story. "So I did something about it. I acted. I didn't plan to, I didn't.. y'know..." He trailed off for a moment. "I just did it."
In his mind, he saw himself lunging up from the bar stool and trying to yank away that guy's shotgun, earning a bullet to his bicep in the process. Nevertheless, he fought on. "I took that guy out." Healy managed to grab the shotgun, hand gripping the barrel tightly as he slammed the butt into that asshole's face.
"I didn't even get paid for it." Jack then flipped the gun around to weild it more like a sword, before swinging it around the side of the perpetrator's head. And again, from the other side. He had been thrown into a blind rage.
"So I ended up with a bullet in the bicep and 500 bucks of hospital bills. It was stupid, really." Healy's gaze was still pointed downward, trailing along the miserable littering of cigarettes that had accumulated on the bottom of the pool.
His vision then cut back to that day, and the asshole was now on the floor, as Jackson hammered the shotgun butt repeatedly against his body from above. The memory then faded again, once it was over.
"But when I think about it..." Healy finally snapped out of his trance and looked back up at March again, a short huff of laughter preceding what he had to say next. A little smirk was on his face, now. "It was the best day of my life."
However, it appeared that as Healy was reminiscing, his colleague had fallen fast asleep. He wasn't quite sure when, because he hadn't heard any snoring up until now, but nevertheless, Jack couldn't help raising both eyebrows in irritation.
"Unbelievable. Sharing a personal story of mine, about the only time I felt useful.. and you go noddin' off to Dreamland like a dick." He murmured, hands in his pockets as he considered for a moment. The wise thing to do would be going inside and leaving him there to sleep off his drunken state.
But since when was Jackson Healy ever a fan of wise ideas?
He sighed, deciding to act on his annoyance instead. Acting, just like he did at the diner. Healy made his way over to the base of the diving board, crouching down to grab that half-empty bottle of scotch and put it safely to one side first, before he crawled closer to March. The man halted in a kneel just behind Holland's head. Christ, he could smell his partner's foul breath even from here.
Still, Healy gently pried the whiskey glass from March's hands and leaned back to place it alongside the bottle. Safe and out of the way. With that, he reached out a hand and poked experimentally at Holland's cheek. "Ey, you there? You didn't hear the rest of my diner story."
The drunkard stirred a little, but ultimately just groaned and mumbled something incoherent before he dozed off again. However, he seemed to subconsciously shuffle backwards on his elbows a bit, so that his head could land on Healy's lap. The hitman didn't know what was worse, the fact that March was this comfortable with him, or the fact that he himself didn't try to pull away from being a makeshift pillow.
All in all, Healy would definitely have to poke either a little more or a little harder. He chose the former, since March was already injured enough. That same hand came out again, this time poking at the base of Holland's neck. A twitch, the slight scrunching of a shoulder, and one corner of the sleeping man's lips quirking upwards, but that was about it.
Oh, except that wasn't just 'about it'. That was everything Healy needed, actually. What a treat, to discover that the boastful detective was secretly ticklish. Jack found himself smirking again, this would be fun.
"Hey, wake up. Last warning, March." He said, emphasising with one more prod to the jaw. The man's smirk all but widened when Holland ignored it, turning his head away from the touch and groaning again. Well, that sounded enough like permission to Healy. The man scooped underneath both of March's shoulders and pulled him more into his lap, so that his neck wasn't craned and he had more access to it.
Now, all he had to do was take eight of his digits and flutter them along either side of March's throat. The reaction was quite wonderful to watch. The P.I. scrunched up again, this time on both sides, and his lips meandered upwards to form a dopey smile that Healy didn't mean to stare at for as long as he did.
The tickles were working their magic, though. Holland appeared to be a little stuck between twisting away and.. oddly leaning into it, which Jack was most definitely filing away for blackmail later. Anyway, this was all well and cute, but Healy desired something a little more.
His fingers trailed downwards a bit and began gently scritching at the base of his partner's neck, which certainly garnered the 'more' that he was wanting. The softest of snorts was elicited, and March couldn't help the breathy titters that were now freely spilling from his lips. He sluggishly clasped and wrung his hands together in his sleep, seeming to try and stop himself from swatting Healy's hands away. Despite that, March was beginning to stir some more now, closed eyelids squeezing together before they just barely seperated to show slits of the irises beneath.
Being under the influence, albeit somewhat less, things were more hazy for March than if he had woken up sober. The porch light shone in the corner of his vision, but other than that he couldn't see much other than the night sky. Well, there was laughter, so that had to mean something good, right? He then became aware of the tingling sensation on his neck, and a sudden surge of consciousness brought him back to his bearings. He was the one laughing.
He caught the first glimpse of Healy's smirking face above him and he flinched, hard. "JESUS!!" He no less than screamed, though it was riddled with residue mirth. March was quick to scramble upright and shove the attacking hands away, bringing his own up to his chest in some kind of pathetic martial arts defense. Both shoulders were still scrunched, and he looked like a spooked hamster more than anything.
Healy could only chuckle, arms retreating into his lap as he shook his head fondly. "Oh now you're paying attention, huh? What happened to hearin' about Mr. Diner Guy?" Healy 'scolded' him, though it sounded suspiciously close to a tease, which honestly dumbfounded Holland. Jackson Healy the Hitman... was teasing him?!
A very faint dust of pink settled atop March's ears before he could stop it. He didn't even realise he'd slipped from consciousness during the tale, but now he felt a little stupid, considering he'd been wanting to hear about it so bad. Still, Holland went for the defense as per usual.
"Well- maybe don't have such a soothing voice next time and I won't need to wake up with you hoverin' over me like the Grim fuckin' Reaper!" He argued, cast-clad arm gesturing wildly as if Healy's complaint was completely irrational. "And what were you even d- why the hell was I laugh-..."
The tingling sensation, that he'd felt on his neck. That was Healy. His colleague had tickled him awake?! This was a dream, had to be. Though the slight burn that now spread from his ears to his cheeks certainly felt real enough. Jack could practically hear the pieces snapping together in his partner's mind, and decided to add some commentary.
"For the record, I didn't know you were ticklish.. It's kinda funny though, you're out here demanding me to spill my secrets, yet you keep this little gem from me?" Healy countered, one eyebrow raised as he tilted his head with that fuckass smirk. Now March wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but he had enough wits about him to paint a picture of where this was leading. And boy did that make him excit- NERVOUS. Nervous. It made him nervous. That wobbly smile from just earlier threatened to etch along his features again.
A part of him wished Holly were here, to protect him from this deviant. He knew she wouldn't, in fact she'd probably just encourage Healy. But fuck you, he could dream. Dreaming wouldn't save him from the absolute bear of a man that had him stranded on a diving board with tickly murder in his eyes, though.
"I- I didn't see how it was relevant! Y'know, I mean everyone is- and- th-there are more interesting things and-!"
"You're stammerin', March-"
"IKNOWI'MSTAMMERING- look point is, you think I wasn't listening to your story, right? B-but that's not true, actually! I got all of it, it was a very cool story!..." By this point, Holland was just desperate to change the topic and save as much face as possible. However, unfortunately, Healy was rather set on getting the opportunity to tickle the living daylights out of his partner in crime-solving. That man had certainly pissed him off enough these past few days to earn it.
"..What was the name of the diner?" Jack asked out of the blue, a mischievous glint of challenge in his gaze.
"Hm?" Came the reply of a detective that was a little too lost in his own head to process the question.
"The diner. What was it called?" He inquired again, a little firmer. Holland instantly knew it was a test, to see if he'd actually been listening. He hadn't, and now he was getting called out on his bluff. Even though, unbeknownst to him, Healy had never actually mentioned the diner's name.
Still, March found himself opening and closing his mouth a couple of times, like a fish. How inconvenient that the pool below didn't have any water for him to flop into and complete the look. His brain buffered, he had no idea what to say. Being honest didn't even cross his mind, but there was no lie he could tell to get out of this.
...
March made a break for it. Healy was blocking the safe way off of the diving board, so he instead immediately tried to clamber down into the swimming pool without hurting himself. He forgot Jack had quick reflexes. The hitman caught hold of his ankles before he'd even gotten a limb off the board. However, Holland seemed to have some rotten luck tonight, because he'd swiveled over onto his front and had both hands planted on the edge, meaning that they were prone to slipping off if he were jolted off balance. And slip they did, when he felt that grip around his legs and flinched.
He fell forwards head first towards the pool floor with a high-pitched yell, but with Healy yanking him back by the ankles, he ended up with his upper body dangling over the front of the diving board. Not ideal. His arms flailed, but he did stop screaming. A blessing to Jackson's ears.
"So. Why'd you lie to me, hm?" Healy said, shifting forward to kneel on the back of March's thighs. His victim just spluttered and groaned loudly in embarrassment, covering his face with both hands. Holland chose not to answer him, but he was too distracted about being almost upside down, that he didn't notice his untucked undershirt fell with him, leaving his midriff exposed to the evening air.
Jack, ever the opportunist, offered no hesitation in outstretching his hand and abruptly vibrating four clawed fingers into the side of the detective's bare ribs. "You gonna give me a clear fuckin' response, March?"
March screamed. Again. But this time there were hysterical cackles to pair with it, and a lot of fruitless writhing. How Holly hadn't been alerted by the sound of her father's volume, was beyond them both.
"NoNOnon-OHOHO GEHEheT OHOFF! YOhoHOU'RE SO MEHEHEAN!!" March had a rather bumpy and hiccupy laugh, which Healy found kind of adorable, but that still didn't answer his question. Holland March was a shitfaced liar, and he needed to pay for it. "Me?! I'm not the one skipping off with the Candy Man in the middle of someone else's life story!"
March was trying his darnedest to pull his clothing back over his sensitive torso, but he was rather weakened by the circumstances, only managing to pathetically swipe his suit jacket upwards about ten centimeters before it flopped back down again. Ah, gravity, his age old nemesis. Fuck. Well, back to flailing as Healy changed tactics to reach his hand around and gently rake across his tummy.
"EEK-!! NOHO FUHUHUHAHAHAHA THIHIS IS CRUHUHUELLL!!! AHAND YOUR STOHORY SUHUHUCKED!" In the heat of the moment, any thoughts of consequences for his words had gone out of the window. March had no filter right now, and Healy? Oh he was living for the excuses to keep going. The hitman gave a faux dramatic scoff, pressing his free hand to his heart as he paused the onslaught briefly.
"Excuse me? Would you like to repeat that, Mr. March?" Healy peered down at the blonde, relishing in his red face and wild toothy grin, crazed excess giggles seeping through. And actually, if he wasn't mistaken, he could almost swear he was perceiving more excitement than anxiousness from his colleague. Though he was still deafeningly anxious with anticipation.
Holland, on the other hand, was currently regretting every decision that led up to this. He hadn't realised what he'd said until it was too late, now the shovel was broken and he had no way to dig himself out of this giggly grave. Admittedly, a part of him was having a blast, but he'd tried to squash that part down at the very first traces of it.
"Uhhm... Buhut I thought you preferred me to shut the fuhuck up.." Maybe it was an attempt at backsass, maybe March was just too nervous to think straight. Either way, Healy kissed his teeth and nodded absently, pretending to consider it as a real answer. His smirk wormed its way back out.
"Mm. Yeah. I see your point... but the thing is, uh.. is I'd prefer it if you shut the fuck up by laughing your stupid head off. Think you could do that for me? Great." There was barely enough time for March to start panicking again, before Healy utilised both hands in reaching over to go pinching and scratching softly just above his hips. Coincidentally, the man had just hit a jackpot spot.
And Holland.went.nuts. Another high pitched scream, of course, except now accompanied by the loudest snort known to mankind, the bucking force of an honest to God stallion, and delightful belly laughter that could probably fill the entire pool below if it were a physical substance.
"NNNAAHAHAHHAA-" Another snort. "FUHUHUCKSHIHIT IHI HAHAHAHATE YOHOHOHAHAHAHA!! THIHIHIS IHIS-" Snort number three. "AHABUHUHUSE!!" It was a shame that March was still half coherent, it would've been better if the insults were drowned out by chortles completely, but that would also just feel a bit mean to do. So this would.. suffice.
"Oh you're so dramatic, little fuckin' Piggy. Just be happy I didn't slap you awake earlier." He did make himself cringe a bit with the nickname, but it seemed to redden March's cheeks some more, so he stuck with it.
"IHIHI'M NAHAHAHAT A PIHIHI-" Snort.
Even Healy couldn't help barking out a laugh at the irony. "Hah! Yeah, sure you ain't." For a few more moments, he kept up the torment on Holland's waistline, until the string of protests died down into near silent laughter. It was only then that the hitman granted mercy, hands retracting back to cross over his lap as he peeked over the edge of the diving board at his friend.
Said friend was then greedily horking down oxygen for almost a whole minute before he felt just about sane enough to try speaking, clumsily swiping away the mirthful tears in his eyes as residual breathy giggles laced his words. "Ihi'm so... lihihightheaded... help."
"Oh. Right. Uh- yeah my bad. Here." Healy suddenly felt a wave of concern wash over him, fearing how much blood had probably rushed to March's head. Swiftly, he reached backwards to take firm hold of the P.I.'s ankles again, before shuffling the rest of his body back to the base of the diving board and rising to a crouch, so that he could pull March back up from dangling over the front end.
Now with his whole body back onto the board, March honestly couldn't be bothered to curl in on himself or anything, he just laid on his stomach and folded both arms beneath his head to relax, still panting slightly. A lopsided, tickle-drunk grin was now permanently plastered to his face, but honestly he didn't care. His dignity was already in shambles, anyway.
Healy was a little ashamed to admit that he didn't know how long he'd been staring at that smile, before he even realised he was doing it. He mentally slapped himself and flicked his gaze elsewhere. Mind you, March's clothes were still ridden up, and it was very tempting to set his sights (and fingers) on Holland's spine instead. To be fair, Jack did have one more excuse to use.
"...You never apologised, by the way." The brunet said after a long pause, now sitting half on the diving board and half on the garden with one knee bent up. His tone was still playful, like he'd already forgiven March. But he wanted to hear the man say sorry anyway, and he wanted to hear it through those pretty giggles.
As soon as Holland opened his mouth, two fingers were suddenly trailing up and down either side of his lower spine, light as a feather. Anything the detective had wished to say dissolved right at the tip of his tongue. Instead, soft lower-pitched giggles spilled into his sleeve and he instantly opted to hide his refreshed fluster in the crook of his elbow. Even better, he was kicking his feet behind him like a schoolgirl. How was this man both such an asshole and such a cutie? The world may never know. Well, the feet-kicking did get in Healy's way a little bit, but he didn't mind that.
"Sss... ssssahahaha-! S-sahahaharraha-!!"
"C'mon, you can do it.. just two syllables, that's all I need to hear."
"F-fuhuck yohohouhaha!!.. Ssohohaharry!" There, was that so hard? Chuckling lowly, Healy decided he was satisfied and let up completely, finally pulling March's shirt and waistcoat down before both of his arms retreated to become support pillars as he leaned back on them,
"Well, that was technically four syllables, but I'll allow it." Jackson grumbled, though it was mostly playful. Soon enough, Holland regained pretty much all of his stamina. Well, he was still bone tired, but he was as energetic as he could be right now. With that energy, he found the courage to look in Healy's direction with his face still a little flushed. Adorable.
"So umm, aren't you that Diner Guy?.." He asked as though that might get him in trouble again, his shoulders going a little tense when Jack returned his eye contact.
"...Y'know, not once did I hear you say the word 'stop'-"
"Go fuck yourself I hate you I hope you die in a deep dark hole." Well that certainly reignited the fire in Holland's face quick. Unfortunately Healy could only savour a glimpse of it before it was stuffed back against the detective's ripped sleeve.
Healy chuckled at the sight, but refrained from teasing him further. Instead, he regarded the blonde for one more moment, before sighing. It was heavy, but fond. Damn his heart, he was going to open up a second time.
"Alright alright. Fine, I'll tell you the stupid story again. You promise you'll stay conscious this time?" He relented, looking down upon his partner with an expectant look that the man wouldn't even see. Still, one hand unfolded from underneath March's head, and he waved it dismissively, now relaxed once he knew there were no more tickles coming. "Yeah, sure, promise."
Another sigh, and Healy started from the top. "Right about a year ago, I was at a diner in Hollywood..."
-
"Just for.. once, I felt useful." Jackson was staring idly at the night sky now, having visualised the entire scene in his head once more. But he didn't hear snores from beside him, so that was a good sign. Hopefully.
Healy turned his head to face the P.I., waiting to hear commentary about that little tale. But, oh, quelle surprise, his eyes were closed and he was lightly drooling onto his sleeve. Oddly though, Jack felt a bit less disappointed than before, mostly just... peaceful. Well, maybe they'd tuckered themselves out enough for tonight.
"Sweet dreams, March."
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Hope you enjoyeddd! I know that The Nice Guys has a VERY slim tkl community but I wanted to share this anyway lol, especially since it's that rare time of year in which I ACTUALLY finish a damn fic 🥹❤️🩹
Goddammit man, how can you hate Stratt?? Incomprehensible to me. Like just put yourself in her shoes for a minute and you will understand every single thing she ever did
I don't trust people that hate Stratt, It's like Skyler White all over again. Y'all just hate women
EXSQUEEZE ME?? YOU CANNOT JUST PULL THIS POSE ON ME AND EXPECT ME TO BE NORMAL ABOUT IT.
AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ABOUT THE INCH OF TUMMY SHOWING
THE DIRE NEED TO TRAIL MY FINGERS ALONG THAT GAP AND WATCH HIM GIGGLE AND KICK HIS LEGS OOUGHHHH SOMEONE HOLD ME BACK
AND HE FELL ASLEEP LIKE THIS IN FRONT OF HEALY NO LESS, HIS COLLEAGUE THAT HE LITERALLY ANNOYS TO NO END, AND THEN HAS THE GALL, THE AUDACITY, THE GUMPTION TO NOD OFF IN SUCH A LEE ASS POSITION *IN THE MIDDLE OF HEALY TELLING A VULNERABLE STORY ABOUT HIMSELF*!!!!!!
Guys I think I might have a thing about Ryan Gosling playing roles that give off such lee energy. Sigh.
"I'm just a girl☺️🥰💖💞💅🌺🌷🦄" when you were eight and the teacher said she needed some strong boys to carry something you used to be furious, and when you convinced them to let you help, you carried twice as many chairs as the boys with the righteous anger of a girl who knew she was just as capable as them. Where did that go?
To repeat the message louder: musicians, journalists, radio stations, listeners, record companies, streaming sites, discos; anyone remotely involved with popular music, you probably owe a big chunk of it to black musicians.
this is my part for a collab with the wonderful @greatleekate !!!! please check out anticipation on her page, it is so so cute and such a great read!! i absolutely loved pulling from it for this >x)
This is a collab with the lovely @milotkls!! I wrote the fic and they drew this absolutely gorgeous drawing <33 please please go check out their work and like + reblog on their page at this link !!!
Ler!Stratt, Lee!Grace
Summary: Stratt makes a discovery and Ryland can’t take the anticipation.
______
Dr. Ryland Grace had grown up with a twin brother and two older brothers. It was no wonder he flinched like an abused dog when anyone reached past his ribs, stomach, or neck.
A fact that Eva Stratt had just discovered.
Stratt frowned. "Are you injured?"
Grace wrapped his arms more tightly around himself. "Nope. All good." His voice was higher than usual.
She raised an eyebrow at him and took a sip of the coffee she had just reached across her colleague to grab.
The conference room was suddenly too quiet. Dr. Lokken made meaningful eye contact with Dr. Lamai. Dubois and Yao exchanged a bewildered glance. Shapiro mouthed across the table at Ilyukhina—Should we be concerned?
Ilyukhina unsubtly passed her a Post-It note back: Maybe she's been kicking her lap dog.
Shapiro hid her laugh in a cough.
Grace cleared his throat. "Uh, so, what was I saying?"
"The spin drives?" Shapiro offered, feeling guilty for laughing.
"Right, thank you…"
***
Stratt found Grace in the staff kitchen later. He was staring blankly as his stale coffee spun around and around in the microwave. He startled as she sidled in next to him.
"Oh- Christmas Eve. I should put a bell on you," Grace muttered.
"That would be inappropriate," Stratt replied calmly, stirring a flavorless 5-hour energy shot into her fourth coffee of the day.
They fell silent. Grace was visibly sweating.
"What was that, earlier? In the conference room," Stratt asked quietly.
"There's no way that's good for you," Grace deflected weakly, pointing at the offending 5-hour energy bottle.
"Answer the question, Dr. Grace."
"It was nothing," Grace flustered. The microwave beeped insistently.
Stratt hummed. Grace looked at anything but her.
"You know, Dr. Grace, people will think I'm abusing you if you keep flinching like that," she muttered.
"What— no they won't." Grace took his coffee out of the microwave.
"They already think we're fucking, why not that too?" Stratt asked coolly.
Grace spluttered and coughed into his coffee.
Stratt chuckled softly. "Just tell me."
"Fine. Jeez. I grew up with three brothers, okay? My instincts are- are hardwired for constant threat."
"What kinds of threats?"
"Oh, I don't know. Flying pillows thrown at my head. Getting pantsed. Impromptu wrestling matches…"
"Being tickled?" Stratt offered.
Grace bluescreened. "Wha- um- I- no, just…"
Stratt waited patiently. Grace hated her for it.
"Maybe. Fine. Sure," he finished.
"Good to know," Stratt murmured.
"Wait—what does that mean? Eva?!"
She was already walking away.
***
Stratt watched Grace through the window of his lab as he lowered himself to the ground, lied down underneath a rack with a large gel documentation machine on top of it, and started tinkering with the bottom of it as if he were fixing a car.
Stratt frowned. She could've sworn she had told Grace that there were lab technicians at his beck and call to fix anything he needed.
She entered the lab and approached her scientist. He was listening to music on the lab's speakers and was too focused to hear her walking closer.
"Na… na na na na na nah… hey Jude…" Grace sung under his breath.
The Beatles, Stratt thought. Fitting.
She crouched next to him, examining his tools and the way he was fixing the machine. It looked like he was replacing a rechargeable battery pack.
Stratt's gaze slid down Grace's body, examining his poor, albeit open and relaxed, posture and the way his shirt was riding up from the act of raising his arms over his head.
She cleared her throat.
Grace nearly jumped a foot in the air, banging his head against the lab equipment. "Fudge- I didn't see you there."
"You're aware that you can call people to come and fix things."
"I know, but, I like doing it myself," Grace mumbled, sliding out from under the machine and curling up into a protective ball.
"Why are you doing that?" Stratt asked.
"Because the battery died?" Grace answered, a puzzled expression crossing his face.
"No. Protecting yourself."
"I'm- I'm not protecting myself," Grace stuttered.
"Relax, then," Stratt said, sitting back on her heels.
"I am relaxed," Grace said defensively. "I'm the picture of relaxed."
"People who are relaxed don't need to announce it," Stratt said, scooting closer.
"What- What is this. Why are you—" his voice was awfully high. "Stratt?"
"Yes?" Stratt replied, a small smile starting to crawl across her face. She was now a foot away from him on the floor. She could see how dilated his pupils were.
"I- Eva. Come on."
"What? I'm not doing anything," she chuckled.
"You are though!" Grace protested.
"What am I doing, then? Spell it out for me."
"You're- you're…ugh!"
"What?" Stratt challenged.
"This isn't fair," Grace whined.
"What's not fair? I still don't understand what exactly it is I'm doing that is vexing you so much," Stratt said in one smooth breath.
Grace's mouth was agape and his cheeks were hot. "You're doing the… you're doing the anticipation thing."
"Anticipation of what?" She tilted her head to the side with a bemused smile.
Grace sputtered and started and stopped and couldn't get a sentence out. "Will you JUST get it over with and tickle me already?!" He finally outbursted.
"Ohhhh," Stratt hummed smugly. "That's what this is about."
"Don't pretend like that wasn't what was happening here!" Grace exclaimed.
She smiled. With teeth. Grace had never seen her do that before—only tight-lipped, hiding-her-amusement smiles. For a second he forgot his predicament because her smile was so rare. He couldn't help but feel pleased that he had coaxed it out of her.
Until she spoke, that is. "Fine, I'll bite. Your constant flinching intrigues me."
"I- why?!"
"It's cute," Stratt mused. "And it implies that you are far too sensitive for your own good."
"Wha- cute- hey…" Grace interrupted himself, warily eyeing Stratt's approaching hands. "Hey, come on, don't."
"Why not?"
"You seem to have a lot of questions today," Grace grumbled through gritted teeth. His blush had begun to spread down to his neck.
Stratt's hand stopped and hovered at Grace's side. He flinched, his elbow digging in against it, but otherwise remained still. "Jumpy," she chuckled.
"Can you blame me?" Grace squeaked.
"Why aren't you running away?" Stratt mused, wiggling her fingers. Grace's eyes were locked on them and he swatted weakly at her hand.
"I- I don't know!" He flustered. "I'm- I'm a little overwhelmed at the moment if you hadn't noticed!"
"I'm not even touching you."
"Exactly!"
"Okay, I'll move my hand," she smiled. Stratt retracted her hand fully, tucking it into her lap. Grace remained just as tense. "Why aren't you relaxing?"
"I don't know, you've gotten me all…worked up." He gestured wildly at the gap between their bodies.
Stratt started to stand up. "You do realize that could be taken out of context."
"Not what I meant—wait, where are you going?"
"To my meetings, what's wrong?" Stratt raised a sly eyebrow.
"I- I don't…" Grace puttered out with an exasperated sigh. "You know what you're doing."
"Mm, so now you want me to tickle you?"
"That's not what I said!"
"That's what it sounds like to me," Stratt smirked, quickly closing the distance.
Grace scrambled back. "W-wait, wait, hohold on!"
Stratt paused mid-reach.
"I- uh. I didn't mean—"
"Make up your mind, Dr. Grace," Stratt chuckled.
"Fine, just—just do it!"
Stratt slid closer and gently moved Grace's arms out of the way. He shimmied in place, feeling terribly exposed. She resisted laughing at him.
Stratt moved her hands even closer, just above his tummy but not touching. "Is this better?"
Grace clawed at his own collar to keep himself from pushing her away. "NO! It's nohohot…" His speech broke into wheezy giggles.
"I'm not touching you, why are you giggling?" Stratt murmured, wiggling her fingers a little to see if that got a reaction.
It did. "I'm nohot gigglihihing!"
"Don't scientists usually prefer facts and data over denial and single-mindedness?" Stratt mused, poking him lightly. He squealed, overreacting from the anticipation. She laughed this time. She couldn't resist.
"There is NOHO data, as far as I can tell no one is recording THIHIS—" Grace cut off with a shriek as Stratt clawed lightly from the center of his tummy across his sides and up his ribs.
The way Stratt tickled was nothing like Grace had ever experienced. With his brothers, it was always about squeezing as hard as possible and digging cruelly into every spot one could reach. Stratt, on the other hand, played a waiting game. And when she was done waiting, she tapped and poked and squeezed. If Grace had his wits about him, he would have complained about the way her fingers didn't articulate individually, how they stayed together (almost like flexible LEGO figure hands, Grace thought) and covered a larger surface area to tap and squeeze and crawl all over his torso.
"Have you had enough yet?" Stratt asked calmly as she gently massaged at Grace's hips. He snorted with laughter, clinging helplessly to her shoulders.
"I- whahahat- what kinda quehehestion is that?!"
"You have an excellent vocabulary, Dr. Grace, I'm sure you can use it." Stratt nudged Grace's chin up from his chest to get at his neck, scratching gently at his jaw.
Grace went nonverbal, hiding his face against her sweater. He covered his red cheeks. He didn't even care that he was exposing his neck more to Stratt's fingers.
"Hmm?" Stratt prompted, burrowing into Grace's now-open underarm.
"FU-HAHAHA- Get outta there!"
"I will if you answer me."
"YEHES! OKAY? I've had enohough!"
Stratt withdrew her hands. "Good." She stood up. "Drink some water. And try not to flinch in our meetings, it really does concern people."
Grace watched her leave, completely bewildered. He slowly stood up and brushed himself off. He looked like a storm had passed through unexpectedly: his hair and clothes were mussed, his cheeks were bright red, the corners of his eyes were wet from laughing.
As he walked over to the sink to grab some water, he noticed something in the window. He squinted, and then put his glasses back on.
Carl waved at him from the security window, an amused smile on his face.
"Gosh flipping darn it," Grace muttered, cheeks aflame again.
THIS IS THE BEST THING TO HAPPEN ALL WEEK RAHHHH I LOVE IT I LOVE IT SO MUCHHHHHH
EVA MY BLUNT ANTICIPATION QUEEN, YOU WRECK YOUR EMOTIONAL SUPPORT DOG GIRL, FOR HIS ENRICHMENT <333
UTURGAUDHWKRKWJT LER!STRATT APPRECIATION, LITERALLY MY FAV, I'M GOING TO BE READING THIS OVER AND OVER AGAIN ONCE I REBLOG THE ART AS WELL BECAUSE THAT IS GORJUS
I ADORE THE WAY YOU WRITE KATE, PLEASE NEVER STOP WRITINGGG, ME NEED MORE MOVIEEEE ❤❤❤❤❤❤(/nf)
it's soooo funny to me that eva stratt essentially rage-baited grace into coming onto the project. she really dangled everything he could possibly want in a lab right in front of him, made him the first human being to interact with an extraterrestrial life form, and then went "alright then, i'll keep you updated. goodbye forever" and walked away.
and just. the smile on her face when he comes running after her. she knew exactly how to get to him, she had that man locked down before she even met him.
she was SO confident she even kept the little earth bean bag just to pass it back to him at the end of their conversation. absolutely iconic.
Thinking about Eva Stratt, stranded within a deep, ebony ocean.
She's wading in silence, barely staying afloat as she navigates upon a choppy path. She knows where she's going, and she knows it's not towards safety.
Occasionally, a wave will form bigger than the others, and Stratt will grimace but let it overcome her, saltwater seeping between her lips. The taste is foul, and instinct tells her to cough it up. She swallows it down, hands shoveling against the surrounding water with just a little more fervour to compensate, as that spill settles into her stomach and weighs her down ever so slightly.
She's used to the feeling of it, but that does little to ever change the awful taste staining her tongue.
A spherical buoy now drifts beside her. She drifts along with it, not reaching out to touch but letting it do as it pleased. It didn't deserve to be thrown out here. She did nothing to throw it back.
Time passes, and the buoy gradually inches closer. So slow, she almost doesn't notice that it has grown into her peripheral. She doesn't look at it, but she doesn't look away. Her only movement is pushing along the beaten path that she knows.
The buoy follows, almost content. Stratt dislikes that its gentle bobbing calms her, and that she subconsciously keeps it within the corner of her eye. The buoy distracts her with its bright colours, glaring red and a black top. She is reminded of a fox's snout.
Stratt feels herself stop. Humanity overtakes her and she lunges for the buoy. But then duty kicks in and stuns her frozen, her pruned fingers just grazing over the smooth surface of the buoy. It doesn't move, but her hand slips anyway, and she gulps down a throatful of seawater through gritted teeth, ignoring every nerve that screamed to splutter and throw it up. Her stomach churns worse than it ever had before, and she doesn't know why. Her body still sinks the same with its newfound mass.
She doesn't blame the buoy for standing still. She doesn't resent it for trying to help. How could she?
Stratt continues wading, the buoy follows again. Closer, to her dismay. She hates that she doesn't want to let it out of her sight, even knowing the consequences. It appears sympathetic, and her heart aches. She should have tossed it away as soon as it had arrived. She still could. But she doesn't.
Because it tempts her, and she can't help clinging to that. With its inviting colours, and the way it reflects in the murky water, making the ocean seem almost... shallow. Escapable.
Her lips part to say something. A towering wave slams against her and makes her ears ring. Whatever she intends to utter is drowned within the near fatal volume of water that pours into her lungs. She thinks this might be it.
The buoy shines ethereally above residue seafoam. She's still drifting along her chosen path, but the buoy floats in the opposite direction now. She cannot help herself. With all the strength she has left, sputtering and choking, she swims towards it, arms swinging around the rubber before it can make its own way.
She's never meant to reach the end of her path, she's made peace with that. She's meant to sink slowly, until she drowns at the finish line. But the buoy... the buoy has every chance to save someone else. Everyone else.
Stratt doesn't want to let go. She doesn't want to let him go.
Wordless, sobless tears tap softly against the buoy's surface. Though she supposes it all still looks like seawater, for the buoy. That makes it worse.
The last ounce of her stamina is used to hurl the buoy away from her. It would be drawn to help anyone and everyone else, she hopes with everything she has. God willing.
The buoy is still in the air when she finally sinks beneath the ocean surface. It isn't peaceful, and she wishes she had kept the buoy at a safer distance. She wishes that she hadn't slipped so many times, and filled her lungs so early. But, of course, she couldn't bear to imagine herself immune to it. She deserves to drown, and she thanks God that she's the only one.
Still, what a shame, that life on Earth needs so much water to survive.
